Dragon Airways (10 page)

"Berigor."

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Riette awoke feeling refreshed. Part of her felt the urge to wake up and mind her responsibilities, but she was so comfortable. The pillow bed promised to cradle her for hours to come. The silence coaxed her back to the place between sleeping and dreaming. Whispers and the smell of food tickled her senses, but still she slept. When finally she did wake, the meal had gone cold. Riette's brain was finding it difficult to keep up. Ravenous, she consumed the food before realizing Emmet's bed was empty. For half a second, she thought he might have wandered off, but then she remembered where she was. All the comfort was gone like being dunked in cold water.

"Barabas!" she shouted. "He's gone! You monster, he's gone!"

Tuck arrived a moment later, his face a mask of shock and horror.

When Barabas came into the room, Riette threw the food tray at him. He was no more or less happy than usual. "Hush," he said. "We've got to go after your brother."

"What do you mean, 'go after'?"

"Emmet has left for the Firstland with Al'Drakon," Barabas said.

Tuck remained speechless, looking shocked.

"How could you let him go?"

"I did not know," Barabas said.

"Liar!"

The man nodded and accepted the accusation. "I'm going to find your brother. Do you want to come?"

How could she trust him? Why would she trust him? Because he was the only friend she had. Because no one else here had reason to do anything for her, let alone try to rescue her brother. Whether his words were true or not, Riette reasoned she had no other choice but to accept his help. In the end, if she had to choose based on trust, it would be an easy decision.

When Commander Gerrig arrived, Riette wordlessly turned her anger on him.

"I am very sorry about your brother," he said. "I did not know."

It was a common refrain, and she trusted him no more than she trusted Barabas. She no longer identified Barabas as "the captain." Now she knew who he was deep down: Barabas DeGuiere—traitor.

Commander Gerrig walked to the sleeping chamber she had shared with Emmet, the one she'd chosen because it had seemed like the safest choice. In the back wall, he slid open a secret entrance. The stone was real, but clever engineering allowed it to move as if floating.

Anger and resentment flooded Riette's being. This was how Emmet had been taken from her, but then she also realized her brother must have gone either willingly or by extreme measures. He had not tried to wake her, and she had to cope with not knowing what really happened. Somehow she knew he had gone of his own accord, a brave and noble fool. Feeling like a complete dolt, she followed Barabas through the same halls Emmet had used during his escape, feeling betrayed, abused, and unloved. A hand landed on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Tuck said.

"Get your hands off me, and don't ever touch me again," Riette said. She did not realize the extra insult until after she'd said the words and she continued. "You knew. You
knew.
You are not my friend."

The words took their toll. Tuck backed away, giving Riette at least some of the space she desired. He deserved it—every word—yet she felt bad for hurting his feelings. What madness had she contracted to be so conflicted about a single person? He was cruel and unforgivably dishonest, yet he had saved her life. He'd been nicer to her than even Brick had ever been. The thought made her shed a tear on her friend's behalf, no matter what had become of him. The way she had left wasn't something of which she was proud.

When they reached a natural orifice in the mountainside, dawn's first blush colored the horizon. A cool breeze whispered of spring, and the world below was blanketed in fog, some of which glowed from within or was burned away completely by massive fires.

"If you fly into the rising sun, you'll have the best chance of avoiding pursuit," Commander Gerrig said, "from either side of the war. No guarantees, though."

His words were chilling. Barabas was so unpopular, he was unwelcome everywhere. In some ways, she pitied the man. It didn't take long to get everyone strapped in, and Commander Gerrig wasted no time in going back the way he'd come. Dashiq did not bother to run; instead, she simply fell from the Heights. Riding the currents above the tree line, she made the act of departing quietly all but impossible. Gritting her teeth was the only way Riette kept from screaming, and she just managed, though her jaws ached. Flying into the sunrise was unpleasant. Crouching low, Riette hid from the intense light.

