“What use are you up there? You’ll just get yourself killed.”
“I have my honour, I have to do this.”
Honour be damned.
***
Elrin couldn’t leave Tetula to battle alone and expect her to help find his father after. Besides, how could he pass up the opportunity to take to battle riding on a dragon? Minni should be happy for him, but she was angry. One minute she stole a kiss and the next she knocked him down. How could he lose her favour so fast?
Tetula reached into his mind. “Love is complicated. It has no place in battle.”
“I’ve disappointed her.”
“Then let us impress her.”
Tetula leapt from the mountain of treasure and beat her way into the sky. She circled back over the archipelago to harry the Jandan ships pursuing the pirate retreat. The weave tingled over his skin as Tetula incanted a long verse. An orb of frosty blue energy formed between her claws and shot bolts of ice upon the Jandans, ripping through sails, piercing hulls and tearing through soldier and sailor alike.
Ships from the unhindered eastern fleet branched off into the channels to intercept Kobb’s retreat. The hidden cannon batteries there opened fire, splitting the air with hellish blasts and clouding their positions in gun smoke. The bulk of the eastern fleet slowed and formed up in the open sea near the caldera. The site of Wyggen circling overhead and Obst guarding the sanctuary gave the Jandans enough pause for Kobb’s retreat to emerge from the channels and turn on their pursuers.
The eastern fleet advanced to break the attack, but it was too late.
In a deafening rage the rebel positions opened fire from the islands, ripping through the Jandans with treasure shot in blast after blast. The pursuing ships were already stretched thin in the pursuit and worn down by Tetula’s fire and ice.
The Jandans fought back with every cannon they had. Gun smoke hung a shroud over them, the rebel ambush was inescapable, but they did not give in. They fired with disciplined rhythm while the rebels peppered them from the cover of the islands. The standoff would only last as long as the black powder did.
Tetula rested her assault, arcing around in an easy circle. She watched Qarim attacking remnants of the armada’s western force and Elrin sensed the edges of Tetula’s thoughts, flowing with a heady mix of tender warmth and simmering excitement. She called out a vigorous song of trills and rising notes, so enamoured of her mate she didn’t notice the two dragons flying toward them from the sanctuary.
Elrin called with his mind. “Tetula! The others have left their vigil. They’ve come to help.”
Tetula cut short her song and strove to gain altitude.
Zarkas and Goranuk flew low over the armada’s eastern force. Elrin was expecting them to attack, but they didn’t. A cone of energy snaked up from one of the barges and the black shadow and red hulk rode the shimmering pulse in a tight spiral.
Tetula laboured on, breathing hard, while Zarkas and Goranuk were buoyed on the magical thermal. As they rose higher and higher, Tetula’s fear sunk into his mind. She couldn’t match them in height or speed and shrieked her frustration.
Qarim heard her call and sped towards them to help.
It was not fast enough. The two dragons dove from the sky. Zarkas was a jet black bolt, screaming toward Tetula. He phased in and out of view as he dove, appearing in a different position with each blink. Goranuk was rust-red fury, bleeding through the sky to intercept Qarim.
Tetula cast bolts of blue lightning searing through the weave toward Zarkas, but the black dragon blinked in and out of sight, dodging each one.
Tetula’s mind screamed. “Why?”
Zarkas closed in, belching a jet of acid at them. Tetula reared up shielding Elrin from the worst of the attack, taking the brunt across her exposed chest. The caustic splash licked at the soles of his feet and he screamed in agony. Then Zarkas was upon them, crashing into Tetula with his hind legs extended, raking her belly. The impact sent both dragons tumbling off balance.
Elrin lost his seating as they spun through the air, his legs trailed behind him, but he kept his grip on Tetula’s bristly mane. Tetula regained her balance and Elrin slammed into her neck. Blocking the pain of the impact, he slung his legs around her again and gripped with his knees, determined not to lose his seat again.
Tetula headed for the sanctuary, beating her wings with a ferocious drive. Zarkas followed, herding them toward the armada.
