The Dragondain (27 page)

A minute later, Oscar, the winged, fuchsia-colored seahorse, fluttered into the room. Jasper whistled softly and Oscar veered to him, alighting on his shoulder.

“Are you in there too, Mr. Phixit?” Jasper asked in a whisper.

Oscar nodded his head once and winked an eye.

“Are they still downstairs?”

Oscar nodded again.

“All right, then. We wait.”

Jasper counted silently to a hundred seven times before he finally heard footsteps. They were stealthy, but there was no mistaking them. What he couldn’t tell was if he was listening to the sound of one person or two people.

After several more minutes had passed, Jasper looked at Oscar. “One or two?” he whispered.

Oscar nodded his head once.

“Just one?”

Oscar nodded his head.

Jasper wondered how much time the person would spend on the third floor and whether she would continue on to the fourth. For the second time tonight, he contemplated leaving straightaway via the moon coin from his uncle’s house. But he worried about being seen as he vanished. What if these two women understood how the moon coin worked? They could lie in wait, set a trap. They could build a cage around the area he left from. That would never do. He
had
to be able to return to Earth safely. He could take no risks on that account, no matter how small.

Slowly, Jasper edged out from behind the door and silently descended the stairs. Rounding the newel post, he crept toward the French doors. It was a long hall, and there were many open doorways through which he could be spotted. Jasper was grateful for the dark; the coral walls barely flickered. Suddenly, a woman stepped out of the last remaining doorway, drawing her sword and taking a fighter’s stance.

“Tay?” she said. “Is that you?”

Jasper halted. She was mostly a shadow, not more than a dozen feet from where he stood.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice surprisingly young.

Beneath his cloak, hidden by the darkness, Jasper reached for his sword.

“Go for that blade, and I will cut you in two where you stand,” she said, advancing.

With an explosion of wings, the birdfish erupted from their perches and swarmed the woman—glub-whistling, gurgle-chirping, and burble-squawking for everything they were worth. Her blade sang back and forth through the air. Quivering halves of birdfish flopped onto the floor about her feet. Oscar screeched and launched himself into the melee. Seeing this as his big chance, Jasper feinted to the right and skimmed the wall, running as fast as he could. The woman, sensing his movements, turned to face him as he passed, but the birdfish increased their attack, concentrating around her eyes. Turning, she stumbled after him, toward the gardens, where the birdfish were not programmed to go. Jasper fled into the night, making for the barn, and hoped Mr. Phixit could override the birdfish’s programming and bring them outdoors.

Everything was happening so fast. Jasper thought quickly: he could try to escape on foot, or he could take the bike. Either way would be risky. But he knew that if he could get to the bike before the woman could get clear of the birdfish, he would get away for sure.

He decided to go for it. Jasper ran into the barn. It was pitch black, and he lost time groping for the bike and spinning it around. But just as he was set to charge out and hop into the saddle, he heard footsteps on the paving stones. A second later she came into view, standing directly in front of the open door.

“Come out and you won’t be harmed,” she commanded.

Jasper didn’t believe her for a second. He paused, weighing the option of throwing the bike at her and making a run for it. Suddenly, he sensed an object of immense weight shifting around within the barn, slowly . . . stealthily. . . . Frozen with fear, he felt the thing brush past his leg.

A roar split the night air. Jasper’s blood chilled in his veins and his nerve endings popped and jangled. He fought to remain upright and not curl up into a fetal ball. The space between Jasper and the woman filled with the dark bulk of the unfinished electrimal-Rinn. Its gait was unnatural, since only three of its legs were in working order, but it compensated for this deficiency wonderfully, and its grace of movement, given its enormous size, seemed impossible. The woman staggered backward as the electrimal-Rinn charged out of the barn, raising a paw the width of a tree trunk. Jasper sprinted from the barn, pushing his bike before him to get it going. Leaping into the air, he swung a leg over and landed hard on the seat, getting his bearings just in time to peel off toward the path leading through the trees and off the egg. The night branches reached out and clawed his face as he pushed for pure speed.

Climbing through the gears, Jasper held a breakneck pace until his lungs seared from the pain. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and still he pushed for more as he raced through the moonlit fields and steered for a distant stand of trees. His legs burned with the effort, but he continued as though his life depended on it.

And then he was in the trees. Wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the bike, he ditched it, then took off on foot. Still running, he reached under his vest for the moon coin.

Palming the pendant and unlatching the fob with a flick of his thumb, he watched ten silvery circles wink into existence: one for each body of the Moon Realm and one for Earth. Unable to run any longer, Jasper halted. His lungs heaved; his body was covered in sweat. With a trembling finger, he spun the inner circle of moons until the pointer on the fob hovered over Barreth. But his twitching fingers overshot the mark. Glancing up, he looked behind him, searching for any sign of movement from the direction of Ebb’s mansion. He saw nothing.

