The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (57 page)

This was a big part of Becker's problem. The man they had all looked up to had let them down. At the least, Captain Kilbor had betrayed their trust, and this made it increasingly difficult to muster loyalty. Becker would forever be seen as second to the man who had betrayed them. Most knew Mord was a greedy scoundrel unworthy of complete trust, yet all knew him to be ruthlessly efficient. A man such as Mord could fill your coin purse if you didn't mind his methods. Becker knew he would need to go along with Mord for a time. Eventually he would find a way off the ship. The next time they came even close to civilization, he would leave the
Maker's Mark
behind. The ship had been his home and his life, but if he didn't escape, she would also be the death of him. If the crew decided to follow Mord, then Becker would quickly find himself on the long end of a short plank.

At that moment, though, there was little to do but sail. The familiar rhythm calmed the men and gave Becker a chance to think. Plans formed in his mind, and he contemplated their weaknesses and what he must do to prepare. Of all the seas he'd sailed in his life, these were perhaps the most treacherous. As if to prove his point, he saw the lookout scrambling down the mast from the crow's nest. They had been sailing under an order of silence, and the man was breathing hard by the time he reached where Becker stood. At least the men still came to him, Becker thought. Mord moved to his side, and the lookout addressed him when he spoke. Becker frowned.

"Ship in the distance, due west," he said, "black as night and limping under partial sail."

Making a ship look wounded was an old trick used to draw pirates, and Becker immediately suspected a trick. "It could very well be a trap," he said before Mord could speak. The other man cast him a baleful glare.

"There's always risk," Mord said. "That is why most cowards don't become sailors."

The hook had been baited, but Becker wasn't biting. Fighting with the man would only force the crew to finally decide where their loyalties rested, and Becker wasn't certain how he'd fare.

"Let's see if she can outrun us," Becker said before he lost control completely. "Full sail."

Given a task and the prospect of financial gain, the crew moved with alacrity. Mord muttered something under his breath, and Becker didn't ask him to repeat himself. All he had to do was survive long enough to make his escape. He could no longer trust anyone, and he could tell no one, which pained his noble heart, but those loyal to him would have to forgive him. His departure would send a clear message, and those with good sense would follow. If they were lucky, they might even cross paths again. It was a great big world, though, and Becker thought it might be best for him to get lost in it. A single trip to Maiden Bay and he'd have enough coin to live a comfortable life. He'd known this day would come eventually; he just hadn't known it would come so soon.

"We're making time on them, sir," the lookout called down, freed from the command of silence, and the crew responded with a cheer.

Becker looked at the ship more closely, the details becoming clearer as they gained on the ship. The lookout had been right when he'd said the ship was black as night. The shapes that moved on deck were nearly as dark, and some didn't look human. Becker's blood went cold. Perhaps his chance to escape with his life was already past. The wind shifted and a foul smell reached his nose, making him gag.

"I don't think this is a ship we want to overtake," Becker said, and Mord glared at him. Perhaps the man was blind and unable to smell. "The only thing we'll find on that ship is death."

Mord spit on the deck. "Coward," he said.

The moment had come. The will of the crew would be tested, and Becker knew when it began how it would end.

"Do you want to run away from this wounded ship?" Mord asked his crewmates. "Or do you want to see what's in their hold?" The crew raised a cry after the latter, and Becker was about to open his mouth to speak when Mord gave the order, "Bring us up alongside her!"

In truth, he need not have given the order since their current course would do just that, but the fact that no one questioned his order was of the most significance. The balance of power had shifted aboard the
Maker's Mark,
and Becker Dan's days were numbered. He swallowed hard after acknowledging that the number was far too small. With agonizing steadiness, the
Maker's Mark
closed the gap on the damaged ship. The smell grew stronger, and Becker started to hear complaints from the crew. At least not everyone aboard was a fool.

"Monsters!" the lookout cried.

"Death," Becker said.

"Land!" the lookout called next.

From out of the mists materialized the towering green islands, rounded and worn and covered in vegetation. The other ship was headed straight for the closely packed islands. It looked as if there were winding inlets and sheltered coves all along the vertical shores. Nowhere did he see beaches or gentle slopes; most of what he saw was sheer cliffs. Seabirds crashed into the waters around them, and some swooped across the deck, usually with silvery fish in their beaks. The image of it was burned into Becker's memory.

