The Dragon Machine (Magebreakers Book 3)

by Ben S. Dobson

  Behind her, Carver was frantically fiddling with Thorpe’s machine, and his muttered swears didn’t sound very promising. He was going to need more time, and if she didn’t do something very soon, he wasn’t going to have it.

  Kadka glanced back at the dragon, curled around her clutch of eggs. Syllesia, Iskar had called her. So vulnerable for such a massive creature of legend, trembling in her slumber and crying out with that low, mournful keening, as if she was having some terrible dream. It made Kadka want to wake her, to comfort her. But just then, the waking world seemed crueller than any nightmare. Iskar had devoted his long life to watching over his mother and his unborn siblings, and now he might be the one who put them beyond saving. He would never forgive himself for that. If dragonrage was supposed to be about protecting what he cared about most, it was failing him badly now.

  That thought gave her the shadow of a hope, though. He’d almost killed Kadka before, but he had warned her, given her time to get out of the way. Not a lot, but he had to have known she wouldn’t just stand there. Maybe that meant something.

  She hoped it did, because it was all she had.

  He was inhaling to breathe fire once more. Indree and the others had barely managed to erect another shield, and Kadka could see it wavering in the air, the silver gleam dimming to almost nothing before strengthening again. It wouldn’t hold. It was now or never.

  Kadka stepped through the failing shield and put herself squarely in Iskar’s path.

  “Kadka, wait!” Indree, behind her.

  Kadka paid her no mind. “Is time to stop, Iskar,” she said.

  “Move.” It came out in a savage growl.

  Kadka lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. The sapphire blue she liked so much was entirely obscured beneath the glow of Astral silver. “No,” she said. “Have to go through me.”

  He breathed deep, filling his chest with fire.

  And held it. For just a moment, he hesitated.

  And then his wings started beating, and his feet lifted from the ground.

  Kadka knew a chance when she saw it—he was going out of his way to avoid hurting her. She took a running leap, hurled herself against him. Wrapped one arm around his shoulders and grabbed the back of his head with the other hand. Put her face between him and the machine. “Will not let you regret this.”

  Iskar let out a furious roar, and beat his wings harder. Tried to shake her off as they rose from the cavern floor. Impossible Astral strength rippled in the muscles under his silver scales, and she barely kept hold, clinging with everything she had.

  “Listen!” Kadka begged. “Is something you control all your life, this power! Can stop it now. There is better way!”

  Inches from her face, his nostrils flared, emitting licks of silver blue flame. She could feel the heat of the dragonfire growing beneath his chest.

  But she didn’t relent. “You are best man I know, Iskar. Always look for peace, for everyone. Even when they don’t want same for you. This… is not you.” Kadka pressed her forehead against his snout, closed her eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t exhale. “Please. Come back.”

  “Kadka…?” The Iskar she knew was in his voice, now. She raised her head from his, saw the silver light in his eyes start to fade.

  His wings slowed, and he began to descend. Her feet touched the ground first, and then his. He slumped to the cavern floor on his knees; she knelt before him, held him in her arms. Tilting his head to the side, he exhaled the last of his fire against the cavern floor, melting a deep channel in the rock. Kadka turned her face away from the heat.

  When she turned back, his eyes were clear and blue.

  “Kadka, I…” Iskar blinked as if just waking, and his gaze went to her blistered shoulder. A mask of fear and shame fell over his face. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you. Tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Is fine, dragon-man. I am fine.” There was no point in mentioning Thorpe’s men now—they’d gotten what they’d deserved, and they’d already been burning before his dragonfire had done its work, but she knew he wouldn’t see it that way. Instead, she helped him to his feet, put her arms around him, pulled him close. “Do not scare me like this again.”

  “I’ve never… I knew it was in me, but…” Iskar’s head fell against her shoulder, and he clutched her tight. “I saw her in pain, and I—”

  A sudden, terrible silence halted him mid-sentence—his mother’s keening had stopped. The cavern floor shuddered underfoot. Both of them turned toward the dragon and the machine.

