Lost mark 3 The Queen of Death:

by Matt Forbeck

  Some were made of gleaming metals of every color. Others had been formed from polished woods that curled in such intricate and delicate shapes that it seemed they might still be living. Tinted glass, shaped like cubes, cylinders, or bells covered many of the pieces, and although Kandler could see through the material he doubted that even one of Burch’s explosive shockbolts—which had all been used up long ago—would have cracked them.

  In one glass-fronted cabinet stood a miniature city, complete with walls and towers built from tiny bricks. It reminded Kandler of a section of Sharn, the Brelish metropolis he’d once called home. When he peered closer at it, he saw that it crawled with pinkish, finger-sized worms rather than people, inching along blindly through their land and lives.

  Lightning flashed along the edges of a blue-metal cone that rose into a bronze cloud that shimmering and shifted with the raw energy that coursed along its surface. Sparks rising from it floated through the air to the devices on either side of it. These sucked the glowing specks into coils and nets of translucent tubing through which they pulsed with a staccato beat.

  Sparkling steam spun leafy green wheels and billowed from a pair of glassy chimneys set in the far wall. Shapes twisted in the artificial clouds as they spilled forth, forming full-color visions of fantastic, winged creatures with scaly skins and stretched bat-wings. As the images fell and faded, the pulsating gas cascaded down and flowed out across the floor, lending a diffuse glow to the polished stone there, as it edged its way toward the landing platform.

  As Kandler and the others walked closer to the entrance, he had to shade his eyes against the intense light. It seemed like every corner of the place glowed of its own accord, making the place brighter now, even at night, than during the height of day.

  The light became more intense as a gigantic crystal ball hove into view near the north wall to their left as they came in through the open portal. The massive crystal, which stood taller than a house—or even a fortress, seemed to glow with an inner light. A mixture of strange images swam within its depths. Some of these seemed to pull Kandler in, while others made him want to flee.

  When Kandler reached the tower’s threshold, he stopped. The others filed up next to him and stood alongside him at the edge. The justicar wouldn’t have been surprised to find that every one of them had stopped breathing, stunned into breathlessness.

  "Shall we?” Zanga said, her face seeming to glow nearly as much as the crystal globe. With that, she strode into the room.

  Kandler waited for a moment. When nothing happened, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he took Espre in one hand and Sallah in the other and crossed into the dragon’s tower. Burch and Xalt came in right behind them.

  Kandler pulled back his head and looked straight up to see the night sky above. The top of the tower lay open to the cold night beyond. The light from the tower nearly drowned out the sight of the stars hanging there in the cold distance.

  "Maybe he’s not home?” Espre said, hope rising in her voice.

  Then a titanic shape moved from behind the crystal ball and shuffled toward the empty middle of the room on long-taloned feet. It held its wings close to its body to keep them out of the way. Its silvery scales clinked together as it moved, sounding something like the chimes of an entire army of chain-mailed soldiers marching off to war.

  "Call me Greffykor,” the dragon said, in a voice that seemed to rumble right through Kandler’s chest, so that he felt it more than he heard it. It peeled back its armored lips, revealing uncountable rows of long, sharp teeth spread in an approximation of a smile. "Enter my home.”

  Chapter

  45

  Zanga screamed, and before he could think about it, Kandler drew his sword. Sallah did the same, and Burch and Xalt unlimbered their crossbows with practiced moves. Of those who had made the trip to Seren on the Phoenix, only Espre held no weapon in her hands. Of course, Kandler reminded himself, she didn’t need one.

  The Shroud of Scales fell to Zanga’s knees and she continued to keen. The dragon did not move more than to let its terrible excuse for a smile close around its vicious teeth.

  "Check on her,” Kandler said to Espre. "See if she’s hurt.”

  The girl reached out for the woman, but before her hand even touched the shroud, Zanga threw back her head and sat on her haunches. "Do not fear for me,” the woman said under the shroud. "I was overcome with delight, and I fell to my knees to beg my lord for his mercy and understanding.”

