The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (10 page)

Even Morif rushed to see what it was that Logan brought back up. He handed the globe back to Brother Vaughn, and he seemed less enthusiastic about handing the object in his other hand over, but then he seemed to have a change of heart. "Here," he said.

Morif and Brother Vaughn both reached out at the same time, and it nearly sent Morif into the water. Brother Vaughn tried not to think about how that would've turned out but was distracted by the sight of a small, gold-trimmed box made of jade and wood inlay. The perfectly preserved artifact rested easily in Morif's hands. There seemed no apparent way of opening the box, and he handed it to Brother Vaughn.

"If that thing happens to entitle the bearer to wine, whiskey, and women, you'll give it back, right?" Logan asked.

"Deal," Brother Vaughn said. "Even if it's just two out of three."

"Fair enough."

Logan's dive for the second globe was as excruciatingly slow as the first, and it seemed he was having trouble dislodging the globe from where it had come to rest. Morif cast Brother Vaughn an accusatory glance, which Brother Vaughn did his best to pretend he didn't notice. After a few tense moments, Logan freed the globe and made his way slowly back to the surface.

"I don't know how you do that," Brother Vaughn said, "but it makes me breathe heavy just watching you." Though Logan's ascent had provided no new detail of what else waited on the lake floor, Brother Vaughn was thrilled by what he had learned. "Thank you all for your help! This is wonderful!"

Morif snatched both herald globes out of Brother Vaughn's hands. "You'll get yours back when we get to shore."

* * *

Chase shook his head. Before him stood Catrin in the craziest outfit he'd ever seen. She'd taken supple leather and created a tight but flexible body suit covered with straps, rings, and zippers. Her ears were covered, and over her eyes she wore clear lenses mounted in leather-wrapped iron rings, which were attached to a second pair of rings with flaps that tapered into a strap and buckle. "You look like Strom attacked an otter."

Catrin grinned back at him and turned around. Then she climbed up onto the saddle. Chase continued to shake his head as he watched her draw the straps and buckle herself to the saddle. The largest straps secured her at the waist, and other smaller straps formed an interplay. Cinching tight on one strap gave slack to another, and because of the clever design, Catrin could move around on the massive saddle while still being firmly tethered. It was brilliant and insane.

Hunching down as if she were in mid flight, Catrin moved her feet to an upper set of toeholds and wedged herself under the two massive shield flaps, which were lightly armored and apparently padded inside. "You see," came Catrin's muffled voice. "There's enough room for me and a few things."

"Even if we could make a thousand of these, we don't have a thousand dragons. We have one and we're not certain he'll fly again."

"Don't you say that," Catrin said, looking imposing despite her ridiculous garb. "Kyrien could fly now if he wanted to, but
we
are not ready.
We
are unprepared. And why are
we
unprepared? Because
we
did not listen to
me.
"

Chase let out a brief sigh, which was cut off by another sharp look from Catrin. How anyone could expect to be taken seriously with those goggles on was beyond him, yet somehow she pulled it off. The pair of knives holstered on each leg did help, he supposed. "Yes. You're right. Let's not have that argument again. My point is that I don't think this saddle provides a solution to our immediate problems."

"What's your solution?"

Chase searched for words, but he could find none that hadn't already been said by Catrin herself years before.

"Then don't look down your nose on what might be part of the solution."

"Perhaps it will help to mollify the Arghast as well," Chase admitted. "They're quite unhappy that you've not taught them to fly yet."

"Don't start with that either. How am I supposed to teach someone how to do something I don't know how to do?" Catrin asked in futility. "At least not without a ship, that is," she admitted. "That doesn't change the fact that I haven't ridden a dragon . . . yet."

"The problem is this: If we take that saddle down there and put it on Kyrien, the people are going to expect you to fly. The Arghast will expect you to fly. And we both know it isn't even close to safe for Kyrien to fly with Reaver patrolling the skies and demons on the ground. What makes you think the ferals won't immediately gang up on Kyrien?"

"I don't intend to fly yet. There will come a time, yes, but not yet. For now we will just need to explain to everyone that it is simply a test to satisfy my curiosity and that we will not be flying."

"You know how much turmoil this will cause."

"I do and I cannot fix that. People are going to have to come to grips with the fact that the world has changed. We ourselves must either change or die. Deal with it."

It was clear to Chase that he would not win this argument. The truth was that he partially agreed with her. Still, he did not look forward to the uproar it would cause. "When?"

