The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (67 page)

* * *

It was a long and lonely flight. Onin refused to even look at him, seemingly disgusted by his lack of control over Valterius. Sinjin also got little feedback from his dragon, who was content to fly in near stillness. Jehregard spoke to him through grunts and woofs, turning his head often to gaze at Sinjin, his right eye sparkling like the most precious gem. This seemed to annoy Onin greatly, but Jehregard ignored him, which made Sinjin feel at least a little better.

Gripping the Staff of Life in one hand and Koe in the other, Sinjin wanted for a moment to feel closer to his mother. She would have known what to do; she would have been able to communicate with Valterius. She could do all the things he could not, and he couldn't help but be frustrated by it at that moment. Feeling trapped in the flow of events with no sense of control over his destiny, Sinjin still couldn't help but stare in amazement when the peaks came into view, jutting through low-lying clouds like icebergs in a sea of white.

Not so unlike Windhold, these mountains had been carved and hollowed; only the scale of it dwarfed anything on the Firstland. Also different was the fact that along with large, open spaces common to Windhold and these towering peaks, there were much smaller openings with ornate facades and winding walkways. This was a place where man and dragon truly coexisted. Was this what the future of Windhold would look like? Sinjin asked himself, still in awe of what he beheld.

Never would he have dreamed such a place existed and that there were other dragon riders and verdant dragons. It was almost more than he could absorb. His inner child wanted nothing more than to tell Durin what he had found so they could go exploring. Despite being a childish impulse, it was powerful nonetheless. Sinjin's annoyance with Valterius faded a small amount as he took in the wondrous sights.

Dropping through the first layer of clouds revealed a thriving society. Horses pulled wagons along cobbled paths, and vendors crowded into a colorful market. Soon much larger sections of the mostly hollow mountains became visible. The size of the place made Windhold seem tiny in comparison, and Sinjin wondered, once again, what he'd gotten himself into.

A cry rose up from below him, followed by another. People below stopped what they were doing and pointed at Valterius and Sinjin. Soon many of the openings in the rock faces were filled to capacity with people wanting to see what the fuss was about. More cries echoed through the winding valleys, and Sinjin looked to Onin, who refused to acknowledge him. Jehregard navigated the valleys with ease, despite how close his wingtips came to stone at times. Twice Sinjin thought the massive beast's wings would clip valley walls, but each time the dragon trimmed his wings just enough to avoid contact.

Directly ahead of them was a massive opening that looked as if it could swallow all of Windhold. A man stood at the center of the opening, holding a bright red cloth, which danced and billowed in the wind. Jehregard soared higher, giving himself the room to turn a lazy circle.

Valterius, on the other hand, continued toward the opening. The man with the red cloth pointed and shouted.

"You're not cleared to land!" Onin shouted from above and behind them.

Sinjin threw his hands in the air to indicate that he was not the one in control. Jehregard issued a deep growl of warning, but Valterius ignored the other dragon as well. The man with the cloth was now waving his hands and shouting. Sinjin couldn't hear the words, but he could see fear in the man's eyes. As they drew closer, Sinjin saw more of what lay within the waiting darkness. The stone ahead was clear where the sun struck it, but in the shadows beyond waited a shape so massive that Sinjin couldn't comprehend it, especially when it moved. This dragon made even Jehregard look small. On its back was something that looked like a warship with no masts and with a notched hull that rested on the dragon's spinal ridge, which looked more like a granite outcropping than part of a living creature.

Ladders rested against the sides of the dragon. Men and women scrambled to unload cargo. It was too much for Sinjin's mind to absorb, and all he could do was pull back in futility on the reins. Another roar issued from the dragon within as the people started scrambling to get out of the way. Sinjin could feel the vibrations of that deep, thudding call. Valterius ignored even that and soared over the man with the red cloth. Not taking any chances, the man dived to the stone floor, and they flew over harmlessly.

As if in reproach of all the excitement and concern that he would crash into something, Valterius landed lightly within the hold, though still on the well-lit section of stone and far from coming into contact with any of those who'd panicked. His posture was a clear rebuke, and the massive hall went silent. That was until the mighty verdant dragon lowered its mountainlike head. Its amber eyes were taller than Sinjin, and its head was nearly as wide as Valterius's wingspan. Nostrils large enough to lose a horse in sniffed Valterius then gave a single snort before issuing a deafening roar that echoed far too loudly. Sinjin thought his teeth might fall out.