"Let's burn the foulness from that ship!" Mord shouted. Becker would have objected, but the crew moved to obey his order without question. Pitch, torches, and a small catapult were brought from the hold. Even the small catapult required four men to carry it and just as many to wind and fire it.

The black ship made for all the speed they could muster, now throwing anything they didn't need overboard. It lightened their load and left debris in their wake, but the crew retained their resolve. Then, though, the monsters on deck shed their crude armor and slipped over the side of the ship.

"Get us out of here," Becker shouted before anyone else could react. The crew had seen the same thing he had and they complied. Those at the catapult had loaded a vessel with flaming pitch, and even as the ship began its turn, the catapult fired with a loud thrum. The vessel soared through the air, spitting flame and gouts of black smoke. It struck the black mainsail at mid-sail, and liquid fire poured down the cloth. Though the sails appeared to have been fireproofed with tar, the pitch clung to it and ate its way slowly through. The tar then began itself to burn, slowly and steadily, the growing wind feeding the flames.

A cheer rose up from the crew and ended abruptly as the hull of the
Maker's Mark
thrummed once, twice, then over and over. Cries came from those near the rails, and black claws appeared on the rails not far from Becker. "Repel boarders!" he shouted, and the crew responded with an ordered drill, practiced and skillfully executed. Frightening as the monsters may be, they were not enough to threaten the crew of the
Maker's Mark.
For a moment, Becker dared to hope.

Then he saw a dark-robed figure move to the stern of the black ship and level his arms directly at Becker; at least that was how it felt. He'd feared men before but never like this man. Here was power to corrupt the world. He could feel it; he could smell it. The air was polluted with it, and it smelled like rain. Red lightning leaped from the figure's outstretched robes and struck the mast. The lookout fell screaming to the water. Becker felt as if he'd struck a tree at a full run. Like many around him, he was swept from his feet by the force of the attack.

"Get us out of here!" Mord shrieked.

There was still a chance, Becker knew; the fire had slowed the black ship. If only they could turn aside and distance themselves, then the danger would be greatly reduced. When he was once again able to get his feet underneath him, he stumbled to the wheelhouse and took the wheel himself.

"You're going to have to tack into the wind," Mord yelled.

Becker was trying to do just that when he looked beyond the black ship. The angle at which they viewed the islands had changed, and Becker was able to see within the folds of the landscape a natural harbor sheltered by towering peaks. He saw the scars on the landscape first, places where the forests had been cleared away, leaving little more than stumps as evidence. Below that and along the waterline rested ships, dozens of them, many in various states of repair and perhaps just as many under construction. Turning to look back out to sea, a warning on his lips, he saw another fleet approaching; these ships were larger and of different design, but the threat they posed tipped the scales out of the
Maker's Mark
's favor. "I had one heck of a good run," Becker said to himself.

"Make speed, man!" Mord called, and Becker just held his course, knowing their fate was already decided.

* * *

With an open palm thrust backward, Thundegar commanded Allette to silence, and for once, she obeyed. He'd been on edge all morning, ever since they had found an existing path to follow. It meandered and did not always take them exactly the way that Thundegar wanted, but it was far easier than fighting through the now-thick vegetation. Still, Allette could tell by his posture that he was worried. Then came a loud snorting sound and a spray of water, followed by deep bellows of rage. Thundegar paddled backward as fast and as hard as he could, and Allette did the same without knowing what it was they faced. She knew only that they needed to move, and fast. A wall of water helped to carry them away from the thick bushes they had been about to paddle through.

Pushing that wall of water was a massive body that looked black and slick in the water. When a bulbous head suddenly broke the surface, its nostrils as big around as melons and tusklike teeth aiming straight for them, Allette thought they might be done for. An instant before the beast would ram them, the head disappeared back beneath the water, and for a moment, the canoe was lifted out of the water by the bulk of this wild beast trying to squeeze beneath them, but then they were sinking back down into the turbulent wash.

"What was that?" Allette asked, despite Thundegar's request for silence. She was simply unable to keep the words inside of her.

"Swamp pigs," Thundegar said. "One of them can be your best friend out here, but two of them are always trouble."

Before Allette could ask why this beast was their best friend, Thundegar pushed them back into the channel left by the first swamp pig. The massive swine moved through the vegetation with relative ease and cut a channel through the ever-changing landscape. The carpet had now grown so dense that the roots had found fertile soil, and pushing through the growing mass became almost impossible with the canoe. Therefore, they were somewhat at the mercy of the swamp pigs.

