Dragonhold (Book 2)

by Brian Rathbone

  Even in the astral plane, the air above the black swamp was foul. The energy reeked of wrongness, and nothing could escape the rotting decay. Pervasive, it crept into the pores of Pelivor's soul. Traveling here meant risking everything; he'd known that at the onset. Catrin had warned him, but he'd insisted on coming. Now she had less energy to defend herself because of his insistence. She was angry with him, and he felt guilty. Both knew instantly.

  She forgave him, though he had more trouble forgiving himself. If he'd known then what he knew now, he would not have come. He would have known Catrin could take care of herself and his presence distracted her and divided her power. They were fools, all of them. Pelivor experienced Catrin's frustration, as well as her guilt for having such feelings. In a way, it made him feel better. At least he wasn't the only one to have such thoughts.

  The deeper they moved into the black swamp, the more the scale of the place was apparent. It was not ubiquitous death and decay; it was filled with what might have once been a rich and beautiful landscape. To see such beauty fouled burdened Pelivor's spirit.

  As they moved closer to the swamp's heart, they soared faster. Pelivor had to wonder for an instant before Catrin's panic registered. She had not increased their speed, and neither had he. Exerting their combined will to slow their progress, both despaired. Still they accelerated and soon found themselves hurtling toward a black fortress as inviting as death. Like a monument to fear, it was all sharp angles and points, as if made of dragon's teeth.

  Every part of Pelivor's being wanted to flee, to get away from the madness sucking them in. Inexorably they were pulled into the black fortress and sent into a downward spiral. Everything that moved in this place was twisted and malformed--the essence of corruption. It made what Mael had done seem a petty thing.

  This was the work of Aggrezjhon and Murden. The thought came neither from Catrin nor Pelivor, though he did vaguely remember the names from his studies. It was clear Catrin had never heard them before. Now they would be forever burned into her consciousness. The sense of these powerful beings was overwhelming, such skill and might undeniable. Catrin and Pelivor were but babes in the presence of masters.

  Deeper their spirits soared as if spiraling into the darkest depression. Nightmares clawed at them as they passed. Feral dragons in numbers no one would have wanted to believe lived within this massive cavity. Reaching the heart of the seething wrongness brought pain and revulsion. Something endeavored to crush his spirit, and it was close to succeeding. Not even Catrin was immune, as the sorcerers trapped within a massive noonstone crystal used her every mistake against her. They showed her all those who had suffered for the sake of her cause. Images of death assaulted them over and over again, picking the memories from their worst nightmares.

  Pelivor could not allow such treatment and gathered his will, which was promptly used against him. The harder he railed, the more Aggrezjhon and Murden pressed their advantage. The two spirits were nearly impossible to distinguish. They had been trapped together for millennia, and Pelivor got the sense they suffered madness similar to that of Enoch and Ain Giest. The very thought of those names sent Aggrezjhon and Murden into attack mode. The pain was unbearable.

  "What do you want?" Catrin screamed the question.

  Freedom.

  The response was singular, as if of one mind. Pelivor tried once again to resist, but the towering crystal drew them forward, closer and closer to its glossy surface. Shadows waited within--four of them. Two he recognized and two he knew must be Aggrezjhon and Murden. This crystal was a prison just as much as the Fifth Magic, and within were Allette Kilbor and Trinda Hollis. It appeared the two had escaped Dragonhold only to end up in far worse circumstances, their spirits embattled and their physical forms suspended by the crystal's energy.

  Eventually their bodies would decay and die, leaving them trapped inside the crystal spire for eternity, just like the two sorcerers. How long the energy would preserve their mortal shrouds remained unclear. Pelivor and Catrin were about to share a similar fate. Though the ancients could find no way out, they could draw others in.

  A tremendous roar built in intensity, and Pelivor looked back. Racing toward them, following the threads reaching back to their physical forms, came a dragon of fire and lightning. Kyrien blazed, rivaling the sun, and he struck the crystal spire like a hammer on white-hot metal. Sparks and lightning flew, and the Noonspire shimmered on impact. The shadows within were knocked askew.

