Dragon Airways (21 page)

"No," Emmet said. "I just want to make sure the stirrups are at the right height." It was the truth. The urge to fly was great, the desire to rescue his sister and Tuck even greater, but he was not yet ready. Every hour that passed was a reminder they were still lost to him. He tried not to think about what being prisoners must be like, but his imagination would not relent. Only the stitching soothed him. It gave him something to work toward. Soon he would fly.

"You're needed here," Barabas said. Emmet hadn't even been aware the man was beside him. "Flying off to the Firstland and getting killed will do no one any good."

Emmet nodded. He'd heard it before. He understood. People could think what they would of his saddle and his intentions. Eventually those bonded to dragons would all need saddles, and he was just ahead of the game. Deep down, he did want to fly straight to the Firstland and confront Argus Kind and the Al'Zjhon. It wasn't right for someone else to go and do that for him. He felt a deep and personal need to tell these people what he thought of them, but even more, he wanted his sister back. She would be so proud of him and what he'd done—what he'd become. Things between them would never be the same, and that made him smile. He'd been a deciding factor in her life for far too long. Now he had found his purpose. Most waited until of marrying age before striking out on their own, but most did not have a dragon and a saddle and the ability to sense—and use—magic.

The last part was unreal to him still, but it was a part of him, deeply ingrained within his existence. Magic was not a learned skill; it was a state of being. It connected him more closely to the world around him, and if he were truly honest with himself, he could not resist the lure of so much magic gathered in one place. The thoughts shamed him, but he did not have full control over what popped into his head. He could influence the direction of thought, but the yearning for magic was unrelenting. His skin itched for it.

Flying with Golegeth would be amazing when the time came. Most people agreed riding him too soon could potentially cause problems in his development. Given the dragon's rapid growth, Emmet understood their concerns over soft bone structures and ligaments. Those thoughts in mind, he began unstrapping the saddle. Immediately Golegeth became agitated and flapped his wings in Finny's face. To his credit, the man held on to the lines. Using his closed mouth, Golegeth struck Finny in the chest, and the man let go. Barabas reached out to grab hold of the lines, but the dragon was quick. Turning toward daylight, he fled the shelter, Emmet on his back. The lines flew freely, smacking the dragon, which frightened him into running faster, which made the lines hit harder and more often. All Emmet could do was hold on. Bursting into the open, Golegeth took flight. Emmet had flown on dragons before but nothing like this. He had no idea what Golegeth would do. If he decided to go fishing, Emmet would be in real trouble.

The dragon did not fly toward the sea, though. Stretching his wings, Golegeth flew east, toward the Firstland. From behind, Barabas shouted. Perhaps unaware of the dangers, Golegeth flew over the twisted Jaga swamp, giving Emmet a view of just how corrupted the place really was. Deeper into the vast wilderness, movement was everywhere. Patches of the swamp escaped its fetid embrace, springing into the air. Dragons. Wild and free, these creatures were nothing like Berigor or Golegeth. These dragons gleamed like black snakes with fearsome beauty all their own. Reflecting the light, they were sometimes blue or green, depending on the angle.

Higher the beasts climbed, and Golegeth gained speed, now aware of the danger. Emmet's dragon was young and inexperienced; he hoped it didn't cost them both their lives. Despite his smaller stature, Golegeth proved himself a capable flier and dodged swamp dragons' advances, which seemed more curious than anything. Still, the swamp itself reached out to Emmet with magic of its own—ancient magic, steeped in anger and hatred. The closer they came to the center of the great swamp, the stronger the sensation grew, and Emmet did everything he could to convince Golegeth to change course. Still flying unerringly to the east, the dragon must have had some destination in mind. Eventually Emmet managed to grab the lines. Using them and his knees, he expressed his desires to the dragon. While Golegeth did not turn around, he did angle to the north. Swamp dragons swooped past them, drawing ever closer, as if testing Golegeth and Emmet to see if they were dangerous. To Emmet's relief, the much larger dragons soon lost interest and returned to whatever it was they had been doing.

Along the northern edge of the swamp, the corruption was less evident, and the place began to appear almost natural. The smell of brine was a welcome change from the foul emissions emanating from the morass below. Emmet had never liked the smell of the coastline, but it was a spring breeze in comparison. This, at least, was part of the natural order, whereas the swamp had been twisted and subverted by some unknown force. Emmet was glad to leave it behind.

