Regent (Godsland Series: Book Four)

by Brian Rathbone

  Eat.

  Kyrien's communication was clearly a command, and for some reason, it infuriated Catrin. "You haven't spoken to me in hours, and now all you can say is eat? What is it? What are you hiding? What don't you want me to know?" Her voice carried with it all her frustration, anger, and worry, and she instantly regretted her tone.

  They can hear us.

  That thought drove all suspicion from Catrin's mind and left guilt in its place. Of course there had been a reason. Someday she would learn to trust those around her, she reminded herself. It was not an easy thing to do when there were those who really were trying to kill her, her family, and her countrymen. Kyrien, though, was above such suspicion, and Catrin vowed to trust him from now on, no matter how strange his actions might be.

  To speak to you I must speak loudly. They are coming. Eat.

  "Will we go back?" Catrin persisted. "Will we save the people of the Godfist? Can we save them?"

  Though Catrin sensed impatience from Kyrien, he raised his eyes to meet hers, and visions flowed across her consciousness, making it feel as if she were being drowned in a river of thought. What she saw made her want to weep. Such darkness and loss was overwhelming. Catrin knew now that much more than the fate of the Godfist was at stake. Even if she didn't know how the future would unfold, those terrifying glimpses were enough.

  Eat. Rest. Prepare.

  His words and emotion drove her back to the beach. There were no trees or vegetation to speak of, and Catrin knew that creating a fire would be impossible. She considered using Istra's energy to cook, but the thought nearly made her retch. Doing so would require more energy than the food would provide, and Catrin was weak enough. Along a rough section of the shoreline, she found a piece of black rock that had broken away from the rest of the flow. A deep ridge ran down the center of the slab, and it held a bit of water.

  After chasing a few of the crabs, Catrin decided they were not worth the effort since she had worn herself out and not caught a single one. Instead she concentrated on the shellfish that clung to the rocks in pools. These at least could not run from her, though dislodging them was not always easy, she soon had enough for a decent meal.

  Piling the dark-shelled muscles onto the indented slab, she carried them to the glowing gashes. After placing them near the edge of the gaping orifice, she backed away from the heat and waited for the shells to open. When they did, she rushed in and tried to pull the slab away, but it had become too hot for her to touch, even with her leather gloves on. Instead she used one of her knives to slide the muscles from the steaming slab.

  Not waiting for them to cool, Catrin pulled the fleshy meal from within the delicate shells and was surprised by how good the muscles tasted. Soon all that remained was a pile of discarded shells. Part of Catrin wanted to go get more, but her eyes became heavy, and before she could form another thought, she slept.

  Chapter 11

  Adversity is often accompanied by opportunity.

  --Medlin Reese, healer

  * * *

  Sinjin kicked at the still dirty floors in the hall known as the "false hall" since it went nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose. A few paces away, Brother Vaughn explained the mystery of the hall to Trinda, who seemed intrigued. Sinjin had heard it all before and knew that the mystery had very little to do with why they were there. Brother Vaughn had become convinced that forming a bond of friendship between Sinjin and Trinda was the way to mend the animosity between their families. At least he had not proposed they marry, Sinjin thought--at least not yet. He knew how these things worked, and he had no desire to find himself bound to the least pleasant person he'd ever met.

  It wasn't that Trinda was mean or spiteful; that would have been easier to deal with since Sinjin could at least strike back. Instead she was almost always sad, her deep-set eyes seeming to hold the pain of ages, and any enthusiasm in the face of such anguish seemed trite at best. Though he had tried on several occasions to hold a conversation with Trinda, the most he ever received in return was a single-word response and most times just a nod.

  "Look here," Brother Vaughn insisted. "Look at this corner, and tell me what you see."

  Sinjin continued to drag the toe of his boot in the dust, knowing what it was Brother Vaughn wanted her to see. At times he wondered about the aging monk's sanity, for the strangest things would hold his attention.

  "A seam," came Trinda's hollow response.

  "A seam, indeed!" Brother Vaughn said with a triumphant look at Sinjin. "You see, m'boy. I told you this girl has an eye and ear for mysteries!"