The barges had come alongside each other, making a giant platform. Eight ballistae loaded with cruel harpoons lined the sides and a large red circle dominated the centre of the expanded deck.
Elrin tugged on Tetula’s mane. “It’s a trap. Don’t go near that fleet.”
Tetula screamed for help. Qarim was locked in battle with Goranuk, her relentless attacks holding him back. Wyggen and Obst broke their positions to intervene. Wyggen flew to the aid of Tetula and Obst dipped and weaved toward Qarim.
Tetula screamed again, reaching her mind out to warn Wyggen. The soaring feathered giant dipped his wing and altered course, but it was too late. Harpoons shot through the air like stingers on a jellyfish, rope trailing behind them. Two lanced into Wyggen and pulled taught. He struggled, straining against the line, shrieking. More harpoons connected and he plummeted from the sky, coursing fire and torching three ships before he hit the water, thrashing against his captors.
Tetula veered away from the barges. It was all that Zarkas needed to catch up with her. He clamped his jaw around her tail and pulled. Elrin clung on while the two dragons clawed and bit at each other, spinning down in their death grip. Elrin drew his dagger and stabbed Zarkas’s grip around Tetula’s throat.
Qarim flew towards them, limping through the air. Behind him Obst wrestled in the sea with Goranuk, keeping her back.
Elrin’s ears split with Tetula’s last scream. Her body tensed in an explosion of arcane power.
And with that the young man was thrown from her back and into a void of darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Discord
The vile corruption was hauled onto the barge and into the red circle, limp and leadened by the blessed serum coating the harpoons. Gone was its glory, its challenge in the face of the creator. The dragon was a pathetic mess of blood and scale with broken wings and slack maw. Their kind would no longer terrorise the Lord’s chosen. They would no longer wield his power as gods themselves. They would remember their place and pledge fealty to the Lord.
Uighara pulled a feather from the dragon’s shoulder and a vial from his backpack. He circled the dragon, dipping the feather in the vial and flicking the potion on the unconscious terror as he went. Four redeemers took their positions on the sigils marked around the perimeter and sung a redemption in unison. The holy song thrummed with power stronger than any redeemer alone could muster. The deck vibrated with the force of the sins being extracted from the slaves below. Screams and moans of pleasure and pain intermingled, a hundred sinners and a thousand sins purged before the might of the Good Lord.
Uighara stood upon the monstrous head of the dragon. He marked the four points of the black star on himself and sung the song of blessed redemption, syncopated to his Brothers’ harmony.
Energy surged from the four redeemers and flowed into Uighara, filling his soul with holy bliss. The redeemers diligently maintained their song of redemption, writhing in the contortions of their own sins stripped bare before the light of the Lord.
Uighara channelled the energy into his spell, warping the physical laws to the will of the almighty. The Lord’s hand raised the dragon as he balanced on its head. Together they floated up like a feather in the breeze; redeemed souls to the heavens.
The Good Lord would have his throne returned.
***
Pelegrin didn’t cheer with his crew as the great beast was brought down and hauled in. He was occupied enough counting the cost to the armada. Uighara’s plan had worked perfectly, the High Priest would doubtless be pleased, as would
the Lord, but his father would not. His central force was trapped in the channels, under siege from the islands. Pelegrin had sent nine of his best frigates to break the pirates strangle hold on the northern channels, keeping the rest of the eastern fleet on guard until the redeemers finished the Lord’s work on the captured dragon. The central force could hold out as long as they rationed their magazines.
The brawny red dragon and the agile black were making short work of the evil ones protecting the outlaws. He’d heard stories of benevolent dragons of course, but had never believed them to be more than children’s tales, until now. After an ear-splitting explosion of magic, the valiant jet-black fury brought the frightful silver wyrm crashing down amongst the islands then fought a courageous retreat from the thorny purple and gold monster loping across the sky. The glossy red wrestled an immense serpent, churning the sea to a boiling soup, hot with dragon flames and thrashing violence.