Valterius turned and looked at Sinjin, his gaze intense and his silent command clear:
Get off.
Sinjin didn't appreciate the tone of the command, but he unbuckled himself anyway. He was going to have some explaining to do, and it would probably be better done when not adragonback. Valterius did not help him dismount, but at least he didn't actively throw Sinjin to the ground. It was an improvement.

People moved silently around him, trying to soothe the big dragon and casting him frightened looks. Once he reached the stone, Sinjin saw a contingent of armed men rushing toward him. Behind them came a group of robed men who walked with unmistakable authority. One man was much heavier than the others and lagged behind, seemingly out of breath. Doing his best to assume a neutral stance, Sinjin laid his staff before him and put his hands out to his sides to indicate that he was unarmed.

Fanning out, the guards drew closer and did not look in any way convinced that Sinjin wasn't dangerous. Valterius helped a bit with that; with a final defiant cry, he puffed out his chest and fanned his wings at the giant verdant dragon. The mighty beast looked offended to the core, but Valterius didn't give him a chance to respond. Instead he spun and leaped into the air. Those who had been behind Valterius jumped out of his way, but Sinjin was not quick enough to avoid his dragon's whipping tail, which caught him in the back of the knees and sent him sprawling to the floor.

Chapter
20

A true hero knows the cost of their actions.

--Catrin Volker, Herald of Istra

* * *

Sinjin had never felt more self-conscious. All eyes in the room rested on him, and none of the looks he received were friendly, even Onin glared at him. It hadn't taken Sinjin long to realize that his association with Onin gained him no favor; and by the looks the man cast him, that association was tenuous at best.

"Why did you come here?" he had asked Sinjin in one of the few moments they had been alone.

"Valterius goes where he will," Sinjin had said. "I cannot force him to do anything or go where he doesn't want to go. Even when we first encountered you, it was of his doing."

This had left the man without words, and he looked at Sinjin as if he were a simpleton.

It wasn't Sinjin's fault. He couldn't communicate with Valterius as his mother had with Kyrien. And even she had not fully controlled her dragon; he, too, had done what he wanted when he wanted. Sinjin had done his very best and anyone who didn't like it would just have to deal with it. With a belly full of anger and defiance, Sinjin felt warm all over; perhaps his face was flushed, but he would not cower before these people.

"And who might you be?" a man in thick, long, white robes asked without preamble. He was trailed by a rotund fellow man who eyed Sinjin up and down.

"My name is Sinjin Volker. And who might you be?"

The fat man drew a sharp breath at Sinjin's words, and the guards shifted nervously.

The man in the white robes seemed nonplussed. "You may call me lord chancellor. I believe you already know Onin, and my distinguished colleague is Sensi." He motioned to the fat man. "Now that introductions are complete, tell me how you've come to be here and how you plan to help us. Onin has been telling tales of your mother defeating a host of ferals. What say you to this?"

Even to Sinjin's ear the claims sounded like too much to believe. "My mother battled the feral dragons after the black armies kidnapped me--"

The looks that passed between Sensi and the lord chancellor gave Sinjin pause, and he wondered how much he should tell these people, but he had no idea what information might save him and what might send him to his death. He was walking dangerous ground.

"How did she do this?" the lord chancellor asked.

"My mother had great power," Sinjin said, knowing this was the most dangerous ground of all; he had no idea what these people believed, but there was so much similarity in the language they spoke that they might very well have convictions similar to those of the Zjhon. Those in the room with him seemed to be digesting the word
had.

"Did your mother lose her power?" Sensi asked, earning a glare from the lord chancellor, though the man looked to Sinjin for his answer.

"No," Sinjin said. "She died fighting the feral queen." That statement took the air out of the room. "I have no power. And now I have no dragon either."

"What can you possibly offer to assist us with our fight against the ferals?"

"Absolutely nothing," Sinjin said, unwilling to reveal more.

The lord chancellor nodded and cast Onin a scathing glance. He didn't need to say anything, and he just walked toward the doorway. Before he was out of the room, though, Sensi spoke up, and the lord chancellor stopped. "Where did you get that staff?"

"It belonged to my mother," Sinjin said. "It has no power of its own, but it makes me feel closer to her. It's the only thing of hers that I have left." Sinjin wasn't certain they believed him; the look on the lord chancellor's face spoke loudly of doubt.

