Scale Raker!Yurgen’s mind thundered.
Kalmar looked down through Yurgen’s eyes at his grandfather, noble and fierce and pointing at Ban Rona, shouting, “Help us!” as Yurgen’s jaws widened and he thrust his great head at the old man.
“Grandpa!” Kalmar howled. He clutched the sides of his head and thrashed on the deck of the ship until Yurgen released his mind. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Janner, struggling to breathe through the weight in his chest. “Grandpa’s gone.”
Leeli crumpled to the deck and wept.
“You—you killed him?” Janner screamed. He felt the full, horrible weight of Yurgen’s vengeance. The old gray dragon peered down at them with a smile in his eyes.
It was quick. Quicker and more merciful than the death that Scale Raker afforded my young ones.
Janner wanted to cry, but the air seemed to have been sucked from his lungs. He hadn’t seen much, but he had heard every word between Oskar and Podo, down to the gritty determination in Podo’s grunts as he strove for the water’s edge.
Janner doubled over, thinking of his grandfather, thinking of the pain in the old man’s eyes whenever he looked out at the sea or when he heard mention of the dragons. He didn’t understand what Podo and Oskar thought would happen. There may have been an alliance with Anniera ages ago, but that didn’t mean Yurgen the Dragon King would suddenly give aid to the Hollowsfolk. Obviously, he hadn’t.
And yet knowing that Yurgen had seen the impending destruction of Ban Rona, had seen that Podo was trying to get him to help, and had still done nothing—it made Janner’s soul smolder with rage.
Janner clenched his fists and met Yurgen’s eyes with all the anger he could muster. “You didn’t have to kill him!”
There was justice in his death, boy. Scale Raker would have agreed.
“He was only trying to get you to help! At least you could have stayed and fought the Fangs. Then his death would have meant something.”
Now Janner joined Kalmar and Leeli in their weeping.
It meant something to me. It meant vengeance. And now I am finished with the affairs of men.
“But—” Janner said.
“Silence him, too!” Gnag snapped, and before Janner could say another word a Green Fang’s cold hand covered his mouth.
Janner tried to order his thoughts, to demand of Yurgen a better answer, but grief stole his words and he could only cry. His tears ran down his cheeks and wet the scales on the Fang’s hand.
“Yurgen the Mighty!” Gnag fumbled with the satchel and waved for the Bat Fang to fly him closer to the dragon. “I bring you proof of my goodwill.”
What proof? Yurgen seemed disinterested. Gnag unlatched the bag and grinned at the dragon as he lifted out the ancient stone.
But it wasn’t the stone.
Janner blinked away his tears. It was a skull. A white, clean human skull.
Gnag held it over his head triumphantly. “If it’s justice you want, I deliver it to you in the name of our new alliance. This is the head of Ouster Will, betrayer of the dragons, slayer of your son.”
Yurgen’s old eyes widened, and his grey bulk quivered with emotion. His head rocked back on his long, sleek neck and swayed in the air as he opened wide his jaws and roared at the sky. Smoke poured out of the dragon’s throat as from a chimney, and foam frothed the sea.
“I killed him,” Gnag said with a bow of his head.
He threw the skull into the air, and Yurgen lunged forward, snapping it up in his jaws. He swallowed it with a moan of pleasure, and Janner shuddered at the thought of Podo’s similar fate. Slowly, Yurgen’s quavering ceased, his eyelids drew open, and he gazed at Gnag with a wickedly satisfied smile. He even licked his lips.
An alliance, you say?
“Yes, Yurgen. Let us reign together. Let us build the world as we see fit. Let us subdue men and women and their vile cities. Let us hold sway over the sea, air, and land. I have done so much already. But with your help we will rule Aerwiar in defiance of the Maker who in his foolishness gave dominion to man and his offspring. Never again shall you lose a son or young dragon. Never again shall I be cast off like a dead rat.” Gnag stretched out his white arms. “Join me.”
The water at Yurgen’s sides churned as he rose higher from the sea and stretched out his wing-like fins. The two faced one another like old friends about to embrace.