"Now."

* * *

With little besides hard breads coming out of the kitchens, Durin did his best to avoid them altogether. Since Miss Mariss now refused to let anyone take more than one portion of food, no one could bring him food, and hunger eventually won out. If Sinjin were around, it wouldn't be so bad, but Brother Vaughn had sequestered him away with only Trinda for company. Durin felt for his friend; carrying water buckets wasn't nearly as bad. Trinda was the least happy person Durin had ever met, and she always managed to dampen his mood. When he took the family history into account, he worried even more about Sinjin's safety.

Worrying made Durin hungry. With a sigh, he made his way deeper into the hold, where the heat was nearly unbearable. Durin wondered how people managed to breathe the hot air for so long. It suffocated him. Strom's hammer rang an angry tone, and Durin stepped quickly by the smithy entrance. Taking his place in line, Durin waited, trying to be invisible. A line of guards approached; far more than usual, Durin noted with dismay. The guards would get fed first, and that meant a long wait and the chance that there would be nothing left by the time he got there. It had been happening more and more lately. Even with many in the hold cooking their own meals, the kitchens simply could not keep up with the demand for food--cooked or rationed. The stress it placed on Miss Mariss was obvious, and Durin felt guilty for hiding.

Just as he was considering asking Miss Mariss what he could do to help, though, the man next to him decided he didn't have time to wait for the guards, and he suddenly turned and left. Never one to miss anything in her kitchen, Miss Mariss immediately spotted Durin.

"You see that wad of guards come in, and you hide in line? I ought to make you carry buckets until your lazy little legs fall off!"

Durin considered telling her he was about to ask what he could do, but even he would not have believed it. Instead, he just walked to where the buckets of dirty water waited and grabbed two. Miss Mariss simply glared at him. As he made his way toward the kitchen exit, a guard charged through the door and bumped Durin, which sent dirty water into the air, most of which landed on Durin.

"If you're gonna spill it, then clean it up," Miss Mariss said with the closest thing to a smile that Durin had seen on her face in weeks. At least his misery served some purpose, he thought.

"Sorry, mate," the guard said. "I'd help you clean it up, but they want all of us--uh . . . we have something important to do."

Durin just put down his buckets and caught the clean rags Miss Mariss threw at him. He'd been breathing through his mouth, hoping not to smell how bad the water was, but it became tedious and he breathed in through his nose. To his surprise, the water did not smell bad at all. After cleaning up the spill, he tucked one of the remaining dry rags into his belt; the rest went into the laundry pile, which he suspected he would have to carry next.

What he really wanted to do was go see why all the guards were needed. With Sinjin closeted away and double the guards on duty, there had to be something afoot. When he reached the alcove where he and Sinjin used to hide, he stopped. Too many guards cast him glances as they passed, making it clear he'd get nowhere near the excitement. Already his back ached, and a short rest was too difficult to resist. He would find out what was going on soon enough. Not wanting anyone to know, he brought the buckets back into the shadows. Within moments, he was asleep.

Chapter 9

Forgotten are those who fail to achieve. Doomed are those afraid to fail.

--Brother Vaughn, Cathuran monk

* * *

Blue skies filled with nothing but towering cloud formations, white and fluffy, appeared nonthreatening, yet most watched the skies in tense anticipation. Reaver had yet to make an appearance, but his presence was almost palpable. Few other dragons ventured in close to Kyrien, or the Pinook Valley at all for that matter, but Reaver seemed determined to root out the humans and especially Kyrien. He exuded frustration every time he attacked despite the scars he bore from previous attempts.

Chase's people learned from every encounter, and between Morif and Martik, they found either tactical or mechanical solutions to their weaknesses. Crews were now adept at loading, aiming, and firing ballistae, and stacks of sharpened tree trunks waited near each of the six super weapons. Each one had its own personality, and crews had to learn the quirks of their specific weapon. Misfires and mistakes had been costly, and those who still lived were determined not to suffer the same fates as their lost brethren. The visions of Reaver flying off with friends and comrades burned in their memories.

Kyrien moved among them, his every step causing men to scramble, and many walked a thin line between protecting Kyrien and being unintentionally killed by him. The saddle was nearly down the stairs, and Kyrien looked more alive than he had in weeks. Stretching his wings, he reminded everyone in the valley of his true size. From the stair, Catrin beamed down at him, trying to contain her impatience. Bringing the massive saddle down the stairs was a slow and arduous process.

