The Seventh Magic (Book 3) (5 page)

His escape had taught him something important: ferals have a healthy sense of self-preservation. Either they were in control or whoever controlled them did not do so with absolute authority. Jessub had seen what that looked like. His survival would depend on proving this hypothesis. It was foolish and risky and exactly what Kenward Trell would do. The last part worried him most.

With his turn complete, the chaos around the Noonspire was fully apparent. What he saw couldn't be real, yet it did not dissolve away like the remnants of dreams. It persisted. Second and third thoughts would not be put aside as he approached. Part of his plan depended on the ferals seeing him coming and moving out of his way. The skies ahead were filled with dragons, but all were now facing the other direction, intent on something he could not see.

Now his battle cry sounded weak and shrill. The dragons ahead did not react, as if completely oblivious to his existence. In the next instant, the skies were afire. Lightning spiderwebbed, reaching out and promising a deadly embrace. The air stank of fear and smoke.

Through gaps in the ferals, Jessub saw beings of light astride a pulsating dragon. Those gaps just as suddenly closed, and though Jessub pulled up, it was too late. Ferals did not hear him until the last instant, and those that fled obstructed his flight path. His battle cry now a scream, Jessub flew into the malevolence. Dodging from side to side as best he could, Jessub could not avoid them all. In an instant, the howler's wingtip struck a feral in the abdomen, sending him spinning out of control. Not knowing if his aircraft was whole and near to passing out from the forces applied, Jessub did his best to maintain control. If he lost consciousness, he lost everything. Then came an undeniable command, one so powerful, it pulled him from the edge and urged him away. With the fog cleared from his mind, he flew.

* * *

Sinjin Volker had never felt so useless. He'd had almost no impact on events at the Noonspire. He and Kendra hadn't even gotten close to the giant crystal, and he'd had no chance at all of saving his mother. He saw what she did. It had been her choice. It was very like his mother to sacrifice herself to save the people who would miss her most. He cursed her at that moment but only because it hurt. Life had done everything it could to come between them, and he might never see her again. The Noonspire had imprisoned the powerful for thousands of years, and he had no reason to believe his mother would be any different.

Beside him, Kendra brooded. She hadn't said a word in hours. It was her way, and he gave her the time and space to think. When she needed him, she'd tell him; of that he had no doubt. Valterius flew without input. As long as they moved away from the Jaga and toward open sea, Sinjin would not protest. He'd lost sight of the others and hoped to be reunited with them soon. They needed a plan, some way to save his mother. He spared a thought for Allette and Trinda, but it was his mother who really mattered. It was a selfish thought, but he did not feel guilty for having it.

Not far from the shoreline, they saw a familiar silhouette. Kyrien flew to greet them, Pelivor on his back and something, or rather someone, clutched in his claws.

"I didn't know," Pelivor said when they got closer. "That wasn't at all what we had planned."

"It's her way," Sinjin said. Those simple words seemed to impale Pelivor. He said nothing in response. "Do not blame yourself. It's not what she wants. It's not what I want."

"It hurts." Pelivor had tears in his eyes.

"I know," Sinjin said. "I know.

A long silence hung in the air.

"Who?" Kendra asked, pointing at Kyrien's claws.

"Bryn," Pelivor said. The fact that he said no more spoke volumes.

"Have you seen anyone else?"

"They went east," Pelivor said.

"Thank you," Sinjin said. "We'll go meet up with them."

Kyrien interrupted him then, roaring at Valterius and Gerhonda. Both roared back in unison. Before Sinjin could say another word, Valterius turned back toward the Firstland. Gerhonda did the same, and little could be heard over his wife's cursing. The only thing soothing Sinjin's guilt over leaving the others behind was that Kyrien flew in the direction Pelivor said they had gone. All he could do was hope they survived.