All the grief in Janner’s heart turned to white-hot terror. Who could defeat such a force? Gnag with all his minions, and Yurgen with the strength of all the dragons in the sea at his command. All the good kings of Anniera must have groaned in their graves.
And yet the Maker was silent. Such evil played out under the Maker’s gaze, and he said nothing, did nothing.Why? Janner wondered with a despairing terror.
“Then let us seal our alliance with a song,” Gnag said. Janner saw him glance at the old Stone Keeper, and she gave a subtle nod.
Yurgen bowed his head toward Gnag.What song shall we sing, Slayer of Ouster Will?
“I know just the one,” Gnag said.
80
The Melding
Gnag the Nameless sang the song of the ancient stones.
Yurgen closed his eyes and swayed with the melody. He even raised his mountainous voice and hummed along, as if it were an old tune he was struggling to recall. Gnag’s eyes widened madly as he grinned at Murgah and struggled to maintain the melody in his rapture. Janner was dizzy with fear, unable to move or to take his eyes away from the unfolding evil.
Kalmar whipped his head from the Fang’s grip and screamed, “Yurgen, no!” Leeli tried to play her whistleharp but Amrah knocked it away and held Leeli’s arms behind her back.
The Grey Fangs and Green Fangs all watched with their mouths hanging open, awestruck at the genius of their master’s scheme come to fruition.
Murgah reached into her satchel and removed the ancient stone in a burst of light that cut through the smoke like the sun through a storm cloud. The golden beams bathed everything they touched with a buttery glow, but when they fell on one soul in particular—the one with a heart bent toward transformation, and that for the sake of its own power—the light infused the singer with whatever life lay nearest to it. Gnag shouted a command and the Bat Fang squealed and flung him onto the dragon’s back. Gnag tumbled downward, arms and useless legs akimbo, a look of unbridled joy on his face as he thudded into Yurgen.
Then it happened.
Gnag’s blood and bone comingled with Yurgen’s ancient power. The old dragon’s heart was also bent toward the promise of power, that of a dark alliance with Gnag, and though he knew not what was happening, he sensed the surge of the stonelight’s melding and leaned into it wholly. He welcomed the melding, old as he was and eager to rend and ravage the world as he had done at the end of the First Epoch.
The ancient stone flashed so brightly that the Fangs and children alike shrank from it. Janner forced open his eyes. A whirl of steam engulfed Yurgen and Gnag, twisting upward like a waterspout, spewing its offense at the gray sky. Water bubbled and foamed. A sound like distant thunder pulsed from the vortex and rattled the ship’s timbers and its passengers’ teeth.
The Stone Keeper covered the stone again, and the world went dim, lit only by the red sun beyond the curtain of smoke.
Janner didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. If he was going to die, he wanted to see the monster that would kill him.
A silhouette emerged from the steamy haze.
The Gnag-Dragon stood knee deep in the sea, half-man and half-beast, taller than the ship’s mast. Gnag’s head had grown to the size of a boulder and remained bald and white, wrinkly and freckled with age. His nose and mouth were elongated just enough to suggest a snout without diminishing his human likeness. His eyes were closed as he worked his jaw and rolled his head to the left and right, adjusting to the feel of his new frame. The great head was mounted to wide shoulders. His chest glistened with gray scales that plated his flesh down to two strong legs a
s thick as trees. His arms, also sinuous and strong, flexed, his clawed fingers as long as oars closing and opening on empty air.
He looked, at first, merely like a giant, uncrippled version of the old Gnag the Nameless. That would have been bad enough. But then he spread his wings—wicked brown wings that worked in and out like the sails of a demon ship. There was no doubt that they were capable of carrying Gnag in flight. Then Janner saw the long dragon tail whipping about in a froth of seawater.
The Gnag-Dragon at last opened its eyes, which had become two black orbs with vertical slits for pupils. Those terrible eyes blinked and looked about at the sky, the burned island, the dock, the ship, and finally the frightened souls on the deck.
The Fangs had all fallen on their faces, along with the Stone Keepers, and Murgah hugged the satchel holding the ancient stone as if for survival.
Only Janner, Leeli, and Kalmar remained on their feet. They stepped over the backs of the prone Fangs and stood together, holding hands on the rocking ship.