While Uighara believed these benevolent dragons were guardians of the Lord, and Pelegrin was grateful for their aid, he observed their presence in the battle with a lingering nervousness, an anxious brew of natural fear and awe. The sooner he had Kobb and the Scrambletoes in chains the better.
“Any signal from the western contingent?”
The solargrapher watched the redeemers taking their positions around the fallen dragon on the barge, oblivious to Pelegrin’s question.
Pelegrin clipped his ear. “Pay attention! Anyone would think you’ve never seen a dragon.”
“Not like these, sir.”
“Signal the western force again, as before.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was no need.
The lookout called down from the nest. “Sails!”
Pelegrin held his spyglass to the west. The ships might have raised false flags, but he knew those figureheads. The pirate fleet sailed toward them, led by Juniper, Templestone and Fearless.
“Bastards!”
He couldn’t mount an attack and leave the redeemers vulnerable now they had started their rites. The holy chanting charged the air with power. The barges wailed and groaned like an old ship in a tempest. Uighara radiated power, floating the massive dragon into the air as if it was weightless. Pelegrin squinted, preparing for a magical flash or a clap of power, something that would zap them away, back to the High Temple. Then he would be free to press the attack.
There was no magical climax. Uighara and the dragon remained. The screams from the slaves died down and the four redeemers fell to their knees. The spell must have failed. The Lord had retracted his blessing.
The great black dragon swooped in, blistering the Saint Jan from stern to bow with an acidic torrent of destruction. Pelegrin rolled aside, dodging the noxious attack. He tore off his blue jacket as a spatter of green liquid sizzled and smoked toward his skin. The beast swept back over and attacked again; ships all around burned in a caustic panic.
“Man the ballista!”
None of his men were listening. His solargrapher was a wet bubbling mess on the deck. Chaos ruled his command. Some men screamed, half melted, others stood in puddles of their own fear, but most were jumping overboard.
The black came about in a tight circle and scooped up the levitating dragon and Uighara, stealing off to the southwest. The red dragon beat its way out of the sea like a giant water fowl and flew after the black, scorching a flaming path through any ships in its way.
The armada had no more than fifteen ships that could sail. Most of his force was dead in the water, including Saint Jan. Pelegrin gripped the rail, watching his defeat approach. He had been so sure. He was the Lord’s chosen, glory bound to follow his will. Was this the Lord’s will? Was he cursed to failure at the hands of these reprobates?
Pelegrin had shamed his father. He was warned, but Uighara had seduced him with false promises. How long had he been led on? He was just a pawn in the Council’s politics, the High Priest and his father wrestling for power. Uighara was always the High Priest’s man. Together they had orchestrated his failure and in turn his father’s, stripping the Lord’s High Admiral of his power over the Council, reducing his armada to a pittance.
At the same time they had taken an ancient dragon as sacrifice and secured two more to defend Jando like the Calimska of old. The High Priest was a cunning bastard. He would be a saint before the new moon rose. His father would be on the street begging bone, Lord’s High Admiral no longer.
Pelegrin was not going to let that happen. This battle could not be won, but the next would be different. He would expose the High Priest and Uighara for what they were; conspirators against the Lord’s will, treasonous filth to be purged from Jando.
He pried the solargraph from the officer’s dead hand and savouring the thought of revenge, he signalled a full retreat.
***
Embedded in trenches of treasure while cannon balls screamed overhead, Minni called a squad of rebels to account. “Ease it back! Don’t match them shot for shot.”
A lump of a man with a crooked eye chuckled, coating his retort with blood hungry arrogance. “We’ve enough treasure shot here to fire till next season. What’s your gripe? Leave off and let us men take care of it.” This was no man she knew, a fresh recruit; no doubt unaware of how close he was to a busted lip. The squad leader was quick to smack him upside his bald head.
Minni gave the leader a scowl. “Keep your team in line. There’s no more powder to go around. Ration back your fire; count three of theirs to one of ours. We still need a reserve if they take to the shore.”
“Aye, commander,” replied the squad leader, prodding the man who spoke out of turn.