  "Rise, faithful one,” the dragon said. His gray eyes took in the intruders all at once. "Come in further and speak.”

  Kandler fought an urge to fall on his knees himself. He’d never been in the presence of a creature so . . . regal.

  He couldn’t think of a better word for it. By its sheer physique the dragon seemed to demand worship or at least awe. He understood, in that moment, how the Seren had come to revere such beasts.

  "O great Greffykor,” Zanga said as she leaped to her feet. "I have brought to you the one you sought, as well as her traveling companions. They come to you in the greatest of need and beg for you to bestow your wisdom upon them.”

  "Tell me which one it is.”

  The dragon stared at each of the newcomers in turn. When Greffykor’s eyes fell on Kandler, he had a strong desire to turn and flee from the tower. Perhaps if he could reach the landing in time, he might be able to hurl himself from its edge before the dragon caught up to him—but he doubted it.

  Espre stepped forward before Zanga could speak. "Hello,” she said. Her voice did not tremble, nor did her knees shake, but Kandler could tell from the set of her shoulders that she was a fragile piece of crystal ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Despite that, she had not shirked her responsibilities here, and he could not have been prouder of her for that.

  "Come forward,” Greffykor said.

  The dragon shifted his weight onto his rear feet, and Espre froze. She took a deep breath and walked toward the creature, ready as she would ever be for whatever might be coming next.

  Kandler had never been entirely sure of the wisdom of coming to Argonnessen. It had just seemed like the best choice out of a handful of horrible alternatives. Now, here, standing in a dragon’s tower while Espre walked toward the creature, every doubt he had resurfaced.

  He hefted the fangblade in his hand again. He wanted to call out to the dragon, to remind him to be careful with the girl, to threaten him if he did anything to hurt her. The justicar knew, though, that the dragon would only laugh at such hollow words.

  Still, Kandler wanted Espre to know he stood behind her, no matter what danger she might face. He followed her, his footsteps echoing hers as they moved toward the dragon through the large, empty chamber.

  As he walked, Kandler realized that another set of footsteps shadowed his. He glanced back to see Sallah marching behind him, the metal of her armored boots clanking hard and cold against the thick, stone floor. Her eyes shone with love and fear, and he mouthed his thanks to her.

  Back near the great entrance to the tower, Burch and Xalt had spread out in opposite directions perpendicular to Espre’s path. Each of them had their crossbows trained on the dragon, ready to loose their bolts at the first provocation. Between them, Zanga glanced back and forth at them and giggled at their foolhardiness.

  When Kandler looked forward again, Espre had stopped walking and turned to talk with him. She focused her bright blue eyes on him, and the determination he saw there reminded him so much of her mother.

  "1 have to do this on my own,” she said.

  Kandler opened his mouth to protest but then shut it instead. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, then stood back and smiled at her.

  "Go get him,” he said.

  Espre smiled at him, a tear welling in one eye, then turned back to the dragon. She strode up to the creature, more confident this time, and presented herself.

  "I am Espre of Mardakine,” she said, "daughter of Esprina and Kandler. I bear the
Mark of Death.”

  Behind Kandler, Zanga screamed again. This time, the sound came not from joy but astonishment.

  "So the Prophecy foretold,” Greffykor said. "Ask your questions of me.”

  Espre paused, and Kandler feared she might break down with the dragon’s full attention focused on her. When she spoke, though, her voice was proud and strong.

  "How can I avoid my fate?”

  The dragon spoke without hesitating, as if he had anticipated the question and formulated an answer long before Espre spoke.

  "Fate cannot be avoided, only fulfilled.”

  "Then what is my fate?”

  "That has not yet been written.”

  Espre pouted for a moment. "What does the Prophecy say about my fate?”

  "You are doomed.”

  "How?”

  "That is unclear. Your thread in the great tapestry ends soon.”

  "How soon?”

  Kandler could hear the tremble enter Espre’s voice. "Soon.”

