Then she was running along the hewn path to the next spell stone.
He—He was solid once more! Yet what had happened to him? Shima shook his head, then stopped, dizzy; his neck was far too—
In one blinding instant he understood; the answer was in the terrified faces before him. Roaring, Shima lashed out with a clawed forefoot. The Jehangli soldiers flew through the air like the pebbles the children threw at the crows to keep them from the young maize. Nor did they move again.
Shima reared up in the hot sunlight, his wings spread wide, overwhelmed by what had happened to him, the wonder of this moment. He stared down at what had been his arms. The light glinted on black scales.
A blur of motion caught his eye. Shima dropped to all fours once more and swung his long neck around, ready for battle.
But it was Tefira and Raven who scrambled down the slope to him. The Yerrin bent and picked up a spear lying on the ground. As if from years ago, Shima remembered that same weapon pointing at him. His mother’s tales came back to him, and he understood how close he’d come, not just to death, but to annihilation.
And he knew who had saved him. Thank you, he said to Raven. He stopped, startled at using his mind to speak. How had he known … ?
There was much to learn, he decided, about being a Dragonlord.
“You’re welcome,” Raven said. He leaned on the spear. “Now what? And where’s Rynna? Why did you leave her?” he demanded.
She ordered me to help you. Dragonlord’s orders, she said, Shima replied.
The Yerrin threw back his head and whooped. “To another Dragonlord? Oh, I like that!” Then he sobered. “But we have to find her.”
Yes. But, Shima thought, where?
Haoro lay prone before the image of the Phoenix while the choir chanted. Though the tile below him was cold, he hardly noticed. Soon he would rise and they would lay the feathered mantle about his shoulders. Soon he would be the nira, second only to the emperor in power—and that emperor would be Jhanun.
He smiled, his cheek pressed against smooth tile, while around him the power grew.
Linden reeled in the saddle. The voice rang in his head like a Jehangli temple gong. It was angry and frantic and … very, very young, somehow. Close to tears, even, if a dragon could cry.
Danger to Maurynna … . Trick or no, he couldn’t take the chance. He had to Change—now.
He swung a leg over Shan’s neck and slid out of the saddle. “Room!” he yelled.
Shan spun on his haunches and raced off. Miki, Hillel and Nightsong followed, ignoring their riders, and herding the Zharmatians’ horses with them.
“Linden, wait!” Lleld yelled as Miki bore her to a safe distance. “You don’t know—”
“I’ll take that chance.” He threw his head back and let himself dissolve into mist. From somewhere far away he heard terrified yells; Yesuin and Dzeduin, he thought. Nothing would surprise Ghulla.
A heartbeat later he stood, solid once more, claws digging into the earth, wings half unfurled, his hindlegs tensed for the leap that would take him into the sky. He swung his long neck around to face Lleld and Jekkanadar. I’m going, he said to them. Are you with me?
For answer, they both swung down from their saddles and moved a safe distance from the horses and each other.
We are echoed in his mind as they flowed into Change. A small red dragon and a larger black one faced him moments later.
Where? Linden asked of the voice he could still feel in the back of his mind. Images blossomed: temples, open in the center, ringing glowing stones vibrating with a power that repelled him.
No, wait; he was not the one repelled. It was the one—the dragon—who spoke to him. He knew it now beyond all doubt.
And with the images came the knowledge of where. Linden hurled himself into the air.
You’re the fastest, Lleld said in his mind as he climbed. Take the tower beyond the city. We’ll take the other two. Lleld and Jekkanadar made their leaps into flight.
Linden wheeled against the sky and raced south.
The next stone. Once more Maurynna gripped the sword; she took a deep breath and lunged forward. And once again the explosion knocked her to the ground. But this time she let herself fall as Lleld had taught her, muscles loose and relaxed.
Now up once more and on to the third. But here the hewn walk narrowed; she must tread a path barely more than two handspans wide, while below her a mad truedragon screamed for her death and flung himself at her.
