Lost mark 3 The Queen of Death:

by Matt Forbeck

  Panic entered Monja’s heart. "We need to get this ship out of here,” she said. "There’s a pair of dragons coming this way right now!”

  The changeling pointed off into the sky, but where there had been colors before now held only darkness. The thought that Monja might not believe her struck her like a brick.

  "Probably some kind of family reunion,” the halfling said, or maybe Greffykor's invited a couple of friends over for dinner—with a ship full of idiots on the menu.”

  "We have to get the airship out of here,” Te’oma said. "If the dragons destroy her, we’ll never be able to leave.”

  Monja shook her head. "Not a chance,” she said. "I’m not abandoning the others—especially not to a trio of dragons.”

  "If we get away, we can come back later to pick them up.”

  "If any of them survive.”

  "They’ll be killed with or without us. Why compound the error?”

  Monja winked at the changeling. "You talk a good game, lady, but I’m not in the mood to play it. We’re staying put and taking our chances with the others.”

  "But—”

  Before Te'oma could complete her thought, a gust of wind blasted past her. It seemed like it might be strong enough to blow out the ring of fire like a lonely candle. The changeling glanced up as she cringed against the bridge’s console, and she saw a flash of something red and scaly block out the stars.

  The dragon went past them before Te’oma could even think about screaming. It landed square on the platform, right between the airship and the entrance into the observatory. It ignored the airship entirely and moved straight through the portal and into the gigantic room beyond.

  "We’re just insects to it,” Te’oma said, awestruck. "It could have torn us apart, but we’re not worth the bother.”

  "I wouldn’t say that,” a voice said from behind Te’oma and Monja.

  The two turned around. On the bridge just a few feet from them, stood the tall, slender, red-haired man they’d met over the ocean. He showed his inhuman teeth to them and stood there as comfortably as if he’d been on this trip with them the entire time.

  "If Mother hadn’t the slightest concern about you and your flying toy here, I don’t think she would have bothered to ask me to watch over you.”

  Chapter

  47

  Move!” Kandler said as soon as he saw the dragon. "Scatter! Force it to choose a target!”

  He grabbed Espre by the arm and half-led, half-dragged her toward the hole. Burch dashed past them, anticipating where Kandler wanted to go.

  Sallah and Xalt went in the opposite direction, toward the crystal ball Greffykor had been studying before. As she looked back over her shoulder, Kandler saw in her eyes that she’d rather have gone with him, even if only to make a final stand against this new foe, but she did as he asked instead. He only hoped it turned out to be the right thing.

  He knew they had no way to harm the dragon. Their only hope was to hide from it. Perhaps in a place as large as the observatory—built on a scale to accommodate the largest sorts of dragons—there might be some spaces tight enough that a dragon could not fit in them.

  Even if they could find a hole in which to hide, Kandler wondered how long they might be able to hold out that way. Could they live like rats within the walls, scurrying out to steal what food and water they could find whenever the dragons disappeared or bedded down for the night?

  Did dragons sleep? Kandler had heard tales of them resting on lavish beds made of fortunes in invaluable gems and precious metals, dormant for months, years, even decades, but he had no way of knowing if they were true—or if they applied to every dragon he might meet.

  In any case, he only knew one thing: He had to get Espre away from this new dragon and fast.

  The red dragon folded its wings against its back and crept through the open portal. As it did, Greffykor said something to it in Draconic.

  Zanga stood in the center of the room, between the two dragons, covered in her scaled shroud, which shimmered with its varied colors. She raised her arms in supplication to the red dragon.

  "Welcome, O Great One,” she said to the creature. Her voice rang out loud and proud. "I speak in the repulsive tongue of our guests so that they may understand your holy intent. Permit me to be the conduit through which you may make your will be known.”

  Greffykor interrupted before the intruding dragon could respond. "I speak in the tongue of my guests to show my disrespect for those of my kind who would disregard our traditions and arrive in my observatory unannounced. You may leave at once.”

