Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  Eli finally relented and the rest of the crew followed suit. She hoped they’d leave quietly, but Eli stopped to eye the guard.

  “You’d best not let anything happen to her, understand?”

  “Are you threatening me, sir?” the guard demanded, though he had to tip his head back to look up at Eli.

  “No, he’s not,” Briar quickly added. “He’s just asking you to look after my welfare, which I’m sure a gentleman such as yourself would readily do anyway.”

  “I’m a law-abiding citizen,” the guard answered, perhaps as a subtle dig at their incarceration.

  “As are we all,” she added. “My cousin tends to be temperamental, and completely overreacted when I took the family boat without his leave. You can ask anyone along that canal that I’ve lived on that boat since I was three, and I’ve served as its captain the last two years.”

  “It’s not me you need to convince,” the guard answered before turning to her crew. “If you’re leaving, let’s go. I’ve got supper waiting.”

  The crew relented, and after a few farewells, they walked off down the hall.

  Briar released a breath, glad they’d left without a fuss. She walked over and took a seat on the nearest bunk. This was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  Briar woke, not certain why. It could have been the scratchy blanket she lay on, the fleas, or perhaps the total lack of anything resembling a mattress between her and the rope-bed frame. With her worries for Grayson and of her own uncertain future, she was surprised she’d dozed off at all.

  Something cold and hard poked her in the cheek, and she recoiled with a gasp.

  A little head leaned in, the moonlight catching on silver scales.

  “Lock,” she whispered on an exhale.

  He blinked his gem-like eyes.

  “What are you doing here? Did Grayson send you?”

  She didn’t realize Lock held something in his jaws until he dropped it on her chest. It was a small scrap of white fabric, perhaps torn from a shirt. Unrolling it, she was surprised to find a written message.

  Sitting up, she climbed from the bunk and walked to the window where the moonlight enabled her to see the words. She immediately recognized Grayson’s elegant hand. It was the same as the writing on the locomotive plans. But the rust-colored ink suggested it wasn’t ink at all.

  Miss Rose,

  I’m giving you Lock. Love him, and he will be forever yours. Fear not, soon Solon will be unable to sense him.

  Forgive me,

  Grayson Martel

  Lock landed on her shoulder.

  “What does this mean?” she whispered to him. “Why won’t Solon be able to sense you?”

  Lock moaned, an utterly forlorn sound, and rubbed his cheek against hers.

  “Do you know where Grayson is?” she asked. “Can you take me to him?”

  The little dragon perked up, his tail swishing in eagerness.

  “Good. But first I need to get out of here.” She turned back toward the door. “Can you help?”

  Lock sprang into the air and, flapping his delicate wings, flew across the room to land on the bars of her cell with a soft clink of metal on metal. Apparently, Solon hadn’t damaged him when he’d squeezed him earlier, which surprised her. Of course with Lock’s ability to change forms, perhaps he could repair damage as well.

  Climbing around to the other side of the door, Lock disappeared from view as he crawled to where the door lock was housed. A clank sounded a moment later, and the door swung open an inch or two.

  Lock climbed up to a cross bar and gave her an expectant look.

  Smiling, Briar hurried across the room. She pulled the door open, going slowly in case a hinge squeaked, and looked out into the hall. There was no one around.

  Lock hopped down onto her shoulder as she left her cell. She gently closed the door behind her, making her escape a little less obvious.

  Her cell had been the last in line and only a few feet from the stairwell door. She tested the knob and found it locked.

  “Can you help with this one, too?” she whispered to Lock.

  He hopped down to the knob, his nails tinking softly against the metal knob. He stretched out his tail and slipped it into the keyhole. An instant later, a snap sounded.

  A flap of his wings, and Lock returned to her shoulder.

  “I should call you Lockpick,” she whispered, opening the door. She stepped into the stairwell and closed the door behind her.

  Lock jumped to the newel post on the flight going up.

  “Are you suggesting I go up? What if there isn’t a way down?”

  Lock spread his wings.

  “That works for you, but I can’t fly.”

  He cocked his head, and she had the impression that he found that odd.

  A door closed below them, echoing up the stairs.

  “I guess that decides it,” she whispered. “Come on.” She hurried up the stairs, and Lock leapt to her shoulder as she passed. She’d have to take her chances on the roof.

  After climbing the single flight of stairs, she stopped before a door at the top. Like the other, it was locked, but the little dragon went to work on it without being asked. A moment later, she stepped out onto the roof.

  “Where to now?” she asked.

  Locked jumped into the air and, spreading his wings, flew to one side. He landed on the low stone wall surrounding the roof.

  Briar walked over, expecting a ladder or something. Instead, there was a five-story drop to the cobblestones below.

  “You remember that I can’t fly, right?”

  Lock answered with his typical whirr of hidden mechanisms, then morphed into a silver sphere. A thin silver rope emerged from one side and slipped over the edge while a second, shorter rope ending in a grappling hook emerged from the other. The hook slipped over the lip of the stone wall and caught there. The sphere finished morphing into a coil of silver rope that continued to slip over the side until it had all run out.

  Briar eyed the small hook and the incredibly thin rope. “You expect me to climb down that?”