"We are at war," Sensi said. "There is no more time for discussion. You have one day to remove yourself from the Heights; if you fail to do so, you will face the thrower. Do you understand?"

"No," Sinjin said.

"Pity," Sensi said as he walked from the room.

* * *

Convincing Onin to take him home was among the most difficult things Sinjin had ever accomplished, and he still wasn't certain he'd managed to persuade the man. At the very least, Onin had allowed him to fly with him. Sitting inside the carriagelike structure atop Jehregard's back was surreal; it provided a very different experience from flying with Valterius. A single strap secured him to the bench where he sat, and Sinjin was amazed at how smoothly Jehregard flew. Valterius frequently tossed Sinjin about in the saddle, seemingly trying to see just how much his body could take, whereas Jehregard floated on the air. Indeed, when they had taken off, all Jehregard had done was spread his wings and through subtle movements of his wings had guided them out into open air without a single flap. Much like the wind channel that was part of what gave Windhold its name, a strong and consistent wind passed through the massive chambers within the Heights.

Once clear of the peaks, Onin used long, flat leather straps he called lines to guide Jehregard out over the cloud-covered forest and on to the barren foothills, which gave way to desert. The massive dragon did exactly as Onin asked without any hesitation. Onin cast Sinjin a look he really didn't appreciate. It wasn't his fault Valterius didn't listen to him. Though he had said almost nothing since he'd agreed to take Sinjin home, he knew that Jehregard would use the hot air over the desert to gain altitude. He also knew from things he'd overheard that dragons were being used to bring soldiers from the Midlands and mass them along the border of the desert, which acted as a formidable barrier between the jungle and the foothills leading up to the Heights. Deep inside, Sinjin knew it would become a battlefield.

They circled higher, somehow avoiding the larger dragons who were also riding the thermals. Sinjin couldn't imagine how they all kept track of each other and avoided collisions. Inland, across the desert, columns of black smoke rose from the swamps--the fires of war. Sinjin knew all too well that the world could be a cold, hard place, and he steeled himself for what was to come. Onin had never said how soon he would take Sinjin home, and he guided Jehregard out over the desert. Taking them lower, he gained speed, and the marshes soon rushed beneath them; they crawled with life. Soldiers bathed in ash and demons marched toward the desert in disarray. There was no order or regimentation, only a seething mass of pain and wrongness headed toward the Heights. Feral dragons flew low over the Jaga, carrying what looked like giant crates made from the twisted vines that populated the black swamp. The dragons brought the crates low over the marshes and dropped them; without landing, flapping hard, the ferals returned to the skies.

Sinjin saw the crates fly open and out poured more troops. The ferals were amassing their forces, and they were doing it far more quickly than anyone would ever have imagined.

"I cannot leave," Onin said. "There is no time."

"It's all right," Sinjin said. "I want to help."

"Good," Onin said, and he took them back toward the front lines. More verdant dragons delivered Midlands troops, but it was clear it wouldn't be enough. They would be overrun within a day. Slowing, Jehregard brought them in over the sands where other dragons were unloading.

"Get out," Onin said.

"What?"

"Get out," Onin repeated. "You want to help, then get out and fight."

Jehregard skimmed just above the sands, only having a short distance left before he would have to take them higher to avoid a huge verdant unloading up ahead.

"Go!" Onin bellowed.

Sinjin undid the strap securing himself and opened the hatch. He looked out over Jehregard's wing, and the speed of the sand slipping beneath them was daunting. Sinjin was seriously considering just clinging on to Jehregard or climbing back onto the bench when a large boot found itself on his bottom. In the next instant, he tumbled across Jehregard's wing and into the open air. His scream lasted only a second and ended with a resounding thump.

* * *

Orange light surrounded Sinjin when he came awake with a start. He was in a rectangular tent reeking of herbs and backlit by the waning sun. He lay on even ground covered by only a blanket. In his pocket, he could feel Koe pressing against him. It was probably not coincidence that the contact was accompanied by sharp pain. Slowly he reached out, searching for the staff.

"It's here," a soft voice said, and Sinjin turned to see a young woman sitting cross-legged and watching him. The staff rested on the blankets next to her. "Does your head hurt?" she asked.

"Not much," Sinjin said.

"Is your vision blurry?"

"A little," he admitted.

