Dragon Airways (11 page)

The first flash did not seem real, but the following thump set Emmet's teeth on edge. The chain reaction he had started now cascaded. Al'Drakon and his men did not move quickly enough. Emmet looked down at his palm, at the now milky stone streaked with white. He understood what it meant, but no time remained. The irony was not lost on him.

Using every bit of magic at his disposal, Emmet drew the Drakon to him, not physically but vibrationally—just a little tug then a push. With that, the men sped through time, wise enough to take advantage of the situation and not question it. Perhaps they had experienced something similar in battle, but Emmet doubted it had ever been this extreme. Even for him, this stretched time to its limits—or
his
limits, as the case may be.

When they reached the ledge, the dragons weren't there. Time had run out. Multiple air cannons turned toward Emmet and company, ready to blast them into the air. Emmet jumped.

Berigor and Ariodarch fought to get closer but were taking fire. It was already too late. Time retracted with sudden ferocity and he fell. The rough-cut magic stone he held grew hot, chalky, and rough while he slowed his fall with magic. After a final crack, the stone shattered and was sucked away by the wind, broken down into naught but white dust.

* * *

Soaring low over the valley floor, twisting and turning amid structures both natural and man made, Dashiq flew. Lights flooded the night skies. A pair of dragons took heavy fire, able to dodge most but not all of it. This was among the oldest cities in the world, and it was defended by the latest technology, which prevented the dragons from getting close to the city of Ri. Though their planes remained grounded, balloons and airships also made their way into the sky. Riette held on tightly.

Flapping her wings and using every muscle to propel them forward, Dashiq gave an effort born of desperation. A cry escaped the dragon when a bright light flashed above, making the searchlights seem like mere candles.

A wave of energy raced toward them, the world shimmering and shifting beneath it. Into the night flew three figures. When the shock wave hit, Dashiq somehow used the energy to send them skyward in a rush of rumbling wind. Screaming filled the air and was overshadowed by an even brighter flash. Drowning out all other sound, the mountain split and shifted. It did not come tumbling down, but the stairways and facades were irreparably damaged. The interior spaces couldn't have fared much better.

The screams grew louder in the wake of the second blast. Emmet's ended abruptly when he struck the back of the seat. It took a moment for him and Riette to recover enough and think to get him strapped in. Al'Drakon struck the carriage before Emmet was secure. Bits of wood and fabric broke off, torn away by the racing wind. Another man fell past them while Dashiq continued to climb. Though he missed the carriage completely, a muted thud sounded a moment later accompanied by a loud grunt.

Racing past the openings in the mountain, they made a difficult target for the remaining defenses. Airships filled the skies but did not fire toward the mountain. When Dashiq cleared the peak and tried to escape, they would be subject to overwhelming fire. The dragon must have known this, for she executed a sharp turn.

Riette was unsure how she could have known, but Dashiq turned right in front of a man who could be none other than Argus Kind. In one hand he held an object that glowed like fire even to Riette's vision. She couldn't imagine what it must look like to Emmet. It was still so hard to believe he possessed such a skill, yet clearly he did.

"Kill them all!" the enormous, muscle-bound man shouted before leveling a bowlike weapon at them. A burst of fire raced toward the carriage. From within his pack, Al'Drakon removed the pocked sky stone. His instincts proved invaluable. The fiery column bent and changed direction enough to strike the stone instead of Emmet. Though it glowed within his grasp, the strange object absorbed the attack.

"You will pay for this! Your people will pay for this!" Argus Kind's words came out strangled and ever higher in pitch. There was something in his reaction that went beyond the fury over being attacked. Was it recognition?

He was correct, though, about a price to be paid. Trying to do too many things at once, Al'Drakon failed to maintain a tight enough grip on the sky stone. The force of the attack sent it tumbling from his hands. So much had gone into keeping the object out of Argus Kind's possession, Riette watched it fall with deep regret.

Dashiq soared back down into the valley, over the shops and homes those above would be loath to destroy. Fighting still took place on the mountain, and Riette guessed the remaining Drakon were keeping the airships occupied.

Al'Drakon finally managed to get himself strapped in, and he held on to Emmet in a great bear hug. Looking back, where once the rear of the carriage had been, she saw only Dashiq's tail, Tarin wrapped around it, holding on for his life.

"This carriage is terrible," Al'Drakon said. "Give me a saddle any day."

"It beats riding in the box," Riette said with a shrug.

When the sea came back into view, the sun had just peeked above the horizon. Soon airplanes would take to the skies, and the open air would be far too dangerous.

Emmet pointed to the tallest peaks, "Magic."

Even atop a dragon, it was a near impossible place to go. He might as well have pointed at the moon. Few other choices remained. They could hide in the jungle, but those places were themselves dangerous and easily scoured from airship and balloon. Only a crazy person would try to fly through the peaks Emmet had indicated. Yet that was where Dashiq headed.

Riette had begun to wonder just how much control Barabas had over their destination. It seemed more like the dragon decided where she wanted to go and Barabas pretended it was his decision. Either way, Riette was powerless. Her pulse quickened with each breath. As they rose higher, the battle above the mountain fortress became visible once again. Lights still illuminated the fading darkness, but diesel engines were audible in the distance.

Two airships collided and took out a balloon, all of which caught fire and crashed into the valley below. When a dragon appeared from beneath and leaped free of the wreckage just before it struck the cold stone, it was clear what had caused the crash. Dragons, too, fell. Few remained. Still Dashiq climbed.

When the first diesel props knifed through the air, casting throaty echoes into the canyons, the dragons dispersed. Riette couldn't say if anyone had seen the lone dragon flying into the peaks, but the height was now dizzying.

"It's too much," Al'Drakon said.

Barabas held up his hand in a fist. "My dragon. My rules."

