The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Catrin's will and energy were spent. She climbed into the hammock and tried to think of a way to evade the ship, but her muddled thoughts were indistinct, and she fell exhausted into a deep sleep.

  EPILOGUE

  Premon Dalls crouched in the drainage ditch, waiting for the Zjhon patrol to pass. Acrid smoke still hung heavy in the air, stinging his eyes and irritating his throat, making him fear he would soon be coughing. Debris from the storm littered the ditch, and he pulled as much as he could over him, trying to make himself invisible.

  He assumed these men were still loyal to General Dempsy since they still marched in formation and there was no one he recognized in the group. The defectors were with the followers of Wendel Volker since the Masters refused to accept any of them. With tensions rising between the Masters and the rebels, as Wendel's followers were called, the mysterious presence of the tribes of Arghast only increased the uncertainty of the situation. How they had come to be allied with the rebels was still a mystery.

  Spying on the rebels had yielded little new information, but Premon was determined to use every morsel to his advantage. His plain looks had been a handicap when he was an ambitious young man struggling to gain status, but now his appearance was a benefit. Few took notice of him, and even fewer knew his name.

  Getting back to the Masterhouse was proving to be more difficult than ever before, as the Zjhon patrolled constantly, seemingly intent on maintaining control over the docks and shipyards. This was not an entirely bad thing, for when the Zjhon repaired their ships and left the Godfist, he would be free.

  For the moment, though, he was content to wait.

  * * *

  While it was still dark, Premon hauled himself out from the mud and trash and crept to the foul-smelling sewer grate he'd told Peten Ross about. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby, he removed the broken bar from the grate and set it inside. Even with the bar removed, he had to squeeze through, and he was bruised and scratched by the time he got down into the sewer. He replaced the broken bar and picked up the torches and flint he'd stashed there several days before. The stench was overwhelming, and he struggled to breathe.

  By the time he reached the drain that led to the upper halls of the Masterhouse, his sense of smell was gone, and the powerful odor no longer bothered him. The steep climb to the upper halls was an even worse part of the journey, but he suffered through it, thinking of the future. A place of power awaited him, and it would all be worth it.

  Using one of the many service tunnels to gain access to the Masterhouse, Premon made his way to the appointed place without being seen. Once within the darkened room, which was little more than a closet, he waited.

  He was sleeping when Master Edling finally arrived, and Premon struggled to pull himself from his stupor.

  "Don't you ever bathe?" Master Edling asked, covering his nose and mouth with his hand.

  "Stealth has its price," Premon said, shrugging.

  "What have you found out?"

  Premon thought for a moment before he replied. "The rebels plan to take back the farmlands and the highlands and leave Harborton to you."

  "How very kind of them."

  "I've heard talk of settling the Zjhon defectors in the upper Pinook and Chinawpa valleys. It seems they're willing to give away our lands to the enemy," Premon continued.

  Master Edling appeared lost in his own ruminations, and Premon pressed on, hoping to gain any advantage he could. "General Dempsy's men have already repaired one warship, and they are scavenging materials to repair more. From what I've heard, they plan to pursue the Volker girl once they have three seaworthy ships. The deserters will be left behind."

  Master Edling watched Premon but showed no reaction.

  "There is one other thing," Premon continued, his lips curling into a sneer. "Wendel Volker sleeps in an unguarded room near one of the shafts that allow fresh air into the cold caves."

  "Does he now?" Master Edling said, raising his eyes to meet Premon's. "It would be a pity if he were to die in his sleep, especially with no one to inherit his lands."

  Premon could not keep the smile from his lips. "Indeed," he said, a plan already forming in his mind. Acres of farmland were far from enough to satisfy him, but it was a beginning.

  Inherited Danger

  Book Two of The Dawning of Power trilogy

  Brian Rathbone

  Copyright © 2008 by Brian Rathbone.