"You need rest," she said with a sad smile. "You're very lucky, and so is your cat." She pointed at the pocket that held the carving. "No one will take anything from you," she said in response to his expression.

"I'm sorry," was all Sinjin's muddled mind could think to say. She smiled that sad smile again and moved to the tent flap.

"Rest," she said. "I'll bring you some water in a few minutes."

Sinjin leaned back, but his head never hit the rolled blanket beneath it. A sudden clamor erupted outside and through the entire encampment. Unable to remain where he was, Sinjin crawled to the tent flap and looked outside. At first he could find no reason for the sudden alarm. Soldiers milled in confusion, but many were arming themselves, and Sinjin knew the fight must have arrived and apparently sooner than expected.

Another uproar suddenly split the air, and this one had a note of amazement and confusion. Pushing himself slowly upright, Sinjin waited for the dizziness to pass. A moment later, he nearly fell over backward. The
Dragon's Wing
raced across the desert, leaving a swirling cloud of dust in its wake. Directly above the ship flew Valterius, and behind him came the rest of the flock. The crew of the
Dragon's Wing
and the Drakon had come to save him. He'd never felt so grateful and so terrified all at the same time. They should not be there. War was upon them, and now everything Sinjin cared about was in its path, and it was all his fault. The weight of responsibility was his as a leader, but this wasn't the same. If he'd only done something differently, then they wouldn't have risked everything to come here looking for him.

Doing his best to wave and jump up and down without falling over, Sinjin somehow managed to get the attention of those aboard the
Dragon's Wing.

"There!" Brother Vaughn's voice carried across the tension-filled air.

Valterius saw him then and swooped in front of the
Dragon's Wing.
Soldiers from the Midlands lined up with long spears, ready to hold off a charge.

"They're on our side!" Sinjin cried out desperately. "Don't attack!" His words were heard, but the men held their ground, and Sinjin ran screaming toward the lines, ready to tear the spears from the men's hands. "Those are my people!"

The shrill note in Sinjin's voice cut through the din, and someone cried out, "Hold your formation! Lower your weapons! Allow them to approach. If they make an aggressive move, leave none alive."

Sinjin's heart was on the verge of breaking as the
Dragon's Wing
gradually lowered and slowed until she skimmed the sands; then she slowed abruptly and jerked to a stop. Valterius flew ahead and landed in front of Sinjin, using his wings to shield Sinjin, daring anyone to threaten him. Where had this sentiment been when the dragon had left him there? Sinjin wondered. At least his mount had returned for him and with help.

The Drakon landed behind Valterius and assumed defensive postures.

"Please remain calm," Sinjin said. "These are my people, and they mean you no harm. They have simply come to get me because my dragon left me here." He cast a reproachful look at Valterius, who didn't even have the decency to look apologetic. Sinjin turned to the Drakon. "These people have treated me fairly, and they've battled the ferals for years. We share a common foe; we share a common cause, and I will stand with them." He knew he gave those from the Heights more credit than they deserved, but it would serve none of them to fight among themselves with the ferals preparing their attack.

Looking out to the desert, Sinjin saw black dragons there, bringing troops ever closer. These troops were far ahead of the others, but they were safe. Even if an attack were launched against them, they would have sufficient time to fall back to the main force. If no attack came, then the ferals had established a forward presence. It was a brilliant tactic, and one Sinjin could think of no defense against, and those facts frightened him terribly.

* * *

Feeling tingly all over, Sinjin strapped himself into the saddle and looked around. It could not truly be real. He could not really be on some previously unknown continent about to fight ferals adragonback. Around him could not truly be the Drakon, and surely the
Dragon's Wing
did not rest on her side in the middle of the desert.

The air grew chilly, and the skies were clear, allowing the full moon and the comets to cast the world in a mystical hue. Nothing seemed real to Sinjin's eye. He had to be dreaming. Gwen watched him from nearby, her right leg fidgeting, as it always did when she was nervous, and flames dripped from her fingers. She hadn't said anything to him, but she did surprise him with a quick hug--too quick--before he mounted. Complicated thoughts ran through Sinjin's mind, but he had to push them aside. The dragon riders from the Heights were about to mount the first assault, and the Drakon would fly in support, though he knew there wasn't a great deal they could do. Each had been armed with a sword and a lance, even though they all knew engaging ferals in midair would mean a quick death.