* * *

Along a rocky shoreline east of the Midlands plateau, Jehregard landed. Jordic circled above, his dragon, Tanaketh, unable to land in such a place. For Onin, this confirmed his feelings about the verdants, and his thoughts wandered. What kind of dragon could not land anywhere it liked? He cursed fools who thought of nothing but the gold lining their coffers. Kenward cleared his throat, and Onin remembered his guests. Destroying a man's tierre while he's trying to help you is not the best way to engender good relations. Onin released his grip on the bumblebee. Loud creaking preceded several thuds. Onin assumed his passengers had disembarked.

Jehregard seemed to find this all quite amusing. He'd caught Kenward and Farsy on his wing and stared at Onin as if to rub in spoiling the old man's fun.

"I guess you’d better get up here and help me fix this," Onin said.

Kenward stood on the sands, rubbing his hind side. "Maybe I should walk from here."

"Wouldn't recommend it. Mids don't like climbers."

"If we help you fix it to the best of our abilities, will you leave us here with no hard feelings?" Kenward asked.

After thinking awhile, Onin nodded.

"Should we look for stalk weed and rope weed before climbing back up?"

"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say," Onin said, and he tossed down a long knife.

Moments later, Kenward perked up. The howler was coming, growing louder over time. Soon Jessub Tillerman appeared along the horizon. It didn't take him long to spot them. Not far from shore, he slowed, apparently trying to find shallow water to land in. A moment later, Kenward ran for the waves. He wasn't sure if Jessub had misjudged his speed or was hit by a downdraft, but the result was an unpleasant spectacle. The howler struck the water and dug in, slowing dramatically. The tail pitched forward, snapping the howler in half. Thrown clear, Jessub continued for a short distance before hitting the water face first.

Waves crashed over his stunned form, and Kenward pulled him to shore. After a coughing fit, Jessub said, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it, kid. You did your best."

"Bryn," Jessub said, looking haunted.

"I know. I know. Sometimes all you can do is live harder to honor those who never got the chance."

Another trumpeting call split the air, and Kyrien appeared, Pelivor on his back. Coming in fast, he sent sand into the air as he flapped his wings hard. Rather than landing, he hovered mere inches above the sand and released his claws. Bryn's still form rolled out. Flying backward a short distance, Kyrien landed. Jehregard and Tanaketh roared in greeting.

Kenward left Jessub's side to check on Bryn. Though his clothes were burned and torn and his skin was soot covered, he did at least appear to be moving. "Say nothing," he said when Kenward reached his side. "I've got the goddess of all headaches."

They were the sweetest words Kenward had ever heard.

Jessub should have stayed where he was but could not. "I'm so sorry," he whispered to Bryn.

"You did exactly what you should have done. Otherwise Kyrien would've had to save us both."

Kenward wasn't certain how much Kyrien understood, but he roared in response. Given Kenward's recent experiences with dragons, he had to rethink his preconceptions. It seemed certain they would soon prove him wrong once again. They were good at that.

"We need to get back," Jordic called from above.

"Go!" Onin said. It wasn't the first time.

"You started this," Jordic said. "If you’re not there when I return, the council won't hear my report. Don't let them destroy our homeland because you gave them an out."

Onin finally nodded. "I'll take you all where you want to go after we've met with the Midlands and reported back to the council. It will take time. I am sorry."

The tierre was far from repaired, but Onin had cleared most of the pointy bits. Kenward and Farsy helped Bryn and Jessub aboard before climbing up themselves. Soon they flew alongside Tanaketh. Kyrien joined them in the air, and Pelivor waved farewell. The last of the regent dragons, though, had other plans. Flying up next to Jehregard, Kyrien synchronized their flight. A distant look came over his eyes, and Kenward wondered at the ways of dragons. Moments later, he trumpeted and winged away.

Jehregard turned out to sea, far off course from heading to the Midlands. Tanaketh roared in displeasure. Kyrien went to him next. The massive verdant dragon dwarfed Kyrien, yet he calmed under the regent dragon's influence. When the two parted, the verdant dragon continued toward the Midlands. With Pelivor on his back, Kyrien turned and headed, presumably, wherever it was he wanted to go. Kenward wished his old friend luck.