Golegeth largely ignored his input and flew over the waters just off the northern coast, still heading generally eastward. Their speed was greater than Emmet would have expected given his previous experiences adragonback, and they passed the towering peaks of the Heights before the sun dipped below the horizon. The place looked magical against the backdrop of the sunset, the skies cast with oranges and blues. No dragons flew out to meet them, and no armies camped below. It was as if the war had never taken place. The ships, too, were gone, and Emmet basked in the peaceful beauty. It helped keep his mind from the future and where they might be going. If the dragon had read his mind and his desires, then they were destined for perhaps the most dangerous place in the world. The only thing that conquered his fear was the desire to rescue his sister and Tuck—or avenge them. With every fiber of his being, he hoped it would be the former.

No matter how brave he tried to be, he was but one little boy in the face of an evil madman and what remained of his armies. What chance did he have of succeeding where so many had failed? Magic. It was the thing that separated him from the rest. Magic called to Emmet even across the great expanse of the Endless Sea. Perhaps it was a misnomer since he'd seen the lands across the sea, but it did
feel
endless, and that must have been enough for those who'd named it.

The world had changed even since Emmet's birth, and distance was not what it had once been. Planes, airships, and even steam-propelled sea vessels crossed vast distances previously impossible. So much change in such a short time made the world a dangerous place. Nothing was certain, permanence itself an illusion. Sparrowport had been the entire world to him for most of his life, and now it was gone, a pile of rubble and a few cannons in its place. The thoughts made Emmet feel small and afraid.

Golegeth trumpeted as if in response to his rider's morose thoughts. The dragon experienced no fear. Through the physical bond, Emmet sensed his dragon's state of mind, if not his thoughts, and he suspected Golegeth could do the same in return. Up until that point in his life, Riette had been the only one capable of reading him in such a way. Thoughts of her brought tears to his eyes. She was the only family he had left, and he loved her more than anything else in the world. Knowing she might already be dead made his heart ache.

Only Golegeth's and Barabas's caring for him gave him any consolation in that moment, and when Berigor trumpeted from behind, Emmet smiled. Beneath clear, star-filled skies, the older dragon came like a meteor, streaking through the sky with thunder and fire.

"Hold on!" Keldon shouted.

Emmet did as he was told. Golegeth cried out like a petulant child deprived of getting his way. Berigor bore down on them, his mighty claws clamping around them, gentle yet inescapable. Golegeth bit the larger dragon, not hard enough to do any damage, but with enough force to make his displeasure known. Dragons were strong-willed creatures and did not respond well to having their freedom taken away.

Emmet half expected the larger dragon to turn and take them back to Dragonport, but instead Berigor continued speeding east. When islands became visible below as pools of darkness amid the shining waves, they circled lower. To the south, Emmet saw something he'd never seen before. Like an errant star, a ball of light rivaled the moonlight and blotted out the stars. Behind it stretched a sparkling tail that shone a myriad of color. Everyone had heard the legends of comets, and Emmet couldn't help but wonder if the goddess had returned early. Perhaps he was the one foretold by legend as the Herald of Istra. His access to magic lent credence to the notion, but it would mean the tales were off by thousands of years.

When he concentrated on it, the comet called to him more strongly than the magical items on the Firstland. This was no ancient artifact holding remnants from the last age of power; this was the very source of magic itself. It was so beautiful, it brought tears of joy, his heart swelling with the feeling of it. He also suspected the saddle and other artifacts exposed to the light absorbed the magic. Closing his eyes, he wished for the rest of the comets to come, the fabled storm to return and flood his world with the magic he craved. Something told him it would not, that this was the only comet that would come in his lifetime, which pained him deeply. It teased him and would soon be gone. It was the nature of comets to disappear for eons. Part of him wanted Golegeth to fly into the night sky and capture the celestial beacon, to keep it from fleeing back into the vast darkness from which it had come. Golegeth was not in control of their path, though, and Berigor continued toward the islands below. Just before he landed, he released Golegeth and roared at the younger dragon. For the moment cowed, Golegeth did as the larger dragon instructed; he landed.

Moments later, Barabas was at his side. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

Emmet shook his head but did not speak. His mind raced with so many possibilities, and he could not find the words to express his thoughts. So many ideas and notions rattled in his mind, he wasn't certain exactly what he thought or wanted. He had always done what others had asked of him, at least to the best of his ability. Now he wanted to chase his own desires but was unsure how to go about it. No matter what he did, he had to depend on others who had needs and desires of their own. Even Golegeth was a free creature who did as he pleased.