Step by careful step she went, hardly daring to breathe, sweat trickling down her face. At last the third stone was before her.
The chorus ended on a last, ringing note of triumph. Two priests came to help him up. Haoro stood as two more laid the feathered mantle upon his shoulders. It was surprisingly heavy. He looked down at the golden feathers surrounding him like a nimbus.
“The litter waits, Holy One,” one of the priests murmured.
Haoro felt for the little knife in its sheath in his sleeve pocket. Once at the creature’s prison, he would cut his arm and sprinkle the vile thing with his blood, sealing the bond between them. His searching fingers found it tucked securely away.
“I’m ready,” he said.
They brought him to the litter of the nira.
Linden felt the image of the temple with its glowing stone form in his mind once more. With it came the feelings of fear and loathing; from deep inside he felt the beginnings of an answering rage. A draconic rage. Rathan, his dragon half, was stirring.
Linden took that rage and used it. He raced through the sky like a comet.
There was barely room to kneel before the third stone. Maurynna settled herself carefully, trying not to think about what would happen if she fell.
Though Pirakos was quiet now. She risked a glance at him, and wished she hadn’t.
He crouched below her like a cat waiting for a mouse to come out of its hole. Glittering, bloodred eyes followed her every move. Smoke drifted from his nostrils.
For the first time she thought to wonder why Pirakos had not tried flaming her. He could easily reach her; she was certain of it. So why hadn’t he? And why hadn’t he melted the chains—
Her gaze fell on the blackened rocks she had noticed but not truly seen earlier. Pirakos had tried his fire, then. A suspicion formed in her mind. She studied the dragon below her as he studied her.
Yes; now that she knew what to look for, she could see the signs: ropes of thick scar tissue running down throat and chest, the scales twisted and deformed.
Pirakos had indeed tried fire to free himself. But the stone had held and reflected the deadly flames back onto the dragon. How many centuries of torment had he endured while he healed? And how desperate had he been to attempt such a thing in the first place? Surely he’d guessed what might happen.
She would never forgive the priestmages for driving another creature to such measures. Cursing, she slashed at the third stone in cold fury.
It was nearly her undoing. She rolled and half fell from the ledge. She caught herself, legs dangling. At once Pirakos threw himself at her and she heard the scream of tortured metal. Terror seized her. The chains were failing!
She scrambled frantically to pull herself back up to the path, certain she felt long fangs snap shut inches below her feet.
Then, somehow, she was back on the path. Her hand closed once more on the sword hilt. Maurynna whispered a prayer of thanks that it had not fallen to the floor below. Sick and shaking, she closed her mind to what had nearly happened and crept along the path.
Just one more … . And then what?
Knowing he’d never be able to walk among the stones in this form, Shima concentrated on turning back to a man, praying it would work. He felt himself dissolving once more … .
The next instant, he stood upon two feet again. He rounded on his brother and Raven. Hands on his hips, he announced, “You two are going home!”
They nodded meekly.
The last stone.
It lay before her,
the golden nimbus surrounding it pulsating wildly as if mourning the loss of its fellows.
Maurynna raised the sword once more. Her arms shook with weariness, and she hoped she’d have the strength for this last task. She drew a deep breath.
The sword slashed down into the magic warding the stone. The stone wailed like a soul in torment; Pirakos howled in triumph. Maurynna cast Dharm Varleran’s sword aside—it would do her no good now—and threw herself past the stone, her hands clamped over her ears.
She ran along the path circling the bowl to its end as Pirakos threw himself against his chains. The screaming of tortured metal was like a lash across her back, urging her to hurry, hurry, hurry. She forced her weary body to obey.
A harsh grinding told her that Pirakos had succeeded in pulling one chain loose from its anchor. Could the others be far behind? Desperate, Maurynna looked down into the other cavern. It was a jump, but one that she thought she might dare.
Rather, had to dare if she had any hope of reaching the tunnels before Pirakos caught her. Maurynna jumped.