“Bow to your king,” Gnag said, and Janner also heard the words in his mind as he had heard Yurgen’s:
BOW TO YOUR KING.
“Never.” Kalmar stood between Janner and Leeli, looking up at Gnag defiantly. “I already told you. You’re no king.”
Gnag arched his back and roared, revealing the same broken, brown teeth (though they were now as big as doors). He angrily whipped the waves with his tail and spread his arms and wings as wide as he could—then he saw, floating in the sea, a shriveled husk of dragonskin—what was left of Yurgen. Gnag lifted it out of the water with two of his fingers and wrinkled his nose. Then with a chuckle he tossed the skin out into the sea, where what was left of Yurgen the Dragon King sank away.
Gnag turned his attention back to the children. “After I destroy Ban Rona and what’s left of your family, you may not feel so bold.”AFTER I DESTROY BAN RONA AND WHAT’S LEFT OF YOUR FAMILY, YOU MAY NOT FEEL SO BOLD. Gnag’s voice, within and without, tore at Janner’s mind as much as his ears.
The Gnag-Dragon folded his wings. He squatted in the sea, crossing his whitish arms over his chest, then launched himself into the air with a triumphant laugh. He beat his wings clumsily at first, but then they found a rhythm so hard and sure that it seemed a storm had descended on the world. The ship was torn from its moorings and careered out into the open sea.
The Gnag-Dragon rose higher and higher, his deep and wicked laughter sounding across the wide world. Then he swooped low, his tail skimming the surface of the Dark Sea, and flew north and east, in the direction of Ban Rona. He circled as high as the clouds, but his voice boomed clear and close:
“FOLLOW.”
FOLLOW, he said in Janner’s mind.I WANT YOU TO SEE IT, CHILDREN. I WANT YOU TO KNOW MY POWER. The voice was somehow Yurgen’sand Gnag’s—all of the old dragon’s strength along with Gnag’s hatred, doubled by the hunger for vengeance that each of them carried.
Murgah clambered to her feet. “Set sail for Ban Rona! Witness the victory of your king!”
The Fangs hurried about the ship, ignoring the Wingfeather children completely, and minutes later, the ship caught the wind and cut the waves in the wake of Gnag’s flight. Murgah shouldered the satchel with the ancient stone, passed the children without a glance, and disappeared into the captain’s quarters with Amrah on her heels.
It seemed to Janner that the Maker had betrayed them yet again, because a foreboding storm gathered behind them and the air howled with a steady gale, blowing them straight and swift to the shores of the Hollows.
“What do we do?” Leeli shouted over the wind, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Whatcan we do?” Kalmar said.
“What have we ever been able to do?” Janner asked bitterly. “Nothing.”
He dropped wearily to the steps that led to the upper deck and sat with his head down. Kalmar and Leeli sat beside him, shivering in the blustering cold, damp with sea spray.
Behind them, the charred shores of Anniera shrank to a dim, dead shadow in the distance, while before them, beyond the reach of the driving storm, the hills of the Green Hollows rose from the sea like the backs of drowned giants, growing ever more vivid.
Gnag the Nameless reveled in the violent wind, looping and tumbling, gliding down past the port side of the ship only to flap his wings and rise again. His laughter dwarfed the thunder.
Janner had little doubt that whoever yet lived in Ban Rona heard Gnag’s voice on the wind like the pealing of doomsday bells.
81
The Destruction of Ban Rona
“Is he really dead?” Leeli asked.
Kalmar leaned against the forecastle steps with his eyes closed. He looked as sad and worn as a stray dog. “I saw it all,” he said. “Itwas quick, at least.”
Leeli stared into space, listless.
Janner put his arm around her and pulled her close. He wanted to cry, but he was too tired to feel anything but defeat. “Look,” he said, pointing out beyond the bow. In the distance they saw the masts of dozens of ships. Gnag’s armada was clustered at the mouth of the Watercraw.
Leeli wiped her nose. “I don’t want to look.”
Smoke clouded the air over the bluffs, much as it had over the Isle of Anniera. Janner hung his head. Everywhere Gnag went, smoke and ruin were sure to follow. And what had become of Nia? Oskar? Rudric and Danniby and the O’Sallys? Guildmaster Clout? Gnag’s thundering laughter seemed to answer Janner’s thoughts with mockery.