Berigor roared at the smaller dragon again, hurting Emmet's ears, and Golegeth had the good sense to appear remorseful.

"Dragons," Barabas said, shaking his head. "It's a wonder they haven't been the death of us all."

"Sometimes I wonder if they don't have plans of their own," Keldon said, "and we're just along for the ride."

Barabas chuckled at this, and the tension in the air lessened. After helping Emmet unstrap, he lifted the boy from the saddle and placed him on the rocky shoreline. On unsteady legs, Emmet tried to get his balance. So much time in the saddle made the land's firmness seem strange and foreign, but it did not take long for normality to return.

"What are we going to do with you?" Barabas asked no one in particular and none answered. Keldon gathered wood and lit a fire, and the group sat around the flames in silence. Golegeth leaped into the air, making Emmet fear the dragon would abandon him and continue to the east, but he returned moments later carrying a fish not much smaller than himself. Berigor, too, fished, but he also brought fish for his human companions. Keldon used a stick to dig a hole in the glowing coals and placed the fish inside. Sizzling and popping, the fish issued a cloud of steam when Keldon raked coals over it. It did not take long to cook, and Emmet soon realized how hungry he was. The more the excitement faded, the deeper his hunger grew. When Keldon uncovered the fish and pulled it from the hot coals, an alluring aroma filled the air.

Beneath the ash-coated scales waited delicate white meat more delicious than anything Emmet could remember. He and the others ate their fill, and soon, beneath the light of a single, magical comet, sleep claimed them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

If you expect the wind to catch you, then you will fall.

—Keldon Tallowborn, Al'Drakon

* * *

"We're lost," Joren said.

"I know," Brick replied, giving his father a withering look. They had been over this before.

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"I know," Brick said—again.

"You really shouldn't have thrown that chap overboard."

"Yes. I
know.
" Brick ground his teeth, trying not to snap at his father. The man was right, but that was not exactly helpful at the moment. What good were the lessons if neither of them lived to act on the knowledge? What he needed at the moment was silence or, at the least, help figuring out how to safely land the airship. They had tried to follow the other two ships and pretend nothing had happened, but not understanding the controls sent them far off course. Now they soared over ubiquitous waves with no land in sight. Even if they did find land, neither had any idea how to safely get off the massive aircraft. From what Brick had seen at Sparrowport, docking an airship involved dozens of people on the ground, not to mention skilled hands at the tiller. They had neither of those things.

"We've about a day's worth of coal left," Joren continued. "When we run out, this thing is going to come down whether we like it or not."

Brick refrained from responding, afraid he'd do nothing but shout at the man he loved. His father had never been an easy man to live with, but he cared for Brick like no other. He wanted to teach his son everything, and his methods had always seemed harsh. The older Brick grew, though, the more the things his father taught him had become his greatest assets. Even so, now was hardly the time to pound lessons into his thick skull. Right now he needed a plan. The charts and sextant within the wheelhouse might have been knitting needles for all the good they did him. From what Brick could tell, they were sailing in the right direction. Given the distances involved, even the slightest deviation in course would put them off by hundreds of nautical miles. They might never see land again. If the airship went down in the water, they could do little but cling to the wreckage and hope someone found them. It was a thin hope.

Trying not to think of that eventuality, Brick held on to the belief they would find the Firstland. He'd seen people jump from planes and airships alike with parachutes, and they had plenty aboard. He'd also seen people soar through the air like flying squirrels wearing strange leather suits with flaps extending between the arms and legs. Few things were more terrifying than falling. Even the idea of a parachute was ludicrous. He and his father both were solidly built men and had trouble jumping even a small distance in the air. Gravity had far too tight a grip on them for a thin layer of canvas to keep them aloft. Surely they would plunge to their deaths. Shaking his head, he tried to chase the images away, but they persisted, taunting him.

"I'm going to shovel coal," Joren said. "Not making much progress here anyway."

Brick couldn't argue his father's sentiment. Keeping the ship in the air would require continued effort from them both, and shoveling coal was a big part of it. It was exhausting but necessary; without the fires they would lose both propulsion and the hot air that kept them aloft. As they depleted the stores of coal, they had to carry it a greater distance, which made the task increasingly difficult. These ships normally carried a much larger crew. Brick tried not to remind himself he'd thrown most of that crew overboard. His father regularly made sure he didn't forget it nonetheless.