He spun the moons around again, missing Barreth a second time before finally aligning the pincher properly. Quickly, he double-checked the setting and snapped the fob shut.

Jasper glanced back up the trail, even as he felt the first effects of the moon coin taking hold. Was that a shadow, moving apart from the trees? His vision blurred. He struggled to focus more clearly. Why hadn’t he lain down in the grass? he thought.

And then he was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

Second Battle of Fangdelve

J
asper
landed off balance, coming down chest first on hard-packed dirt. He rolled to his side and tried to breathe, but his lungs fought him, and he curled up into a ball. He gasped for air, only slowly and painfully regaining his breathing.

Even with his vision blurred, Jasper knew he was just outside the Ridgegate; the moon coin had returned him to the exact place from which he had departed. But his vision cleared quickly, and he soon beheld a sky the color of ash. Struggling to his feet, he saw the floor of the valley blanketed by a sea of dust. So thick was the stuff that aside from the top of the earth mound encircling Sea Denn, the only other landmark he could make out was Fangdelve, looming in the distance. The tower rose above the dark fog like a gray smudge against the sky, black oily smoke trailing from its upper reaches. Diving in and out of the dust were great flying objects that, at first glance, looked like helicopters. Dozens of them buzzed into and out of the mists, belching great gouts of fire seemingly at will. Jasper leaned over the parapet and stared.

“The fire-breathing dragonflies!” he said aloud. They looked enormous, even from this distance.

Jasper turned to face the Ridgegate. It was open and seemed eerily abandoned. Glancing to the upper ramparts, Jasper looked for Rinn, but all was quiet. A bird, which couldn’t have been more than a few feet from where he stood, fluttered into the sky, startling him. It was one of the larger ones, with bright orange plumage. He tracked it for a time, watching it soar upward toward the palace keep.

Jasper dusted off his riding cloak and took a step toward the gate.

“It must be him,” said a birdish voice from behind.

“We have to be sure,” said a second, different birdish voice.

Jasper turned on his heel and saw two enormous black birds perched on the jagged rock that marked the first turn of the switchbacks.

“Can I help you?” Jasper asked.

The two birds exchanged glances, then stared at Jasper.

“Tell us your name,” commanded the one on the left.

Jasper wasn’t sure he liked their look or manner. “I don’t have time for this. I must find Greydor or Nimlinn.”

“Greydor has fallen,” stated the bird on the right.

Jasper’s felt his stomach clench. “He’s dead?”

“Mortally wounded. And Nimlinn refuses to leave his side,” stated the bird on the left.

“You sound like you don’t approve,” said Jasper

“A bird without tail feathers drifts in the wind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look around you. Sea Denn has been abandoned by all but the leader of the flock.

“But if Sea Den is abandoned, where did all the Rinn . . .” Jasper’s eyes fell on the valley below. “What’s going on down there?”

“This battle is now in its third day. All goes badly. Now tell us, what is your name?” The bird sounded far too impatient.

Jasper turned his back on them and made for the open Ridgegate.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” called one temptingly.

Jasper continued toward the gate.

“Lord Tanglemane bid us to wait for your arrival,” added the other quickly.

Jasper turned back to them. “
Lord
Tanglemane?”

“Name,” snapped the first bird.

“Orders are orders,” grumbled the other.

Jasper strode back, eying the birds suspiciously, and placed his hand on the moon sword’s grip. “My name is Jasper Winter.”

The birds nodded their heads in unison.

“Now, tell me, where is Tanglemane?”

“Dead, most likely.”

“What?” Jasper staggered backward, then turned to stare dumbly over the edge of the battlement at the sea of dust covering the valley.

“The scaramann have seized the valley. The dragonflies control the skies.”

“But I thought Greydor had killed the scaramann queen, that the only scaramann still alive were trapped in Fangdelve. What happened?”

“We do not understand it ourselves, but the valley is once again filled with scaramann, hatching out of the ground fully grown.”

“And the Rinn? Are they all in the valley?”

“They meant to retake Fangdelve today, but the scaramann surprised them, rising up from shallow tunnels. The Rinn fought them back for a time, but they are losing now, and more bugs are hatching everywhere. Soon there will be nowhere to run.”

“I need to get down there. What did
Lord
Tanglemane want with me?”

“He asked us to help you flee this place before the scaramann infest it!”

“How would you do that?”

“We are to fly you to Foam, where a ship awaits to take you to Rihnwood.”

“You could do that, fly me all the way to Foam?”