  The red dragon growled something. Zanga translated its words.

  "The dragon-god known as Frekkainta greets Greffykor. She does not feel compelled to meet with traitors against the race of dragons or to treat them with respect. She has traveled many miles to come here to exterminate the lesser peoples and to take Greffykor prisoner for his crimes.”

  Greffykor snarled. "You stray beyond your authority. I do not answer to you, nor shall my guests, who abide here under my protection.”

  Kandler and Espre reached the hole, and he saw that Burch had already lashed one end of his rope to a bit of strange machinery jutting from a nearby wall. The shifter tossed the other end of the coil over the edge of the hole, and it played out smooth and straight until it slapped into the floor, which seemed a score of yards below.

  The dragons hadn’t turned to look at them. In fact, they had locked eyes with each other as if they both were sizing a foe up for a monstrous battle—or a meal. Kandler wondered if even the fortified walls of this amazing observatory would be able to withstand a brawl between two such terrifying beasts. He suspected the whole place could crumble around them without them giving much notice.

  "Go with Burch,” Kandler said. He gave Espre a quick hug with his free arm, then a kiss on the top of her head. He brandished his fangblade before him. "I’ll cover your escape.”

  "But—”

  Burch cut off the girl's protest by wrapping his arm around her waist and leaping into the hole. Kandler knew the shifter would let the thin, strong rope pay out from around his free arm, slowing their descent to a safe but zippy speed.

  The red dragon’s gaze flicked toward Sallah and Xalt then back across to face toward Kandler. Her head did not move, but Kandler swore he could hear the creature’s massive orbs swiveling in her head.

  The justicar froze in the focus of the bright yellow eyes. He wondered if he might fit inside one of their pupils, they were so large. He had to remind himself to keep breathing. Then he realized he’d stopped out of fear that the creature might hear him.

  He didn’t want to do anything to offend the dragon. He could see now why the Seren worshipped the dragons as gods. He’d never been much for religion, but Frekkainta was the closest thing to a deity he’d ever encountered.

  The dragon’s eyes told Kandler everything he needed to know about her. She cared nothing for him. He meant less than an insect, despite the stinger he held in his hand. She could crush him flat or incinerate him in the space of a single blink of her massive eyes. He lived or died only at her whim.

  Then Frekkainta turned her attention back to Greffykor, and Kandler found he could breathe freely again. He reached for the rope and knelt at the edge of the hole. Below, he heard Burch and Espre touch down on the lower floor.

  The red dragon growled something horrible. Zanga began to translate as the creature snarled out her intent at Greffykor.

  "If the vermin present here do not show themselves immediately, Frekkainta will kill everyone in the observatory and then destroy the building itself. The traitor Greffykor will comply with her wishes or be subdued and crucified as a traitor. We have but moments to—”

  Zanga stopped. "Everyone?” She stared up at Frekkainta, her face a mixture of confusion and awe. "But, my lady, I am the Shroud of Scales of the Tribe of Gref. I lead my people in the worship of your kind and your host in this observatory. Surely I—”

  Frekka
inta cut off Zanga with a cold-blooded snarl that Kandler didn’t need translated.

  "But—"

  The crimson dragon bowed its head until its nose nearly touched the Seren shaman. Kandler held his breath as he waited to see what would happen next.

  A gout of fire spouted from the dragon’s nostrils and licked along the front of the shroud that Zanga wore. The woman shrieked and fell to her knees, the flames continuing to cascade down her back.

  The fire stopped, leaving twin curls of thick smoke curling from each of the red dragon’s blackened nostrils. Zanga kept screaming until Greffykor reached out and tapped her on her shoulder with a careful, silver talon. She stopped so fast then that the effort sent her into an uncontrollable fit of coughing.

  Greffykor cocked his head at Frekkainta, a scolding look in his eyes. As a child, Kandler had seen that look in his father’s eyes when the man had caught him playing with an innocent inchworm he’d found crawling across the front step of their home in Sharn. He’d stepped away from the harmless creature and let it go on its way.

