Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (15 page)

“Fiona, stop . . .”

Merceron wouldn’t look at either of them. Bristling at his disregard, Fiona stormed off into a connecting chamber.

“She’s like her grandfather,” sniffed the dragon. “He had a head like granite, too.”

Unsure what to do or say, Moth took Lady Esme onto his shoulder, then started after Fiona.

“Moth?”

Moth paused. “Yeah?”

“Have you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

“About Esme. Have you figured it out yet?”

Moth bit his lip. “Uhm, I don’t think so . . .”

“Oh, you must have,” said Merceron. “Think! Why didn’t the Skylords kill Esme? She stole the Starfinder, conspired against them. She even fell in love with a human. Why do you think they’d ever let someone like that go free?” Before Moth could answer, the dragon swung his big head around. “Because she’s one of them, Moth. Lady Esme is a Skylord.”

INSIDE MERCERON’S LAIR, night and day felt precisely the same. There were no windows to the outside world, and no clocks among the clutter lining the shelves. Moth only knew it was bedtime because he was so tired, yet sleep somehow evaded him. Beneath his threadbare blanket he gazed into the crackling hearth, remembering how the dragon had lit it for them with a snort of fiery breath. Fiona lay beside him, staring up at the dark ceiling, a roof so high it was almost like being outside.

Throughout the night she had barely said a word. Even the news about Lady Esme garnered only a cynical shake of her head. She had gone off to explore the lair alone, finding a treasure trove of handmade objects, including an enormous pianolike instrument carved from a giant tree trunk.

Moth rolled onto his back to gaze up at the ceiling with Fiona. The way the firelight twinkled on the stone made him think of the Starfinder, and then about Esme. He stole a sideways glance at Fiona, trying to think of something—anything—to wrest her from her mood.

“I’ve never been swimming,” he whispered. “My mother told me she used to swim in a lake at night when she was a little girl back in—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fiona interrupted.

“Just thinking.” Moth’s eyes scanned the walls, picking out the shadowy knickknacks on the shelves. “Look at all these things he’s made. Must help him pass the time.”

“Sure. He’s got nothing better to do.”

“Look, I know you’re angry,” said Moth, “but we’ll figure this out. Remember what Raphael said? We got each other, and we got each other this far.”

“Yeah, he was a big help,” grumbled Fiona. “Just like Merceron. Just another person willing to walk out on us.” Her face bunched up in a grimace. “Just like everyone else.”

Moth sat up and leaned on his elbow. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe the Starfinder can locate someone else who can help Esme. Maybe there’s another wizard we can ask.”

“We don’t even know what the constellations are here, Moth. We only found Merceron ’cause Leroux told you to.”

“Yeah, but Merceron would know. He could tell us that, at least.”

“Fine,” said Fiona. “You go ask him.”

She rolled onto her side, turning her back on him. Undeterred, Moth tossed off his blanket and quietly left the chamber. He hadn’t seen Merceron since going to bed, but he supposed the dragon was sleeping, too. But when he reached the main chamber it was empty, with only a puny fire sputtering in the gigantic hearth. Across the cavern a sliver of light crept in from the big metal door.

“Merceron?”

Moth went to the door and peered outside. Just beyond the threshold he caught a glimpse of Merceron in the strangled moonlight. The dragon was down on his haunches, concentrating on a long ribbon that looked like leather or bark, pulling it tightly in his claws and stripping it down with his teeth. Around him was scattered all manner of bric-a-brac—huge squares of animal skins, bent metal rods, tree branches, shavings of wood. There were tools, too, punches and chisels and needles, but mostly Merceron worked with his teeth and claws. All alone beneath the protective canopy, he stripped down the supple ribbon, bending it occasionally to test it.

“Come closer if you want to see,” said Merceron suddenly. “Your staring makes me nervous.”

“Sorry,” said Moth, stepping closer. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping busy. Where’s your friend? Sleeping?”

“Kind of,” said Moth, running his eyes over the dragon’s pile of material. “She’s kind of upset.”

Merceron kept on working, punching holes in the long ribbon with his pinky claw. “And Esme?”

“She’s all right. She’s with Fiona. One thing about old Esme, she could sleep through anything. Even Leroux’s snoring.”

Merceron laughed. “Oh, I will miss him.” His voice trailed off with a kind of shrug. “I always thought I’d see him again.”