  Howls of anger and regret followed them back to Dragonhold, where their pale forms waited.

  Just before their consciousnesses separated, Kyrien delivered Brother Vaughn's message.

  Now you tell us, Catrin thought in response.

  Chapter 15

  Light, unlike most things, becomes more powerful when divided.

  --Gemino, sorcerer and artist

  * * *

  "They're calling us off, sir," Bryn said.

  Indeed, those adragonback waved their arms, calling off any more maneuvers. A brisk wind had picked up, and clouds gathered along the horizon. Despite the threat of weather, Kenward walked calmly toward the bumblebee. Even Gwen I cast him sideways glance as he approached the flimsy contraption.

  "I'm just going to check the lashing," Kenward said, not looking toward Benjin and pretending he couldn't hear any of the things the man said, most of which were unpleasant and somewhat uncomplimentary. The pirate captain did what he did best and chased his dream with unrelenting passion. Climbing into the bumblebee's cockpit, despite all those who now protested, Kenward released the straps and threw open one of the valves.

  Hissing issued from the back of the bumblebee, and anyone caught in its wash soon fled, though the craft had yet to move. Undeterred, Kenward slid the right-hand lever forward. Increased thrust produced a rhythmic thumping, and the bumblebee started toward the Portly Dragon's edge. There was no more time for contemplation or design changes. This was the last chance Kenward would get before the weather came in. Patience had never been one of his strong points, nor was taking orders from others.

  "At least let the dragons get below you before you fire that projectile," Gwen said.

  Her words made good sense, and he held his breath a bit longer before releasing the brake. At that point, he could no longer hear Benjin, though the looks on the dragonriders' faces showed disapproval. As soon as he eased off the brake, the bumblebee leaped forward but lacked the speed Kenward needed. He'd foreseen this and reached for the pull release. Had he been wiser, he would have realized that reaching forward was more difficult when being pressed back into your seat. Crossing the last distance remaining between the bumblebee and clear skies, Kenward grasped and pulled the release. Twin water jets escaped the tanks, propelled by highly compressed air. The burst lasted a brief moment, but it launched the aircraft higher.

  The bumblebee lurched sideways, leaving the deck at a bad angle. Immediately sent into a long, exaggerated spiral, there was no time for thought. Fidgeting with gadgets and valves while hurtling through the air was more difficult than expected, but he had designed this aircraft, and using that knowledge, he leveled off the flight. The thumping lowered in frequency the longer he flew, limiting the amount of time he could remain in the air. No matter the current limitations, Kenward flew on his own without Istra. It was a start--a very good start.

  People could say what they would, but Kenward Trell would always be the first man to fly solo without the use of Istra's power or a dragon. Worried shouts from the Portly Dragon changed to shouts of encouragement as Kenward brought the bumblebee higher.

  Lining up for a landing on the Dragon's deck also proved more difficult than anticipated. Windsocks and the ropes attaching them were far greater obstacles than he'd imagined. After bringing the bumblebee around and realizing just how small the target was, he reconsidered, knowing what waited if he missed his mark.

  Ditching the bumblebee was far from the most attractive option; however, it might cause the least bodily harm pr
ovided one of those dragons was close enough to catch him. Casting wildly about, Kenward spotted Sinjin and Valterius, and he wondered if Al'Drak was truly on his side. It was something he had always wondered about dragons in general; riding Valterius had only reinforced those concerns. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hoped, once again, the dragon could not read his thoughts.

  The thumping within his aircraft grew softer and less frequent, only a small amount of compressed air remaining. The winds around them grew still, and for a single moment in time, the bumblebee aligned with the Portly Dragon's deck; even his trajectory was correct. Subtle corrections were all he needed to land the bumblebee. With trembling hands, Kenward eased back on the right-hand valve, making certain not to touch the one on the left. Even with the wind in his favor, the aircraft struck the deck hard, pitching to one side, digging the wing into the deck, and spinning the aircraft sharply.