  Frekkainta, on the other hand, had no intention of letting Zanga go free. She growled something at the shaman, and Zanga staggered to her feet, the shroud falling from her tear-stained face. Smoke rose from her singed hair and reddened skin.

  "No,” Zanga rasped. "Don’t kill me last—don’t kill me at all! I—” She swallowed hard. "I know— One of the people who arrived on the airship bears a dragonmark, a sign of blessing. I can tell you who it is.”

  Kandler shivered. The Shroud of Scales was about to sell Espre out, and he didn’t see what he could do about it. He considered charging Zanga and cutting her down before she could speak, but he knew that the dragon could flick him away with a single talon instead. He wished he had a bow—or that Burch was there.

  The justicar knew, though, that he had no other choices. He would have to sacrifice himself. It might not ensure that Espre would live, but it would buy her a few much-needed moments.

  Thoughts of Esprina filled Kandler’s head. Then Sallah’s face entered his mind as well, sharing space with Espre’s mother, never crowding her out. Whatever time the justicar could bargain for would help Sallah too.

  Kandler shifted his grip on his fangblade and prepared to charge.

  Chapter

  48

  The redheaded man grinned at Te oma, and his mouth parted wider than humanly possible. The changeling doubted that even she could have pulled off such a trick.

  What frightened her most was that the dragon-man didn’t seem to be trying. Pulling and twisting himself into different shapes didn’t strain him at all. Only a creature of horrible power could do such things so effortlessly.

  "Welcome to the Phoenix," Monja said, keeping her hands lightly on the wheel. "We’re pleased to have you as our guest again.”

  The dragon-man snorted. "I doubt that,” he said, "but for the sake of amusement, let’s pretend it is.” He stared directly at Te’oma as he spoke.

  The changeling willed a smile on to her face. "Let’s.”

  "If it’s no bother, what business brings you here?” Monja asked. Te’oma could tell that the halfling was taking great care to keep her voice and her attitude proper and light.

  The changeling marveled that the tiny shaman could keep her cool so well in the face of such horrible danger. After all, the redheaded man could transform into a dragon in an instant and murder them where they stood. She was sure that he wouldn’t suffer a single pang of regret for doing so, no more than she would for crushing a stinging bug.

  The dragon-man looked at them, his eyes wide and unblinking as he studied them up close. He seemed to be able to see right through their skin and peer into their bones.

  "Of course,” he said. "It’s only natural for thinking creatures to want to know why they must die.”

  Te’oma gasped despite herself, but the dragon-man ignored it. In fact, he gave no evidence he had even heard her outburst.

  "It has to do with the Prophecy,” Monja said, prompting the dragon.

  "Of course. The Prophecy dictates all our actions. It guides our thoughts. Only by the greatest struggle can we maintain the illusion of free will and exert our own desires upon it.”

  "How is that?” Monja asked. "If the Prophecy is infallible, can it not predict every moment with complete accuracy?”

  The dragon-man glared at the halfling for a moment to assess whether or not she was mocking him. Te’oma wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that question either. However, the dragon seemed to conclude that such a tiny creature wouldn’t dare toy so carelessly with its own life, and he spoke to answer her question.

  "The Prophecy models reality—or reality models the Prophecy. It is impossible to tell. Either is so complex as to be unknowable. Even such as we cannot comprehend it in all its glory.”

  "Like blind hunters feeling the different parts of the thunder lizard,” Monja said.

  The dragon-man spat out a mirthless laugh. "It is a poor metaphor for a poor mind, but not without some truth.”

  "So why are you here?” It surprised Te’oma to realize the voice asking the question was hers.

  The dragon-man’s eyes swiveled to meet her gaze. "Great things happen here and now, and we of the Chamber wish to influence the events.”

  "How?”

  "The bearer of the dragonmark among your number must die.”

  Te’oma shivered at this. She’d not come so far to let anyone kill Espre so easily. There had to be some way that she could spirit the girl away to safety.