  Tinga knelt on the floor, clutching Cestra in her arms, weeping. Beside the machine, Iskar’s mother ceased her shuddering, and fell completely still.

  “Carver? What is this?” Kadka asked, trying to pretend she didn’t already know, that the weight in her stomach didn’t mean anything. She stepped closer, Iskar at her side.

  Carver shook his head, spread his hands. “I tried, but I couldn’t… We were too late.”

  “No.” Iskar dropped to his knees, put his hands against the floor. His head slumped between his shoulders. “Astra, I promised I would keep her safe.”

  “So it’s done!” Nearby, Thorpe was pushing herself up from where she’d fallen under Iskar’s attack. “You have to understand, the power I’ve taken from her could change the world! Her life—all of these lives—were wasted, if you don’t let me—”

  Kadka swivelled with a snarl and drove her fist through the woman’s teeth.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  _____

  TANE LOOKED DOWN at Felisa Thorpe’s unconscious body, sprawled at Kadka’s feet, and then up at Kadka herself. Her teeth were bared, but he could see the tears on her cheeks. She spat on the ground beside Thorpe, wiped her eyes, bent to comfort Iskar where he had collapsed to the ground in despair. Beside the machine, Tinga was sobbing, clutching her utterly unresponsive friend in her arms. Iskar and Bastian’s men set to freeing the other prisoners, but they were grim-faced—this wasn’t the victory anyone had been hoping for.

  I let them down. All of them. The machine had been Tane’s responsibility, and he’d failed.

  Indree came to his side, took his hand. Somehow, she already knew what he was thinking. “Tane, there was nothing you could have—”

  And then, behind them, a voice thick with tears but still defiant. “No.”

  Tane turned toward Tinga, spread his hands helplessly. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Tinga.”

  She’d released Cestra, was already getting to her feet. “No. This isn’t how it’s going to end. There is something we can do. There has to be.” She moved to the machine’s console, bent over the dials and switches.

  He started to protest. “I don’t think—”

  Tinga whirled on him, defiance in her eyes. “I am not letting her go like this!” She jabbed a finger at the reservoir of fluid at the machine’s side. “If this thing can tunnel through the Astra to pull that stuff out, it can put it back. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “We can’t put it back, Tinga. They’re riven.” Tane gestured at the pane of blue light hovering before the machine, showing their Astral signatures. Cestra and the dragon weren’t there. It was like they’d been erased from existence. “Even if it was theoretically possible, there’s no way for the machine to find them Astrally now that they’re—” He stopped abruptly. Pulled away from Indree to examine the glyphs and dials and switches once more. Glanced to the reservoir of silver fluid. It was visibly draining. “Wait.”

  Tinga looked at him hopefully. “What? What is it?”

  “I never managed to turn it off,” Tane said. “It’s still using power. Which means… maybe the way is still open. Whatever Astral tunnels the machine made, it’s still holding them open, even if nothing’s moving through them now. It doesn’t need to find anyone if it already has! Tinga, you’re a genius!” He pointed at a pair of dials on her side of the console, the first set to a glyph like a two-pronged fork, and the second to one like an open bowl. “There! Switch the f
irst to the reversed fork, the one that looks like a wishbone, and the second one to the four-pointed star.”

  Tinga did as she was told, a spark of hope kindling in her eyes. “What do they mean?”

  “The fork means basically that it’s drawing from multiple sources into one, and the four-pointed star is the Astra,” Tane said, searching for the dials he hoped he would find on his side. “If that one indicates the destination, then…” There they were. A dial already set to the four-pointed star of the Astra to the far left, and two more in the middle beside the large master switch, both set to circles with dots inside.

  “Carver, can you…” Kadka’s voice, approaching from behind. She and Iskar gathered close, watching hopefully, and the rest of Iskar and Bastian’s men surrounded them, with the prisoners they’d unbound.

