Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  She looked shoreward and saw several small boats launching from the spit of sand at the base of the cliffs. Jenna didn’t need to see their auras to know that the boat crews were bloodsworn—nobody else would row a small boat toward a flailing dragon.

  And there, at the top of the cliff, stood the empress, her silver hair twisting in the onshore winds, her stormcoat whipping around her body.

  “Jenna!” she called. “Don’t worry. Leap free of the beast, and my crew will pick you up.”

  Jenna looked past her, still blinking away tears. When she scanned the clifftop, she saw something most humans would never have noticed—Celestine’s soldiers muscling two massive cannons toward the cliff’s edge.

  She saw the plan immediately—as soon as Jenna leapt clear, they would fire down on Cas from the safety of the heights and finish him.

  Rage welled up in Jenna, her skin going numb as more scales surfaced.

  Jenna jump? She could feel the dragon’s racing heart, every heaving breath.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. She crept forward, over the dragon’s collar of spines and onto his head, grateful for her body armor, as there was no part of his head and shoulders that wasn’t stippled. She carefully positioned herself between his two largest spines, keeping most of her body weight on his neck and shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lay flat, so that she was just even with his eyes.

  “Use my eyes, Cas,” she said. She had to repeat it several times before it penetrated the panicked dragon’s mind.

  “Jenna!” the empress shouted, anger and impatience creeping into her honey voice. “I said, jump before you get hurt. Be sensible.”

  Meanwhile, the boats were drawing closer, though they seemed at risk of capsizing in the roiled waters.

  Taking a deep breath, Jenna dove into the dragon’s mind, merged with it, let go of Jenna Bandelow to help her friend in the only way she could.

  Cas’s flailing slowed, stopped. His heart steadied. And then they were one mind, one fierce heart, one pair of clear eyes. Their vision was better than Jenna’s, maybe not as good as Cas’s, but . . . enough.

  They devised a plan. Burn boats. Fly. Burn Silverhair.

  They looked up. By now, the cannon were just peeking over the rim. The boats were close now, cautiously nosing forward, the crew preparing to toss a rope to Jenna.

  Burn boats.

  They put their feet down, raised their head, and sent flame sheeting over the water’s surface, enveloping the oncoming boats. Then they plunged toward shore, smashing through the burning flotilla, through a school of struggling bloodsworn, seeking shallower water so that they could get a running start. Humans shouted; heavy wheels creaked as the guns rolled forward. The silver-haired human called, “Don’t shoot! I want the girl alive!”

  Fly.

  They pushed away from the ground, reaching for air, soaring up, up, up—out over the ocean as they gained altitude.

  Burn Silverhair.

  They made a wide circle, then sped back toward the cliffs, the tiny figures at the top growing larger as they hurtled toward them. Humans scrambled, diving into holes, behind rocks. Except the one with the silver hair. She stood frozen for a moment, like a star caught on the edge of the firmament, staring at them as if captivated. Then she raised her arm and sent flame screaming toward them. They rolled sideways to avoid it, and by the time they came around again, she was gone.

  Furious, they scorched the clifftop until the cannons were reduced to puddles of metal and the white chalk of the cliff was charred a smoky gray. Below, in the water, the remains of the launches still smoldered.

  Go back. Heal eyes.

  It was a prayer as much as a plan.

  67

  ARRIVALS AND DEPARTURES

  Destin looked up as the healer crawled out of the tent they’d erected over Flamecaster’s head. By then, it was full dark, the only light coming from the hearth and the wizard lights set around the perimeter. “Well?” he said, setting his plate aside. “Does the face guard help?” Destin had devised a cage-like headgear to protect the dragon’s injured eyes.

  Prince Adrian—Ash—rocked his hand. “It works really well when we can keep him from scraping it off,” he said. “The only way he’ll tolerate it is if he’s stone drunk.” He paused. “He’s sleeping now. Thanks for the turtleweed and brandy. It did the trick.” Ash scrubbed his hands thoroughly before he sat down by the fire.

