The Seventh Magic (Book 3)

by Brian Rathbone

  Flying away from the needle spire, Mael fully spread his wings, basking in the light. Seeing Nat Dersinger's efforts had brought him cheer. Had he still a human face, he would have smiled.

  Debts have been paid. Vengeance is mine. So long as man and dragon do as I require, there is no need for conflict. Give them peace, and soon they will forget.

  * * *

  Kenward Trell walked the sturdy, well-joined, and finished wood decks of the Trader's Skies hovering above one of the highest peaks on the Firstland. Below, a broken keystone was surrounded by green algamyte crystals. Regal dragons flitted like birds in and out of recesses in the land, most bearing riders. Others patrolled the skies.

  Shipmaster Gret orchestrated flightmaster and thrustmaster, contributing to their stable flight. To a great extent, towering balloons supported the ship. Rising from a central peak along a deckhouse large enough to support an army and from each of the ship's corners, wind socks almost looked like cloud formations. Significantly larger than the Ghost or Shark, the Trader's Skies provided far more runway space than needed.

  "Are you ready to lose some coin?" Fasha asked.

  Kenward just grinned. With Gwen and Jessub on his crew, he was confident of victory. He wasn't certain which one had suggested it first, but neither could resist a race. With the Shark and the Ghost offshore in opposite directions, the three ships formed the racecourse.

  "You did somehow end up with my flightmaster," Fasha pointed out.

  "I did you a favor, and you know it. That boy's thrust all the way. You'll see."

  "Are you two fighting already?" Nora asked from not far away. "Just get you rear ends over here and let's do this."

  Neither could argue and they raced there. Kenward nearly knocked Nora down when he lost his balance, be he hurled himself to one side to make sure she was safe.

  "Fool boy."

  Rubbing his shoulder, Kenward joined his mother and sister. Signal fires on the Kraken's Ghost and the Vengeful Shark had been lit, and everyone not engaged in essential duties gathered to watch. Two growlers waited almost on the edge of the nearest runway. Gwen, Jessub, Gret, and Vik were at the ready. The rivalry already obvious, the pairs ignored each other. One flightmaster and one thrustmaster per aircraft. A single thrust sphere was allowed for each team.

  "Keep it clean and fair," Fasha said. "As long as my crew wins."

  "Cheat if you can, but win either way," Kenward said, echoing his sister's sentiment.

  "I taught my children well."

  Gleaming in the light, the polished hardwood growlers were sleek works of art, appearing to be in flight even while firmly strapped to the deck. Vik walked with a limp and added a small pillow to his seat before climbing in. Torches were brought out, and there would be no more waiting once the smokers were lit. Gwen and Jessub both held up their hands, indicating they were ready. Vik fidgeted before joining Gret in doing the same.

  "Light them up!" Fasha shouted with a grin. Gwen and Jessub's smoker ignited immediately and filled the air with red smoke. It took an instant longer for Gret and Vik's white smoker to ignite. "On the count of three. One. Two. Th--"

  Gret's growler roared to life perhaps an instant early and gained an advantage. Both aircraft launched immediately, leaving the deck well before reaching the edge. Squeezing in close to Gwen, Gret managed to gain the lead. White smoke engulfed Gwen and Jessub, and both aircraft dropped from sight.

  Running toward the edge of the ship, Kenward wondered if this had been a bad idea.

  * * *

  Choking, Gwen did what she could to avoid Gret's smoke stream and not fall from the sky. It was a delicate balance. Dipping down into the valley to separate themselves, she gained clear air but put them in far greater danger. Seconds later she burst back out from behind a looming ridgeline to fall in behind Gret again--now even farther behind.

  "More!" Gwen shouted, barely audible above the roar. Rolling thunder growing louder was only the indication Jessub heard her. Every bit of extra speed came from guts and determination, and Jessub did her proud. Closing the gap, Gwen swung to one side, ready to make a pass. The Vengeful Shark was not that far off shore, and she wanted to position herself on the outside of the turn, hoping to hold their speed. Still Gret maneuvered to engulf them in smoke, which was suddenly filled with something. White feathers pelted Gwen and choked them both. When she caught a glimpse of Vik, he grinned, aiming thrust at them and letting air suck the feathers from his pillow. When an egg struck her, Gwen was no longer amused.