Few words were said for the rest of the day. Riette did her best to sort through a barrage of feelings. Through that reckoning, no one emerged unscathed, her outlook gloomy. When a stark white line of rock, looking lifeless and sun bleached, appeared in the waters ahead, Riette could think of few less appealing places to take a walk. Even with that in mind, the thought of stretching her aching legs and back was still attractive.

As they drew closer, a few signs of life were apparent. The land had strange trees with domes of hearty leaves atop a myriad of arrow-straight branches sprouting from equally straight trunks. Each one bore scars, though—some fresh, some old. Claw marks raked the white bark, fresh red sap flowing from the more recent wounds. Once they had disembarked, Dashiq went straight to the trees. She was the only one Riette trusted. A dragon could not know the crimes of men, and she had always done her best to keep Riette and Emmet safe. But now Emmet was gone. It was a circular thought pattern, one that brought anger and guilt. She was supposed to have protected her brother, and others had betrayed them both. Trying to chase the thoughts away, she took a much-needed walk.

"Dragon's blood trees," Tuck said from nearby.

"Oh," Riette said, not meeting his gaze.

"The dragons like the sap and use their claws to mark their territory."

"Mm-hmm," Riette said, not looking at him.

"Aw, come on," Tuck said. "You know you're interested. You're just pretending not to be because you're mad at me."

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, I never meant you no harm, and I might've saved your life a time or two, so I think you should forgive me."

"Mm-hmm."

"I didn't know this thing with Emmet would happen," Tuck said with what appeared to be sincerity. "The cap'n didn't neither."

"He doesn't seem to have many friends, this captain of yours," Riette said, not caring if he heard her or not. "Do you ever wonder why that is? Perhaps it's because he's a bumbling idiot."

"Just because he talks funny don't mean he's stupid," Tuck said. "Just like your brother ain't as stupid as you think."

"Don't you use my brother against me!"

"Sorry," Tuck said.

"You say that a lot, you know. Ever wonder why that is?" Tuck did not meet her eyes. "It's because you're a jerk."

"I deserved that one," Tuck said.

"And a lot more."

"And a lot more," he conceded with a sigh. "I didn't mean nothing."

"Anything."

"What?"

"You didn't mean
anything,
" she said, no longer able to resist.

Tuck just shrugged and handed her a cask of wine, which did not hurt his chances for forgiveness. "Don't worry. The gods are with us."

"They are?" Riette asked. "I sure haven't seen them around."

"Ah, but you've seen magic," Tuck said. "And magic is of the gods." He held his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture.

"I've seen tricks and chemistry but not so much magic."

"You sure about that?" Tuck asked, looking sideways at Dashiq. The copper bridgework reconstructing her face was scratched and dented but nonetheless magical. The glass eye remained intact, though it lacked the life seen in her remaining eye. The old dragon chewed the red, sappy wood with one side of her mouth, which was clearly not the natural order, but she managed to squeeze out some of the desired nutrients and medicinal properties Tuck droned on and on about.

Barabas signaled them to load up, already knowing Al'Drakon and the others had stopped there. Fresh claw marks on almost every tree were both evidence of their passing and a not-so-subtle message to Barabas—or perhaps more accurately, Dashiq. The dragon took it upon herself to leave a response. Riette could not imagine how the other dragons would interpret it or even how they felt about Dashiq at all. Were politics and rivalry purely human? Riette suspected not.

"I'm still angry with you," Riette said to Barabas before climbing back aboard. He nodded in acceptance and said nothing while helping her up. Tuck followed and made certain her straps were tight. It was among the reasons Riette couldn't doubt his sincerity in wanting to protect her, but she didn't always trust what he thought was right for her, and that was the rub. It continued to chafe as the journey wore on, always one step behind the Drakon—and her brother.

CHAPTER TEN

I do not loath magic. I detest power in the hands of others.