"This one is going mostly in the right direction," Thundegar said. "We'll just see how long we can follow behind and make good progress. Keep your eyes open for other swamp pigs. We need to avoid being between them if they decide to charge each other."

Allette did not argue. She remembered the fear of seeing that massive creature headed straight for her. If it hadn't gone under them, then surely they would have been sunk. Looking down, Allette saw Rastas about as unhappy and uncomfortable as she'd ever seen him, and she reached down to give him a pat on the head. He pushed up into the caress but did not insist on more. He seemed satisfied for her to work toward getting him away from this place as quickly as possible.

"Where did those things come from?" Allette asked, certain such massive creatures could not have been lurking under dried mud.

"Deeper in the Jaga, where there is always food," Thundegar said. "These are some of the first to return to the swamps, but there'll be more. All that come will graze well. Soon there will be channels crisscrossing the marsh. As long as we keep going the correct general direction, we'll eventually find what we're looking for."

Allette would've liked to have known exactly what that was, but she was hesitant to question his judgment again. That was a lesson she was supposed to have learned.

Chapter
12

There is magic in art and art in magic; the two cannot be separated.

--Gemino, sorcerer and artist

* * *

The first egg that moved could have been a trick of the light, but the rush of many people breathing in sharply at once told Sinjin that it wasn't so. Still Halmsa did not seem satisfied, and he held forth his precious charge so all those assembled could see. When two eggs moved independently, Sinjin felt something stir within him. It was not terror, and it was not anticipation, and though he could not describe it, he trembled from the powerful mixture of emotions.

"Dragons must not hatch here," Halmsa said again. "No time for big boats. Must make more small boats. Must go now."

"Where is the place of dragons?" Sinjin asked. Those around him waited in silence.

Halmsa closed his eyes and appeared to be listening intently. Then with his right hand, he pointed.

"East and a little south," Kenward said. "The only places in that direction are the Keys of Terhilian and the Firstland beyond that."

"The Firstland was the home of the regent dragons," Sinjin said. "So that makes sense."

"I must get to this place," Halmsa insisted, a look of pure terror on his face. "Must leave now."

"You'll never make it in time," Brother Vaughn said. "It's a voyage of many seasons."

What color that remained in Halmsa's face drained away.

"How long do you think we have?" Sinjin asked.

Halmsa shrugged.

Sinjin turned his questioning gaze to Brother Vaughn.

"Weeks," he said, "at the most."

"There's only one way, then," Sinjin said, and Benjin nodded, as if he'd already reached the same conclusion. "Only the
Dragon's Wing
can get you there in that short a time."

"Even that is a stretch," Benjin said. "Pelivor and Gwen would have to fly us nearly the entire way nonstop. I'm not certain even they can get us there in time, but you'll have a far better chance. And perhaps the deck of my ship isn't the worst place for them to hatch. It's not 'here' after all."

"Must reach place of dragons," Halmsa insisted.

"Then you must leave your tribe behind and travel to the First--er," Benjin stumbled on the words, "the place of dragons aboard the
Dragon's Wing.
My wife and I will do our best to get you there in time."

"No," Halmsa said. "Will not leave tribe."

"We have only the one ship," Sinjin said, hoping Halmsa understood. The man was smarter than anyone else gave him credit for, but still Sinjin knew some of his beliefs were unyielding.

"Dragons must choose," Halmsa said, his words filled with conviction and steadfast belief. "Tribe must be there."

"How many can we fit on the ship?" Sinjin asked.

Benjin frowned. "Any more than fifty people aboard, and we'll be hard pressed, and those fifty will not have a comfortable trip. I'm not certain Pelivor and Gwen can fly us with that much weight on board, and the gods only know what it'll be like when we hit the water again with so much force."

"How many on a skeleton crew?" Brother Vaughn asked.

"Ten," Benjin said. "Two can sail her, but it takes ten to fly her--ten that know what they're doing, that is. With a full ship, I ought to estimate more just to feed so many, but surely some of the Arghast can cook."

By the look on Halmsa's face, he didn't like Benjin's tone. "Forty," he said.

"Thirty-five," Benjin said. "There are some besides my crew who I can't leave behind."