Al'Drakon said no more. He, especially, understood the life-or-death nature of their situation. The dragon pushed herself to her very limits, and everyone knew there was a chance she might push too hard or too far. Their lives depended on the strength and valor of a retired battle dragon, and she showed there was life in her yet.

Grunting with effort, Dashiq cleared a ring of jagged stone peaks to reveal a stunning view. The valley below was shallow, a mere impression amid the towering peaks, but here were ancient ruins constructed in similar ways to the columns in the shallows. Translucent green stone pillars glowed in the growing daylight. Cavelike entranceways surrounded the inner sanctum, rounded and smoothed from perhaps ages of use. A black stone larger than an airship dominated the center of the sanctum. Like an extension of the mountain itself, it issued a deep current of energy that gushed from the heart of the land like a mystical font. Even the grasses that grew around the mighty stone were short and neat, forming clean lines and edges. Regardless of how strange the place might be, it radiated a welcoming aura.

Dashiq turned three lazy circles over the black stone before coming to hover over it, suspended by tricks in the air currents and perhaps magic. It seemed strange to Riette to know mystical energies were real. Always she had rejected the notion such objects of power truly existed or might somehow help her brother. The last part came with a sting of guilt. She had not paid enough attention to his words. Because he had difficulty communicating, she had disregarded the only communication he'd been able to manage. It shamed her.

Now, though, she understood, and there wasn't much she wouldn't do to help her brother find whatever it was he needed. Even with the challenges he faced, her brother had done amazing things. How could she not try to have just as much impact on her world? Even so, Emmet and Al'Drakon's effort had not been enough. Clearly Argus Kind wasn't killed in the attack. Much of his magical arsenal had been destroyed, but Riette knew almost no magic had been used in the conquest of the Heights and the Midlands. Now Argus Kind would be furious, and there were bound to be consequences.

Barabas disembarked first and helped Tuck down. Even they were awestruck. Al'Drakon went next, carrying Emmet with him. Riette almost resented the act, but her brother was perfectly at home with the warrior. Other than kidnapping him and carrying him into the most dangerous situation possible, it appeared the man had taken good care of her brother. Riette truly did not know what to think, so she climbed down without a word and took in the marvels surrounding her. The sense of history this place exuded was undeniable, and the land's power was so intense, even she felt it.

"I owe you a great debt," Al'Drakon said to Barabas.

"You owe me nothing."

"You owe
me
something," Riette said, and she approached Al'Drakon filled with righteous rage. "How
dare
you kidnap my brother and take him to war." Using her index finger, she poked him in the chest to make sure he understood just how angry she was.

"Your brother is a hero," he said.

"Well, good for him!" Riette said. "And I was left to think him dead. What gives you the right to do such a thing?"

Al'Drakon stared at her for a moment before responding. "Is a Zjhon fleet truly within striking distance of the Midlands?"

"Yes."

"Then your brother is already lost," Al'Drakon said.

Barabas grunted but said nothing.

"We did not win the war today. All we did was take away our enemy's favorite toy. We made him angry and he will lash out with all his remaining power, which is considerable. The Midlands will fall first, which will starve those in the Heights. It is inevitable."

"Then you risked all that for nothing?"

Barabas grunted again, perhaps even laughed. It was difficult to tell.

"A quick death is far better than to wait in fear and suffering," Al'Drakon said.

"Then it is a false victory," Riette said.

Barabas clapped for a moment. "The girl amuses me," he said. "A battle was won today, but we came here to finish the war."

"It's not your decision," Al'Drakon said. "You've done well and may truly have saved us all, but I do not follow you."

"Why do you hate him so much?" Riette asked, her index finger ready to poke.

The dragon rider gave her an unfriendly glare.

"It's because the captain ain't one of them," Tuck said.

Al'Drakon harrumphed.

"The captain, or should I say Barabas DeGuiere, Al'Drakon, the chosen of Dashiq, is an islander." Both men seemed uncomfortable, but Tuck continued his scolding. "And then when he and Dashiq were wounded not so far from here, they had a choice between death and using the last magic they possessed—the last known magic anyone other than Argus Kind possessed."

"Would they have died without using the magic?" Riette asked.

Neither man moved or spoke.

"The captain might have lived but not Dashiq. He'd likely have been captured or killed soon after," Tuck replied.

"He could have died with honor," Al'Drakon insisted.

"Maybe that's what he's doing now," Tuck said, his own emotions causing him to speak louder and higher in pitch. "He is not required to die on
your
preferred time line. And if he hadn't used the magic, Argus Kind would have it . . . and Dashiq would be dead . . . and so would you . . . and your friend Tarin over there too."

Silence hung for some time. Al'Drakon looked as if there were a war taking place inside him, but eventually he nodded. "I . . . was . . . wrong."

Never had Riette heard a more pained admission. Up until that moment, the man had clung to old hatred no matter the truth before him. It was easier to hate than forgive. He had taken over the position Barabas had once held, giving him plenty of opportunity to find fault with his predecessor—an outsider.

Riette was beginning to understand. "How did an islander become Al'Drakon?"

Both men looked at her as if to tell her she was nosy, but Tuck answered anyway. "Dashiq chose him. Al'Drakon is the person bonded to Al'Drak. If Al'Drakon is killed and Al'Drak remains alive, the dragon may choose. It can stay and select a new rider, or it can go and a new Al'Drak will emerge. Berigor was a clear choice for succession even then. But Dashiq decided to do things differently and flew off to the islands to find a gangly old man." This time it was Al'Drakon who laughed. "She brought him back to the Heights, kicking and screaming, hanging upside down from her claws. Then she deposited him on the airstrip and dared anyone to touch him. It must have been difficult to have Berigor assume the role of Al'Drak while Dashiq had been gone, only to have it taken away."