—Argus Kind, usurper king of the Zjhon

* * *

Deacon Rex would complain about his circumstances, but at least he was alone. Casta Mett and the others could tear each other to pieces for all he cared, so long as they left him out of it. Already he'd planted carefully crafted doubts in the king's mind with regard to each of his esteemed colleagues. Casta Mett was hiding things and was fool enough to think no one would notice. He didn't have to be able to sense magic to know when someone was hiding something. It was a skill he'd relied on his entire life. Argus Kind had unlocked what magic Deacon Rex possessed, and he would be forever grateful.

He had been successful in the past, but nothing to match being Al'Zjhon. The ability to access magic coupled with an ample supply of something normally so rare, Deacon Rex was a formidable man. The skills developed by thieves and assassins largely overlapped, and those same skills applied to treasure hunting. Deacon Rex had never been one to specialize. Look at how well that was working out for Casta Mett.

Moving through the jungle was not something at which he was practiced or skilled, however. At least for the moment he could simply row his way toward the west, following narrow channels meandering through lush, green swamp.

Knowing what created the channels made Deacon nervous. If he went into the water with a swamp pig, he wasn't likely to come back out. The huge creatures appeared lazy and slow when wallowing in mud but were far faster than they appeared. Thus far, Deacon had not seen a single one. The evidence didn't lie. They had been here.

Worse was yet to come. He'd flown over the swamp and was aware of what he was doing. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for a fool. He'd chosen the most difficult mission of all just to get away from a woman. Perhaps she had won after all.

A deep squealing erupted from the water ahead. Deacon Rex watched the swamp pig emerge from the depths right in front of him. Using his oar to slow his lightweight canoe, he prayed he would see the back end of a swamp pig and not the front. The creatures were known to charge anything that challenged them. His luck held but would be tested again soon. Already foulness filled the air. Even if the vegetation here had not yet succumbed to the creeping wrongness dominating the swamp, it would soon. It was inevitable.

It took a brave fool to seek magic within the swamp, but he would not be alone. The people of the Heights and Midlands knew they were doomed. Why not risk a few lives to see what twisted magic rules the swamp? Deacon hoped to get there first. It was unlikely he'd be able to retrieve an object powerful enough to corrupt a third of a continent, but if he found something, he would return with larger numbers.

Within the rotting swamp, Deacon was drawn ever on. The place called to him in a way no other magic ever had. Argus Kind had unlocked his magic by allowing him to touch an object of immense power, Azzakkan's Eye, but never had Deacon sensed power over a distance. This place reeked of twisted, corrupted magic that seeped into his bones until he thought the stench might never come out. Deeper he went, driven now by the need to see the power calling him. His innate ability to squeeze through tight places served him well.

Days and nights passed, but he could not say how many. The swamp had become a part of him, and he, a part of the swamp. It leached into him and might never let him leave. Only the magic he carried kept him from falling into the abyss. While the quagmire tugged at his sanity, he rubbed his thumbs over pure, unadulterated power—a gift from Argus Kind. Most of the time, he kept it hidden; it drew the shadows.

After what felt like weeks traveling on foot, Deacon Rex found himself staring into a dark green meadow, sharp-tipped saw grass promising a toll of blood. Beyond, though, waited a low but sprawling outcropping of black crystal. It looked like one giant crystal with just the very tip showing. It was not just something he surmised. Power reached deep into the land. It pulled on him so strongly, he worried his eyes might be sucked from his head. Whispers of madness spoke of twisted sentience. Tearing himself away, he realized this was far beyond anything he'd ever imagined. Above the stone, wild dragons flew in lazy circles. No wonder no one else had harnessed this magic. One might as well lasso the sun. Now he understood why no domestic dragon would dare come anywhere near.

Deacon Rex was going to need a better plan—a much better plan.