  With a bleeding lip and a somewhat battered backside, Kenward climbed from the bumblebee, arms raised high in victory. While these had been only trials, they proved his creations were the most innovative and functional aircraft seen in eons. The glory of this victory was marred by those who now flew in close, demanding they return to shore.

  "You're never going to hear the end of this," Gwen said.

  "I know," Kenward said with a grin. "And I'll never let them forget just who was first to sail the skies."

  * * *

  Walking down the smooth cobbled streets along New Moon Bay, amid the shops with glass windows and ornate doors, Nora Trell was no more at home than in the slums. Here, one was less likely the get a knife in the ribs since this area was heavily patrolled by guards. The solution was, in its own way, the problem. As a trader, Nora did her best to understand the laws and customs wherever she worked. Ever present were those who wanted a share of any trade passing through their ports. Whether through tariffs, docking permits, blackmail, or downright theft, the landbound would take their cut. It had always rankled. These people got fat off her hard work, which left less to divide among the crew. This treachery had real economic impacts, and the Trells had been known for finding creative ways to circumvent such things. There were, no doubt, people looking for her, Kenward, and Fasha. She had no desire to grant them an audience.

  Already she'd been seen. Though Kenward and Fasha kept low profiles, their faces known to only a certain few, Nora had been the public face of the Trell family for years. Best to do what needed doing and quickly move on. She turned a corner and walked along a twisting side street, this one clean and quiet, almost quaint. Between two shops displaying lamps and other glassware, she descended a flight of steps. At the bottom, a plain door with much of the wood visible through chips of green paint waited. Just looking at it made Nora's stomach hurt, as if she might go in and never come out. After double-checking the note from her informant, she opened the door.

  A tinkling bell announced her entrance, but Nora didn't see anyone inside. Feeling self-conscious, like a stowaway on an unknown ship, she broke into a sweat. Along a collection of tables, each a different height and length than the others, rested a haphazard collection of oddities. Much of it was flawed glass art--seconds not meeting the standards of the shops above. While some of it truly was interesting, Nora had come here for one thing alone. Walking along the cloth-draped tables, she wondered if she had found the correct place; the object she sought nowhere to be seen.

  "Can I help you?" an old woman's voice barked.

  Nora jumped. "I . . . uh . . ."

  "Most folks don't just sneak in here and poke around, you know. Most folks announce themselves."

  Trying not to look at the bell on the door, Nora did her best to keep her composure. "Sorry," was all she said.

  "You must've come here for something. Folks don't just wander in here for no reason."

  "I have a son," Nora said, deeply hoping this woman might one day find herself on the deck of the Trader's Wind. They would have a very different conversation. "He likes pretty things."

  The shopkeeper nodded knowingly. Nora had come up with the ruse but regretted giving the woman any more reason to look down on her. It wasn't something she was skilled at dealing with. Did the landbound have no manners at all?

  "Lots of pretty things for those with the coin to pay."

  This woman was determined to get under her skin, but Nora knew better than to rush. What this woman thought of her wasn't important as long as her purchase drew no unwanted attention.

  "These are pretty," Nora said, pointing to glass figurines of sea creatures with metallic tips on the fins.

  "And expensive."

  While considering whether to have her contact burn this place down when she was done, Nora did her best not to lash out. "They look fragile. He sometimes breaks things."

  With another knowing look, the shopkeeper appeared offended at the very notion of something she sold getting broken. "Perhaps wooden toys would be better. There's a shop down the street."

  "No," Nora said, as nicely as she could. "Glass. Do you have any marbles?"

  Now the woman's eyes narrowed. "If you came for marbles, why didn't you just say so in the first place?" In spite of her apparent suspicion, the shopkeeper pulled a cloth-covered tray from behind the tables. She twitched the cloth away, revealing marbles of varying size and quality reflecting the meager light.

