The Dragon Machine (Magebreakers Book 3)

by Ben S. Dobson

  The rest of Iskar and Bastian’s men were with her now, forming a line to protect Iskar, Carver, and Tinga. Indree and the two gnomish mages stayed back as well, throwing carefully targeted spells to slow the enemy advance. A wave of silver force passed harmlessly through Kadka only to slam against Roark and his men. Most of them braced against it and kept their feet with the strength of Thorpe’s elixir, but the hint of flames were growing in their eyes. Here and there across the cavern, Kadka was aware of bursts of light and force from the wands and charms Bastian had supplied—anything to keep Roark’s men off balance. Engaging them directly was suicide. Indree and the mages bound any who stumbled or fell in silver strands of magic, holding them fast.

  Kadka took advantage of the opportunity, darting in to harry wherever she saw an opening. A blade in the back of one man still struggling to stand put him down for good. Around her, others tried the same thing. But the enhanced men were too fast, too strong; many surged free, shattering their Astral bonds. And in close, they were at their deadliest. One of Bastian’s men, a heavyset human, took a shattering blow and flew some fifteen feet to slam into a rock wall. He wouldn’t be standing up again.

  Roark closed with her once more, and Kadka barely dodged a blow of his broadsword. He swung it faster than he had any right to, the blade blurring through the air. Another strike came as quickly, and she was forced to dodge back again and again, couldn’t even get her knives up to intercept. And she was faster than most—to either side, her allies were struggling, staggering back, dying under blows too rapid to avoid.

  They were losing.

  But Roark and the rest of the enhanced weren’t casting spells, not since the shield to guard their advance. Maybe they weren’t as versed in combat magic as Indree was, or maybe Thorpe’s elixir burning in their veins was too much of a distraction, but they favored close combat over magic. Which meant Indree and Bastian’s friends were unopposed, throwing Astral force and lariats of silver energy across the fray.

  Those spells saved Kadka’s life.

  Roark was a blur of motion now—Kadka barely saw more than the silver streak from his eyes as he darted forward, and she couldn’t dodge in time. She brought up her knives, tried to guess where the attack would come from. Guessed wrong. The blade of Roark’s broadsword lashed at her neck.

  And halted just short, held in the air by a cord of glowing silver.

  Roark grunted with frustration, strained against the Astral energy. Silver flames licked from his eyes now—he was exerting himself harder, pushing his strength to its limits. Kadka didn’t have time to launch a counter, just barely threw herself to the side as the spell shattered and his sword swung free.

  Roark dashed through the space she’d left open, going for Tinga. “Deshka,” Kadka swore, and chased after him. But he was too fast, streaking over open ground, leaving a trail of silver behind him.

  Tinga saw him coming. “Stop!” she cried, and though the fear was plain on her face, she held her ground. Amid the torrent of false fire surrounding her, she threw up her hands. Kadka saw Indree’s lips move, and a gout of silver flame burst from Tinga’s palms, roaring over Roark and then beyond to spread wide across the cavern.

  Roark crossed his arms in front of his face, and the flames in his eyes flared high. Behind him, an elven man screamed as he lost control, fire spreading down his body, burning him alive even as the elixir tried to repair the damage. Just like the dwarf at the warehouse. He’d pushed his power too far, and the simple fear of Tinga’s supposed power had sent him tumbling over the edge.

  Kadka used the distraction to sprint for Tinga again, but Roark wasn’t even looking at her as she dove between him and his target. He turned back to his men, saw others faltering, flames shrouding their faces. A bald-headed human fell to his knees with a howl of anguish, batting at the flames spilling over his arms and torso.

  “Fall back!” Roark shouted. “We’ll hold them outside the shield!”

  They broke away before the flames consumed anyone else, sprinted for the shield around Thorpe and her machine. Kadka darted after, lashed a blade at Roark’s exposed back, but he was too fast to pursue. He and his men regrouped inside the shield-dome around the machine.