  “Let me know if you need any more,” Destin said, passing him a jacket of ale and a full plate.

  Lyss had established a separate camp for the flying battalion—the dragons and their human companions. It prevented unfortunate incidents between the armies of the Realms and their winged allies. It had become a habit for Destin and Hal to walk down at dusk to dine with the flyers—Jenna and Ash, and sometimes Lyss and Sasha, when they could get away.

  On this night a pall hung over the camp because of Cas’s injury. Ash sat next to Jenna, obviously trying to soothe her, but she was all but inconsolable.

  Jenna came up on her knees, hands planted on her thighs. “What about his vision? Is there any improvement? Is he going to be able to see?” Her tone suggested that there was only one right answer to that question.

  The healer hesitated. “I hope so,” he said. “It seems to have been some kind of caustic chemical. It’s lucky he was smart enough to keep rinsing his eyes, or it might be even worse.”

  “How could it be worse?” Jenna muttered. “He needs his eyes.”

  “He could be dead,” Ash said. “You could be dead.”

  “The empress should be dead,” Jenna growled, her hair flickering around her head like flames, her skin shimmering with heat. “I’m going to kill her.”

  She was fierce in the Ardenscourt dungeon, Destin thought. She’s even more dragon-like now.

  “I don’t care who kills Celestine as long as somebody does,” Sasha said, reaching for another biscuit. “Sooner rather than later.”

  It had been two days since the attack. Two days during which Ash and Jenna traded off tending to Flamecaster while the other dragons tried to help. All day, they’d bring small offerings—meats and quail eggs and fish and precious baubles, sea glass from the beach. Bits of armor and weapons from recent kills. Cas just roared at them until the brandy took effect. He was not a very good patient.

  “It’s my fault,” Jenna said, poking at the fire until it sent up sparks. “I told Cas to go close so we could get a better look. I was careless, overconfident.” She thrust her stick into the flames so hard that it broke. “And now he’s paid an awful price.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Lyss said, “I’ll blame the empress.”

  The other dragons were still out hunting. It seemed a shame that after a day of fighting, they had to go out and hunt their own dinner. The young dragons required huge amounts of fresh meat daily.

  Destin watched the dragons with wary fascination. From what Jenna said, Evan had managed to win them over. But then Evan was warm and charming. Destin couldn’t say the same for himself.

  “Look,” Hal said. “We’ve been gaining ground every day. Before long, we’ll push them into the sea.”

  “We’ve burned most of their ships,” Sasha said. “There aren’t enough left to carry them all home. Anyway, we don’t want to send Celestine’s army back to her.”

  “We can’t leave them to roam the countryside,” Hal said. “Most didn’t join the empress’s army of their own free will.”

  “Quite a few of them are northerners,” Lyss said, picking at a scab on her arm. After a long pause, she added, “I suppose I have a little more blood left.”

  Destin raised an eyebrow. “After your initial reluctance, you seem to have climbed aboard the blood mage wagon.”

  “As an alternative to slaughter, yes,” Lyss said, lifting her chin and looking him in the eye.

  Don’t irritate the monarch, Destin thought. Especially the one who affiliates with dragons.

&nb
sp; “Anyway,” Jenna said, shifting on the ground. “We haven’t won yet. That’s where I made my mistake—thinking we’d won.” She paused. “I think we’re missing something.”

  “What are we missing?” Ash said.

  “The empress. I’m worried that she’s left the Fells,” she said. “My magemark burns when she’s close.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s gone totally cold.”

  That stopped the conversation in its tracks.

  “Well, good,” Sasha said unconvincingly. “Maybe we’ve driven her off.”

  “Why would she go and leave her army here?” Hal said finally.

  “She doesn’t care about her soldiers,” Lyss said. “In her mind, they are totally expendable. She can always make more.”

  “But . . . if she wants to win here, she has to stay in the game,” Destin said. “She can’t fight a war from Carthis.” Even as he said this, worry kindled in his gut. If Evan’s still alive, he’s in Carthis.