  There was no need to shout a battle cry or yell to Jessub; he was already giving his best, and she wasn't certain how long it would last. Cheers erupted from the Shark as they approached. Gret mirrored Gwen's plan, leaving her little choice but to cut the corner tighter and faster. Banking hard, she strained the growler to its limits. While she was perfectly capable of flying the aircraft alone, having Jessub and a thrust sphere aboard made entirely new things possible. Even facing backward, Jessub reasoned out the situation and executed a move that made Gwen's guts jump toward her chin. Rather than aiming thrust straight back to propel them, Jessub held the orb high, forcing the aircraft's tail to rip through the air and cutting almost too tight a turn given their original flight path.

  Jessub had turned them around, but they maintained very little speed, and the Vengeful Shark was straight ahead. If she crashed into the only thing in the skies for a mile, she'd never hear the end of it. Jessub wasted no time and exerted thrust laterally once again. Gwen applied all her strength to the thrust tubes beneath the growler's wings. As they skimmed past the Shark, people ran in all directions. Gwen smiled. Never before had such a maneuver been conceivable.

  When once again synchronized with Gret and Vik, the two growlers flew side by side. Using Jessub's technique, they should be able to get ahead in the next turn. Then all they had to do was land, get unstrapped, and have both team members standing on deck. It all seemed simple enough, but execution was everything. Each having an assigned landing strip meant there should be less trouble with interference, but experience dictated caution.

  Ahead, a decision waited. Windhold rose up before them. Avoiding it would require flying around or over several more mountains; the valley beyond cut straight through. "Don't flinch. Give me all you've got!"

  Waiting until the chance was nearly past, Gwen made a sharp course correction. "Turn!" she shouted. Jessub whipped them through the air. Windhold was far from abandoned, and people cleared the wind channels on seeing their abrupt turn.

  Howling loudly enough to be heard above the growler and Jessub's thrust, they soared through Windhold at incredible speed. It took only an instant before they emerged into the narrow valley beyond. Almost immediately the choice seemed unwise. Gwen had told Jessub not to flinch and he hadn't. Now she couldn't get the words out to tell him to let up. Feverishly working the controls, she watched as trees reached out to claim them. In a moment of epiphany, Gwen abandoned the thrust tubes and exerted her will downward. Sensing the change, Jessub angled his thrust upward. Looking straight up at the skies, Gwen returned to the thrust tubes and Jessub blasted the peaks until they soared higher.

  Gret and Vik flew off shore, roiling mists behind them. Now with a relatively clear path, Gwen concentrated on speed, disappointed to learn their dangerous risk had actually cost them time.

  "We're going to turn even tighter," she yelled. "I'll plan ahead so we aren't dodging the ship this time!"

  Jessub barked a laugh in response.

  Approaching the Kraken's Ghost, Gret cut a tight line, looking as if they, too, would attempt to shorten the turn. Gwen cursed. It didn't take long for them to copy the move. Experience had already taught her things, and she began controlling the thrust tubes individually. The results were dramatic, and flying sideways cost them speed. No time remained for experimentation. "Get ready!"

  Jessub snarled with effort. Maintaining peak output was exponentially more difficult than normal flight. Vik showed no signs of slowing, and th
e distance between them grew. Speed carried Gret and Vik forward faster than the tight turn radius would allow, and the aircraft wobbled as they executed the turn. Overshooting, they soared out over the waves. It was then Gwen realized they were throwing away the Ghost turn to get a better angle of approach on the Trader's Skies. Growling, Gwen wished she'd thought of it. Already committed, she yelled, "Now!"

  Jessub had learned as well. Flexing and creaking, the growler approached its limits as they rapidly slowed, turned, and reversed direction in a very tight arc. No dragon could do that. Gret and Vik soared wide, lining themselves up for a quick approach and landing. Approaching the Trader's Wind from the side, Gwen and Jessub would have to execute a sharp turn. Under normal circumstances, she would have swung out wide, but there was no time. Already, Gret was lined up and inward bound.