  "I like this one," Nora said, grabbing a large, poorly made marble. The look the shopkeeper gave her said she had known Nora would go for the cheap ones. "And this one," she said, pointing to a much nicer, clear marble with a well-crafted flower inside. Nora truly did like the marble and wondered how the glass smiths got the flowers in there.

  "Expensive," the woman said.

  "Even with the flaw?" Nora asked, letting a bit of her irritation show. "There's an air bubble right on that petal."

  "If you want perfection, go upstairs."

  "I also like this one," Nora said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. Clearly of better quality than the others, this marble was half clear, half filled with a swirling metallic vortex and backed with colored, metallic glass in a geometric pattern that shimmered in the light.

  "You have expensive taste. That one is old and rare."

  "I thank you," Nora said. "Nevertheless, how much for the three?"

  The woman reappraised her and, after a brief whistle, said, "Seven silvers."

  "Five."

  "Seven," the woman said.

  "Six."

  "Seven," the shopkeeper said again.

  Feeling as if she'd played the game enough, Nora fingered her purse and produced seven silvers without looking. She would have paid a hundred times that without a second thought, which made her smile inside.

  Again, suspicion filled the shopkeeper's eyes. "How did you know to come here?" she asked while wrapping the marbles in coarse linen, specifically not meeting Nora's gaze.

  "I asked a man at the docks," Nora said, knowing the reaction she would get.

  The shopkeeper made a gesture as if to ward off evil spirits. To the landbound, especially those along New Moon Bay, the docks were where the lowest among them worked and dwelt. There anyone could make a little coin without anyone asking too many questions. The woman just handed Nora the linen-wrapped marbles bound in string and made it clear it was time for her to leave.

  Leaving the shop behind, Nora waited until she was well away before grinning openly, one step closer to her family's future. As ever, things still needed doing, and she walked with a determined stride.

  * * *

  "You do realize that if you had crashed that thing into the sea, no one would have known how to fly the Portly Dragon back, right?" Kendra stood on her toes, so she could stare Kenward level in the eye while berating him.

  "I would not have sailed with a crew that doesn't know their business," Kenward said. "They've flown my ships plenty of times when I was otherwise occupied." A few brave enough to risk Kendra's wrath nodded at that.

  "If you had listened to what e
very person flying air support for you was screaming, then you'd have known strong winds were coming," Kendra continued, her face flushed.

  The good captain took the verbal lashing without much complaint. He must know she was right. The flight back had been harrowing, and getting the Portly Dragon back into dry dock had come dangerously close to crushing Sinjin and Valterius. "I kept my test flight brief," he said. Kendra leaned closer. "And the winds would've caught up with us either way."

  Sinjin dropped his face into his hands.

  Surely Kenward knew he should stop, but it just wasn't in his nature. "I promise I'll take you for a ride once I get a couple wrinkles worked out."

  With her eyes closed and looking as if she might explode, Kendra turned and stormed away in every sense of the word.

  "Why do you do these things to me?" Sinjin asked, exasperated. "You know I have to live with her, right?"

  Kenward's grin never faded. "I know. Sorry. She's just too easy, and she makes it so much fun."

  "Fun for you," Sinjin said. "You get to leave and fly off in . . . whatever those things are. I have to stay here and pay for your insolence."

  "I'd offer you the life of a pirate, my friend, but I know it wouldn't suit you. Look at it this way: at least you have dragons."

  Sinjin shook his head and smiled. "You do have a point. Though I have to ask, what's in this for you? Why are you doing this?"

  "You know that little lady that I just riled up?" Kenward asked with a wry grin. "The one you will go home to? I want those who have such a thing to keep it and those who don't to find it."

  Sinjin nodded, knowing Kenward wished some things to remain unspoken.

  "And you should thank me for irritating your wife."

  "Why would I do that?" Sinjin asked.

  "Because I've given her someone else to be mad at other than you. You're welcome."

  Sinjin shook his head again. Kenward had a way of disarming those who were angry with him. All perhaps save Kendra . . . and Nora . . . and Fasha. Sinjin reconsidered Kenward's abilities.