Leaving proved far more difficult than getting in. He'd been drawn by magic, almost as if in a trance. Moving away from that same magic, every step was a struggle. The swamp turned on him—not that it had ever been friendly. Now, though, safe, dry passage was twice as difficult to find. Having been graced with a colorful vocabulary, he honed his cursing skills. Deep into a particularly salty tirade, he suddenly froze, uttering not a single additional word. Before him, golden eyes with pupils like oblong slits watched through the vines and focused on him.

Reaching for his bag, Deacon Rex hoped Argus Kind's gift would be enough.

* * *

The Firstland rose up from the sea like a lingering cloud bank that later solidified into dry land. Berigor flew along a narrow valley lined with giant carvings of male warriors. A pair of statues protruded from the valley walls and crossed swords over the river, each with an arm in the water. Swirling eddies surrounded the massive statues, and Emmet was glad they weren't on a seafaring vessel. When the dragon flew beneath the crossed swords, one of which had long since lost its tip, Emmet held his breath, fearing he would be dashed upon the ancient carvings.

No one made a sound. Al'Drakon rode before him, fiercely concentrating on the way ahead, planning their every move. Alongside them flew Ariodarch, Tarin and Dosser on his back. The other dragon was smaller than Berigor and bore deep scars. These were battle dragons, Emmet reminded himself. He hoped never to witness dragons fighting. Flying to war upon one made that unlikely. Still, if this were to work, it would be a surprise attack. Everyone on this mission was there for a reason. Al'Drakon would have come alone, but Tarin and Dosser had insisted he would be unable to subdue all the guards and protect Emmet at the same time. Thus it had been decided.

Emmet understood enough to be afraid. They were flying into enemy territory, searching for the largest collection of magic items known to exist in the world. The thrill of getting to locate that much magic made Emmet giddy, and he had difficulty spending more than a moment considering the rest of the situation. Already the magic called to him. Time skipped a beat, and he hoped it would not compress. This was no time for an episode.

When the tip of a hollowed-out mountain became visible, both dragons dipped low and landed along a rocky shoreline. Too much daylight remained. Al'Drakon dismounted, reached up to grab Emmet, and helped him down. Nightfall approached but the outline of the mountain was still visible. Al'Drakon led Emmet farther along the valley floor until much more of the mountain could be seen. For Emmet, nothing else existed. The place radiated magic on a gigantic scale, and he was overcome. For so much of his life, he had sought out any morsel of magic. He would have been so happy with some little sliver of energy, some mere spark, and here was a conflagration like a land-bound star.

"Do you see it?" Al'Drakon asked in a whisper.

Emmet almost laughed but instead nodded and pointed.

Al'Drakon used a stick to draw the mountain with its many entranceways and zigzagging stairways. Emmet pointed to one doorway in particular, fourth down and third in from the west. Others also shone, but none so brightly as that one. Emmet held his hands out wide. Pointing to the other doorways, he held his hands closer together to indicate less bright. They would have stayed longer, but aircraft overhead sent them scrambling for cover. There was no way to know if they had been seen. All they could do was hope for the best, which was unnerving. It made the wait for the dead of the night even more painful. When at last the rest of the world slept, Al'Drakon roused Emmet and asked him if he was ready. Emmet nodded. He'd always been ready for this.

Berigor moved with quiet strength, allowing Al'Drakon and Emmet to mount. Creaking leather and the wind catching the dragon's wings were the only evidence of their passing. Ariodarch flew in Berigor's shadow, low and silent. When the valley opened and the entire hollow mountain became visible, the scale of what they were taking on was apparent. An even larger mountain loomed in the background but was not their destination. Moonlight left the mountains in stark relief, the ramparts and stairs on the nearest shining blue. Unlike the Heights, this mountain appeared to have been hollowed out by man, either that or much smaller dragons. Even if it had once been inhabited by dragons, none remained. Argus Kind hated dragons.