  A ripple ran through the rope, clinking softly against the stone. A metal rope. Crazy. How would she even be able to grip it?

  She stepped forward and more out of curiosity than planning to use it, gripped the rope. It was surprisingly supple and not slick at all.

  Before she could do more than feel it, the rope coiled around her wrist, making several loops around her forearm.

  “Uh, Lock. I—”

  A sound came from behind the shed-like structure that housed the stairwell door.

  “This door was locked,” a male voice said. Guards checking the doors? Had they discovered the unlocked door to her cell floor, or maybe her empty cell?

  Out of alternatives, she took a seat on the stone wall and swung her legs over.

  “Check around,” another voice carried to her. “Frank will make us come back up and do it if we don’t.”

  Briar pulled in a breath and, gripping the rope in both hands, slipped over the edge.

  The coil around her forearm tightened, but not to the point of cutting off circulation. Suspended over the alley five stories below, she clung to the rope with increasingly sweaty hands.

  She tried to twist around to get her feet on the wall with the intention of walking herself down, and noticed that she was slowly descending. For a heart-pounding moment, she thought the much too small hook was slipping, then she felt movement around her wrist and forearm. She was sliding down the rope in a slow controlled motion.

  She loosened her grip with the other hand, allowing the rope to slide a little faster, though the descent remained slow. Normally, she wouldn’t complain, but if the guards were inspecting the roof, they were bound to notice the rope.

  “Can you go a little faster?” she whispered.

  Her speed of decent increased, but it wasn’t exactly fast. She looked up, watching the edge of the roof and listening for a shout.

  Glanci
ng down, she judged herself to be about two stories above the ground. Perhaps another ten feet and she could—

  “Lock, stop.”

  She jerked to a stop. A man had just entered the alley below her. She couldn’t tell for certain in the low light, but he might be wearing the uniform of a prison guard.

  A decorative ledge encircled the building just above the second floor. She set her feet on it and reached over to grip the edge of the nearest window. She was in plain sight, but high above the man’s head. If she didn’t move, she didn’t think he’d notice her.

  Her heart thumped in her ears as she watched him stroll along. Hopefully, he made this trip often and had grown complacent.

  “Hey, what’s that?” the voice carried down from above. Fortunately, the distance was too great for the man below to notice.

  Suddenly, the loop encircling her wrist loosened, then retracted all together. It rose in the air, shooting up and out of sight.

  “Lock!” she whispered, pressing back against the side of the building. The ledge she stood on was so narrow that her toes hung over the edge.

  The man below her continued on, oblivious to everything.

  “I swear I saw a rope, or something,” the voice above her was clearer now. The speaker must be closer to the edge.

  She didn’t dare look up for fear of losing her balance. Would she be visible if the guy looked over the edge?

  Something gripped her shoulder, and she almost screamed before she heard the concerned coo near her ear.

  “Lock,” she breathed.

  “I don’t see anything,” the other man said above her, the words barely audible with the distance.

  “I tell you, it was something.” This voice was louder with the speaker’s excitement. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  “Lock, we’ve got to hurry.”

  The weight vanished from her shoulder, though she didn’t look up to see where he had gone. A good minute ticked past.

  Suddenly, a thin silver rope dropped in front of her. She gripped it with one hand and once again, it coiled around her wrist and forearm.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the ledge.

  Her descent was agonizingly slow, and she expected the guards to come rushing around the corner at any moment.

  She watched the cobbled ground grow closer. Twelve feet. Ten. Closing in on eight—

  A door slammed.

  “Lock, drop me!”

  The rope vanished from her wrist, and even expecting it, she gasped.

  She tried to relax into the fall, planning to bend her knees and let her momentum drop her into a squat. She hit sooner and harder then she expected and landed on her butt with a bone-jarring thump.

  She didn’t get to dwell on the painful landing as running feet headed her way.

  Pushing off the ground, she broke into a sprint before she was fully on her feet. Slipping and stumbling, she managed to regain her balance before ending up face down. That would be an embarrassing end to this mad adventure.

  Somehow, she reached the end of the alley before anyone saw her. Slowing to a fast walk, she rounded the corner and came face to face with Eli.

  “Eli!” She stared up at him. “What are you—”

  Eli gripped her arm and urged her to a quick walk beside him. “A guard patrols this area.” He gave her a frown. “I assume they didn’t just let you leave.”

  “Well, no…” She lengthened her stride to keep up with him.

  “That isn’t going to look good on you, Miss Briar.”

  They turned the corner into a dimly lit street.

  “I know,” she answered. “But—”

  Eli released her with a gasp and swatted at something on the back of his shoulder.

  “Eli?”

  “Something bit me.” He continued to struggle to reach whatever it was.

  Briar caught a glimpse of something of a silver wing. “Lock, don’t. He’s my friend.”

  Eli turned away, revealing a few rips in his shirt, but no dragon.

  “Lock?” Briar called.

  A familiar weight settled on her shoulder, accompanied by a questioning coo.

  She reached up to rub Lock’s chin. “There you are.”

  Eli spun to face her, his eyes going wide.