  “Maybe,” said Tane. “I can’t look at the spells, so this is guesswork, and I have no idea what half these dials do, or how to calibrate the Astral tunnelling. But I don’t need to, if it’s already set. All I need to do is reverse the flow. Which is just a matter of filling in the right blanks.” He tilted his head at Tinga’s dials. “I think the glyphs there represent what’s happening with the power the machine drains. Reversing the first one, the fork, means we’re moving power from one source one into many. The second dial is the side of the equation the power is going toward. It was set to the bowl, which is self-referential—the source of a spell, the machine itself. Tinga changed it to the four pointed star, which represents the Astra.”

  Indree nodded her understanding. She tapped the two central dials beside the master switch, set to the circled points—she’d noticed it too. She’d always been quick at magical theory. “These refer to pre-determined targets. The end points of the Astral tunneling?”

  “I think so,” said Tane. “A variable, telling the machine to use whatever target has been calibrated. I wouldn’t be so sure, except this one”—he tapped the next glyph on the dial, a spoked wheel—”indicates direct manual control, which makes the most sense as an alternative to using a pre-set target. If I’m right, we don’t want to change anything here. It should already be fixed on Cestra and the dragon.” Finally, he switched the dial on the left from the Astral star to the bowl—the machine. “This one, I hope, is which side we’re drawing power from. Basically the reverse of the one Tinga set before. It was aimed at the Astra. I think I could even move power directly from one Astral target into another with some of these other dials, but that’s not going to help us now. I’m setting it to pull from the machine’s reservoir.” A smaller switch sat just beside the larger master; he gestured to it. “And this switch should finalize the new instructions without shutting it down. I think.”

  Indree raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that? I can follow the rest, but this one is unmarked.”

  Tane rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… it’s beside the big one. That’s where I’d put it.”

  “Good enough for me,” Tinga said, and grabbed the switch before he could. “Here goes.” She pushed it up, and then yanked it down again.

  The machine’s high-pitched whine faded for an instant, and then intensified again. The silver fluid in the reservoir rippled, and began to drain faster than before. On the illusory display, two twisting lines of silver energy appeared, ending in dark blue nothingness—the machine couldn’t detect the Astra riven.

  For a time, nothing happened. All of them held their breath, watching Cestra and the dragon. Waiting. And with every moment, the knot in Tane’s stomach twisted tighter. Just being active was a drain on the machine’s reservoir—he wasn’t certain there would be enough power left to put back.

  And then a dim silver figure faded into being against the deep blue of the illusory window. Cestra coughed, once. Blinked. Her eyes came into focus on the first familiar face she saw. “Tinga?” She tried to stand, swayed on her feet.

  “I’m here,” Tinga said, and rushed to her side, supporting her. Helped her stand. “I’ve got you.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she put a hand on the taller girl’s cheek.

  Cestra was crying too. “I… I knew you’d come.”

  “Always.” Tinga stretched onto her tiptoes, and kissed Cestra full on the lips.

  Some things came together for Tane, then. “Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

  Kadka prodded him in the side, grinning slightly. “Carver. Is not good to stare.” She pointed over the machine and upward. “Look.”

  A huge silver mass solidified on the deep blue display, so large that it engulfed every Astral signature around it. The last of the silver fluid in the reservoir drained away, and the high-pitched whine of the machine ceased entirely.

  The dragon stirred, flexed her wings and spread them wide, stretched her back. That huge reptilian head lifted, craned around on a long, graceful neck, and saw them standing in front of the machine. Tane had to resist the urge to run as a mouth that could have swallowed him whole moved in close; some of the freed prisoners and several of Bastian’s men didn’t even try, stumbling back in alarm. She stopped just a few feet above the machine, looked them over, and found Iskar, leaning against Kadka’s side.

  She opened a mouth full of razor-sharp fangs as long as swords, and in a warm, rumbling voice, she said, “My son.”

  _____

  Kadka let Iskar go as he stepped forward to meet his mother. The dragon’s great snout lowered, gently touched his. He reached up to lay a hand against her scales.

  “Mother, I… Are you hurt?”

  The dragon only said, “It is good to see you after all these years, Iskar. And who is this?” She lifted her head toward Kadka. The knowing look in her eyes was one that Kadka understood immediately—apparently it wasn’t unique to orcish mothers.