  "Hold on," Gwen shouted.

  "I've been holding on! Don't do anything cra--"

  Not waiting for him to finish, Gwen made up her mind. No one had said which direction she had to come in, just that she had to land. "If you trust me, unbuckle yourself. We can win this."

  "I trust you!" he said. The following scream did not fully support the statement.

  Shouts from aboard the Trader's Skies made it clear they didn't think she was going to make it. Many pointed and shouted. Too late, Gwen looked over to check on Gret and Vik's progress; they were on a collision course. Gwen and Jessub would cross over Gret and Vik's assigned landing strip before reaching their own designated strip, just on the other side of the deckhouse. With all her might, she reversed the airflow on one side, yanking the growler sideways and slowing it, which allowed Gret and Vik to whisk past. Having lost altitude along with speed, Gwen didn't have time to warn Jessub before they clipped the deckhouse. Only through brute force did she keep them from nose-diving into the deck. People ran from the thrust wash. With a single bounce and quick turn, the growler came to rest mostly on the assigned runway.

  Climbing out, Gwen grabbed Jessub by the collar. He looked as if he might be sick. Dragging him out, she helped him down and propped him up. For a moment, she stood there, breathing hard and laughing between the tears, not knowing who had won. It didn't matter. The experience was amazing and worth every risk. The fact that Jessub chuckled and cried along with her made her feel a little better.

  "Are you insane?" Nora asked when she reached them.

  "Did we win?"

  "That answers that question," Kenward said. "That's my niece."

  "I don't know which of you will be the death of me first. It's not a competition, you know."

  "But there are some really great prizes," Gwen said, surprising everyone. Even Kenward's eyes went wide. Nora laughed the hardest.

  "Pay up, Sis," Kenward said.

  "You're calling that a landing? I call that a crash site."

  "Pay up."

  * * *

  Walking along New Harborton's streets, Sinjin Volker smiled. In a few short years, east Firstland had been transformed from a vast wilderness into a thriving metropolis. While the west remained untamed, filled with creatures of all descriptions, east Firstland recaptured the glory of ages past and perhaps even exceeded it; Sinjin wasn't sure. Much of the knowledge and technology they used came from ancient texts found in the past twenty years, but even that knowledge had been built on and improved.

  Crews worked to lay new wooden piping along the cobbled streets. Side by side in the trenches they dug were tightly sealed ducts for fresh water and air. Sewer lines had been built in the previous year, solving one of the largest problems they had faced considering such rapid population growth. The Firstland had become known as a land of limitless opportunity where freedom was treasured as much as gold. The trade fleet making New Harborton its home port had a great deal to do with their success. Sinjin was grateful. The Trells were more to him than just friends; they were family.

  Fresh water would soon flow to all the businesses and homes that crowded the newly cobbled streets along with ancient roads uncovered by work crews. Compressed-air technology fueled innovation and growth. Kenward Trell had been at the forefront of this research, expanding on ancient knowledge, and he rarely let anyone forget it. Sinjin didn't mind. His friend deserved all the credit; after all, he risked his own life when testing each new development. Word came from Martik Tillerman along with each return of the trade fleet and sometimes via dragon or bird. Knowledge now flowed around the world, and each innovation benefitted them all.

  People waved and saluted as he passed, something Sinjin would never grow accustomed to. He'd once known every face and name of the people who lived here, but those days were gone. New people arrived every day: craftsmen, scholars, and others seeking a better life. Here those willing to work for their share were afforded land and opportunity. Some earned their keep with their backs; others, through art and culture. No matter what they brought, the result was the same. The Firstland had grown to have a life of its own, far from Sinjin Volker's control. Forming the Council of Thirteen had been perhaps his greatest accomplishment. The truth was that he'd done it to relieve himself of responsibility for so many lives; better the people govern themselves. Decisions reached together were more popular than a single ruler's mandate, their own goals and dreams providing far greater motivation.

