by John Marco
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
THE KNIGHT AND THE KESTREL
DINNER
CASTLES
LEROUX’S GIFT
GOVERNMENT MEN
THE BLACK SHIP
IN THE DARK
THE STAR-THINGY
MISSING
BLUEBELLS
PICTURES IN THE SKY
THE WOMAN ON THE ROCK
A DIFFERENT SKY
THE FACE OF GOD
A STRANGER
RAPHAEL’S RIVER
THE BLACK HERON
THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE
THE PACT
TINKERING
UNDERWAY
FOLLOWING THE RIVER
STARGAZING
THE DECOY
ALISAUNDRA
FIRE AND CLAWS
THE WAY THINGS HAVE TO BE
THE CASTLE
DREAMS
THE RIVERBANK
TWO THINGS
GONE
ALIVE
SITTING DUCKS
THURMWOOD
THE TREASURE
EGG
THE HOUSE OF JORIAN
LITTLE QUEEN
THE PALACE OF THE MOON
THE FLIGHTLESS BIRD
MORNING PATROL
THE PROMISE
THE WORD OF AN ELDRIN KNIGHT
THE CLOUD HORSE
HIGHER
JORIAN’S LIGHTNING
ONE MORE STEP
UNBEARABLE PROPORTIONS
PARTING
ALLIES
INTO THE SUN
CLOSER
THE BATTLE OF RHOON FALLS
SEVEN SOULS
THE MOON IS HIGH
BEAUTIFUL
ONE WAY OR ANOTHER
BATTLE
FALLEN ANGEL
THE VIEW FROM THE HILL
A FRIENDLY FACE
SOMEDAY
THE WAY HOME
Raves for John Marco:
“Finely crafted, fluid writing and fully realized characters . . . Marco can hold his own as a writer with other major fantasists, including Stephen Donaldson and Terry Brooks”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fantasy readers should keep a close eye on John Marco.”
—SF Site
“The Eyes of God isn’t just about warfare, magic, and monsters, although it’s got all of those: it’s about the terrible burden of making choices, and the way the seeds of victory are in every failure, and tragedy’s beginnings are in every triumph.”
—Tad Williams
“The Devil’s Armor is one of Marco’s finest achievements. With every new novel, the author keeps improving his already masterful storytelling craft. If this series is any indication, he will be remembered as one of the best fantasy authors of the era.”
—The Barnes & Noble Review
“The moral ambiguity is refreshing, with sympathetic opponents and no one whiter-than-white. Read this if you’re the kind of person who likes Robert Jordan, Terry Brooks and Donaldson books. It’s the same kind of muscular, multi-part fantasy saga fare featuring big battles and larger than life heroes.”
—SFX Magazine
“Absorbing . . . features well-developed characters and a satisfying wind-up—in a field where, all too often, authors provide neither.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A sprawling tale of military battles, personal and political intrigue, magic, and star-crossed love set against a richly detailed land of warring kingdoms and hidden magic.”
—Library Journal
Also by John Marco
THE EYES OF GOD
THE DEVIL’S ARMOR
THE SWORD OF ANGELS
The Skylords:
STARFINDER
Copyright © 2009 by John Marco.
All rights reserved.
DAW Books Collectors No. 1473.
DAW Books are distributed by the Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
First Paperback Printing, April 2010
eISBN : 978-1-101-22296-6
http://us.penguingroup.com
For Melissa, Christopher, Victoria, Anthony, Justin, and of course, Jack, the first person ever to see a cloud horse.
THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
MOTH WAS FLYING his kite near the aerodrome when he heard the dragonfly crash.
Just minutes before he had seen the craft overhead, its four wings rapidly beating the mountain air. Now the heat of the crash splashed against Moth’s face. The kite un-spooled from his hand, floating helplessly away. The wind was strongest here at the north side, blowing the dragonfly off course. The mangled wings of the vessel stuck out from the ground, drooping in the flames. Moth raced toward the wreckage, pumping his arms and looking toward the aerodrome. Others had seen the crash too and were hurrying to help. Another dragonfly buzzed loudly overhead, circling the airfield.
“Skyhigh!” Moth cried, waving at the craft, hoping frantically his friend was aboard.
Moth skidded to a stop when he reached the wreck. Flames had engulfed the long tail section and the craft had cracked in two. Behind the cloudy canopy Moth could see the pilot slumped over his controls. A helmet hid his head and his face was turned away.
“Hold on!” shouted Moth, not knowing if the man could hear him or not. He would need help to free the pilot, but help was still far away. Moth swatted at the smoke. The sting of fire pricked his face. At thirteen, Moth was a wiry, slight boy, faster than he was strong. He had grown up around the aerodrome and had seen dragonflies crash before.
“I’m coming!” he told the man. “Don’t be dead. Oh, please don’t be!”
Flames reached for his clothes. Moth climbed over the bent nose of the craft and, without thinking, used a hand to steady himself. He cried out as the hot metal burned his skin, making him stagger back. Men from the aerodrome were rushing forward. Not far away, the other dragonfly settled onto its landing claws, its mechanical wings shaking Moth’s bones.