  He rushed forward when he saw her knees start to buckle, but she managed to right herself before he reached her. She waved him off without even turning to see him. "How?”

  "That is unclear. It involves grief and pain.”

  "Is there anything I can do about it?”

  "No.”

  Espre’s shoulders started shuddering then, and Kandler knew she had started to cry. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he knew that she wouldn’t want that right now. First, she needed to finish this conversation.

  When she spoke again, her voice was raw and low. "Is—is there anything you can do about it?”

  The dragon remained silent. He stayed as still as a statue as he stared at the girl with his unblinking eyes.

  "Is there anything you can do about it?” Espre repeated.

  "Ask me to kill you.”

  Kandler’s heart sank.

  "Wh-what?” said Espre.

  "Ask me to kill you.”

  "Why?” she asked, her surprise already turning to frustration.

  "As a favor.”

  "A favor?” Her frustration had started to become rage.

  "I will not cause you to suffer.”

  Espre gagged. It took her a moment before she could continue.

  "Is that the only way? To prevent me from suffering?”

  The dragon inclined its head but did not speak.

  "I . . .” said Espre.

  "Stay as long as you like. Inform me when you reach your decision. My tower is impervious to scrying. No one will find you here.”

  With that, the dragon turned and prowled back to the giant crystal. It did not look back.

  Espre walked back to Kandler. He gathered her up in a comforting hug.

  "I heard everything,” he said. "That dragon doesn’t know a thing.”

  "I think Zanga and her people would disagree with you.”

  "Prophecies are a fraud,” Kandler said. "They’re just a collection of ancient words cast so broad that they could catch any victim in their net.”

  Espre pushed herself away from Kandler and craned her neck back to look at the crystal ball and all the strange, dragon-sized mechanisms in the room. "You can stand in a

  place like this and tell me Prophecy has no meaning?”

  "Not to you or me,” Kandler said. "Humans are short-timers. We don’t think in terms of the grand sweep of history. Each of us is just a stitch on the 'great tapestry’ that dragon went on about. We’re beneath their notice.”

  Espre smiled as she wiped her face. "But I’m an elf.” "You’re a young elf, and your thread has been woven mostly with humans. I think someone with eyes as large as Greffykor can make a mistake about such things.”

  Kandler felt Sallah’s hand on his back as he spoke. She didn’t say a word, just squeezed his shoulder in solidarity, but it meant the world to him. He smiled at Espre.

  "Do you really mean that?” the girl said.

  Kandler gave her a wry half-smile. "Honestly, I don’t know. All this stuff is over my head. All I know is that we have to make the best decisions we can with what we have. Worrying about things like fate can only help make bad predictions about us come true.”

  Espre began to respond, but the smile that had been forming on her lips melted away into a look of sheer terror as she gazed over Kandler’s shoulder.

  The justicar whirled about toward the entrance, and there—framed in the entrance of Greffykor’s tower—stood a gigantic red dragon, its wings unfurled.

  Chapter

  46

  Te’oma shivered in the chill night air as she perched atop one of the inward curving tips atop the pylons that formed Greffykor’s tower. She thought that she might look like a mighty bird of prey if she hadn’t been shuddering so hard. She wrapped her wings around her even tighter when a freezing blast of wind blew through her. Part of her hoped it might knock her from the tower and put an end to the cold.

  As the Phoenix had flown south, the changeling had enjoyed the growing warmth of the weather. She’d taken many flights of her own throughout those days, basking in the stronger rays of the sun. Her bloodwings tired more quickly than she did, and she always had to return to the airship before they gave out, but she relished the opportunity to stretch them for long periods of time, free from the fear that someone below might spot her.

  Like most changelings, Te’oma shunned the spotlight— at least when wearing her own skin. Many people didn’t care for members of her race, and so she often wore the guise of one of them. She’d pretended to be so many different kinds of people over the years that she sometimes wondered if she

  might somehow forget what she looked like herself.