  Though it had removed some pressure, Sinjin was still Al'Drakon. Valterius waited not far away, watching over the other dragons within the lower stables. He and the other dragonriders could stay high above, within the keystone caverns, but such divisions served no one. The Drakon were no better than anyone else on Godsland, something Sinjin did his best to remind those who might forget. They had a responsibility to protect these people from whatever threats they faced. The world might have become more peaceful, but danger still lurked. True peace required vigilance.

  The craftsmen's quarter, filled with water-powered hammer mills, smithies, and shops, assailed his ears with the sound of industry. Hissing air drove pumps and bellows and even provided the force needed to deliver fresh water from the reservoirs through the aqueducts and into the homes and shops of all those who lived and worked there. The Council of Thirteen had deemed these things every citizen's right, and budgets set aside were more than adequate to pay the workers needed to build the required infrastructure. Many came to the Firstland because they heard about a place where more coin was available than workers to earn it. At some point the scales would tip, Sinjin knew, but for now he smiled. His mother would have liked this very much.

  When he reached the vendors' district and the open-air market, Sinjin was reminded of the Godfist. Things they had missed so dearly were now available to all. Hard-won progress was worthwhile in the end. The trade fleet meant they no longer had to make everything they needed, yet progress allowed them to do just that. Self-sufficiency had been among his mother's greatest goals, and Sinjin took pride in making her visions reality.

  Anonymity was not something he'd ever possessed, yet the greetings called out wherever he went made him a bit uncomfortable. He carried no coin because no one would accept it from him. He asked for nothing because the mere sight of him brought merchants and vendors into the streets, each wanting no more than to please him. Trying to remember their names was among his greatest challenges, but some were familiar nonetheless.

  "Took you long enough," Onin of the Old Guard said, his wry smile betraying his words. "You know how much she likes to serve cold food."

  "I know," Sinjin said with a grin.

  "And it won't be you she blisters with her words," Onin continued, all the while holding open the door of the Last Inn. Having rebuilt the Watering Hole multiple times, Miss Mariss said it was time for a new tradition. Nonetheless, this place held all the comforts of the previous inns and perhaps a few more. Four mighty hearths graced the common rooms that extended from a central bar and the kitchens. A joyful noise greeted them.

  Having beaten him there, Kendra waved and pulled out the stool next to her. Doing so revealed the extra girth she
carried along with the glow radiating from her like light from a comet, and perhaps just as magical. Sipping her tea, his wife beamed, and for Sinjin Volker, that was enough.

  "To Al'Drakon!" someone in the crowded common room shouted, and the rest echoed the cheer.

  Flushing, Sinjin Volker raised the mug Miss Mariss slid to him in silent salute. He might never get used to such treatment, but his wife's gentle touch assured him everything was as it should be. "To the future," he said loudly enough to be heard over the din.

  "To the future!"

  * * *

  Like humans, dragons are creatures of habit, and patterns formed over thousands of years were hardest to break. Though free, Mael had not slept properly in years. Coming back to the prison that had held him for so long seemed the greatest foolishness, but prison it was no more. It was a strange confliction that drove him. Like a prisoner who falls in love with his captor, he longed for his home. It would be a simple enough thing to drive everyone else from Dragonhold, but that would make the rest of his plans more difficult to achieve. Better to leave them alone and let them build it all for him--far better, indeed.

  Even seeing him would raise their suspicions and consciousness of him too much. He needed to fade from the collective memory like so much dust. Only then would he truly be free to encourage development along a specific path.

  Long years without proper sleep left him feeling worn thin and snappish. When rain finally came, providing darkness and cover, Mael slipped into the Pinook River. A glistening serpent, he moved through the water with terrific speed, even against the current.

  While he could have gone all the way to his former home before surfacing, the dragon mage hesitated when dim amber light shone on the water, stored up during daylight and diffused through massive crystals above. Even before breaking the surface, change was evident. The scale of time had changed for him, and it seemed as if the humans rushed headlong into everything, not stopping to consider the more distant future. A series of waterwheels lined the shore, driving shafts protruding from wooden structures. Wood deteriorated, and to Mael's eye, it already looked weak. Copper tanks stood taller than the mills, looking no more permanent.