Chapter 5

The secret to hope is that it can exist without reason.

--Mother Gwendolin, Cathuran monk

* * *

Seeing Windhold was bittersweet. While Sinjin longed to live a peaceful life with his family and people, he could do nothing but worry about his mother. Kyrien had sent him home. The thought nagged at him. Kendra remained silent, as she had for much of the journey. Even the dragons were subdued. Upon their entrance, Windhold fell silent. "Things have not gone well," Sinjin said, not wanting to keep the people in suspense. "Keep doing what you've been doing, and you will help us all greatly. I thank you."

No one pressed for more information, though questions waited in Durin's eyes. His friend moved a bit more fluidly than when he'd left, and that gave him some small measure of peace. When the dragons had been cared for, Kendra joined Sinjin and Durin. Strom marched across the wind channel, a pillar of strength amid a perpetual storm. His hair flew out sideways and his clothes flapped in the wind, but his gait was unerring. Osbourne and Brother Vaughn followed, looking concerned.

"I need a word with you," Strom said by way of greeting.

Sinjin just nodded and waited.

"Is it true?" he asked softly. "Is your mother trapped within the Noonspire?"

Sadly Sinjin nodded again.

Strom couldn't control his reaction, though he did somehow refrain from cursing. "I saw it all. I mean . . . I dreamed it all. Give that dragon a hand, and he'll take your arm."

One's dreams were very personal things, much like one's thoughts. Having either encroached on seemed a deep violation of privacy. Sinjin could understand why Strom was so unnerved. Kyrien had invaded his unconscious thoughts in addition to his conscious thoughts. What frightened Sinjin most was that other dragons and sorcerers possessed similar abilities. No one could know how many Mael had influenced and manipulated over the years. Archmaster Belegra's machinations had been clumsy, brute-force enslavement in comparison. With real power and knowledge, coercion is a subtle art far more difficult to detect.

"I don't like it," Strom said, "but I have a message for you. Tomorrow we leave for the Godfist."

Sinjin shook his head in surprise. "Wait. What? Who?"

"Why?" Kendra interjected.

Holding up a hand, Strom sighed and took a deep breath. "Kyrien--at least I hope it was Kyrien--says we need to go to the Godfist and retrieve the sword he demanded I make for your mother. The one she lost."

A note of bitterness accompanied that statement. Still, Sinjin knew Strom was just upset and not really angry over a weapon lost in battle. Catrin had always said the sword served its purpose well. Now he had to wonder. "Kyrien sent us back here," Sinjin said. "He spoke to our dragons. It seems likely he also communicated with you."

Strom appeared unconvinced.

"Can't you just make another?" Kendra asked.

Strom looked as if he might throw her from Windhold for asking such a question. "Do you have any idea what it took to make that sword?" he asked, his voice several octaves higher than usual. "It took every tool and technology available. Trying to make another here would take me years; if I could do it at all."

"I was just asking," Kendra said, her face as close to pouty as her pride would allow. It was enough.

"I'm sorry," Strom said. "It's just . . ."

No one had to ask. All of them had plenty to be upset about. Being angry with each other would help none of them.

"So you're saying you know where the sword is?"

"I was hoping you would know," Strom said. "All I have to go on is a vision of the oasis in the Arghast desert where Catrin  struck the well."

Sinjin had been there once. The notion his mother had created such a place from only dry sand was unfathomable. So much of what his family did seemed impossible, but he'd somehow grown accustomed to it. "Do you think the tribes have it?"

Strom shrugged. "Seems as good a place to start as any. If not, perhaps they could help us search for it. Right before the vision of the oasis, I saw Catrin strike a feral with the glass lance. The sword formed the handle and was jerked from her hand. That's all I know, except that Osbourne and I are going with you."