"Thirty-five," Halmsa nodded, his voice heavy with emotion, and for a moment, he hung his head. But then one of the dragon eggs moved. "Thirty-five," he said again, saying it as if it were a curse.

Turning from them, Halmsa gathered his people. When he spoke, Sinjin could not follow his words, but he knew the intent. He could feel the energy; it burned and crawled over his skin. Such anxiety rose from those gathered that Sinjin thought they might suddenly erupt in flames. Sinjin understood when Halmsa said "thirty-five," and the land trembled beneath his feet as the Dragon clan reacted. Shouts of disbelief and dismay rose from the crowd like the raucous calls of flocking birds. There seemed no words, only anger and worry. Then the shouts took on a different tone. As the Dragon clan seemed to accept the number, thus realizing they instead of the dragons must do the choosing, chaos erupted.

When the Dragon clan fought among themselves, it was not like war, where the goal was to kill your opponent. It seemed as if the goal were only to subdue those you fought. Surprisingly, those who had been pinned, knocked down, or otherwise dominated did not rejoin the fray after recovering; instead they moved to one side and watched, heads hung.

At first Sinjin had feared the angry mob would turn on them, but it was as if they did not exist. The Arghast were concerned only about other Arghast. A particularly heated contest approached where Sinjin, his grandfather, and the others stood. In an instant, one of the fighters was thrust between Sinjin and the others. The man turned to face Sinjin with a wild look in his eyes. Drawing back his fist, he looked as if he would knock the head clear from Sinjin's shoulders. Then the man's face registered recognition, and he bowed to Sinjin. One of the men he'd been fighting had also been swinging, and when the first man bowed, the second man's punch passed through empty air and landed squarely on Sinjin's jaw.

Hearing only a ringing sound, Sinjin drifted into darkness.

* * *

Rowing through the growing swamp was becoming increasingly difficult, and Allette wanted nothing more than to get back on solid land. It was an odd yearning for her, but this swamp was nothing like the seas. Given her choice, she'd be back on a ship, but she knew there was a long way left to go before that would happen. Walking would be preferable to blisters on her palms and rear end. Thinking back to the beginning of the journey, she wasn't certain that was entirely true, but it at least seemed better than her current level of discomfort. Thundegar didn't look much better, and Rastas spent most of his time panting.

When the canoe stopped once again with an abrupt thump, Thundegar turned to Allette. "That's about as far as we can row," he said. "We're not far from the jungle, which puts us back on foot."

"Will we cross the entire jungle?" Allette asked, not really wanting an answer.

"Not if we can help it," he said, looking as if he would say no more, as seemed to be his way.

Now that it came time to part with the canoe, Allette was loathe to do so. She thought of securing it to a tree so they could use it again if they came back, but they weren't supposed to be coming back. Doubt crowded her thoughts, and she could not convince herself that they would succeed in this journey--she, an old man, and a cat. What chance did they have in the jungle at the heart of the Jaga?

Even as a sailor, she knew well the barrier the Jaga presented between the Midlands and the Heights. In a constant state of chaos, ruled by dragons and beasts and savage men, it was an impregnable quagmire. If not for the combined might and capabilities of the Midlands and the Heights, then the feral dragons might rule all the land. The ferals had been quiet in recent years, though. Allette remembered from her dragon flight that there had been little worry of attack.

Stepping out of the canoe, she left her oar behind. Happy to have her staff for support and to probe for snakes in the brush, Allette had to acknowledge the fact that she was woefully unprepared for travel through the jungle.

"Hopefully we won't have to travel far through this, but be very alert until we are out of here. This place will kill you as quick as you can blink. Be especially aware of where you put your feet and what is just above eye level. If I tell you to stop, you stop and don't move. You hear me? I don't want any argument out of you."

Allette just nodded. The land she stepped onto was soft and spongy, but it held her weight. Rastas followed, looking very uncertain about this decision. In places where they had to wade through the water farther across than Rastas could jump, Thundegar carried the cat, who complained loudly. Allette began to wonder if Rastas would be able to complete the journey. She wasn't certain she and Thundegar would survive, and it seemed no more likely that the cat would. With a lump in her throat, Allette walked behind the cat, who was currently picking his way around a series of small pools.