  “Come on!” Tinga ran ahead, making for the sleeping dragon in the cavern’s center. Kadka sprinted to catch up. They reached the shield together, came to a forced halt just outside.

  “What are you doing, Roark?” Thorpe demanded. “I told you to stop them!”

  “The girl’s power is back!” Roark answered.

  “Impossible! She can’t…” But Thorpe trailed off—she couldn’t tell him the truth.

  “I saw it with my own eyes!” Roark insisted. “Two of my men just burned alive!”

  “Fine!” Thorpe bent back over her dials. “Just… just keep them out. A little bit longer, and we’ll have all the power we need to stop them.”

  “You heard her!” Roark barked to his men. “Keep this standing! We’ll hold them outside!” He and several others started to chant in the tongue of magic; a ripple of brightness passed over the surface of the shield.

  Tinga pounded a fist against the barrier. “Let her go, Thorpe! I swear by the Astra, if you hurt her…”

  At the sound of her voice, the blonde girl strapped to the machine looked up. Her eyes were bleary, unfocused. “Tinga?”

  “Cestra!” Tinga threw her shoulder against the shield. “I’m coming! We’re going to stop this!”

  “You can’t!” A hysterical note crept into Thorpe’s voice. “Can’t you see that this is for the good of everyone? You can’t stop it now!” She turned a dial all the way to the right, and Cestra shuddered beside her, eyes rolling back in her head.

  And then the dragon started to move.

  She didn’t wake; it was more like a sleeping tremor. The massive creature shifted, trembled, made a deep keening sound in her throat as if in pain. Her tail clutched tight around her eggs.

  The machine was killing her. Kadka knew it instinctively, just by the suffering in that noise. Iskar had said that dragons were creatures of immense Astral power, and Thorpe was draining it away.

  “Let. Her. Go.” Iskar’s voice, but there was something different in it. It sounded hard. Cold. Kadka whirled at the sound.

  She barely recognized him. His teeth were bared in an enraged snarl, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His wings were extended to full span, shimmering in the magelight.

  And his eyes burned with silver light, just like Roark and the other enhanced men.

  “Kadka. Move.” The words came out in a guttural growl.

  The plan had always been for him to take down the shield with dragonfire, but something felt wrong. She took a step toward him. “Iskar—”

  She didn’t have time for more. Iskar exhaled, and Kadka shoved Tinga aside, barely leaping out of the way herself as dragonfire seared the air where she’d just been standing. Her shirt burst into flame at the right shoulder, burned away; the skin beneath blistered painfully. She collapsed to the ground, rolled to tamp out the flames. Looked up at Iskar, still breathing gouts of silver-blue fire over the shield. Roark and his men strained to hold against the sheer strength of the assault, and the flames in their own eyes grew as if fed by dragonfire. And Iskar’s fire kept coming. Before, he’d always needed to recuperate after using it; now, it seemed to have no end.

  He was opening the way.

  And he’d just about killed her to do it.

  And then Kadka remembered something: the power Iskar said he’d spent his life trying to control. A source of Astral might that Carver had compared to Thorpe’s elixir. And that elixir brought the same silver glow that shone in Iskar’s eyes now.

  His family was under attack, and something deep in his blood was responding to it.

  This was dragonrage.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  _____

  TANE PUT AN arm over his face as Iskar’s dragonfire rolled back from the shield. Thorpe’s guards
held their defenses in place, but they were clearly struggling, and the longer they held, the more powerful the flames grew. It was only the power of Thorpe’s elixir sustaining them now—against the blistering heat of the dragonfire, they wouldn’t last long. The shield was already thinning visibly, its silver sheen flickering and fading. All according to the plan.

  Except something wasn’t right.

  Tane had been approaching from behind when Iskar had first loosed his flames. He’d watched Kadka and Tinga dive out of the way with barely a second to spare, seen the flames catch at Kadka’s shoulder. He nearly killed them.

  They’d taken cover behind a ridge of stone on the cavern floor, and Tane ducked down to join them. “Are you alright?” he asked, checking Kadka for signs of injury. Her bare shoulder was red and blistered; she’d have a bad burn scar. But she hardly seemed to notice—her attention was fixed on Iskar.

