Lost mark 3 The Queen of Death: (36 page)

Then he noticed the black glow spreading over the girl’s hands as she reached for the lip of the upper floor.

At first, Kandler couldn’t understand what she might be doing. Had she changed her mind about sacrificing herself to the dragon queen on behalf of the others? Would she try to kill the creature instead?

Then Te’oma’s white oval of a face appeared leering down over Espre’s shoulder.

"No!” Kandler said.

He flipped over on to his belly and pushed himself to his knees. He spotted his fangblade on the floor in front of him and snatched it up in an unsteady fist.

The feel of the hilt in his hand gave Kandler hope. He was not a diplomat but a fighter. He solved problems not with his head but the edge of his sword. With a blade like this in his hands, anything could be possible.

The justicar didn’t think about how tired he was or how much the effort to get back up hurt or about the dragon standing next to him. He focused on Espre and her alone. He had to get up there and stop her. He had to save her somehow, whether that meant finding a way to abscond with her on the airship or just killing every damn dragon that crossed his path.

Kandler staggered to his feet and looked up to see what had happed to Espre. The silver dragon towered there before him like a moon blocking out part of the sky.

"Get out of my way,” Kandler said.

"I will not kill you,” Greffykor said, "but you will not interfere. The girl has made her decision—the right decision—and you cannot stop her.”

Kandler brought his sword over his head and slashed out at the dragon. Greffykor plucked back its claw but not fast enough. The fangblade hacked off one of the dragon’s talons, which clattered on the floor like a dropped dagger.

Unperturbed, the dragon stood up on its hind legs, stretched its wings, and buffeted the air with them. The resultant wind knocked Kandler from his feet. He managed to keep hold of his blade, but only by sheer determination.

The dragon slunk back down onto its haunches and regarded the two intruders. His silvery eyes shone like mirrors in the light cast by the glowing runes set into the various rings that hung about the cavernous chamber.

Defiant, Kandler struggled to his feet once more, this time using his sword as a crutch to help keep himself standing tall. Locking his legs into a warrior’s stance, he hefted the sword once more and prepared to charge. He meant to save Espre now or die trying.

The justicar felt a taloned hand on his shoulder, and he spun about to find Burch standing behind him, a forlorn look on his face.

"Give it up, boss,” Burch said. "She’s gone.”

Kandler gasped at what he could only see as an act of betrayal by his best friend. He shrugged the shifter’s hand off his shoulder and brandished his sword between them.

"No,” he said. "No one’s going to stop me. Not even you.”

"What about her?” Burch asked, pointing upward.

Kandler craned his neck back and saw nothing. Espre wasn’t there at the lip of the hole anymore, and neither was Te’oma. It took him a moment to spy what else was gone.

The rope.

"We’re stuck down here,” Burch said.

Kandler cast his gaze around the room, scanning the walls for some kind of opening—anything at all. There had to be another way to the upper floor: a set of stairs, a series of rungs carved into the tower’s wall, a flying platform—anything.

"Your cause is hopeless,” Greffykor said.

Maybe he could climb from one rotating ring to the next, Kandler thought. He sheathed his sword and leaped for the nearest one. He caught it halfway up its side, but as it took his weight it spun in midair—suspended in no way that the justicar could discern—so that he hung from its lowest possible point.

Kandler dropped back to the ground and bellowed in

rage. "This can’t happen,” he said. "I won’t let it!”

"The choice is no longer yours,” Greffykor said. "Perhaps it never was.”

Kandler turned to Burch.

"Only one way out of here, boss,” the shifter said. "Besides dying, that is.”

Hope started to spark in Kandler's heart, but the look his friend gave him snuffed it out. Burch pointed over Kandler’s shoulder at the dragon. "We got to hitch a ride.” Kandler scowled. He wondered for a moment if they could kill the dragon and then climb to the upper floor on the creature’s corpse. He knew it was nothing more than a desperate fantasy though.

"All right,” he said in a beaten voice, tinged with desperation. "What will it take for you to fly us up there?”

To Kandler’s surprise, the dragon did not laugh at the question.

"Put down your weapons,” Greffykor said, "and I will carry you up to where you wish to go.”

Kandler hefted the fangblade in his hand for a moment. Without the blade, he didn’t have a prayer of hurting the dragon queen, but the blade would do him no good down here.

He dumped the fangblade onto the floor. Burch’s crossbow and knife clattered there next to it.

"Very well,” Kandler said, feeling as naked as he ever had in his life. "Let’s go.”

Chapter

57

T
e’oma backpedaled, dodging just out of Espre s lethal reach. The changeling felt the chill air left behind in the wake of the girl’s fingers as they brushed by her.

"Almost, dear.” Te’oma clucked her tongue. "Though I’m afraid, as always, that you don’t have that killer instinct.” Espre snarled as she pulled herself up over the lip of the hole. "Get a little bit closer, and maybe you’ll find out.” "What makes you so determined to kill me before you kill yourself?” Te’oma asked. "What difference will my fate make to you when you’re dead?”

"It’ll help me enjoy my last moments,” the girl said. As she spoke, she reached back behind her and began to haul up the rope.

Te’oma smiled. The girl had grown a great deal in the past few weeks. Even with everything going on around her, she still kept cool enough to realize that she needed to cover her escape from Kandler and Burch. She looked very much like the girl the changeling had kidnapped in Mardakine, but she acted far more worldly.

Te’oma took some small amount of pride in knowing she had helped make that happen. It helped to balance out the shame she felt for the same deeds.

"Do you really plan to end your life,” Te’oma said, "or is this just a ploy to get close enough to kill the dragon queen?”

Espre smirked at the changeling. She’d never looked so adult since Te’oma had known her. Something about her eyes had changed. If not older, they shone with a hard-won wisdom that had been thrust upon her by the turns her life had taken.

