Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts) (20 page)
BOOK: Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts)
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She started to say something, but the air changed again. It filled with crackling energy, with a current so powerful that it constricted her chest and made each breath feel as if she was sucking through a narrow straw.
“Motherless Brethwan!” Ry swore. “We have to stop that thing.”
If they had ever had the chance to stop it, that time had passed. The light in the center column of the Mirror of Souls—that lovely golden light that had poured silently upward to pool in the center of the ring—turned the red of blood, and burst out through the top like a whale leaping from a puddle. It hit the shield that all of them had created with their wills, blood, and magic, and for an instant strained against it. Everyone could see the fiery light filling up the invisible sphere Kait had crafted. But that shield had been created to keep things out, not to keep them in—so when the crimson light finished filling the space around them, it grew brighter, and then brighter yet . . . and then it shattered the shield and erupted into the clouds, a beacon in the blackness more brilliant than a pillar of fire.
“They’ll find us fast enough now,” Valard growled. “I knew all along we wouldn’t get away.”
“Throw the thing overboard,” Yanth said.
Kait and Hasmal stared at each other. Hasmal said, “If we lose it, all the souls on Matrin and in the Veil stand forfeit.”
A long way away, she could hear the engines of the airibles starting up. The wizards aboard them would have felt the magic bursting free of the shield, and everyone would have seen the beacon.
Kait said, “They’re coming. We have to decide fast.”
Lit from below in bloody hues, Hasmal looked like a fiend from the nightmare realm. He frowned and stared back the way they had come. “If we could save it, it would be worth dying for. But they’ll come, and we’ll die and lose it to them anyway.” He shook his head. He buried his face in his hands, and sat that way for a long moment. Kait heard him sigh, heard him mutter something she couldn’t make out—not because she couldn’t hear it, but because she didn’t recognize the language—and finally saw him shrug. He looked at all of them. “We have to throw it into the water. Deep water, if we can find some. Tricky currents would be best, a reef would be good, and if you know of such a place within our reach, someplace where the gorrahs are especially dangerous . . . maybe we can keep our pursuers from retrieving it.”
Ian said, “And while we’re trying to find the perfect place to throw it overboard, the airibles are closing on us. No. Pitch it over the side here. It will have to do.”
Kait half-rose from her seat. “No, Ian. We have to do what we can to keep them from getting it—”
Ry cut her short. “We have to save our own skins. If we live, we can, perhaps, get the damned thing back from them before they figure out how to use it. We’ll have some time,” he said. “You’ve had the thing for—how long?—and you have no more idea how to use it than you had the day you found it. Am I right?”
Kait didn’t know if he was right or not. But the sounds of the airibles were becoming clearer, and there was an undeniable sweetness in the logic of dumping it into the sea and hoping her enemies wouldn’t find it, or that if they did find it, they wouldn’t know how to use it.
But that hope didn’t hold water. The ghost of a Dragon had masqueraded as her ancestor, and had told her how to find the thing. That ancestor could tell whoever retrieved the Mirror how to use it.
Ry, Yanth, and Valard had moved to the front of the boat. Valard pushed his way between Hasmal and the Mirror. Ry and Yanth grabbed the Mirror.
“One, two, heave!” Ry said.
The Mirror arced through the air, tumbling, the blood-red beacon cutting a swath through the sky and through the water like a sword.
It splashed into the glass-smooth strait, the water hissed and boiled, the light illuminated a spinning path as it dropped toward the sea floor far below. Hideous, hideous, that light—as if the islands were bleeding. Kait couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It burned through the murky water below and set the surface ablaze.
“Man your sweeps!” Ian shouted. “Now! And row! And maybe we’ll live to see the sun rise.”
Kait stared at the cold fire that burned across the surface of the sea while she pulled her sweep. It was as if the Mirror had
chosen
to betray them all, she thought. As if, having gotten what it wanted from them, it had chosen to rid itself of them and summon new allies.
chosen
to betray them all, she thought. As if, having gotten what it wanted from them, it had chosen to rid itself of them and summon new allies.
Her heart was hollow, and her bones ached with dread. They might live out the night, she thought. They might reach Ian’s island. But even if they did, her enemies—and the Reborn’s enemies—would have the Mirror of Souls.
And then what price would the world pay for her survival?