Leaving the wheelhouse unattended felt strange and dangerous, but there really wasn't anything for them to run into so far out to sea, and their course had been set long before. All he was really doing was babysitting gauges he really didn't understand and second-guessing himself. With that in mind, Brick left the wheelhouse behind and headed for the galley. The one advantage of having thrown the crew overboard was they had plenty of food. Thankfully the explosion that knocked out the crew happened in an eating area and didn't much affect the food stores. The only thing Joren had spent more effort teaching Brick than blacksmithing was cooking, and he put those skills to use. Soon Joren returned from the boilers, allowing them at least a little bit of pleasant time together. His father had a much more difficult time complaining with his mouth full, and Brick did his best to keep them both well fed. They needed their strength to keep the fires burning and would at least die with full bellies if it came to that.

It hadn't taken long to find the stashes of whiskey and wine used to keep the crew happy during such long flights, but the two men drank sparingly. They needed their wits about them. Still, a little wine with their meals didn't hurt.

When Joren did arrive at the galley, he was covered in soot. Even after he washed, only his hands and face were truly clean, which made him look strange. "What have you cooked for us today?"

"Salt-cured ham and spicy red potatoes," Brick said. "Will you cut us off a wedge of cheese?"

Joren nodded. Brick had learned long ago the best way to keep his father from lecturing him was to keep him busy. He enjoyed the respite while it lasted. Together they ate in amicable silence. Though Brick had already sworn never to board another airship again, he did have to admit it wasn't the worst way to travel. Such luxury he'd rarely seen, and perhaps if someone who knew their business had been at the helm, he might have actually enjoyed himself. This, of course, reminded him that his father was right about throwing the man at the helm from the ship. He'd always been too impetuous for his father's taste. He hoped it wasn't the end of them both.

"I've been thinking," Joren said when he finished his meal. "Perhaps the best thing to do is to build ourselves a small boat and toss it overboard before we end up in the water. If we go down with the ship, we might not be able to get away from her when she sinks. She'll likely take us down with her."

Brick didn't like the idea much, but he couldn't argue with his father's logic. There was no guarantee the airship would float.

"I pulled the largest of the parachutes from the storehouse," he said, and Brick looked at them dubiously. "And then there were these . . ."

Laughter burst forth from Brick. His father held two of the leather jumpsuits they had seen people use when leaping from aircraft. The suits did not so much allow people to fly as enable them to fall in a directed fashion. "You don't think we're going to fit into those, do you?"

His father laughed as well and shook his head. "I know, my boy, I know, but we should at least try." He tossed one of the suits to Brick. Knowing better than to ignore his father, he stripped down to his undershorts and pulled the suit on or at least made the attempt. The legs rode up to the tops of his shins and the arms to his elbows. There was little chance he'd ever get any of the many straps buckled, and he felt like a fool.

His father's eyes twinkled with mirth. "You look like an overripe melon wrapped in twine."

"You don't look much better," Brick said. "This is a terrible idea."

"I know. I know."

Brick thumped his head against the polished wood walls. Then he looked at his father with new hope.

"Did you bang an idea into your brain?"

Brick nodded. "Can't we mix wood in with the coal?"

Joren looked around at wooden benches, tables, and countertops. "I'm going to need a hammer."

* * *

Prevailing winds chilled the air. Cold stone leached whatever warmth Riette could find save what emanated from the fireplace behind her. Turned around backward in her chair, she huddled before it. Arms outstretched, she warmed her hands. Tuck did not seem to mind the chill. Agger and Grunt watched over them in uncomfortable silence. She and Tuck communicated with their eyes and expressions. Talking was strongly discouraged. At least they were together again. The flight had been torture. Not knowing why they were now allowed to be together wasn't much better.

They certainly had little to fear at this point. It wasn't as if they could just walk home. They were trapped in a foreign land, held hostage by a tyrant and his madwoman. Casta Mett frightened her the most. Riette remembered seeing her in Sparrowport. She was the woman Emmet had said was mean, and he couldn't have been more correct. She never smiled, apparently ready to kill them at any given moment. The marks on her face and residual puffiness spoke of how poorly she'd fared against the hornets Emmet had used against her. Casta Mett would showed no kindness without some reason. When she returned from deeper within the hollow mountain, Riette turned and sat in her chair properly, wondering how the woman would further turn the situation against her and Tuck.