“It would take both of us, but with this strong wind coming off the ocean, we could glide almost the entire way.”

“Thank you for the offer. But I’m not ready to flee just yet. My sister called down the darkness. Maybe there’s something
I
can do. I need to get to where the Rinn are. Can you help me?”

“No,” said the larger of the two birds.

“But I have to get down there!”

“Even if we wanted to—and we don’t—the fire-breathing dragonflies would see us coming from this side of Sea Denn.”

“There has to be another way to get down there,” said Jasper, more to himself than the birds.

“You can ride me, Jasper,” said a deep Rinn voice, and Jasper turned to face Nimlinn standing in the open gate, the magic saddle on her back.

“Does this mean Greydor is . . .”

“I have said my goodbyes.” Nimlinn’s big amber eyes swung away from the valley and locked onto Jasper’s. “Now that you’ve arrived, he has bid me leave his side. If anyone can save the Rinn now, it’s you: Jasper Winter.”

“Then you better get me down there.”

“I can’t promise you we’ll be coming back in one piece.”

Jasper knew exactly what his uncle would say. “Now, now. One impossible task at a time, please.”

“Madness!” cawed one of the birds.

Nimlinn shifted her full attention to the two black birds, her eyelids narrowing to slits. “And what might
you
two be?”

“Birds, Your Majesty,” said one of the birds.

“I thought there were no more
black
birds of your size—that you were all extinct. Where have you come from? Whom do you serve?”

“We are Noc, Your Majesty, from the mountain of Knonaam. We have ever served the clan Qaz.”

Nimlinn’s eyes flicked between them. “But the Qaz are clanless.”

The birds blinked. “We beg to differ, Your Majesty.”

“You’re part of Tanglemane’s mischief, aren’t you?”

“Mischief, Your Majesty?” The great black bird ruffled its feathers. “Look before you,” it continued in a graver voice. “Greydor should have listened. He needed to wait. Now look at what has become of your valley Rinn, your fading empire.”

“Wait? Wait for what?” asked Nimlinn. “Can you tell me what Tanglemane could not?”

The two birds said nothing.

“The dragonflies have been systematically destroying all our food and water,” Nimlinn continued. “At night, we are unable to walk our own ramparts for fear of being burned alive. What is there to wait for?”

“Lord Tanglemane would counsel you to hasten Jasper to safety.” Nimlinn’s mane ruffled at the title. “Anywhere would be safer than here,” the bird continued.

Nimlinn turned to Jasper. “I could hide you in one of the deeper recesses of Sea Denn. You could wait for a favorable crossover and escape to one of our moons—or possibly you could leave from there some
other
way.”

Jasper bristled inwardly at the thought of hiding; it smacked of cowardice. And he knew exactly what Nimlinn meant by “some other way.” Placing his hand on the moon coin, Jasper thought about Lily. She had thought the coin responsible for the effect on Roan’s darkness enchantment, although she didn’t know how she’d done it.

“Do you know how to call down the darkness, Nimlinn?”

“I do, but it would get us very little. Our only hope now is to retake Fangdelve. We have to stop whatever is going on in there. If we can get Mowra inside, maybe we can understand how they have brought the scaramann to us again, and in such great numbers.”

Jasper stepped to Nimlinn’s side and pulled himself up into the saddle. “I don’t know how I can be of help, Your Majesty. But I’m certainly willing to try.”

“Your Majesty,” said one of the Noc, wriggling his wings and looking disturbed. “This is foolish! The boy must be saved! He cannot be allowed to fall into Werfryht’s hands!”

Werfryht,
thought Jasper.
The Taw word for Wrengfoul.

Nimlinn’s fur stiffened, and her ears swept back. “I will eat him before I allow him to fall into Rengtiscura’s hands!” She lowered her haunches to spring away.

“But the dragonflies! How will you escape them?”

Nimlinn bared her teeth. “Speed and grace!” she spat.

She leapt to the ledge separating the first switchback, but rather than descending its twisting, roundabout route, she leapt from ledge top to ledge top until, at the very last, she launched herself onto solid ground. Her claws raked the dry earth. Jasper felt himself pushed back in the saddle as she began her fierce ascent to the rim of the earth mound, which she leapt in a single bound, momentarily clearing the thick dust, allowing him a brief view of the buzzing dragonflies belching their deadly flames.

Jasper pulled up his hood and secured a flap that covered his nose and mouth. Nimlinn increased her pace, and he wondered how it was that Nimlinn could possibly navigate through this terrible dust.

“Nimlinn! Can you see in this?”

“Remember the saddle, Jasper! I suggest you concentrate on seeing better. But be careful what else you think about!”