It was still hard for Moth to think of Leroux. He blew into his cheeks, wanting to change the subject. “So what’s all this stuff? You making something?”

“Tinkering helps me think.” Merceron picked up a rod of metal, poked it through one of the holes he’d made, and bent it effortlessly into a ring.

“Whew,” whistled Moth. “What’s it going to be?”

Merceron sighed in annoyance. “If you can’t sleep, just watch quietly, all right?”

“All right,” Moth agreed, but knew he couldn’t. After a minute he said, “We’ll be going tomorrow. Can you tell us anything more to help us? I was hoping you could maybe tell us about some other wizard. You know, point us in the right direction.”

“A wizard?”

“Yeah. Even just a name, so I can use the Starfinder. Someone whose picture’s in the sky, like you.”

“You have to be a scholar of the sky to use the Starfinder properly, boy.” The dragon dropped down onto his tail with a huff. “Like the Skylords.” He lifted his face, his view obscured by the trees. “Even if I gave you a name it wouldn’t help.”

“But I have to try,” Moth argued. “Leroux would want me to.”

“Is he the one who told you I was a wizard?”

“Aren’t you?”

Merceron smiled faintly. “I suppose I must have seemed like one to him. All dragons can do things that look magical, but I’m no wizard. More of a sage, really. A keeper of knowledge.”

“What? Like a librarian?” Moth recalled the hundreds of books in the lair. “Leroux must have thought a lot of you, or else he wouldn’t have sent me to you.”

“He must have thought a lot of you too, Moth.” The dragon set aside his work. “If only you could have seen Esme the way she used to be. She was like a goddess once. And she wasn’t like the other Skylords, either. Esme knew the difference between right and wrong.”

“Leroux told me the Skylords are like angels,” said Moth. “But you make them sound like monsters.”

Merceron smiled. “To Leroux, Esme really was an angel.”

“Why didn’t they just kill her? I mean, after what you say she did to them.”

“The Skylords would never kill one of their own. That’s their idea of being civilized, I suppose. Besides, what they did to her was far worse. Imagine being stuck as a mindless bird.”

“A bird.” Moth thought about that, about all the times he’d looked up at birds and wished he were one of them. “At least she can fly. That’s more than most of us ever get to do.” He took notice of Merceron’s wings, neatly tucked close to his velvet jacket. “You could fly too, if you wanted. If you weren’t so afraid.”

“Flying . . .” Merceron’s expression filled with longing. “It’s been a very long time.”

“I have a friend back in Calio named Skyhigh,” said Moth. “He flies all the time. He’s a Skyknight.”

“Skyknight?” puffed Merceron. “What’s that?”

“They’re like regular knights, only they fly dragonflies and airships. The ones Governor Rendor invented.”

“What about the Eldrin Knights?”

“Oh, they’ve been gone for years,” said Moth. “Leroux was probably the last of them. Besides Rendor, I guess. Fiona says her grandfather always wanted to fly. She says that’s why he hates the Skylords, because they don’t want humans polluting the sky. He thinks it’s man’s destiny.”

“Rendor’s a grand thinker,” said Merceron. “Brave, though. And smart like a dragon.” He turned to Moth curiously. “Have you ever been up in one of his machines?”

“Skyhigh took me up a few times,” said Moth, breaking into a smile. “I love thinking about it, daydreaming. It’s amazing being up there.”

“Someday maybe you’ll be a Skyknight too, eh?”

“Maybe.” Moth kicked at the dirt. “Probably not.”

Merceron brought his tail around and lightly poked Moth with it. “Why not? You seem like a bright boy. Can’t you get yourself one of those dragonfly things?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Moth. “They’re not for sale, and even if they were I wouldn’t have the money. But I’ll fly one day. I might never be a Skyknight, but I’ll fly.” He looked up, wanting to see the sky, his view blocked by the canopy. “These trees hide you from the Skylords. That’s it, isn’t it? Why you don’t fly anymore, I mean.”

“The Skylords, yes,” the dragon drawled. “And . . . others.” Immediately he went back to work, this time grabbing up a wide, fat piece of animal hide. “Got to keep at it.”

“Uh, Merceron?”

“Uhm?”