  Sinjin kept his eyes downcast, not really caring. All he really wanted was to get this over with so he could return to his normal life, not that many things were normal these days. He'd heard the whispered rumors that his mother would saddle Kyrien, and he'd even sneaked a few peeks at the saddle. Normally his mother shared all of her projects with him, and he'd spent much of his life in her workshop, but she wanted to keep the saddle from Sinjin. It seemed too surreal to be true, yet he had seen it with his own eyes, despite his mother's efforts to keep it concealed. Brother Vaughn wasn't convinced that Kyrien would ever fly again, and the presence of Reaver and the other dragons also reduced the likelihood of his ever leaving the valley. Without the protection of the guards stationed around him, he would be easy prey for the ferals.

  Sinjin tried not to think about them, yet the images came to his mind unbidden--images of ferals clouding the skies and ruling the world from above. He would never look at the skies the same way again, and he found himself grateful for the stone that hung above him. Even if it did press down on his spirit, threatening to crush it, at least it protected him from the death that waited under the skies. Never again would he be able to walk in the moonlight without wondering if something was about to swoop down and devour him.

  "Tell me: How do you think the ancients did this? And what do you think their purpose was?" Brother Vaughn asked, and he grabbed Sinjin by the shoulder and pulled him closer, a not-so-subtle reminder of why they were there.

  "Maybe they wanted to give you something to think about," Sinjin suggested, and Brother Vaughn gave him a disapproving look. When Sinjin looked over to Trinda with a grin forming on his lips, he saw disapproval on her face as well, and he resigned himself to the fact that they would never find anything to bring them closer. This girl was simply no fun at all.

  "Magic," Trinda said with a firm nod.

  Brother Vaughn was clearly taken aback by that answer. The word magic seemed to bother the Cathurans a great deal. Sinjin recalled his mother telling the tale of how Mother Gwendolin had reacted to her use of the word, and it seemed Brother Vaughn wanted to scoff as well, but he resisted. Sinjin respected his restraint but didn't possess its equal. "A magical riddle, then. Perhaps all you need to do is wave a wand and speak the magic words."

  Trinda glared at him, and Sinjin thought Brother Vaughn might scold him, but Trinda caught them both by surprise when she turned back to the barely detectable seam in the corner. "Open," she said as she ran her finger along the seam.

  Sinjin nearly laughed out loud, but then the stone beneath his feet trembled. Before anyone could say another word, movement at the other end of the hall drew their undivided attention. Slowly a wall of stone moved across the opening that was their only egress. Though ponderously slow, the stone would close off their exit long before they could reach it.

  With only the glow of Brother Vaughn's herald globe to illuminate what now seemed more like a tomb than anything else, Sinjin turned to Trinda. "I don't know how you did that, but I think you had better undo it, and fast."

  Trinda wore a shocked expression, and Sinjin could see the fear in her eyes. In a moment that forever changed him, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Just try."

  Running her finger along what was now an almost identical seam, which had only recently been an open hallway, Trinda repeated her command, "Open."

  Nothing happened.

  The silence t
hat followed was the kind that could only be experienced when encased in solid stone.

  * * *

  Monsters approached. With a scream of primal fury, Chase charged to Martik's side. "Fall back!"

  "Help me!" Martik shouted as he cut at the massive sap- and tar-soaked ropes that bound the stair to anchors in the stone of the mountain itself.

  "There's no time!" Chase shouted. Grabbing Martik by the shoulder, he pulled the engineer back away from the approaching hoard. What rushed toward them went beyond the natural order and had been somehow perverted, twisted, and manipulated. Slavering beasts climbed with no concern for their own safety, as if all sense of self-preservation had been stripped from them. Chase could see it in their eyes: no fear, only hatred and death. This was not an enemy that could be reasoned with. It was a river of gibbering madness intent on their destruction.

  Morif and a handful of guards stood before the onslaught, about to be engulfed.

  "Retreat!" Chase shouted, but either none heard or none obeyed.