Jasper tried to imagine the dust being less, and to a degree his vision cleared, but not as much as he would have liked.

“Thanks for the tip!” said Jasper, and without even thinking, he drew out his moon sword and swiftly cut down a lone scaramann that had strayed too close to Nimlinn’s path.

“Well done, Jasper! I didn’t see him coming out of that dip until we were upon him. I had no idea you were so skilled with the blade!”

Jasper held the hilt of the sword before his face, turning it. The motion had felt so natural, like he’d done it before. “I’m not,” said Jasper, his voice so low that not even Nimlinn’s ears could have heard him.

“Are you right- or left-handed? I can try to keep them to the side you favor.”

Jasper flipped the sword into his left hand and tried a low practice swing, his wrist and arm responding with perfect control as he cut a beautiful arc.

The saddle?
he wondered.

“It appears I’m . . . ambidextrous?” Jasper marveled at this new development, flipping the sword back into his right hand and dispatching another scaramann. “We’re going to Fangdelve, right?”

“Yes.”

“Take the straightest line you dare. I’ll deal with these scaramann. Oh! And Nimlinn, about what you told those birds . . . uh, about eating me?”

“A figure of speech, nothing more.”

“Glad to hear it.” Jasper flipped the sword to his left hand and dipped the blade down into the path of three scaramann dashing alongside a gully. “As one of my top goals for today is to not be eaten.”

“Hold tight!” yelled Nimlinn, veering sharply and leaping over a small ravine. An instant later, a fiery blast of flame showered down onto the path where they would have been had Nimlinn not changed her course.

Without thinking, Jasper sheathed his sword and lifted the protective flap from one of the sharp bladed dirazakein. It was uncanny; he seemed to know
exactly
where to look in the sky, as though he were using his third set of eyes. “Mark!” he shouted, at precisely the right time for Nimlinn to reach over her shoulder, grip the dirazakein in her paw, and loose the whirling blades of destruction.

Jasper continued to track the enormous shadow of the dragonfly above them while using his second set of eyes to remain aware of Nimlinn’s movements. The thing was gigantic, and on its back were eight saddled scaramann, crossbows at the ready, scanning the valley, firing their deadly bolts at will. A second shadow passed over the first. Jasper looked up and thought he saw something bat-like, leathery—and then it was gone. A moment later, the fire-breathing dragonfly plummeted to the ground.

Jasper cheered. “One shot!”

Nimlinn doubled back to the fallen dragonfly. It was severed in two and burning in its own fiery vomit. The scaramann lay crumpled and scattered. None had survived the fall.

Having seen enough, Nimlinn continued to race to Fangdelve.

“Jasper, what could have downed that dragonfly?”

“You did.”

“But it was severed clean in two,” said Nimlinn.

“You must have hit it exactly where the body segments join. Or maybe you ignited whatever it uses to make its breath, and it blew apart. If those things have a weakness like that, then we have to get to the Broadpaw and let them know where to aim their arrows.”

“Jasper, I think I saw something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. It swept through fast, and then it was—Jasper! Ready yourself! We approach a skirmish. There are friendly Rinn here—be watchful.”

The clouds of dust grew thicker, and the air darkened. Jasper heard the heavy footsteps of other Rinn wheeling and thundering. A dark, Rinn-sized shape approached from the right, then pulled away, vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared. All about them were the clicking sounds of scaramann. Jasper drew his sword, but he could not tell where they were. Nimlinn slowed, and another Rinn overtook them on the left.

Someone bellowed, but it was not the roar of a Rinn, and certainly no scaramann could produce such a sound.

“Nim—”

“Hush!”

Shadowy shapes of Rinn materialized on either side of them, forming a line. All at once the Rinn began to trot. From either side, Jasper heard the ring of swords being drawn, and the Rinn broke into a run. Nimlinn shot out in front, then pulled back, compensating for her greater speed. As she dropped back into line, the Rinn to the right veered close, materializing out of the brown clouds. It was Roan, and on his saddled back sat a man. Roan’s eyes grew large as he recognized Nimlinn.

“Nimlinn!” he roared.

“Jasper!” yelled Dubb. “Nice sword—look sharp!”

A second later, scaramann were everywhere.

Nimlinn and Roan swerved apart. Jasper and Dubb swung hacking blows on every scaramann they could reach. And then they were clear.

“Come about!” yelled Dubb.

Nimlinn doubled back and the line reformed.

“How many are there?” Jasper yelled to Nimlinn.

“More than we can deal with, but there is a group of riders in peril here. I think Dubb is trying to create a weak spot to help the troubled riders break free.”

“Nimlinn, how many
Dainriders
are there?”

“Perhaps a dozen, all told. I can’t be certain.”