Swiveling his head on his long, slender neck, Kyrien watched their progress and let out an echoing call when finally they approached. Catrin wished he, too, could contain his enthusiasm. No doubt Reaver heard his call and would come to investigate. Those guarding Kyrien reached the same conclusion and scanned the skies for any sign of the massive feral dragon. The men carrying the saddle also quickened their pace beyond what might have been considered prudent. In times such as these, safety was a relative thing.

Kyrien met Catrin's eyes, and the world ceased to exist. His gaze captivated her, and excitement filled the air between them.
Hurry.

Alongside the final landing, Kyrien positioned himself, extending one wing so his girth was fully exposed. It was an awkward position, and it left him vulnerable, but it made it much easier on those who were trying to get the saddle in place.

"You'll never be able to clear the gap!" Martik said as he pushed his way toward those handling the saddle. It was clear the men were already spent. "I need some fresh bodies up here! Fetch a block and tackle, and find me an anchor point on the east face. And rope! We need at least three coils of rope."

No one waited long to obey. Though Martik held no title or military power, his genius was undeniable, and the people had come to trust his judgment. Trust, it seemed, was a better motivator than political power as people obeyed him with confidence. After securing the pulleys and ropes, Martik positioned people around the saddle and orchestrated their movements like a symphony, constantly reacting as conditions changed. Even with his skills and the peoples' trust of him, it was a dangerous task. Swinging wildly at times, blown by gusts of wind, the saddle struck at random, sending one man over the railing. Kyrien managed to catch the man on his side, preventing what might have been a serious injury.

"Bring me slack!" Martik shouted at the two men closest to him. "Steady. Steady."

The saddle dropped into place more quickly than Martik had intended, and Kyrien let out a
woof
when it landed, but then he shifted and squirmed until the saddle fell into place, looking as if it had been designed exactly to fit him, which it had, but Catrin was still amazed by how good a fit it was since it had been based on mental imagery alone.

Raising his body up on his two powerful legs, Kyrien provided enough room for the girths to be run under his belly. Catrin watched a young man slide under Kyrien, risking his life for her, knowing that he would be crushed if Kyrien chose to lower himself at the wrong time. Kyrien watched the young man and made sure he was well clear before the mighty regent dragon raised himself up higher, bringing the seat near to where Catrin watched. Using a loop in the rope lift, Catrin stepped up and allowed Martik and his men to raise her up and maneuver her over the saddle.

"This time bring me slack
slowly
and
evenly!
" Martik demanded.

The men holding the ropes did the best they could, but Catrin still landed hard. She didn't care. She was on Kyrien's back, just as she'd seen in her visions, though perhaps the next time she mounted, she thought, she would simply climb up. After pulling the girths snug and securing the breast collar, Catrin strapped herself into the saddle. Stiff leather resisted going into the keepers, and hooks resisted sliding through awl-punched holes, but she was eventually satisfied that she had constructed the saddle correctly. When she raised her hands in victory, a small cheer went up from the crowd, which Catrin noticed contained more than a few Arghast. Halmsa watched her with unwavering attention, seemingly absorbing every detail so he could relay the information to his tribesman.

What Catrin had not expected to see was Strom descending the stairs carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle. Noting the storm cloud he had in place of his face, Catrin wondered what could be afoot. When he reached the landing, the crowd parted and let him pass though he'd said not a word. The look on his face made it clear he would part rock if he had to. "Here!" was all he said to Catrin before he unwrapped the package and thrust a weapon, shielded pommel first, across the gap to Catrin. Martik stepped in behind him to make sure he didn't fall into the valley below.

Catrin opened her mouth to speak, but Strom immediately withdrew and walked to where Kyrien could easily see him. Strom glared at the dragon, who regarded him with what looked like mild amusement.

"There! Are you happy now?" Strom shouted up at Kyrien, bringing a shocked roar that ran through those assembled. Kyrien simply closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head to Strom. "Good. Now stay out of my head!" When Strom turned away, the crowd parted even more quickly, not wanting to impede a man with the courage to browbeat a dragon.

Even Catrin found herself speechless as she watched Strom climb the stairs, leaving without another word. In her hand she held a blade like none she'd ever seen or imagined, yet it fit her perfectly. The pommel was contained within a shielded sleeve that allowed her to swing it without keeping a tight grip, and she guessed it would protect her wrist should she strike something unforgiving. The blade forked at the end into two blades, each tip shaped like an indented triangle that tapered to a deadly point. Though not covered in scrollwork, there was a subtle design that seemed to hide under the glossy shine, and Catrin could not imagine how the delicate image could have been created. Truly Strom had become a master of the anvil and forge, quite possibly with help from Kyrien, whether Strom liked it or not. After his outburst, Catrin guessed not.