"Why?" Kendra asked, knowing more passengers would add time to the trip.

"We were there," Strom said, his face cold and hard. "We witnessed the striking of the oasis. This will not have been forgotten. Sinjin visited the place as a boy, for certain, but you have never been there, correct?"

Kendra nodded, though it was clear she did not wish to do so. Strom spoke no more.

"Gather the people," Sinjin said. "Everyone deserves to know why we must once again leave them."

* * *

Soaring above snowcapped peaks, Kenward looked at Bryn and Farsy before shaking his head and turning to Onin. "Are you sure your dragon heard Kyrien correctly?"

Onin grunted.

"I could see New Moon Bay or maybe Drascha Stone, but we're headed the wrong way. There are ports along the Inland Sea but few friendly to people like us."

Shrugging, Onin otherwise ignored him, just as he'd done for most of the trip.

"We're heading in the general direction of Madra's place and even Wolfhold," Farsy added.

Kenward had no desire to go to either place. He was a child of both land and sea, but he preferred his visits to land be as brief as possible. And he could think of no reason Kyrien would send him there. Jharmin Kyte was a capable sailor in his own right, and Madra was an old lady. He had a twinge of guilt at that thought, but it was true nonetheless.

Jehregard had stayed at high altitudes to avoid the mountain peaks, but as they soared over the forests of Astor, he sped lower. These lands were mostly uninhabited, but woodsmen cried out as they passed overhead.

Try as he might, Onin could get the dragon to go no higher. Well within bow and ballista range, they moved over farmsteads reaching outward from central towns like spokes. Now many saw them coming, and chaos played out below. Most had never seen a dragon of such girth, and fewer still had encountered dragons that meant them no harm.

"Now you'll have the whole place in a panic," Onin scolded Jehregard, but the dragon continued to ignore him.

"The more I fly with dragons," Kenward said, "the more I like airships."

"Maybe you should stop crashing them into things."

That silenced Kenward for a time.

Inland from the farmsteads were areas more densely populated. Cities and towns dominated the landscape, and here defenses would be more prevalent. Only surprise allowed them safe passage over heavily armed battlements and ramparts. Before anyone thought to attack, they were beyond weapon range. It was a slim defense, and Kenward continued to wish the verdant dragon would take them higher. At times he dipped below the rooflines and soared between buildings. Architecture rushed by in a dizzying blur that left Kenward queasy. A single miscalculation or lapse in judgment would send them all crashing to the cobblestones below.

Alarms rang and signal fires ignited. Jehregard bellowed a challenge to all who would listen. In the distance a shoreline loomed. A wraith in the mists, Adderhold appeared from the fog, already intimidating. From what Kenward had heard, a mercenary held the place and had declared himself king. So far, no one had seen fit to argue the point. Kenward deeply hoped the dragons hadn't plotted to drop him there. This troubled him most. For the bulk of his life, he'd worried about what other people plotted. Now he worried what the dragons were up to, so much of what they did made no sense at all.

"The Inland Sea," Farsy whispered. He did not say Adderhold, but Kenward knew he was thinking it.

Arrows and ballista bolts flew as Jehregard approached, making no effort to hide. From the snakelike structure came thunder and fire, but the dragon was ready. Using his agility and uncanny judgment, he dodged the projectiles. Dark ships leaked from beneath the serpent fortress, filling the waters around the keep. The place was well defended, by Kenward's estimation; all the more reason to avoid the Inland Sea.

Winds buffeted them over the most unpredictable waters known, the air no more stable. Turbulence shook the compromised tierre terribly at times, their makeshift repairs insufficient for such punishment. Whenever the damage and shoddy fixes caused problems, Onin grumbled about where idiots landed their insane creations. Kenward made sure the older man never saw him grin. He had no desire to swim the Inland Sea.