“Aye, apologies, ma’am…I didn’t realise you were…”
“Well, now you do. Seeing you have such a way with words, run my message down the line.”
The nugget of a man gulped. “How far?”
“Till you reach the last cannon. Make sure you speak kindly to the drakkin now, won’t you.”
With a crouching run, Minni returned to her own elite squad of archers. Amber had used her powers to manipulate and fuse the mounds of treasure into a rough crenelated fort, allowing the marksmen to harry at the trapped Jandan ships in relative safety. The out of place structure had become a favoured target, though with every shot that pounded the glittering fort, Amber was quick to plaster on another layer of precious metals to repair the damage.
Plumes of white smoke blew across the field of battle, rising from the trenches like undead mist and wafting around the war ships like steam from hot springs, bubbling up from the underworld. Neither side had a perfect view of the enemy, but by now the Jandans knew the positions of the rebel cannons and their own ships were dead in the water, sails shredded and hanging like unkempt weeds on tombstones.
The death-drum beat of rebel cannons slowed as her order made its way down the length of the island. The rigidly timed Jandan broadsides didn’t falter until high above the clouds of smoke came a warping clap of power that put lightning to shame, shaking the very treasure under their feet. A broken star plummeted through the white, a silver giant torn from the sky. The once thunderous dragon ploughed into the enemy, splitting a galleon in two with its tail and sending up a great wave that washed the Jandan ships upon the golden shore.
Minni’s stomach rose up and battered her heart like the surge that broke against the bejewelled fort. “Elrin!” she screamed, vaulting over the battlements and landing hard. Again she screamed as she ran to the limp silver behemoth, chasing the receding wave. She called Elrin’s name until there was no breath left for it.
The silver dragon was a knotted twist of mangled wings and buckled limbs; her hindquarters lolling in the water while the rest of her body lay upon the hoard. Elrin was not astride her back or by her side. He must have landed in the water and swam to safety. Determined to find him, Minni turned to scour the shore, but found herself stuck in the middle of the battlefield, crowded with combatants.
Her screaming charge across the battlefield had inspir
ed the rebels to follow. They hurtled down the golden dunes, brandishing weapons like beacons of freedom, war cries swirling up into the heavens. The Jandan forces poured out of their washed up ships to meet the stampede in a final stand. Their cannons were of no use now, only crooked black fingers pointing at the beach with impotent accusation.
Arrows flew from her archers in the fort, glowing arcs charged with Amber’s creative magic. They burst above the Jandan units with deafening pops and screamed with shrill intensity where they landed, eroding the soldiers’ discipline to maintain formation. Minni took up with a team of rebels in a maddened boil, throwing herself into the killing, her twin daggers painting red riot across each opponent.
A bare-chested man emerged from the shattered corpse of the sinking galleon, levitating to shore with a cleaver in hand and hundreds of bones piercing his flesh like a horned demon. A reaper; a brutal redeemer conditioned for fighting the Lord’s wars. He hacked down one of his own men from behind and poached the ripe soul, wrenching it from the dying soldier’s lips. The gold coins around the sacrifice rattled at the violent extraction and scattered like ripples on a pond as the reaper cast a fireball at Amber’s fortress. The young elementalist intercepted the spell with a small ball of treasure, but the collision exploded molten metal across the field, searing unfortunate combatants on both sides and curdling the air with screams. The reaper claimed another sacrifice, then another, casting and killing, carving a path up the shore to the fort, wanting only Amber.
Minni retreated from the front line, drawing her bow and taking several shots at the determined poacher. The archers in fort concentrated their fire on him too, but each arrow burned to cinders as it reached the target. With every victim he claimed, the reaper grew in strength and the treasure at his feet became more agitated. He had to be stopped and she would be his assassin.
Casting her bow aside, Minni sprung into a full sprint, her stilettos nestling into her hungry grip. She came around and attacked from behind, intent on the death of the vile leech. A single stride was all that stood between them when her momentum vanished. Gold and silver tentacles, a fusion of coins and jewellery entwined with magic, wrapped around her, tying her arms to her side and rooting her legs in place.
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