  Beneath a shield made of bound tree trunks came the giants, and the demons crowded around them, protecting the giants with their lives, throwing themselves in front of any attack intended to bring down the lumbering monstrosities. Still, some attacks pierced the defenses. One giant opened its mouth to issue a gargling bellow, revealing its haphazardly arranged teeth stained brown and furrowed by deep ridges. The giant next to it responded by shrugging off the tree shield, sending it crashing down the rock face, where it struck the lower stair, crushing dozens of demons and cutting off the rest of those waiting in the valley below.

  This seemed a small victory as the giants slowly picked up speed, roaring as they came, striking fear into all who heard their terrifying calls. Chase watched in horror as Morif charged to meet them, somehow fighting through the attacks of encroaching demons as though they were nothing, though Chase knew some of those attacks had landed squarely. The old veteran somehow kept his legs under himself. One giant raised its boulderlike fist into the air and sent it crashing down toward Morif's head. With more speed than Chase knew he possessed, Morif leaped aside and narrowly avoided a blow that severed massive timbers and sent splinters of wood into the air.

  Men gathered behind Chase, waiting for his command, but his mind went blank. All the years he'd trained could not have prepared him for anything like this. Only the claws of a swooping dragon drove him back to action. After diving out of the winged monster's path, Chase made up his mind: he would not let Morif and his men die alone. "Ready your weapons! Form up in ranks!"

  Those around him moved without question. Martik leaped at the command too, though Chase could practically hear the wheels turning in the engineer's head. He now realized the flaw in his failsafe release mechanism: in order to be strong enough to hold the stair, he had made it too difficult to release. His mighty trigger more resembled a lock.

  "To Morif!" Chase shouted, and those at his back raised a chilling cry that split the air.

  Even the giants took notice as the small fighting force poured onto the now swaying stair. A strangled scream rang out, and Chase watched one of his men tumble over the railing. Another went down under a dark blade, but the demons took losses as well, and with those below forced to climb the sheer rock face, it seemed the battle might be one they could win. That was until Chase looked back up to the ridgeline, where hundreds more demons poured over the crest, half running, half falling toward them. Giant claws snatched the man closest to Chase, and before anyone could do anything, the beast tucked its wings and veered away. Before it moved out of Chase's vision, he saw the dragon turn and close its jaws on the flailing guard.

  The dark tide washed over them, and Chase knew that he and Morif had both made a mistake. There was no way they could win this battle, and the loss of them would only weaken those within the hold. He could almost hear Catrin scolding him for letting his battle lust overwhelm his good sense. A cold feeling of guilt washed over him and filled him with the greatest need. Catrin was counting on him, and he couldn't let her down. Since the death of their mothers, that had been his role, and beyond anything else, that drove him to remain alive.

  As he struck one demon down, another climbed atop the first and leaped directly into Chase's chest, driving him backward into the railing, which struck him in the low back. Pinned between the rough bark and the leathery skin of the demon, Chase struggled with every bit of energy he possessed. The cords in his neck stood taught, and sweat blinded him, leaving only a reddish haze, but the bright flashes made him avert his eyes. The demon was suddenly ripped from atop him, and Chase wiped a torn sleeve over his eyes to clear his vision. On the stair stood Prios, alternating between casting lightning into those that assaulted Morif and the few guards still surrounding him and using fire to incinerate the demons advancing on Chase and his dwindling force. For a brief instant, the distance between them was clear, and Chase let out a hoarse battle cry.

  Morif, covered in blood, returned the cry, and the two groups became one, slowly fighting their way back into the hold. All thoughts of victory had long since fled, and those left alive now concentrated on staying that way. As the last guard, a woman who had fought as valiantly as any of the men around her, got her boots on solid stone, Prios unleashed his fury on the ropes that Martik had failed to cut. For a time the ropes continued to hold. Demons and a single giant forced their way inside Dragonhold. The stairs looked surreal as the landing moved away from the mountain, gaining momentum. Creaks and groans gave way to snaps and screams, and much of the wooden stairs crashed into the valley below.