She knew it was only a few heartbeats, but it felt as though she fell for ages before her feet slammed against the cavern floor. Maurynna dropped and rolled, ignoring the stones digging bruises into her back and shoulders.
An instant later she was up and running. Behind her she heard Pirakos roar in triumph as another chain broke. She must find the tunnels—or die.
Then came the sound of the third chain snapping. Maurynna threw all caution aside and ran as hard as she could.
As she reached the entrance to the second cavern, she heard the final chain break, and heard the nightmare scrabbling of Pirakos’s talons upon the rock as he clawed a way out of the bowl of his prison.
Now!
The word rang through his entire being, a command that could not be ignored. It was time to wake from this little death.
The old dragon began the long journey to life.
Fifty-six
Maurynna raced around the stones jutting out into the cavern. Her heart hammered in her chest; she ran now in blind panic, searching for a tunnel to lead her out of this charnel house. She was certain this was where she had come out of earlier.
It wasn’t. It was but another bay off of the enormous cavern. A stray breath of air teased against her face. She came to a skidding halt in the center of the big open floor and looked desperately for a way out. On three sides she was trapped by walls of stone. If she could get back out, hide among the rocks …
Pirakos filled the opening, the stench of his rotting flesh nearly overwhelming her. A mad light filled his eyes.
*Thee has been rare good sport, truehuman, but now I shall kill thee—kill thee as all of thy kind should die.*
The mindvoice was mild, and even friendly. But the edge of bloodlust and hunger for human flesh that lurked behind it made that friendliness all the more terrifying. She was to die for no better reason than insanity’s whim.
But I’m not truehuman, Pirakos! I’m a Dragonlord, as your friend Varleran once was, she cried, snatching at reason like a drowning man snatching at a rope of straw, knowing it was just as futile. Inside her mind she grasped at another forlorn hope: Kyrissaean …
Shima saw his brother and Raven to the hidden trail that led to where Boreal and Je’nihahn waited with Rasse and Omasua.
“Find them,” Shima ordered. “Raven, they know you; I’m certain they’ll take you and Tefira back to Stormwind and Zinluta if you explain.”
Raven, one hand clamped over the deep cut in his arm, turned sharply to him. Their gazes met, warred. A hard-fought battle, then Raven nodded, wavering a little where he stood. Shima hoped he wouldn’t faint before they reached the horses; Tefira was too little to carry such a tall man.
Raven must have seen the worry in his eyes, for he inhaled deeply and said, “I’ll get there.”
“Thank you for being sensible,” Shima said, knowing how hard it was for the other man to do this.
“About time, don’t you think?” Raven said with a harsh laugh.
Shima half smiled and turned away. Tefira grabbed his arm.
“And you?” his brother asked in alarm. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
Shima shook his head. “I’m going back to find Maurynna—if I can.” He thought with dread of the impossible task ahead.
Raven, his eyes squeezed shut in fierce concentration, as if by will alone he would put his weakness to flight, said, “Mindcall her.”
Mindcall her. By all the Spirits, he could now, couldn’t he? Shima closed his own eyes and let his mind range.
At first, nothing. Then … there! Sudden caution held him back from directly touching her mind; who knew what might be happening. He could feel her presence, a whirlwind of impressions, then … Anger. Fear. Danger.
His eyes snapped open. “I don’t know just where she is,” he said, “but Pirakos is free—and about to attack her!”
He couldn’t face Pirakos in this form and live. Shima didn’t even think about what he was doing. He ran. Behind him, he heard Tefira cry out, “Shima, where—Let me go!” and Raven’s reply: “He needs room to Change.”
To Change. For one heady moment, Shima thought he’d fallen into the tales his mother told on still summer evenings. But when he stopped, knowing instinctively that he’d gone far enough, the hot, rough stone beneath his feet said to him, This is no dream.