21
T
he sun beat down on the Thousand Dancers, hot as rage and heavy as sin. Crispin stood at the front of the
Heart of Fire
’s gondola and stared at the red blaze that called out to him from beneath the water, and swore against Ry’s soul that he would make his devious cousin pay for throwing the Mirror into the sea. He could see its light down there, even in daylight, as brilliant as a sun. He just couldn’t reach it.
he sun beat down on the Thousand Dancers, hot as rage and heavy as sin. Crispin stood at the front of the
Heart of Fire
’s gondola and stared at the red blaze that called out to him from beneath the water, and swore against Ry’s soul that he would make his devious cousin pay for throwing the Mirror into the sea. He could see its light down there, even in daylight, as brilliant as a sun. He just couldn’t reach it.
Three of his own men had died in trying to raise it, along with seven Galweigh soldiers. The gorrahs schooled above the thing, circling . . . circling . . . and every time one of the crewmen tried to grapple it up from the bottom, one of
them
would grab the chain and pull, and about half the time the monster would drag the man into the sea. One dead gorrah floated belly-up in testament to the fact that the monsters didn’t win every round; it was a small one as such creatures went, which meant that it ran the length of ten men laid end to end, and the sea vultures and gulls and blackbeaks covered it like larger cousins of the flies that swarmed around it in clouds. Its mouth-talons hung limp to either side of its huge maw; its bony, armored body stank in the oppressive heat; and its two spine-tipped, clawed forearms floated above its head in a gesture of surrender. That one had caught its jaw on the grappling hook, and the crew had locked down the chain, and the pilot, thinking fast, had taken the
Heart of Fire
straight up and, when it was as high as it would go, they’d snapped the chain free and the bastard had fallen back into the sea and smashed itself flat when it hit the water.
them
would grab the chain and pull, and about half the time the monster would drag the man into the sea. One dead gorrah floated belly-up in testament to the fact that the monsters didn’t win every round; it was a small one as such creatures went, which meant that it ran the length of ten men laid end to end, and the sea vultures and gulls and blackbeaks covered it like larger cousins of the flies that swarmed around it in clouds. Its mouth-talons hung limp to either side of its huge maw; its bony, armored body stank in the oppressive heat; and its two spine-tipped, clawed forearms floated above its head in a gesture of surrender. That one had caught its jaw on the grappling hook, and the crew had locked down the chain, and the pilot, thinking fast, had taken the
Heart of Fire
straight up and, when it was as high as it would go, they’d snapped the chain free and the bastard had fallen back into the sea and smashed itself flat when it hit the water.
Which hadn’t been as satisfying as it should have been. They’d lost the first of two grappling hooks then. The second—the one they’d salvaged from the
Wind Treasure,
along with the replacement chain—they lost when one of the big gorrahs hooked onto it and nearly pulled the
Heart of Fire
into the sea. They’d had to cut that monster loose.
Wind Treasure,
along with the replacement chain—they lost when one of the big gorrahs hooked onto it and nearly pulled the
Heart of Fire
into the sea. They’d had to cut that monster loose.
So Crispin had sent the
Galweigh’s Eagle,
which had been trying to find Ry’s boat and its occupants, back to Goft to get replacement grappling hooks, and more chain, and a grappling boom to mount on the front of the gondola, and more soldiers to work the equipment. He’d spent the better part of the day waiting while Anwyn loaded the supplies and came back. Anwyn had been in a foul mood when he returned, too—the pilot had tried to alert the Galweighs to the fact that the airibles had fallen under the command of the Sabirs, and Anwyn had to hurt him. Crispin thought he was lucky he didn’t have to kill the man; that, unfortunately, would probably be necessary at the end of this work.
Galweigh’s Eagle,
which had been trying to find Ry’s boat and its occupants, back to Goft to get replacement grappling hooks, and more chain, and a grappling boom to mount on the front of the gondola, and more soldiers to work the equipment. He’d spent the better part of the day waiting while Anwyn loaded the supplies and came back. Anwyn had been in a foul mood when he returned, too—the pilot had tried to alert the Galweighs to the fact that the airibles had fallen under the command of the Sabirs, and Anwyn had to hurt him. Crispin thought he was lucky he didn’t have to kill the man; that, unfortunately, would probably be necessary at the end of this work.
For now, he concentrated on the job at hand. The Mirror of Souls called to him. He could smell it, he could taste it, he could see its radiant light; it knew his name and it sang a song that only he could hear. If not for the dark shadows of the gorrahs circling it, he would have Shifted and dived into the water to bring it up himself.
As it was, he stared down at it and sweated and slapped at seaflies and bloodflies, and he worried. He suffered doubts. He didn’t mind that he’d lost men—most of them had been crew belonging to the Goft Galweighs anyway, and men were easier to replace than grappling hooks or chains. What worried him was that perhaps he would never get his hands on the Mirror—that maybe nothing he tried would successfully bring it to the surface. Or that if he did, it would no longer work. Or that if it worked, it would not work as the voice had promised.