“I can’t reach him!” yelled Moth to the unseen pilot. “Hurry before he cooks in there!”
The dragonfly’s canopy popped up and out hurried Skyhigh, ripping off his helmet and pulling himself from the cockpit. Sweaty blond hair drooped into his eyes as he scrambled down from his aircraft, waving madly for Moth to move away.
“Move off!” bellowed the Skyknight. He charged forward, holding his helmet by the strap like a sling. Moth stepped aside, watching as the young man climbed across the same pile of bent metal, his gloved hands pulling him toward the canopy. “Close your eyes!” Skyhigh ordered. His arm cocked back and he let his helmet fly, swinging it like a hammer against the glass canopy. The canopy shattered. Skyhigh pulled at the shards of glass, trying frantically to reach his fellow Skyknight. Moth once again climbed atop the debris, wanting to help.
“Is he alive?”
“I told you to go!” roared Skyhigh, not even taking the time to look at Moth as he peeled back sections of glass and struts of metal. Others had finally reached the wreckage now, men like Skyhigh dressed in dark blue uniforms or brown leather jackets. A man with an ax shouldered past Moth, smashing down
the twists of metal. Behind Moth, someone boomed out his name.
“Moth!”
Major Hark stood away from the smoke and flames, letting his men swarm in to help. The rock-jawed commander beckoned to Moth with a crooked finger. “Get over here now.”
Moth jumped down from the broken fuselage. “I couldn’t get to him,” he explained, frustrated. “I tried, but the fire . . . It was too hot.”
Major Hark snarled, “You don’t have gloves or an ax or anything! You keep away from the wrecks, you hear me? You’re a kid.”
“So what? I work at the aerodrome! I should do nothing?”
For a moment Hark forgot about the crash and his wounded man. He reached out and snatched Moth by the collar, pulling him farther from the scene. “You could have been killed, boy. What if you’d fallen?” Hark snapped Moth’s collar, letting him go. “You’re lucky your clothes didn’t catch fire.”
Moth had worked in the aerodrome for nearly three years now and was used to Hark’s chewings out. The Major had always been fair to him, though, and Moth wasn’t really afraid of him.
“I was the first one here,” Moth grumbled, looking back toward the others. They had managed to pull the pilot free of the cockpit, grabbing hold of his limp arms. Skyhigh watched with a worried expression, his face red and smudgy. A crowd started to gather from the aerodrome. Among them were some squires, boys about Moth’s age who looked after the Skyknights and their airships. Moth shot them his usual look of contempt. He was as close to Skyhigh as any of the squires, but he was not a squire himself and never could be.
“It’s Diggy,” said Hark, sighing at the unconscious pilot. Diggy was one of the younger pilots, like Skyhigh. Friendly, too.
“Is he alive?” Moth asked.
Major Hark barked to his men, “Well? Did he make it?”
One of the rescuers pulled off Diggy’s helmet and put his fingers to his neck. “He’s alive!” he called back, and the other Skyknights cheered. The man kneeling over Diggy started cutting the scarf around his throat free. Another pulled up his eyelids and stared into his eyes. Skyhigh tugged off his gloves and tossed them to the ground, shaking his head.
“Come on, Diggy,” he muttered.
His pain knifed at Moth. Skyhigh Coralin was more than just a friend. He was everything Moth dreamed of one day being. He was also the best pilot Moth had ever seen. Like all the other pilots, Skyhigh had given up everything to come to Calio just so he could fly. In other cities a man could be a baker or a physician, but anyone who dreamed of flying belonged in only one place, really—Calio. The mountain city. The edge of the world.
Major Hark called to Skyhigh. “Coralin, get your ship out of here. Get back to the aerodrome.”
Skyhigh finally lifted his blue eyes. “What about Diggy?”
“Nothing for you to do. Just get your ship away from the cliff.”
The winds at the edge of the field could easily lift the dragonfly if they gusted just right. Calio wasn’t just the end of their world; it was also the highest city ever built. To the north of Calio stretched the Reach, like a sea of fog that never ended. Flat and peaceful, the mists went on to the horizon, but over the Reach loomed Calio, standing guard against the things within it—and beyond.
Skyhigh reached for the gloves he had thrown down. “Moth, come here,” he called.
Eager to get away from Hark, Moth bolted toward Skyhigh. Hark called over to him to stay clear of trouble, but Moth wasn’t listening. He was glad his friend was safe, and not in the wreck that had grounded Diggy.
“You all right?” Skyhigh asked as he pulled on his gloves.
“Yeah, fine,” Moth nodded. “Diggy will be all right too. You’ll see.”
Skyhigh turned and started back toward his own dragonfly. Among the Skyknights it was bad luck to talk about crashes. When their friend Pepper had died, Skyhigh had just shrugged and said, “Flying is dangerous,” but Moth knew how broken up he’d felt. He looked that way now, too, his blue eyes full of distance.
“What were you doing out here?” asked Skyhigh.