The Gnag-Dragon dove into the sea with a deafening explosion of seawater, then swam to the starboard side of the ship. His pale head rose above the ship’s rail and he scanned the deck until he found the children. One of his giant hands lifted from the waves and beckoned almost playfully.
Come here, he said in Janner’s head. When Janner didn’t move, he repeated,COME HERE. All of you.
The three children stood and edged closer to the rail. Gnag stared at them with eyes like caves, deep and black and terrible.
I want this to be a surprise.
Gnag’s hand shot out and grabbed the children, squeezing them together in his fist. Leeli’s crutch pressed against Janner’s back. Gnag’s wet grip was cold and squishy, and though Leeli screamed and the boys grunted, they weren’t crushed.
Gnag swam away from the ship, his tail slithering through the water, while the Fangs furled the ship’s sails and lashed it to another outside the craw. The children struggled uselessly while the Gnag-Dragon pushed his way through the city of ships as playfully as a child in a tub of toys. Gnag raised a finger to his lips and said, “Shhh!” with a threatening squeeze.
The storm behind them billowed in the sky, blowing steadily though there was yet no rain. Janner heard little over the wind and the hollow thump of ship on ship while Gnag eased his way among them.
“My lord!” said Murgah from the deck. “Wait!”
“SHHH!” Gnag said, scowling over his shoulder.
“But we didn’t name you!” Amrah shouted.
“Don’t you remember?” Gnag asked with a grin. “I have no name!Now be quiet! I want my nephews and niece to watch as my Fangs behold Ban Rona’s destroyer.”
Murgah waved her arms. “But—”
Gnag lifted himself a little way out of the water and growled, just enough to see her shrink back, then he continued on his way. Janner tried not to think about how icksome Gnag’s hand felt, and he tried to think even less about the awful sight that lay on the other side of the Watercraw.
Gnag swam to the southern side of the craw and drew himself out of the fitful sea, a monster from a scarytale creeping up the crags. His wings flapped for balance, then he opened them so that they caught the east wind and pressed him to the cliff.
When he reached the brink, he paused and held the children close to his face. If he had wanted to, he could have swallowed the three of them in one stenchuous gulp. Janner’s eyes wandered across the fleshy white face, porous and veined. Hairs as thick as branches lined the inside of the mons
ter’s nose. Gnag saw Janner’s disgust and smiled.
“Even now, you Annierans think me hideous. Mother Madia would be so proud of you. But I shall teach you of beauty. The beauty of power.”
“There are different kinds of power,” Kalmar said.
“Nonsense.” Gnag curled his lip. “Behold, Jewels of Anniera, the great city of Ban Rona!”
Gnag flapped his wings and leapt over the edge of the cliff with a roar. He landed on the top of the cliff and struck a mighty pose. His wings fanned out to their full width, and he lifted the children over his head and whipped his tail in the stormy bellows while lightning scraped the sky behind him.
Janner didn’t want to look, but look he did.
Broken planks and splintered hulls floated in the harbor where ship and dock alike had been crushed. Torn sails floated sadly in the flotsam. The shore was littered with armor and the remains of wall and pier and barricade. The gutted husks of all the buildings of Ban Rona smoked silently—and not a soul could be seen.
It was as if the battle had raged a month ago and was left to rot—but it was only yesterday that Leeli had been taken. Where was everyone?
Janner felt Gnag’s hand tremble. His wings folded and his hands drooped to his sides as he turned left and right, looking dejectedly for someone or something to admire him.
What has happened here?Gnag asked.Where is my army?
He leapt from the cliff and glided down along the water’s surface, then alighted on the shore and scanned the city. He paced the waterfront, kicking at the detritus like a spoiled child. There were no dead bodies, no army rejoicing at its king’s arrival. Not a single Fang slithered or flapped or prowled about. There was only a film of dust that coated the muddy streets like brown snow, and the warsmoke that dissipated as the first gusts of the storm howled through the Watercraw.
The Warden and the Wolf King Page 37