But, oh, if it worked the way the voice had sworn it would . . . then he would be a god. Power, immortality, more magic than he’d ever controlled before: He could tolerate huge discomforts and worries with those images to sustain him.
From the boom, two of the crew began to shout. “We have something, Parat! We’ve latched on and we’re bringing it up.”
The gorrahs were everywhere. They were following the line as if they were bait on the hook. The chain clanked on the winch; the grappling boom swung left and left and harder left, dragged by a great weight; the nose of the airible swung to follow the boom; the men on the deck strained at the crank, and sweated, and swore.
The brilliant red light rose through the depths, eclipsed by the schools of gorrahs. Crispin moved closer to the ship’s rails and looked down into the water, squinting against glare and waves and clouds of stirred sediment to see what he had. His gut writhed and his heart began to race. The smell of honeysuckle grew stronger, and with it the reek of death that underlay it.
For a long moment he fought back the urge to puke. His stomach heaved against the stink. He shuddered, and his instincts told him to cut the thing loose—that he would regret claiming it. His heart told him to turn away, to go home content with the treasures from the
Wind Treasure
’s hold, to forget about the Mirror of Souls.
Wind Treasure
’s hold, to forget about the Mirror of Souls.
Crispin wasn’t in the habit of listening to his gut or his heart. If men were meant to listen to them, they wouldn’t have minds. His mind told him that with the Mirror of Souls, he would be a god, and without it, he would be mortal, and would someday die. He yelled, “Keep at it! Haul it! Haul it!”
His skin felt tight, his muscles ached, a chill ran down his spine, and his pulse raced. Magic unlike any the world had known in a thousand years, unlike anything it would ever know again without his efforts, was about to become his. He grinned and shouted as he saw the first light in the depths begin to grow brighter. “That’s it! Bring it up faster! Faster, damn you!”
He could begin to make out its shape. Big as a horse . . . no, big as a house, and black as moonless night, with a ring of fire around it. Almost alive, with tendrils trailing out from all around it like a—
Gorrah! he thought, and leaped back from the rail of the gondola’s catwalk.
The gorrah came up out of the water ahead of the Mirror of Souls, twisting its whip-lean body as it rose to gain more altitude. Its red eyes focused on Crispin, the fingers of its mouth-talons spread wide to embrace him, the wreath of tentacles it wore behind its head whipped upward to the place where he had stood only instants before, and easily half of them curled around the rail. The airible gondola creaked, the rail cracked, Crispin scrabbled uphill along the catwalk as it started to peel away, with the metal bending and screaming beneath the monster’s immense weight.
Crispin reached the back edge of the gondola and stared down at the thing. Its maw, big enough to swallow a tall man standing up, snapped and opened, snapped and opened, and it thrashed and glared at him.
A sign, he thought. Danger from the depths.
Then he grinned again, because if it was a sign, it was one that would turn to his benefit quickly enough.
The rail broke away at last—mere moments that had seemed like entire stations passing—and the living nightmare corkscrewed back into the sea.
The crew cheered . . . though Crispin suspected they would have cheered twice as loudly if the beast had devoured him.
It had followed the chain up to the ship, blocking out Crispin’s view of the Mirror of Souls. Now, though, when he looked over the edge, the men on the winch seemed to be raising a small sun. Other gorrahs circled the artifact, all lesser kin of that great monster who’d burst from the sea. Crispin, who hated the sea and everything in it, watched them with loathing. Giant sharks circled among them, looking like minnows among trout. He’d never seen sharks act in such a fashion—gorrahs generally ate them with enthusiasm, and sharks avoided the bigger, more vicious predators. And gorrahs didn’t usually school, either; they were solitary hunters.
The Mirror seemed to bring out the worst in everything. Uncanny behavior from deadly beasts, the insistent crawling of his skin, the feeling he had that he was being watched—he studied the approach of the Mirror of Souls with less certainty. What, after all, did he know about it? Nothing but what he’d been told by a ghost. He could order it dropped back into the sea, or let Anwyn take it back in the
Galweigh’s Eagle,
or . . .
Galweigh’s Eagle,
or . . .
Then he stopped and laughed at himself. His cousin Ry had touched the artifact last. It would be like that treacherous bitchson to put some sort of spell around it so that it would disturb anyone who tried to claim it. Ry and whoever of his friends had survived would undoubtedly be thrilled if they returned to this place to find their prize intact.
No thrills for them. Crispin smiled slowly, savoring his victory. The Mirror of Souls broke the surface and with it rose half a dozen gorrahs, but they fell back into the sea, and the radiant Mirror continued to rise.
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