"Where are you taking us?" Kenward shouted when land was lost from view on all sides. Few ships dared these waters, and he doubted anyone heard. He hadn't expected an answer, but the mighty verdant dragon issued a reverberating roar. Kenward decided it might be best if he kept his mouth shut.

Reds and purples shaded the skies by the time the Inland Sea's western shores came into view. Here existed wild lands, uncivilized since the Zjhon wars. Beyond that, the Westland, a place fouled by ancient weapons. Few ventured there after the detonation if the Statue of Terhilian; tales of a devastated and corrupted land kept most fools away. Beyond the Westland waited unfriendly seas. Besides a few patches of uninhabited islands, little was to be found there. Still, the thought of being dropped off along the western coastline, especially the southwestern coast, was not all that unappealing. This would have reassured had not Jehregard begun to slow, a thin column of smoke from a narrow clearing the only sign of habitation for miles. Towering ridgelines blocked the view beyond as they moved lower.

When Jehregard landed in the clearing, a bad feeling churned in Kenward's gut. No water visible for miles, this kind of place terrified him. What had this dragon done? Walking toward the lone cabin as if in a dream, his thoughts whirled. The door opened before he reached the threshold, and there stood his mother, Nora Trell, captain of the
Trader's Wind
; the most profitable trade ship ever to sail.

"Mother!" he shouted, running forward.

"Get inside, fool boy."

Kenward found the inside far better appointed than the exterior. Then his eyes landed on his sister, Fasha. "What the--?" he began involuntarily.

Hard, stoic faces surrounded the table. Grubb cooked over a black metal stove. Emmon, the one Kenward called "the new kid," stood in a corner looking uncomfortable.

"Sit," his mother said.

Kenward immediately slid a roughhewn wooden chair from the table and sat, staring.

"Your sister keeps me informed of your antics." This conversation was not going to go well. So much for reunions. "Your actions reflect on the rest of the family, my son. We make our living from our name. This is not to be taken lightly."

Though he'd heard the words before, Kenward had to contain his frustration. If circumstances had been different, his flying ships could have been a huge success. Instead, he was being lectured about the family name. The looks Fasha gave him didn't help. After staring her down for an appropriate interval, he stuck his tongue out. His mother saw it.

"Pay attention to me for once, fool boy!"

"Sorry, Mom. I know what a disappointment I must be."

His mother had healed well and was a good bit quicker than when he'd seen her last. Before the words had left his mouth, she stepped up and smacked him on the back of the head. "You'll be the death of me yet."

Fasha stuck her tongue out. Nora massaged her temples. "This is why I cannot leave the
Trader's Wind
to either of you."

And there was the heart of the matter. For years Kenward and Fasha competed for the right to inherit the greatest trading ship the world had ever known. The thought had always made him a little sick. Where was the adventure in buying and selling? If he were truly honest with himself, he'd done much to make sure his mother would never leave him the ship, though some of the things he'd done for fun probably had the same effect. The look on Fasha's face was worth the trip.

"Don't gape, girl," Nora said. "You look like a fish."

Kenward had never really expected to inherit; he'd just enjoyed making his sister work for it. She was the far more practical of the two and a darn fine sailor, not that he'd admit it out loud.

"Since there is no one to inherit, I've decided not to retire. I’d rather die on my ship, knowing she's well cared for." Kenward smiled in spite of himself. She'd probably outlive them all. "If I left the ship to you," she continued, turning to Fasha, "you’d rather be off flying that giant canoe your husband carved out of a tree, and just think how jealous your brother would be."

Kenward laughed.

Nora glared at him. "And if I left the mightiest trade ship in the world to you, my dear son, you'd probably dock her on top of a mountain, and then your sister would kill you. Can't have that."

Fasha nodded, glaring at Kenward.

"So now what?" Kenward asked when no one else would speak. "You go die on your deck, Fasha gets to play house in her big canoe, and I get left to rot in the woods?"

"Something like that," Nora said.

Grubb winked at him, and Kenward found himself confused.