  "Retreat to the God's Eye!" Chase cried out, his voice now high pitched and strained.

  "The way is blocked, sir."

  "Fall back to the forge!"

  "The forge is blocked as well, sir!"

  Nearly howling in frustration, Chase knew they were in trouble. The great hall was filled with refugees unprepared to defend themselves, and the guards who still lived were barely hanging on. Prios was their only hope, and as a mass of black bodies sought to surround the man who now looked as if his entire body were afire, Chase used the last of his strength to raise his sword and charge.

  * * *

  Jets of dust, stone, and debris clogged the air around Durin as he retreated. Shouts and screams pounded against his hearing while the deep bass of grinding stone made his bones tremble. What little natural light that reached this area was soon extinguished. Seeking fresh air, Durin moved deeper and deeper into the hold, back toward the kitchens and forge. Little fresh air was to be found.

  Within the kitchens, what was usually orderly chaos was now true chaos. Fire clogged the air with smoke. Normally the kitchens where completely isolated from the great fire; the stone of the ovens formed the outer wall of the great hearth and were thus heated. Durin watched as people tried to guide the wounded around burning sacks of flour, overturned tables, and slippery puddles marking where canisters had broken. Of course, they were unlikely to find safety in the halls. The cooler air of the halls drew the smoke and fed the flames.

  "Stay low!" Miss Mariss shouted above the terrible clamor. "Don't breathe the smoke! Get Millie out of here, and get me more water!"

  Despite the fact that the dust had chased him deeper into the keep, Durin turned to go back, knowing the best thing he could do was listen to Miss Mariss. Staying low, below the growing layer of smoke that rolled along the tunnel ceiling, he moved as quickly as he could. From the darkness came Bradley, covered in dirt and grime, only his eyes clear of debris. "Go back," he coughed.

  "But Miss Mariss needs water."

  "Can't get there anymore. The way's block and the air is clogged with dust."

  Durin heeded Bradley's warning; the young guard had always looked after Durin's and Sinjin's best interests. Seeing Bradley's distress, Durin grabbed his arm and draped it over his shoulder. "Come on. I'll help you." The fact that Bradley did not protest told Durin much, and he didn't like it one bit.

  "Smother the fire with
your cloaks!" Bradley shouted into the kitchens.

  "I'm trying, you derned fool! Now help me! And where is that water?"

  "The halls are blocked, ma'am. We've no access to water."

  Had the kitchens not been burning, his statement might have brought some reaction, but instead people simply worked harder at putting out the flames. Osbourne and Brother Milo appeared moments later with buckets of water from the glass smithy. Osbourne was bleeding from a dozen places, and Brother Milo looked as if he'd been on fire. Again. Durin often wondered if the man's robes were made of tinder.

  A terrible howling came from above, breaking through all the other clatter and sending terror through the hold. There were monsters within Dragonhold.

  As people moved the wounded to the smithy, where the smoke had dissipated, Durin found himself wanting to do something, anything to help. His heart yearned to relieve some of the pain he saw around him or chase away the fear that permeated the hold. Demonic howls still resounded within the halls, and the sounds of battle were but distorted echoes made more frightening by their ambiguity. No one here could know what horrors were taking place within the rest of the hold.

  Once again, Durin drummed up the courage to speak. "Strom, I need to tell you something."

  The well-muscled smith ignored him. "Bradley, come with me. The rest of you, stay here and guard the wounded." Hammers swinging from metal rings on his belt, the smith moved with purpose.

  "But, Strom!" Durin did his best to interrupt.

  "Durin, keep your mouth shut and follow me. We might need your help."

  Swallowing hard, Durin just nodded and did as he was told. It was a strange feeling. He'd worked up the nerve to tell Strom what he'd done, but following the smith into battle against the demons was an entirely different thing. He envied Bradley, who, armed only with a short sword and a dragon scale shield, seemed to find confidence having Strom at his side, and the two looked like great heroes to Durin. The continued echoes of battle made his guts go watery, and he wanted nothing more than to hide.