  “All I can figure is that she has business elsewhere,” Jenna said.

  “Maybe she’s found a way to hide her presence,” Ash suggested.

  “Maybe,” Jenna said. “Or maybe the attack on me and Cas was a last-ditch effort to take me with her.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense,” Hal persisted. “Who’s leading the bloodsworn, if not Celestine?”

  “General Gray?” The voice came from beyond the light of the campfire, startling them, sending them scrambling for their weapons.

  Sasha stepped in front of Lyss, sword drawn. Destin stepped up beside her, his hand on his amulet.

  “It’s Munroe Graves.” The speaker came forward, into the light, hands in the air. He looked to be a Carthian officer, dressed in the garb of a horselord.

  “Graves!” Sasha let the tip of her sword drop a bit. “What the hell are you doing here—dressed like that?”

  Lyss stepped around her brace of would-be guardians and embraced him. “Thank the Maker! I kept looking for you on the plateau. When I didn’t see you, I was afraid you might be dead.”

  “The empress has been keeping me on a tight rein,” Graves said, “especially since the tide of the fighting began to turn against her.”

  “Who is this, exactly?” Hal said, stowing his sword, but keeping his hand on the hilt.

  “Graves was an artilleryman in the Highlanders,” Lyss said. “He was captured at Chalk Cliffs and ganged into the empress’s army as an officer, serving under me. Celestine took him with her when she came up here to find out why her armies weren’t making any progress.”

  “How were you able to break away tonight?” Jenna asked.

  “The empress hasn’t been seen for three days,” Graves said. “It took me that long to decide that it wasn’t some kind of trick. I went down to Wolf’s Head today. She’s been keeping her flagship moored there, out of sight, and out of the line of fire. It’s gone, and so is her regular crew.”

  Jenna looked around at the others, collecting silent apologies.

  “Where do you think she’s gone?” Lyss said.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say she’s gone back to Carthis,” Graves said. “Or Celesgarde.”

  “Why would she up and leave now?” Sasha said. “Aside from the fact that we’re kicking her ass.”

  “I’m guessing it’s a strategic retreat, more than a rout,” Hal said.

  “What’s that?” Jenna was looking toward the sky.

  After a moment, Destin heard it, too. The beating of wings, the screams of multiple dragons. Here they came, like so many shooting stars. One—two—three—hang on—four? He glanced over at Cas, as if he might have crept away and joined his brethren when they weren’t looking.

  The others heard now, and stood, all except Graves, who took off running into the night. Goat’s scream split the air as he spiraled down and landed way too close, moving so much air that he nearly put out the campfire. The others followed, circling, landing.

  The newcomer was the last to land. It crouched, head drooping so that its chin nearly touched the ground. It appeared totally spent.

  “Splash!” Jenna said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Splash?” Destin looked to Ash.

  “She went to Carthis with Breon and Evan,” Ash said.

  The implications of that hit Destin like a fist to the gut. This dragon had been with Evan, and she’d come back alone.

  “What’s happened?” Jenna said. “Where are the others?”

  There was a long pause while the dragon delivered an explanation that Destin couldn’t hear. The growing horror on Jenna’s face told him that it wasn’t good news.

  Jenna swore. “How long ago did this happen?”

  Another pause.

  “Maybe that’s why the empress left,” Ash said.

  “But how would she know about it?” Jenna said. She turned back to Splash. “Where’s Splinter?”

  There was another, longer wait. Ash had pulled out a small journal and had begun taking notes.

  At the end of it, Ash and Jenna turned to the others, who had been watching the one-sided conversation with growing alarm.

  “One of the empress’s shiplords, Tully Samara, captured Strangward and Breon in one of the sea caves along the coast. The dragons couldn’t get in, but they listened to the conversation,” Jenna said.

  “Apparently, Samara is taking them to Celesgarde to meet the empress,” Ash added. “Splinter followed them, while Splash came to warn us.”

  “And—and Breon sang a song and told the dragons to remember it and repeat it to us.” Jenna looked at Ash, who read from his notes.