Even the sheath had been designed to work with the harness that secured Catrin. Kyrien had been accurate in every detail. Catrin moved from side to side, her feet jumping from toehold to toehold, and she felt secure at all times without feeling trapped in place. If ever it did come to a midair fight, Catrin felt she would be able to take evasive and perhaps even offensive action without fear of plummeting from the sky.

Looking up, she found the eyes of all the Arghast who remained at Dragonhold regarding her with wonder. "Fly!" one shouted, and the others took up the chant, despite those who tried to quiet them.

Almost instantly someone else shouted, "Reaver to the north!"

"Demons to the south!"

"Fly!" demanded the Arghast.

Catrin froze, certainty beyond her grasp. Indecision held her fast, and Kyrien turned to look at her. In his eyes she saw acceptance of death and something more, something indefinable and magical. This was his only communication to her as their enemies approached. A furor had erupted around them as people sought to arm themselves or flee. There was no time for Catrin to unstrap herself. Morif ran forward with his long knife bared. He had two straps cut before Catrin forced him back. "No!"

"Now is not the time to risk everything, Catrin. You must get inside to safety. Cut yourself free and I'll get you there. I promise you. Let the guards defend Kyrien as they've done before."

"Demons to the north! By the gods, they're everywhere!"

This attack was unlike those that had come before. This was no feint meant to harass them and test their strength. This was a full-on assault. Among the demons walked giants in chains. Catrin felt her courage flee. These beasts were like something straight from a nightmare. Towering over the demons, they looked like the massive statues in the Valley of the Victors come to life. Every muscle in their upper torsos stood out, pronounced and defined, giving them a hard and angular look. Short, coarse hair covered their legs and whiplike tails. Thick fingers and toes made appendages look more like battering rams.

Reaver swooped low from the north and skimmed over what were obviously
his
troops. Even the giants cowered in the shadow of Reaver, whose size made his aerobatics seem impossible. The twang of a ballista split the air, and a tree trunk soared over Reaver's right wing. The dragon dipped below it with ease and picked up speed.

"Hold your bolts! Wait for it," Morif shouted as he left Catrin's side. "Wait for my command!"

Catrin looked down at the straps that had been cut away, knowing she could not cut her way out of the saddle in time to retreat, she tried to think of a way to repair them, but then the world turned upside down.

* * *

Durin woke to the sound of footsteps rushing through the halls of Dragonhold. Shouts echoed from a distance, and a cold feeling washed over him. His muscles were stiff, attesting to how long he'd slept.

"Catrin has saddled Kyrien," someone whispered as he and a companion passed the alcove.

Durin shuddered. There had been hints and rumors that the Herald had been building a saddle and that she would use it to teach the Arghast to fly dragons, but he'd never really believed it. Catrin had always been a part of his life, and though she occasionally did things he couldn't explain, she didn't seem as powerful as the tales would imply. Excitement charged in and he wondered if she really could be saddling Kyrien. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to get to the front gate and see what was really going on. He was tired of hearing about the battles and excitement that had taken place while he was carrying water, and he wanted to finally witness something for himself.

The distant shouts took on an alarming note, and it became clear that something was wrong. Knowing Miss Mariss would have his hide if he took too long to return with fresh water, he came up with a plan. The only way he could save time would be to run to the God's Eye, which he couldn't do with full buckets. Turning his eyes on the glowing rune that waited in the darkness, Durin smiled.

Slowly he emptied the first bucket into the rune. The glowing chasm seemed bottomless, and Durin grinned, knowing he'd just come up with a brilliant solution to some of his problems. A bit of steam rose from the rune, but Durin didn't hesitate and poured the second bucket in as well. Now he could jog to the God's Eye with empty buckets after taking a quick peek at what was happening in the great hall. Before he left the alcove, though, more steam rose from the rune and a high-pitched whistle sounded.

Durin considered running, but he had to find out what would happen next. The stone beneath his feet trembled, and a deep, bone-chilling rumble gained intensity. An enormous gout of steam rose from the rune, driving Durin back. The whistling grew higher and higher in pitch until it and the steam suddenly stopped. For a moment, there was silence.

Then Dragonhold moved.