  White Wolf Press, LLC

  Rutherfordton, NC 28139

  PROLOGUE

  Impenetrable darkness shrouded the cold caves, and Wendel Volker shivered as the freezing dampness crept into his bones. His persistent cough rattled in his chest. Though he had gone to his bedroll hours ago, his mind refused to quiet. His troubles demanded attention, demanded he find some way to act, some way to set things right. He had thought of little else for days, but no answers were revealed to him, only feelings of guilt, anger, and despair.

  Catrin was gone, and he would probably never see her again. For all his strength and devotion, he had failed to protect her, just as he had failed to protect Elsa, and now they were both lost to him. Like a coward, he'd hidden in the cold caves when Catrin had needed him most. He had relied on Benjin to stand in his place. He'd been a fool. Perhaps Elsa had been wrong all those years ago; perhaps she should have chosen Benjin instead.

  Balling his hands into fists, Wendel tried to drive the thoughts from his mind, but memories of Catrin would not relent; they flooded him with guilt and remorse.

  When he turned his thoughts to his present situation, there was no relief. Catrin had left behind a troubled land. Though he knew she had done the best she could and was immensely proud of her, her actions had not been enough. To achieve peace under these circumstances was more than any individual could accomplish, and Wendel wondered how the Godfist would ever overcome the turmoil threatening to consume them all. General Dempsy's men still held the harbor, and no one could know what they planned to do next. Headmaster Grodin was succumbing to age, and he ruled over those within the Masterhouse only in name. It was Master Edling and his followers who truly held sway, and their stubborn arrogance only exacerbated the problems. By refusing to grant amnesty to the Zjhon soldiers who defected, they had divided the citizens of the Godfist.

  Though the tribes of Arghast had helped defend those in the cold caves, their presence had only served to confuse matters. Once it seemed the Zjhon no longer presented an immediate threat, they claimed to have fulfilled their oath to Catrin but left a force of thirty mounted men behind to guard the cold caves. It was difficult to believe they had come in the first place, especially since they claimed to be bound to Catrin.

  Perhaps he just couldn't accept it, Wendel thought. Even after witnessing some of the events in the harbor, he could not convince himself that Catrin was the Herald of Istra. It just seemed too surreal. She was his little girl, not a harbinger of doom. He made himself believe it was all a coincidence, that Catrin had nothing to do with the bizarre occurrences. Either way, it mattered little now. The Godfist was caught up in a three-sided war, and he doubted he would ever see his daughter again.

  The thought of leading a revolution had no appeal for Wendel, yet he found himself caught in that position. His attempts to relinquish power had been fruitless; no one was willing to take his place. Even when he threatened to step down and leave them leaderless, no one volunteered.

  Exhausted and ill prepared, he struggled to find a solution. If he surrendered to the will of the Masters, then the Zjhon defectors would be cast out with nowhere to go, and the bloodletting would begin again. Wendel could not accept that.

  Jensen insisted they retake the farmlands and highlands, but Wendel was loath to leave the protection of the cold caves. Here, at least, they had the benefit of natural fortifications. If they retook the countryside, then they would be spread too thin to adequately defend themselves. It seemed a puzzle with no solution, and his thoughts ran in circles.

  Their suppli
es were dwindling, and soon they would have no choice but to leave their shelter despite the danger. Sighing, he tried once again to put the problems from his mind. Hoping some revelation would come to him in the morning, he rolled onto his side and continued sweating despite the prevailing cold.

  Shades of darkness shifted in his room, moving as if specters lurked in every corner. Chiding himself for letting the stress affect him in such a way, Wendel rolled to face the cave wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

  When a foul smell reached his nose, it was already too late to escape. Even as he cried out, a cold blade parted his flesh.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hope can be foolish or in vain, but without it, all is lost.