  Followed ship. Samara tricky maybe. Spellsinger sang song, said sing to you, you come help.

  This is where it all begins.

  This is where it all ends.

  The shattering

  The rejoining

  Forged in the bleeding earth.

  As it has been, it shall be again.

  At midsummer,

  When the sun pauses in the sky.

  They all looked at each other.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Destin snapped, every muscle taut as a bowstring.

  “I remember that,” Lyss said. “He sang it when we were together in Celesgarde.”

  “That’s Breon’s gift,” Sasha said. “He captures people’s songs, and it gives him some power over them.”

  “What does that mean—the ‘bleeding earth’?” Hal said. “A mineral spring? A clay-stained river?”

  “Most of the rivers in Carthis come from snowmelt in the Dragonbacks,” Destin said. “They are clear trout streams.”

  “What about in the Northern Islands?”

  “There’s not a lot of fresh water there,” Jenna said. “It’s pretty active volcanically.”

  Goat seemed to be trying to get Ash’s attention, poking his head in front of his face, then nudging him when that didn’t work.

  “Hang on. Goat thinks he knows what it means. Does anyone have a map of the Northern Islands?” Ash said.

  Lyss did, and they spread it out on a flat rock. “There.” Ash traced the spot with his forefinger. There were sketchy lines across one of the islands, the one closest to the mainland. Destin leaned close, but he could barely make out the text. Demon’s Wounds.

  “That has to be it,” Jenna said.

  “That has to be what?” Hal said.

  “The bleeding earth. We flew over it at night. The islands looked like scabbed-over wounds, the lava flows like blood.”

  “I think this is important,” Lyss said. “Breon kept warning us that the empress would be coming back to Carthis at midsummer. Like in the song.”

  “When’s Midsummer’s Day?” Destin said. “I’ve lost track.”

  “It’s three days away,” Jenna said.

  Destin stood, clenching and unclenching his hands, body canted like a racehorse at the gate. “I need to get to the Northern Islands before then,” he said. “Do you think one of the dragons would take me there? Is there so
mething they might want, a reward I could offer? Is there something that I could do for them in return?”

  Though Destin tried to make it cool, transactional, he knew that he sounded like a desperate man.

  Jenna reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched.

  “Why don’t you ask them?” she said.

  He looked up, met her eyes. “Just speak to them,” she said softly. “Make your case.”

  Destin faced the dragons, who were watching him curiously. He licked his lips, like a student at a recital. He wasn’t used to asking for anything. Bargaining, threatening, deceiving, yes.

  “I wondered if . . . one of you might be willing to carry me to Celesgarde.” He waited. They crowded in closer, but he stood his ground.

  “They can hear you,” Jenna said. “But if you want to hear them, you need to find their voices. It helps if you make physical contact, the first time, anyway.”

  “One of them, or . . . all of them?” Destin said.

  “Start with one,” Jenna said.

  Destin edged closer to Splash, planted his feet, took a deep breath, and said, “Is it all right if I touch you?”

  Splash tilted her head toward him, all but putting her chin on the ground. Destin laid his palm against the dragon’s shoulder and asked again. “Would you take me to Evan and Breon on the bleeding island? I want to help them. I want to save them.” He swallowed hard. “In return, if there’s anything you want, a service I can do for you . . . ?”

  Scratch my head. Behind horns.

  Destin blinked at her. He glanced at Ash, wondering if he might have misunderstood, and Ash nodded. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Destin reached for a lightly armored spot just behind her horns. He rubbed it gently, then scratched the scaly places where horn met flesh. Splash reacted like a cat, contorting herself so that Destin could do an even better job.

  Destin looked into the dragon’s emerald eyes and murmured, “You are beautiful.”

  Splash sleep. Then fly to bleeding island with sad Destin.

  Pricker nudged Splash aside. Splash too tired. Pricker fly to bleeding island with sad Destin.

  “Why are they calling me that?” Destin said, looking up at Ash and Jenna. “Sad Destin, I mean?”