Berigor used their speed to scale the mountain, hugging close to one of the stairways. Ariodarch mirrored this approach on the neighboring stair. When they reached the fourth entrance down and third in from the west, both dragons landed atop the stairs, doing their best to remain silent, though it sounded like a great echoing commotion to Emmet. No matter how excited he was about the magic flowing from the doorway, the sense of danger was inescapable. Al'Drakon dismounted and helped Emmet down, this time placing the boy directly beside him. Tarin and Dosser slid down from Ariodarch, flanking Al'Drakon and Emmet. The dragons regained the skies with barely a sound.

Along with the magic overwhelming Emmet's other senses, lanterns glowed brightly within. Guards flanked two doorways.

Using blunt, thrown weapons, Tarin and Dosser both cast two attacks at once. All but one guard were struck unconscious by the initial attacks, and he soon joined the others. These guards had been half asleep; no one had yet raised an alarm. Deeper into the mountain they went, following Emmet's direction. Al'Drakon did not argue or hesitate; he simply moved forward with an outrageous sense of confidence.

Could nothing stop this man?

Another pair of guards was subdued without incident. Emmet was amazed how easy it was to penetrate the Zjhon defenses until he stepped into the magic room. "Wow," he said.
"Magic."
When the thought hit him an instant later, Emmet could not believe any words had left his lips at such a crucial time. Four guards appeared from within a museum of magical artifacts. Glassy orbs and staves immediately caught Emmet's attention, but there were also bowlike weapons and behind them a gleaming saddle that looked the right size to fit Dashiq. Al'Drakon intercepted one guard who moved to yank on a rope hanging from the ceiling. Tarin launched more blunt weapons, but these people were more alert and prepared for a fight. At the same time, two men closed on Dosser and another grabbed Al'Drakon from behind.

Emmet meant these people no harm, and he cringed at the thought of hurting even those who fought against the Drakon. When the alarm sounded, it was clear at least some of those who'd been subdued were now coming to. Al'Drakon had the wooden box in his hands, but the stones were still inside. He should have taken them out sooner. Emmet, on the other hand, stroked a clear stone. Though rough cut, its surface was smooth as silk. No one had seen him take it from the cache in the Heights. The memory was almost enough to make him smile if not for also being sad. He missed Riette.

In spite of all that, he chose to focus on the positive. Never before had he known such power and magic, and he was giddy with it. Rubbing the cool stone with his thumb, he leaned into time. It stretched. As if by his command, the world slowed around him. The harder he tried, the more slowly it moved. It gave him time to think, time to move, time to act. For so much of his life, time had been his enemy, and now for once he possessed the ability to use it as a tool. He understood why Argus Kind hoarded the magic. Who would not desire such a wondrous collection? His methods for acquiring many pieces could be called into question, but that seemed far away at the moment.

Even with time slowed, Emmet felt the magic intensely. The thought of destroying it all made him sick, but some part of him understood why. Seeing Al'Drakon about to go down under two guards and bright lights now shining into the room, Emmet hurried. Magic flowing into his body from the stone. He continued stretching time while orchestrating their escape. Flinging glass spheres into the air was just the first part of his attack. A stave knocked over here and a bowlike weapon fired there, a kick to the knee one long instant, a shove the next. Sirens wailed and the keep awoke. Emmet looked back at the Drakon, who fought in slow motion. For an instant he wished he could move them through time with him, but then he considered the consequences of inflicting others with his condition. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. Even with all this magic, he was still out of synchronization with the rest of the world. And now he was destroying it all, knowing he might never again get the opportunity to unlock the mystery of his craving for magic. Already he knew he would not be satisfied. All the power in the world was useless absent the knowledge of what to do with it. That thought brought him to tears.

The Drakon finally turned the corner, and Emmet did everything he could to disrupt those rushing into the main hall in various states of undress. Racing to each searchlight, Emmet aimed them strategically, blinding the Zjhon. More lights combed the skies outside, crisscrossing and searching. Emmet thought he saw a shadow move through the searchlights. Heavy weapons fired. He could only hope the dragons would survive and return in time.