Te’oma imagined that the girl could never have dreamed of finding herself here in Argonnessen dealing with dragons who wanted her dead. She’d probably hoped to live for years in Mardakine with Kandler, only leaving once she’d buried him. Perhaps then she’d have made her way back to Aerenal, hoping to connect with her long-lost father.

The changeling wondered how Ledenstrae would have treated the girl if she’d never developed the dragonmark. Would he have refused to recognize her claim on him, or would he have put aside any bitterness toward her mother and taken his prodigal daughter in?

Such questions were pointless, of course. It hadn’t worked out that way, and pondering such possibilities only distracted from how things really were.

Espre seemed to have abandoned any such illusions— along with any hope for a future.

"Do you think I would have a chance?” Espre asked. "I thought you were smarter than that.”

"I used to think so too,” said Te’oma. "The years keep proving me wrong.”

Espre tossed the rope to one side of the hole.

"Come with me,” the changeling said. "We can escape this.”

"How?” Espre said, glancing over Te’oma’s shoulder at where the dragon queen continued to knock against the gigantic crystal on the far side of the chamber.

"The airship—”

"Too slow.”

"My bloodwings—”

"Not strong enough to carry us both—and too slow.” "We can hide. We can—”

"From that?” Espre pointed at the dragon queen as the creature belched another gout of fire from its snout. "From the hundreds just like her?”

Te’oma frowned. "She’ll kill us all anyhow. Your sacrifice will mean nothing.”

"Then either way I’ 11 die. At least this way I get to choose how. I get to stand there before her on my own two feet and ask for it.”

"That’s what you want?” Te’oma couldn’t believe it. This girl had fought so hard to live.

"If I can just spit in her eye, I’ll be happy.”

Then Te’oma remembered how the girl had crashed the
Phoenix
straight into the Talenta Plains. Even then Espre had been ready to die rather than surrender her life to forces beyond her control. She’d nearly killed them both in the process—and had expected to succeed.

"I can’t let you do this,” Te’oma said.

"You don’t have anything to say about it.”

Te’oma gathered her resolve deep in her mind and then lashed out with a mental blast that would have dropped a charging minotaur.

Espre grunted and fell to one knee. The girl had been prepared for the changeling to try something like this, though, and she had her mental defenses in place.

Te’oma cursed. She’d hoped to take the girl out with a single, crushing blow. She didn’t have the time to dance

around the observatory with her. Sooner or later the dragon queen would get tired of trying to kill Xalt and Sallah—or would succeed—and then she’d spot Espre. Once that happened, their dance would come to a crashing end.

Of course, the girl knew that. All she really had to do was shout at the dragon to bring doom down on her head—and Te’oma's too.

Te’oma took a deep breath through her nostrils and lanced out with her mind at a specific part of the girl’s brain.

Espre clutched her head in pain then opened her mouth to scream. Te’oma winced in anticipation, but nothing came out. The girl’s lips curled in frustration, but try as she might she could not speak a single word nor utter even a feeble grunt.

Te’oma charged Espre then. She knew that if she gave the girl a chance to think, she’d come up with some other way to get the dragon’s attention, even if that meant going over and kicking the queen in her red, scaly rump.

Espre had to present herself to the dragon though. Just getting killed wouldn’t do anyone a bit of good. She needed to show the dragon her mark and explain that killing her would be enough to fulfill the dragon’s needs. After that, bothering to chase down the others would only be a waste of the dragon’s time.

As Te’oma came at the girl, Espre raised her arms to defend herself. Her hands still glowed black.

Unlike a wizard or a priest, the girl didn’t need her voice to activate her power. She had no incantations to recite or petitions to pray. She only needed to summon up her powers with her own will.

Te’oma drew her black-bladed knife and brandished it before her. Espre’s eyes grew wide as she watched the changeling handle the blade. Then, just as Te’oma advanced on her, the girl smiled.

Espre came at Te’oma with her glowing-black hands spread wide. Instead of putting her arms up in front of her, she made no attempt to protect herself or to avoid the blade.

Surprised, Te’oma pulled her knife back. The girl had called her bluff. Espre knew that the changeling wanted to save her, not kill her. To stab her with the knife would work against that goal.

Espre smiled, and the black glow arced between her outstretched hands. Te’oma had never seen it do that before. It seemed the girl’s powers were growing still.

Perhaps Kandler had been wrong not to take the girl into hiding. If they had tried that, they might have been able to delay the inevitable long enough for all of Espre’s horrible powers to reach maturity. Then she might have stood a real chance against the dragons or any others who would have wished to harm her.

Still, to then have to live her life forever on the run, only able to keep people away by killing them, that wasn’t what Espre wanted, but wouldn’t that be better than being dead?

Apparently not, from the girl’s point of view.

Espre swiped at Te’oma again, and the changeling ducked out of the way. The glow on the girl’s hands seemed to whisper with the muted accusations of the souls of those she had already killed. Her voice may not have worked, but her powers strove to speak for her.

Te’oma reached deep into the darkest pockets of her mind, struggling to summon up enough power to stab once more into Espre’s brain. She figured she’d only get one more chance at taking the girl out before everything went to hell.

When learning to hone her mental powers, Te’oma had spent many hours—days, even—meditating, practicing at concentrating. Whereas some students of the mind liked to cloister themselves in silent abbeys or dank dungeons, she preferred to work at her art in the midst of chaos. She went to the main square of whatever town she was in at dawn and stayed there until dusk, forcing herself to tune out any distractions that came her way.

In the wealthier cities, she’d put an empty hat in front of her to collect change from those passersby who thought her a sad veteran of the Last War. In such efforts, she rarely sat alone.