“Flying my . . .” Moth stopped walking. “Oh, my kite!” He looked back to where he’d been flying the kite, but of course it was gone now, taken by the winds into the foggy Reach. “Leroux made it for me,” he sighed. What would he tell the old man? His birthday gift was gone, and he’d only had it for an hour.
Skyhigh continued toward his waiting ship. Moth hurried after him. “No maneuvers for me tonight,” said Skyhigh. “I’ll be at your party.”
“Great.” Moth was barely listening. The gleaming metal of the dragonfly entranced him. Only Skyknights flew in the crafts, and sometimes so did their lucky squires. Moth thought the ships beautiful, long and slender like the insect they were named for, with four glassy wings. They were still a new invention, though, and only Lord Rendor—now Governor of Calio—really understood them.
“I’ve got something for you,” said Skyhigh.
Moth broke from his trance. “Huh?”
“A present for your birthday. You listening?”
“Yeah.” Moth smiled. “You know what I really want for my birthday?”
“Yup.” Skyhigh glanced over at the crowd. Hark was already walking back to the aerodrome. “Get in fast. Don’t let the others see you.”
Excitement propelled Moth up the fuselage, Skyhigh blocking him from view as he scrambled into the cockpit. There were two seats in a dragonfly—one for the pilot and one for a passenger. The passenger seat was smaller and more cramped than the pilot’s, but Moth didn’t care. He ducked down into it, feeling only a little guilty.
Diggy’ll be fine, he told himself.
Skyhigh climbed in after Moth, pulling the canopy down over them. Moth peered over his shoulder to watch him work the controls. He tossed some switches and the wings began to flutter. A hum went through the vessel as its strange engine warmed the cockpit.
“What about Fiona?” Skyhigh said loudly.
Why was he asking about her now? “What do you mean?” said Moth.
“Will she be there?”
“If she can.” Moth hoped Fiona would come to his party, but admitting that would only make things worse. He could just make out Skyhigh’s grin. “We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Skyhigh’s leathered fingers wrapped around the control sticks. The whine of the engine grew as the wings speeded up, almost disappearing. “Hold on.”
Moth held tightly to his seat. Skyhigh tugged the sticks and the dragonfly leaped skyward. It was only a league or two to the hangars, but Moth didn’t care. The ride would be short but astonishing.
THE KNIGHT AND THE KESTREL
MOTH LEFT THE AERODROME grinning with excitement. A flight in a dragonfly was the best birthday gift Skyhigh could have given him, and his ears still rang from the racket of wings and whirring engine. As he walked dizzily along the avenue to his home, his legs wobbled a bit from the ride. Skyknights got used to the sensation, he knew, but young riders like Moth usually threw up. Moth hadn’t thrown up and was proud of himself for that. One day, if he was really lucky, he might be a Skyknight himself.
The apartment he shared with Leroux was far from the aerodrome, in a tall building of orange stone overlooking the city square. It was a building full of poor folks and pensioners like Leroux, crammed into the oldest section of Calio. A hundred coats of paint flaked from the building into the street, and above his head Moth could see some of the place’s occupants out on their tiny balconies. After three years with Leroux, Moth knew almost all of them. He waved up at old Mrs. Jilla.
“Moth,” she called down to him, happy to see him. “I made your birthday cake.” She gestured with her hand. “This thick, with berry cream on top!”
Mrs. Jilla always shouted, even when she was standing next to you. “Thanks a lot,” Moth hollered back. “See you later!”
He began climbing the stone steps to Leroux’s apartment. Decades of wind and rain had worn the stairs dangerously smooth. Moth kept a grip on t
he rusty metal railing to keep from falling. The perilous trek down to the square had kept Leroux indoors lately. The old knight looked frailer than usual too, unable to shake a cough that had lodged itself in his lungs. Worried, Moth forgot about his lost kite and his ride in the dragonfly. Maybe a party wasn’t a good idea.
When he reached the door to the apartment, a gas light flickered to life over the threshold. Their apartment had one of the few lights that still worked, always coming on at dusk. Moth pushed open the unlocked door and cheerfully announced himself.
“Leroux, I’m home,” he called, stepping inside.
There were only two rooms in the apartment, and Leroux wasn’t in the main living space. Moth supposed he might be napping in his bed, then noticed the top of his white head out on the balcony. Most of the building’s apartments loomed over the square, but Leroux’s had what the landlord called a “mountain view.” They were in the harshest, ugliest part of the country, and having a view of the mountains wasn’t something to be envied.
To Moth’s delight Leroux had decorated the apartment for his party. The old knight had cleaned up Moth’s usual mess of books and papers and had laid out the plates and glasses. Mrs. Jilla’s cake took center stage on the table, a fluffy, pink confection with roses made of frosting.
“Flowers?” grumbled Moth. He thought of sticking a finger in the berry cream but stopped himself. Paper streamers hung from the cracked ceiling and bowls filled with Moth’s favorite snacks were placed around the room. Leroux had spent money he really didn’t have on the party, making Moth feel worse.
“I’ll tell him about the kite tomorrow,” Moth decided, then slid open the grimy glass door of the balcony. “Everything looks great, Leroux. Thanks a . . .”