“Will the Skylords come after us? Raphael Ciroyan was hiding from them, I think, but he wouldn’t tell us why. What will happen to us if they find us?”

Merceron’s fingers worked without any obvious purpose. “It’s the Starfinder they want, not you,” he said, but his tone was unconvincing. “You just make sure you take care of each other, you hear? Youngsters! Running around, always getting hurt.” He tore a great rent in the hide, then cursed his imprecision. “Got to watch what I’m doing. Why don’t you go inside? Make sure your friend’s all right.”

“I told you, she’s fine . . .”

“She’s not fine!” bawled Merceron. “Someone who loses her loved ones is never fine! You’re not fine, are you? If you were fine you’d have had the sense to stay home!”

Moth stumbled back, stunned. Merceron lowered the piece of hide with an exasperated breath.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said in a halting voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can get help somewhere else.”

“Yeah?” said Moth cautiously.

Merceron nodded. “There are other dragons who might be able to help you,” he said. “It’s been decades since the war ended. Maybe they’ve learned something since then about Skylord magic.”

“You mean how to turn Esme back to normal?”

“I said maybe. I don’t know. It’s just a thought.”

“Where are they?” asked Moth. “Are they far?”

“In Taurnoken,” said Merceron. “And yes, it’s far. You won’t have the cover of the forest, either.” The ridges over his eyes came down in a fretful frown. “There’s a lot of open terrain between here and there.”

Moth felt a spark of hope. “Can you tell us how to get there?”

Merceron lifted the piece of hide he’d been working on. “How’s this look to you?”

“I don’t know. What is it?”

“Nothing yet. When I’m done it’ll be a saddle.”

“A saddle?” chuckled Moth. “For the biggest horse in the world, maybe!”

Merceron looked right at Moth, his expression dreary. “Do I look like a horse?”

Moth’s mouth dropped open. “Merceron . . . you?”

“You want to fly, don’t you?” The dragon glanced around at the materials scattered at his feet. “There’s not much time. You should probably give me a hand.”

SKYHIGH STOOD ON THE
Avatar
’s carriage deck, last in a line of forty crewmen. Chest out, his helmet tucked under his arm, he kept his eyes fixed on his commander at the window, and upon the Reach dead ahead.

Promptly at dawn, the
Avatar
had risen five hundred feet above Calio. Untethered from her giant mooring post, she had levitated soundlessly into the air, so gently that Skyhigh would never have known they were moving if he hadn’t been looking out a window. Now he could see dragonflies flapping noisily around the city, patrolling the skies.

Throughout the night Skyhigh had waited aboard the airship, watching workmen load her holds with crates marked DANGER and fill her billowing envelope with lifting gas. They fueled her engines, oiled her guns, polished her brass, and tightened the millions of bolts in her superstructure, yet her mission remained a mystery.

Commander Erich Donnar stood before his crew, outlined by the morning light against the window. He held his hands clasped behind him, slapping his gloves together as he paced, his blue eyes as calm as the sea. The first man ever to captain an airship, Donnar was more than just Rendor’s friend; he was the perfect choice to command the
Avatar
. With one eyebrow cocked higher than the other, he searched the sky until Rendor strode across the deck.

“Attention!” he called, bringing the crew back to life.

Skyhigh stared straight ahead, watching Rendor from the corner of his eye.

“The
Avatar
stands ready, sir,” Donnar reported. “Prepared to depart on your order.”

Rendor nodded at the news. “At ease, everyone.”

At last Skyhigh looked directly at him. In his dark coat, his silver hair slicked back, he was much the same as he’d been in his office—determined and supremely confident. The chain of his watch dangled across his belly. He had even placed a snow-white flower in his lapel.

“Good morning,” he said to the men. “We’re about to embark on the mission of a lifetime. Most men never get a chance like this, so consider yourselves lucky. We’re going to do something that’s been forbidden to humanity since the start of time. We’re going
there
. . .” He pointed toward the misty horizon. “Through the Reach.”

A murmur stirred through the crew. Skyhigh’s stomach did a somersault.

“The
Avatar
is the greatest, most powerful airship ever built,” Rendor continued. “You’ve all had time to study her; you all know what she can do. But the things on the other side of that fog out there are going to put her and you to the test!” The Governor glowered at the men, then broke into a mysterious grin. “And if you’re thinking I’m just some crazy old man, just you wait.”