Before them, the land once again became dominant, and the water was left behind, save for rivers and streams, which meandered through the thick vegetation, black and glossy against the verdant landscape. Along the shores waited reptilian creatures as long as their canoe had been, and snakes nearly as long sunned nearby. Turtles, crabs, and other life skittered about, providing food for the larger predators. That was no place Allette would have wanted to row, and she was grateful to be on land; she hoped to stay as far from that river as possible. The lush forest surrounding it seemed a far safer place. There was life within those trees, but it was less evident and less immediately threatening.

Thundegar must have agreed since he started moving away from the river. Rastas stayed low to the ground, and a deep growl occasionally escaped him. Allette agreed with his sentiment and hoped for something to save her from this journey. It was a silly hope, but she needed something to hang on to at that moment. Knowing her death could wait behind the next rock or tree frayed her nerves, and her heart beat fast. Thundegar pushed the large, floppy leaves and thorny vines out of the way with his staff, and most times there was nothing there, but other times were different and frightening. Thundegar stopped suddenly, his staff held out at as much length as he could muster and still keep control. Again, the cause was a snake. This one was particularly incensed at their intrusion, and the mostly camouflaged snake struck Thundegar's staff three times before springing from the branch and onto the ground. With a cry, Thundegar leaped backward and slammed his staff downward. Again the snake struck, and Allette tried her best not to imagine what it would feel like to have those venomous fangs sink into her flesh.

Once Thundegar was absolutely certain the snake was gone, Allette stepped forward, Rastas at her side, still growling. Whenever he looked at her, his eyes seem to say that he thought all of this was a very bad idea. She couldn't disagree. They should have stayed. They should turn back. The thoughts were relentless, despite how far they had come. The trees were older, taller, and more widely spaced as they moved inland. The foliage was mostly at the canopy, which was high above them, and much of the forest floor was hidden in shadow. And underneath it all was a scent that pulled at Allette, drew her forward like wind in sails.

Rastas, seemed to feel much more at home and was as happy as she had seen him in days. While Allette avoided the shadows, not knowing what might lurk in the darkness, Rastas had no fear and charged through them as he played. It was good to see the cat running and playing, and it brought a smile to Allette's face. "Crazy cat," she said softly with a chuckle. A moment later, she was glad she hadn't been louder.

A not-too-distant shout split the air, "Black ships on the horizon, sir!"

More shouts echoed through the trees, and the wind shifted, now bringing the scent of the sea strongly to her nostrils. It was then she saw a mast through the trees, and her heart beat faster. Thundegar held out his finger for silence, and Allette rolled her eyes. Crouching down, Thundegar moved toward the shouts, and soon the trees thinned and gave way to a red clay shoreline. Making her way out to sea was a midsized merchant vessel flying no colors. They don't want to be found, she thought.

The ship was tacking hard into the wind, trying desperately to get clear of the small harbor. That was when she saw the black ships. Like a growing stain on the horizon, a massive naval force approached, and it looked as if it were being propelled by some dark god. Thunderheads loomed over and behind the massive armada, and chain-lightning danced between the ships. It made Allette's skin itch, and her breath caught in her throat. They should go back. They should go back now. Turning to Thundegar, the plea on her lips, she saw that he looked equally thunderstruck.

It was obvious that the fleeing ship would be consumed by the approaching darkness, and Allette regretfully let go of the hope she might escape this place by ship. Thundegar had done his best. Somehow he'd managed to get them to this harbor, and he could not have known that the dark ships would converge on that very place. She'd known of such ships, she'd even seen one or two from a distance. Anyone with good sense wanted nothing to do with those aboard the black ships. Shivering at the memory, Allette knew the evil that approached, and she knew their only choice was to flee.

"We must get back inland now," Thundegar barked, and Allette retreated without answering. Rastas slunk along beside her, his belly nearly rubbing the ground.

The three moved with speed born of terror, and only when a massive shadow passed over them did they stop. Twice more the shadow raced over the foliage, and Allette felt like a mouse hiding from a circling hawk. A feral dragon was up there, watching her, just biding its time before plucking her from where she hid. The urge to run was nearly undeniable; every part of her wanted to run, to get out of the gaze of this predator, but somehow she maintained the will to resist. Only when Thundegar stood from his huddled crouch did Allette even breathe. Never before had she felt such raw terror. Truly the magic of the dragons was all that she had heard, and she hoped never to see one again. She hoped it again for good measure. Then they were off, trying to get as far out in front of the approaching armies as possible. Allette guessed they had only a few hours before many of those ships landed, and she knew her guess was a pretty good one.