  “This… this is Kadka,” Iskar said. “My…” He looked back at her, hesitated.

  “His very good friend,” Kadka finished. “Syllesia, yes? Is good to meet you.” She couldn’t help but feel like she should bow, or show some sort of respect. This was a dragon, after all.

  “And you, Kadka.” The warmth in Syllesia’s voice felt like magic—it sent a pleasant, comforting tingle through Kadka’s veins. “And the rest of you?” She tilted her head toward Carver and Indree and the others. “Are all of you friends of my son?”

  Iskar nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. “Friends who I can never repay. They came to help you, Mother.”

  “Then I thank you all,” Syllesia said. “I do not know what happened here, but I can feel what has been taken from me. I know how close I came to losing my clutch.” She turned her eyes to the two eggs she still held curled in her tail, where there should have been three. “Even now, I…” She stopped, there, something left unsaid. Looked at Kadka once more. “I can see that Iskar cares for you very much, Kadka. Take care of him. He will have others to look after soon, and if I know my son, he will not remember his own well-being.’

  “Mother, what… what are you saying?” Iskar looked up at Syllesia, concern in his sapphire eyes.

  Sadness tinged the soothing rumble of her voice, now. “Too much was taken, Iskar, and not all was returned. If I retreat into slumber again, the clutch will not survive. It is time for them to live.”

  Kadka knew what that meant. She moved to Iskar’s side, took his hand, squeezed it tight. “This… this means you must…”

  “Yes,” said Syllesia. “I must.”

  “So soon.” Iskar’s voice trembled. “I… I always imagined we would have more time. After you woke. I hoped, at least.”

  “So did I,” Syllesia answered. “I dreamed of speaking with you again so many times.”

  “I… I tried my best to do as you asked. All these years. To make the world a place where you could…” Iskar hung his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better. More. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect them all.”

  “Do not be sorry,” Syllesia said gently. “Perhaps this world is not the perfect one you dreamed of, but you have not failed. There was a time when you would not
have been able to find so many to come to my aid. Your friends give me hope. And so do you. You will find a place for our kind. A place for our family.”

  “I will try.” Iskar looked up at his mother once more. “No, I… I will see it done. I promise.”

  “I know you will.” Syllesia craned her neck to look back at her clutch. “It is time, Iskar. They cry out for life.”

  “I understand.” Iskar swallowed, reached up to touch his mother’s neck. “Goodbye, Mother.”

  Syllesia nuzzled her son gently with her snout. “Take heart, my son. This is not an end, but a new beginning.”

  Iskar just nodded through tears, unable to speak. He stepped back, gripped Kadka’s hand tight in his.

  Together, they watched.

  Syllesia drew her head back, curled her body around her clutch. Folded great silver wings around them. A silver light grew beneath her scales, spilling out at the places where they met. Slight at first, but growing. And Kadka could feel the magic in it, the Astral power. It made her veins tingle with warmth, just as Syllesia’s voice had, but a hundred times stronger. The light pulsed along the dragon’s body, down the membrane of her wings and into the eggs, brighter and brighter with every pulse.

  Until, at the center of a cavern far beneath the earth, Iskar’s mother shone like a buried star. The radiance grew so bright that Kadka had to look away, clutch her eyes shut.

  When she looked back, Syllesia was gone. All that remained were the two eggs, sitting alone on the cavern floor.

  A sob tore itself from Iskar’s throat, and he clutched her tight. She wrapped her arms around him.

  And then, a slight cracking noise. They both looked to the eggs.

  Silver light poured from the newly formed cracks running across their surface.

  They were hatching.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  _____

  KADKA AND ISKAR walked hand in hand toward the hatching eggs while the others stood, watching. It was as if they didn’t want to intrude on something that felt in some way sacred. Kadka could understand that; she wouldn’t have come if Iskar hadn’t been clutching her hand so tight. But she wasn’t about to leave his side while he still needed her. Not now.