  These past couple weeks, though, in the company of Espre and her family (such as it was) and friends, Te’oma had been able to truly relax for the first time in as long as she could remember. The fact that Vol had destroyed her dead daughter’s body in what seemed a fit of pique had horrified Te’oma at first. She’d wanted to do nothing but mourn the long-dead girl again. Instead, fate had forced her to put those emotions aside while she helped Kandler and the others save Espre from sharing her daughter’s fate.

  Once the Phoenix had left Khorvaire behind, though, few distractions had surfaced, and Te’oma had been forced to deal with her grief once more. Mostly she had kept away from the others, preferring to mourn privately. She doubted that any of them would have been able to understand. They had no reason to empathize with her at all, much less pity her.

  Only Burch had reached out to Te’oma. Although he had kept her at arm’s length—as any wary hunter like him would—he had checked in on her regularly and made sure that she kept herself feed and rested. She’d been unable to tell him how much she’d appreciated even such small gestures.

  Still, she’d been unable to get Espre out of her mind. She’d known when she struck the deal to help kidnap the girl that she’d agreed to participate in an act of horrible evil against an innocent child. The parallels with her own daughter’s fate had not escaped her.

  Yet she’d done it all the same.

  The changeling peered down past the tips of the pylons into the brightly lit chamber below. She saw Kandler, Espre, Sallah, and Xalt approach the silver dragon. They looked like insects next to the massive beast.

  As the dragon moved to speak with them, it glanced upward. Its gaze seemed to pierce Te’oma’s brain, and she felt petrified, unable to move—to even breathe—until the majestic monster turned its attention away.

  Te’oma had hoped to scout out the area without the dragon or the others interfering with her. She’d considered telling Kandler, or even Burch, but she hadn’t wanted to deal with the inevitable bickering and mistrust. Instead, she’d taken off on her own initiative to discover what she could. All she’d learned so far was how little of a chance any of them had against such a creature.

  Then she spotted a pair of silhouettes framed against the blood-red western horizon. The sun had set, and the last traces of daylight wo
uld be gone entirely within minutes, but she saw the edges of the forms of these two creatures clearly in those final moments.

  Dragons.

  Te’oma stood up on the tip of one of the tower’s pylons and stretched out her stiff arms and frozen wings, flexing blood back into them. Then she looked down and let the attraction of the terrible distance to the ground pull her from her perch. Her wings caught the wind, and she aimed herself straight for the bridge of the Phoenix, where Monja stood staring at the entrance into the observatory, unaware of either Te’oma or the dragons soaring in behind her.

  "We have to get out of here,” Te’oma said as she landed on the bridge, just feet from Monja’s side.

  The halfling screamed in surprise. She spun about, grabbing for the knife hanging from her belt. As she did, her hands left the airship’s wheel.

  The Phoenix bucked, hard. To Te’oma, it felt like the ship had run aground. The force of the ship’s movement slammed her to the deck. An instant later, she found herself hanging in the air above it as the ship dropped lower instead.

  Te’oma closed her eyes and braced for the Phoenix to leap up and slam into her again as her wings held her hovering in the air. When nothing happened, she peeled them open them a moment later.

  Monja lay hanging over the airship’s wheel like a dirty shirt. She had her hands wrapped around the wheel’s spars and was struggling into a more dignified position. As she did, she turned around and fumed at the changeling. "Don’t you ever do that again!” the halfling snarled. Te’oma ignored the tiny shaman’s wrath. "What happened there?” she said, scared enough to forget about the dragons for the moment.

  "You’ve flown this ship,” Monja said. "You know how ornery the elemental in that fiery ring is. Well, it sensed what happened to the Keeper’s Claw when the elemental in it blew up and destroyed that dragon. Now it’s linked dragons with enough destructive power to free it.”

  "But it was Burch’s shockbolt that did that.”

  "There’s no reasoning with it. That’s what it thinks, and now that it’s this close to a dragon’s home again, it’s aching for a chance to bust loose.”