Shima let his mind empty, let himself flow into Change. Moments later, he sprang into the turquoise blue sky, rising like an arrow to the sun.
The crazed truedragon’s head wove back and forth, daring her to try to get past him. A deep houf! houf! houf! rumbled through the bay, a spine-chilling echo of Lleld’s laughter so long ago. Another stray puff of air wisped around her, conjuring images of a flower-strewn meadow and lying naked in the sun with Linden … . Maurynna burrowed into the comfort of the memory. Why not? She was doomed.
Something stirred in her mind even as another tiny breeze tickled past her cheek.
Pirakos’s long neck swung around. *Air … clean, sweet air … outside—* The naked longing blazed in Maurynna’s mind as Pirakos frantically sought the source. His head darted to and fro.
Then once more the truedragon remembered her. The big head swung around. *I taste freedom in that air, he said, and I will take it. But first—*
With tormenting slowness, he stretched out one taloned forefoot; the coldfire gleamed on the long, sharp claws. His eyes gleamed with sadistic anticipation.
The forefoot paused barely an ell from her face.
The litter jounced down the trail to the great doors barring the entrance to the cavern. Incense wafted back from the thuribles carried by the acolytes before him. It was sweet, but not as sweet as the hymns of praise the priests sang in his honor.
Haoro balanced himself against the jolting and smiled. True, soon he would face the beast itself and take on some of its pain. But now he was second only to an emperor in honor; soon the tribute trains would bring riches to his impoverished family, and as soon as Jhanun took the throne and the four Dragonlords were in place …
The ground shuddered. The singing wavered, but recovered an instant later when nothing else happened. The procession continued down the path to the floor of the valley, past the village of the slaves and the barracks of the soldiers.
All were out, kneeling along the road that led to the great doors, bowing again and again as the litter passed. He deigned to glance at them.
The faces of the soldiers held careful respect; here and there one glowed with fanatical devotion. Haoro made note of those; they might prove useful someday.
The slaves … Bah. Cattle not worth noticing. A few held the light of rebellion in their eyes even yet; Tah’nesieh and Zharmatians for the most part, with one or two Jehangli who had not yet learned their places.
They would. All of them would. He was not the weakling that Pah-Ko had been.
Then the gates loomed before him, and Haoro dismissed the trivialities o
f rebellious slaves from his mind. For now he would come into his power. They had come to the great doors.
Swinging their censers and chanting, the priests and acolytes stood in two lines before them, waiting as slaves hauled on the chains hanging from the enormous handles. Slowly, ponderously, the great bronze doors swung open inch by inch. When they were finally open, other slaves ran to bring the waiting priests lanterns and torches.
Shima rose straight up into the sky until he was certain that he would not be easily spotted from the ground, then caught a current of air beneath his wings, riding it like a hawk. He watched the ground below in an agony of suspense.
But there was only the land itself, hard, red earth with wind-carved rocks jutting up like parched bones.
Damn it, where were they? Shima cursed silently in frustration. Surely, even from this distance he would be able to see—
His breath caught. Lady have mercy, what if they were still underground? There was no place to run, nowhere for Maurynna to hide from Pirakos. And if, by some miracle, she did escape the dragon, she would be lost in the caverns.
Shima’s blood ran cold at the thought.
There came a sound in the distance, a sound that Maurynna couldn’t quite recognize though its familiarity danced in the back of her mind. At once the tang of fresh air grew stronger. Pirakos shuffled back, his head weaving as he sought the origin. A sound like a whimper of desperation escaped him.
Knees shaking, Maurynna wondered how long the reprieve would last. Could she get past Pirakos while he was distracted?
Kyrissaean, I must Change! Maurynna begged, just as I did the night Linden was in danger!
The night that Linden faced the mage Kas Althume and fought Althume’s blood magery with only the magic that bound his human and dragon souls. The night that she had risked drowning when she jumped from her ship and swam to shore, not understanding why she was so driven, but knowing that Linden needed help—help that she alone could give him.
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