  --Ebron Rall, healer

  * * *

  The seas behind the Slippery Eel churned in her wake and left a visible wash of turbulent water. The ephemeral trail gradually dissipated in the distance, where, once again, the waves became nearly indistinguishable before another ship churned them anew. The Stealthy Shark remained within sight and kept pace with the Slippery Eel, but she did not close the gap. The two ships were evenly matched when in top condition, but the Eel was heavily damaged and wallowed sluggishly. She had been taking on water since before leaving the harbor, and the crew had been unable to stop all the leaks. The bilge pumps were the only things keeping them afloat.

  The loss of men during their flight from the Godfist left Kenward severely shorthanded, but clear skies, fair winds, and calm seas were a boon to the crew and made their work a bit easier. Catrin, her hair cut short, stood alongside Kenward at the stern, both watching the ship that trailed them.

  "I don't understand it," Kenward said. "The Shark is in much better condition than the Eel; she should've overtaken us long before now. Fasha and her crew are definitely not aboard. The Shark is being sailed by boilin' amateurs," he continued, knowing his sister and her crew were either dead or stranded on the Godfist.

  "I'm sorry," Catrin said, touching his arm.

  "Fasha's the most stubborn and tenacious person I've ever known," he said with fierce pride. "She'll swim her way back to the Shark if that's what it takes."

  His obvious pride in her made Catrin smile, and she thought again, as she had so many times before, of what it would be like to have a brother or sister. Chase was the closest thing she had, and she shared Kenward's loss. That thought led to her wondering again how her father, Benjin, and the others had fared. Wanting desperately to see them or at least know they were well, Catrin despaired. That knowledge was beyond her reach, taunting her. She had no illusions about the journey ahead of her, and she accepted the possibility that she might never see any of them again.

  "There, you see?" Kenward said suddenly. "The rigging's all wrong. They're already blowing off course. If these fools catch us, it'll be no one's fault but mine." He walked away, a sour look on his face. Catrin matched his stride, following him to the helm.

  "What can I do to help?"

  "You've done enough already. Without your magic, I don't think any of us would've escaped the Godfist. Those of us who live owe our lives to you."

  "And I owe my life to you and your crew. You risked yourselves to save us, and I'll always be grateful." His mention of magic sent a chill up her spine. She had never considered her powers to be magic, and the image disturbed her.

  "Well, I hadn't thought of it in that way," Kenward said. "And we could certainly use you. Bryn has been promoted, since Jimini, the bosun, was lost in the storm. Jimini was a good man--the best, but Bryn is deserving of the post. Ask him to show you what you can do."

  After searching much of the ship, Catrin located Bryn, who was high above her head, methodically examining every part of the rigging. He checked line, pulley, and sail for damage. Glancing down for a moment, he noticed her, and she waved.

  "Can we talk when you have a free moment?" she called up to him.

  "No more free moments for me. I'm 'fraid," he shouted in response. "I'm comin' down." His movements were slow and methodical compared to his previous acrobatics. "M'head still hurts; my balance is off. I feel like a bumbling fool."

  "It'll pass, and then you'll be back to yourself. I know you're busy and short of hands. What can I do to help?"

  He looked dubious for a moment then winked as she put her hands on her hips. "The first thing you must learn is how to tie knots. All of them."

  "Is that all?"

  Bryn chuckled and retrieved a small canvas and a length of supple line. He handed them to her. "Come back when you have them all mastered," he said, and Catrin accepted his challenge.

  Spreading the canvas out on the deck, she held it in place with a couple of spare pulleys. Painted with fine illustrations, depicting each knot and its name, the canvas was intimidating. She hadn't known so many different types of knots existed. This was indeed a test.

  Determined, she began with an easy knot. It was a simple pattern, but the line twisted in her hands and seemed to resist forming even the simple bowline loop. Still she persisted and was proudly admiring her first knot when Nat approached.

  "I think we should talk."

  "I suppose we should," Catrin replied, not liking the look in his eyes or his tone.

  "I'm sure Benjin planned to tell you certain things," he said. "I hope he has already discussed this with you. Do you remember your mother?"