  Instinct told her to find Espre right away. Her cunning, though, kept her rooted to the spot. It would not do to rush into a battle between two—or three—dragons. Better to arm herself first with the only weapon that would be any good against such creatures: information.

  "Is your mother part of the Chamber too?” Monja asked.

  The dragon-man’s eyes widened and turned a blazing yellow. "She does not concern herself with such things. She knows only that she must kill the bearer of the dragonmark. The Prophecy makes it clear that this will happen.”

  "And who interprets the Prophecy for your mother?”

  The dragon-man’s smile spread wide enough to show several rows of wicked teeth.

  Te’oma stifled a gasp. The dragon-man had twisted the Prophecy to his own unfathomable ends. If she could get away from the ship, she might be able to use that to her advantage.

  The changeling fingered the knife at her belt, but she knew that the dragon-man would slay her before she could clear the blade from its sheath. Perhaps his mind wouldn’t be protected quite so well though. If she could reach out with her psionic powers before the creature could muster his defenses, she might have a chance to stun him. Then he would be at her mercy.

  Te’oma’s breath caught in her chest as the dragon-man transfixed her with his stare. At that moment, she knew that he understood what she meant to do. Still, he hadn’t done anything to stop her.

  Desperate, Te’oma focused the power of her mind into a mental whip and lashed out at the dragon-man with it. She hoped to feel it curl around his mind, draw tight, and then squeeze it until it split. Instead, her efforts struck a mental wall that might as well have been built from iron.

  The dragon-man’s expression did not change. If anything, he looked bored at Te’oma’s feeble attempt to do him harm.

  The changeling drew back her mental resources again, forming them into a sharp-edged wedge this time, hoping to stab it through the dragon-man’s defenses. Before she could strike, though, she felt the dragon-man’s wall lurch forward and smash her down.

  Te’oma’s knees buckled as her mind gave way. She fell to the deck, unable to feel the wood beneath her as her mental protections crumbled beneath the dragon-man’s crushing attack. The world became dark and began to spin.

  "Stop!” Monja’s voice seemed to be calling out from a distant tower. "She is no threat to you. Killing a harmless creature is cruel.”

  Te’oma felt the press
ure in her mind ease up, and she realized she'd stopped breathing. She forced air back into her lungs with a cough that felt like it might tear out her throat. Her eyes watered, and her head wobbled on the end of her neck.

  When Te’oma's vision finally cleared, she sat back on her haunches and glanced up at the dragon-man. He stared down at her, his face as expressionless as a mask.

  "Go,” he said. "If you wish. Mother won’t listen to you. She won’t even talk to you. She considers your kind a lower form of life.”

  "My kind?”

  "Non-dragons.”

  Te’oma shivered and turned away. She spied the top of the rope ladder still hanging over the gunwale, and she scrambled toward it. She knew that moving fast would make no difference. If the dragon-man wanted to kill her, she would be dead before she reached the rail.

  Despite that, she lurched for the ladder and let herself fall over the railing. She slid down the ropes fast enough to leave burns on her hands, but she didn’t feel them. Her feet slammed into the landing platform, and her knees buckled. As she pushed herself to her feet, she smelled brimstone from where the red dragon had passed just moments before. '

  Te’oma glanced up at the airship and breathed a silent prayer of thanks that she could not see the ship’s bridge from here. She didn’t think she could bear the dragon-man’s penetrating gaze, not so soon after he’d nearly smashed her mind flat.

  She turned toward the observatory. For a moment, she considered spreading her bloodwings and flapping up toward the top of the place again, but the thought of drawing any attention to herself made her shiver. Far better, she thought, to creep into the place like a cockroach, hoping that no one of any import—no dragons—would notice her.

  Chapter

  49

  Stay here,” Burch said as he dropped Espre gently on the floor. "Something’s wrong.”

  "Kandler’s not following us,” the girl said. She grabbed at the shifter’s arm before he could scurry back up the rope. "Don’t leave me here.”