The mean-spirited woman pretended not to notice but still glared at them with open contempt, her scowl itself seeming to suck the warmth from the air. "Have these things been fed?" she asked. "Argus wants them fed. Bring them fish."

Grunt nodded and retreated into the hold.

"Perhaps you should fetch them some water," Casta Mett said to Agger before turning back to Riette. She waited until they were alone before speaking again. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't waste the food or water. The only reason you're alive is because I want your brother dead."

Riette kept her eyes averted, trying not to provoke the woman.

"Have you ever been fishing?"

Riette nodded without ever looking at her. She knew better than to ignore a direct question. She could still feel the sting on her cheek.

"Did you slide a worm onto a hook?"

Riette nodded again.

"How does it feel to be the worm?"

Tuck shifted in his chair, and Riette hoped he did not once again try to speak up in her defense. Some of Casta Mett's reprimands might have already left him with internal injuries. Riette wasn't certain how much more either of them could take. Even if her friends did come to save her, they would be flying into a trap. Two airships loaded with heavy cannon and exploding rounds awaited them. She'd heard Agger and Grunt talking about having repaired the damaged cannons. The city of Ri once again bristled with weaponry.

Casta Mett was well defended herself. In one hand she carried a glittering staff embedded with thousands of tiny crystals. In the other, she carried the sky stone. She had gloated to Riette and Tuck about her intent to use it against Barabas. "I can't wait to see him again. I'll be sure to welcome him properly this time."

It made Riette squirm. She did not want Barabas to come to any harm, but she knew he would come. He would not leave her and especially Tuck there to die. The boy was like his son. She was not foolish enough to think herself equally important to him, but she did think he would have saved her nonetheless. There had been a time when she'd hated him, and now she wondered how she could have had such opposite feelings for the same person. He'd done much to prove himself in spite of his betrayal. Riette had still not completely forgiven him for putting Emmet in such danger, but he had saved them both multiple times. And Emmet had thrived. In many ways, he was her only hope of survival.

When he arrived, it was a shock. Riette wondered how the woman had known and stood armed and ready to meet him.

When Berigor approached in near complete silence, the wind stretching his wings all that announced his arrival, it didn't seem real. Keldon and Barabas rode in silent readiness, looking prepared to spring from the saddle at any moment. A thrill ran through Riette, and she allowed herself a moment of hope. When the smile on Casta Mett's face widened, hope faded.

No weapons fired on the incoming dragon. Riette could not understand why they would let the dragon approach after so much effort to arm against them. Realizing they might only want to trap Berigor made Riette feel sick. Being held captive was the most terrifying thing ever to happen to her, and she did not want to think of what Argus Kind and Casta Mett would do to Barabas given the chance. All along he'd been their target, and he would not get any of the courtesies afforded to her and Tuck, no matter how flawed those courtesies might have been. Casta Mett had hinted at what awaited Barabas, and Riette tried to block the words from her mind.

Now he was here, like a light in the darkness. Blazing with power, Berigor looked ready to tear the mountain to pieces. He landed hard, clinging to the broken stairway alongside the entrance in which Riette and Tuck sat.

"Oh, do come in," Casta Mett said. "Your friends are waiting for you."

All Riette could think about was being a worm on a hook. Barabas was about to bite. He undid his straps and started to get down. Keldon remained where he was, appearing ready to leap into the fray if needed. Riette and Tuck were close enough to the front of the chamber that they could conceivably escape. Grunt and Agger returned and dropped the trays they carried, drawing air rifles instead. Casta Mett stood deeper in the chamber.

Meeting Tuck's eyes, Riette got ready to run. Grunt backed away. Agger, too, retreated, looking as if he'd seen his own death approaching. Both men held their ground but clearly wanted to be as far from Riette and Tuck as possible. A terrible knot formed in Riette's stomach; these men must know something she did not.

Laughter echoed through the valley. Behind Berigor, atop a nearby ridge, waited a terrifying sight. A dragon twice Berigor's size was ridden by Argus Kind and one of his henchmen. Lines of lightning and metal connected to a gleaming headpiece restrained this wild creature. It slithered with exaggerated serpentine movements and was missing one eye. Unlike Berigor and Dashiq before him, the wild dragon did not appear to have suffered massive facial trauma in battle. This dragon had only a ring of unadorned metal around a lifeless glass eye, as if Argus Kind had carved out the dragon's natural eye just so it could use the ancient Azzakkan's Eye. Such cruelty gave Riette physical pain.