  Catrin turned sharply and stared at him. She had not expected such a personal question, and in response, she nodded sadly. Memories of her mother were faded, more like gauzy images, but when Catrin thought of her, she felt warm and safe and often smelled roses. Her mother had loved roses.

  "Did your father ever tell you about your mother's family?"

  "No. He doesn't like to talk about it, and I never wanted to make him unhappy, so I never asked," Catrin replied.

  "Did Benjin tell you about his relationship with her?" he asked, looking somewhat disgusted.

  "Benjin and I have never discussed my mother for the same reasons," she answered.

  Nat sighed. "They should've told you, but since they did not, I will. I'm sorry. It would be better if this came from Benjin or your father."

  Catrin grew anxious, uncertain she wanted to hear what he had to say. "I think . . . I don't . . . I don't think I want to know," she said, but her imagination was already conjuring frightening images that continually grew worse.

  "I'm sorry, Catrin, but your destination is the Greatland, and your life may depend on this information," he said firmly, and she nodded. "You've probably heard that my father was deranged, and people say I inherited his disease. My father had visions. He saw things that urged him to take one course of action over another. They were not always specific things. They were more like overpowering intuition." He watched for her reaction.

  She had heard the rumors, but she judged Nat for herself. After all, he had given her information that had been instrumental in her escape from the Godfist. Without his help, she might never have gotten away. She owed him her life. Thinking of what Kenward had said, she realized they all owed their lives to each other. None of them could have survived alone.

  "How did you know what to write in your letter?" she asked suddenly. "Where did those words come from, the part about land and water? How could you see the future?"

  It was Nat's turn to be dumbstruck. "See the future? I can't see the future. Those words just occurred to me as I wrote. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure what they mean." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Were they somehow prophetic?"

  His words had seemed strange when she read them because they had made no sense. Yet when she needed inspiration, they rang in her mind.

  Water shapes the land.

  His strange poetry had changed the course of history. As she recounted what happened on the plateau, his eyes grew wider with every detail.

  When she finished, he sat, staring at his hands. "My letter changed the face of the Godfist and killed hundreds of men."

  "I'm not proud of it," Catrin said a
bit defensively.

  "A thousand apologies. I know you did your best. I was just taken aback by the effect of my spontaneous words. You were protecting your homeland, and you are a true hero."

  Catrin didn't consider herself a hero. She was a scared little girl, unprepared to face the challenges ahead. Kenward and Bryn, who'd been watching the Stealthy Shark wander farther off course, approached before she had a chance to sort out her feelings.

  "I don't think they have the skill to catch us, sir," Bryn said. "They've made up no time during our repairs, and now that we can make more speed, we could lose 'em."

  "We need food, and now's the time to fish," Kenward said. "If we fill our hold, we'll not starve crossing the barren seas, but it'll slow us down. If those fools ever figure out what they're doing, they could catch us."

  "We could jettison the fish if'n they catch a miracle wind, and I, for one, would rather not starve," Bryn said.

  Kenward smiled. "Drop the lines, men. Let's fish."

  Large trawl tubs were prepared with multiple lines, hooks, and bait. Catrin gasped as an emerald green carpet began to cover the waters around the ship except for the trail of dark water in her wake.

  "It's from the storm," Kenward said. "We call it a storm oasis. The force of the storm dredges up nutrients from the seafloor, and large amounts of plankton flourish in the normally barren waters. The plankton fields lure fish, and they draw more fish and birds." He pointed off the starboard side, and Catrin strained to see. An enormous creature suddenly rose up to the surface, and she jumped back in fear.

  "Whales. There'll be more. Keep your eyes to the seas, and you'll see things you've never imagined."

  Catrin watched the whales, afraid they would attack the ship. Kenward assured her they posed no threat, but she was still anxious around such massive creatures. Porpoises played in the ship's wake. They chittered at Catrin and the crew, entertaining with their antics. Some jumped high into the air, while others walked across the water on their tails, and the natural beauty took Catrin's mind from all that was troubling her.