  Indree was just behind him. “What is he doing?” she demanded. “I know he’s supposed to bring down the shield, but you could have died!”

  “Is dragonrage,” Kadka answered. “Look. His eyes.”

  Tane squinted against the brilliant silver-blue of the dragonfire. It was hard to tell through the flames, but there might have been a silver glow in Iskar’s eyes. Like the men who’d taken the elixir. Iskar had said that dragonrage channeled huge amounts of Astral power.

  He’d also said that it came when a dragon needed to protect the things it loved. And his mother’s tortured keening still rang throughout the cavern.

  “Spellfire,” Tane muttered. “He’s not going to stop as long as—”

  A scream cut him off. Behind the shield, a stout dwarven man burst into silver flame. He lost focus on the spell, frantically slapped at the flames consuming his body. A moment later, nothing was left but ash and bone.

  And he wasn’t alone. The guards’ eyes were bright enough now to nearly match Iskar’s dragonfire. Another faltered visibly, let out a howl of pain as flames gouted from his eyes and his hair caught fire.

  The strain of holding the shield against such power was too much. They were starting to burn.

  And at their center, Cullen Roark grunted. Turned fiery silver eyes toward the men on either side as they collapsed. Looked down at his hands as the fire spread, wreathing his fingertips in flame. Tane could see his skin burning and regenerating as the elixir fought to keep him alive.

  “This… isn’t her,” Roark said in a pained, halting voice, his face twisted in agony. He turned to Thorpe. “This is… they were right, weren’t they?”

  “Of course not!” But the lie, and the fear, were plain on Thorpe’s face. “I would never—”

  “The truth.” Roark growled through gritted teeth. He took a step toward her, bent with a grunt of pain, and then straightened and kept coming. “No more lies. Good men are dead.”

  Thorpe backed away, held up her hands. “It wasn’t… I did it for the greater good, Cullen! You have to understand, I was trying to—”

  “You bitch.” With a roar, Roark hurled himself at Thorpe, a comet of rage and silver fire. He took her around the waist, tackled her to the floor in front of her machine as his body burned away.

  Whatever power had been left in the shield failed. It shattered with a great silver flash.

  Dragonfire roared over what was left of Thorpe’s security, reducing the few men left holding the line to ash.

  Iskar advanced, inhaling, still drawn by the agony of his mother’s keening. Another gout of flame, and he would reduce Thorpe’s machine to molten brass.

  He exhaled.

  At the last minute, the fire struck a sheet of silver force. Someone still had a shield up.

  Felisa Thorpe rose from Roark’s ashes, coughing, and stumbled at Iskar, one hand extended. She must have gotten a shield over herself before he burned her. “Stop! Please, I could save so many lives!”

  But Iskar was beyond listening. He exhaled more fire, and Thorpe’s shield barely held it off, shattered just as the flames faded. She stumbled back, mumbling words of magic as she did, and cast another barrier between herself and Iskar.

  Tane turned to Kadka. “We need to help her.”

  Kadka blinked. “What?”

  “Thorpe said the machine needs to be deactivated properly, or the people connected to it are still riven. And right now, she’s the only thing keeping Iskar back. If he destroys it—”

  “He kills dragon. And girl.” Kadka was on her feet in an instant.

  “I’ll go for the machine,” said Tane. “I saw her turn it off back at the manufactury. Indree, keep a shield up as long as you can. Kadka, try to talk him down.”

  “I’m coming too,” Tinga said, jutting out her chin defiantly.

  There was no time to waste on argument. “Come on then,” Tane said, and sprinted for the machine.

  Tinga went straight for Cestra, started unfastening her shackles. Tane cut in behind Thorpe, made for the instrument panel beneath the machine’s large brass orb. The glowing pane of illusory light above outlined the Astral signatures of everyone in the cavern—the dragon’s was so large that it swallowed many of the others, though it was dimming rapidly. A line of silver light on the display connected her to the machine, and another went to a smaller faded figure that had to be Cestra. Tunnels through the Astra.