  “Eli, this is Lock.” She continued rubbing the little dragon beneath his chin. “Lock, this is my friend, Eli.”

  “What is that?” Eli demanded.

  “Ferromancers call them constructs. They’re created from a piece of a captured soul.”

  Eli stared at her.

  This time, she gripped his arm and pulled him after her. “Come on.” They couldn’t stand around here.

  “Lock was made from a piece of Grayson’s soul,” she continued after they were moving again. “I suspect Solon did the capturing.”

  “Dear God,” Eli whispered. “That’s how you learned about all of this.”

  “Yes.” She met his gaze. “Lock knows where Grayson is.”

  “You’re going after him.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Eli sighed. “And nothing I say will deter you.”

  “Grayson stole some ferro-technology. Solon is pissed. I think he plans to make Grayson soulless.” She turned back to the little dragon. “Show me where Grayson is?”

  Lock scampered down her waistcoat and dropped into her pocket.

  Not sure what to make of his actions, she reached in after him. She expected to pull out the silver pocket watch; instead, she held a silver compass. The needle swung to her right, then held steady.

  “That’s ingenious, Lock.”

  “Did he just change into a…compass?” Eli asked, staring at the silver instrument she held.

  “Yes, he’s showing us what direction to go.”

  “Us?” Eli asked.

  She looked up. “I know you don’t like Grayson, but I also know that you wouldn’t stand by while Solon cuts out more of his organs.”

  Eli swallowed, the graphic description getting to him. “You’re right, Miss Briar. I can’t stand by and let you do this alone.”

  That wasn’t the answer she expected, but it would have to do.

  16

  Briar crouched behind a boxcar, eyeing the huge building that housed a foundry. Smoke billowed from a smokestack, but she saw no one around this end of the building. The night watchman had already walked through the area, though she could still see his lantern in the distance.

  Leaning around the side of the boxcar, Briar eyed the wide doorway over the train tracks that led into the building. An orange glow illuminated a distant point, but her view was blocked by several large pieces of equipment.

  “The guard’s gone,” Eli whispered.

  She glanced over and noted that she could no longer see the guard’s lantern. She turned to the little metal dragon sitting on her shoulder. “Grayson’s in there?”

  Lock moaned, snuggling closer to the side of her neck. Was he worried for Grayson or afraid of Solon? Probably both. She could certainly sympathize.

  Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet, and stepping around the boxcar, she and Eli followed the tracks into the building.

  Eli released a soft whistle. “This place is huge.”

  “And hot,” she added in the same low tone.

  Though no one was working in this end of the foundry, the building still held the heat. Thick chains hung from large overhead cranes perhaps used to load or unload the boxcars. Having only the most rudimentary understanding of how a foundry operated, she could only speculate on the use of the objects around them.

  They crossed the cavernous room, keeping to the edges or behind larger pieces of equipment. As they moved closer to the orange glow, the low rumble of male voices became words.

  “A little more, Mr. Owens.”

  Briar gripped Eli’s wrist, pulling him to a stop. She recognized Solon’s accented voice. Lock had led her to the right place.

  “Do as I ask, Grayson,” Solon continued, a hint of exas
peration in his cool tone. “This will be most unpleasant otherwise.”

  Grayson didn’t answer.

  Briar rubbed her palms against her thighs, not certain if it was the heat within the building or her nerves that made her sweat.

  She crept forward, leading Eli toward a gap between pieces of machinery that she hoped would offer a good view. She just prayed it was only Solon and his soulless henchman. Once she got a good look at the odds, she could decide how to go about freeing Grayson.

  Dropping to a knee, she peered around the edge of the machine.

  She spotted Grayson immediately. He’d been stripped to the waist and bound to a concrete vat-like structure that held the molds.

  The orange glow came from the enormous crucible full of molten iron. Mr. Owens operated the lever that controlled it. Currently, he was pouring the liquid metal into one end of the mold Grayson was strapped to.

  Briar pressed a hand to her mouth as the molten iron crawled along the trough toward Grayson.

  “Cooperate!” Solon was angry now. “I will kill you, Grayson. You are worthless to me—to all of us—otherwise.”

  A muscle flexed in Grayson’s jaw, but he remained silent, gazing up into the rafters above him. The glowing orange metal crept closer.

  Eli quietly picked up a long metal pole. “If I engage that soulless man—”

  She caught his sleeve. “Wait,” she whispered, then turned to the little dragon that still sat on her shoulder. “Lock, can you help Grayson?” If Lock cut Grayson’s bonds, he could roll free and escape. If they could make a run for it, maybe they wouldn’t have to face Solon or his soulless henchman.

  “Mr. Owens,” Solon command. “Empty the ladle.” The ladle? Was that the official name for the crucible-like container?

  With a maniacal grin, Owens reached for the lever.

  “Lock, go to him now!” she whispered.

  The little dragon left her shoulder and leapt into the air. Orange light caught on the sleek scales and delicate wings, glinting as brightly as the molten metal.

  Grayson’s head whipped around, his eyes widening when he saw Lock.

  Folding his wings, Lock dropped into a graceful dive and landed on Grayson’s bare chest.