  The machine wasn’t set the way he’d expected. He’d watched Thorpe turn it off before, but it had been a different configuration. Of course. It was just Tinga then—now she’s draining power from these people and using it to siphon from the dragon. The same dragon that towered over him like a living hill, still trembling in her slumber, filling the cavern with that haunted keening from low in her throat. A constant reminder of the potential cost, if he didn’t get this right.

  Tane looked over his shoulder at Indree. “This is… going to take a minute.”

  She met his eyes. They both knew they might not have that long. “I’ll keep you safe as long as I can,” she said. She moved to Thorpe’s side and spoke a spell in the lingua, adding her strength to the shield.

  Thorpe looked at her with panicked eyes. “What are you—”

  “Shut up and concentrate,” Indree snapped. “I’m not watching my friends die because of you.”

  Thorpe didn’t answer, just turned her eyes back to the shield as Iskar let loose another breath of dragonfire. They held under the assault, but Indree’s labored breathing told Tane he had to work fast. Kadka was beside Indree now, saying something to Iskar, but there was no time to focus on that.

  He bent over the mass of dials and switches, trying to make some kind of sense of them. The glyphs that labelled them were all ones he knew: the four-pointed star for the Astra, the circle with the dot inside that referred to the target of a spell, and dozens of others. But he had no context for their use here—he hadn’t seen the actual spell scrolls. There has to be… There! A scroll panel set into the base of the machine. Tane bent, tried to pull it open. A glyph of warning flashed bright, and pain stabbed through his fingertips.

  “Spellfire!” he swore. It was warded against intrusion while the machine was operating. There was no opening the panel without shutting down the machine, and he couldn’t shut down the machine properly without opening the panel and seeing the spells.

  “Mister Carver?” Tinga’s voice, unusually timid.

  “Tinga, I’m a little busy!” He looked up, saw her leaning over Cestra with tears in her eyes. Shaking the other girl by the shoulder.

  “But she’s not…” Tinga swallowed, shook her again. “What’s… what’s wrong with her?”

  Cestra just stared right through Tinga. Her chest still rose and fell, but her eyes were blank. On the illusory display before the machine, her faded silver silhouette blinked into nothingness, and the cord of light joining her to the machine vanished.

  Astra, no.

  She was already riven.

  And if the machine’s already drained that much power… Tane’s eyes went to the reservoir at the side of
the machine.

  It was full.

  At that moment, the dragon’s keening ended.

  Tane whirled to look at her where she lay on the other side of the machine. Her great sleeping form shuddered, once, so powerfully that it shook the floor under his feet. On the pane of light above the machine, the great silver mass of her Astral signature had faded so far that he could barely see it against the deep blue behind.

  And then she fell still.

  _____

  Kadka stood behind Indree and Thorpe, watching helplessly as a man she’d come to care a great deal for tried his hardest to burn them alive.

  Another torrent of fire, and it wasn’t getting any weaker. Thorpe crumbled, slumped to the ground on her hands and knees. Indree fell to one knee, sweat beading on her forehead, desperately chanting. The shield broke, even before the fire ceased. Kadka and Indree had to roll aside as the final licks of silver flame filled the space where they’d just been standing. Bastian’s gnomish mages reached them then, and Indree pushed herself up on one hand—together, they threw up another silver barrier just in time.

  “Kadka, you have to get through to him!” Indree said through gritted teeth, as silver-blue fire crashed against the shield. “We can’t do this much longer!”

  But Kadka didn’t know how. She just stood, frozen, watching the mad kobold with glowing eyes on the other side of that shimmering barrier. He was like a stranger, some avatar of Astral fury, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d burned Thorpe and her machine to dust. She couldn’t fight him—wouldn’t, even if this had been a problem that she could solve with a knife—but she didn’t know what to say to him either. She didn’t even know if he’d hear her if she tried.