Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts) (21 page)
BOOK: Vengeance of Dragons (Secret Texts)
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It was a lovely thing. Godsall, but the Ancients knew how to craft tools! It looked to him like a giant metal lily growing on a stalk of light. Five connected petals of luminous platinum-white metal formed a ring around a circle of blazing red light; the largest of the petals bore incised markings that appeared to be inlaid with precious stones. The base supporting this ring, which mimicked the smooth curve of three long, swordlike leaves, had also been fashioned of that glowing white metal. And in the center of the leaves rose the stem, which was nothing but more light, born of nothingness, flowing upward to feed the center of the flower in a spiral that swirled outward from its heart and vanished as it touched the inner aspects of the petals.
He had envisioned something different. Something more mirrorlike, and more ominous. Something with buttons and levers and complicated gears, something that looked like it
did
something. Not a fancy light fixture for a room, nor a work of art. He couldn’t get any clear idea of how it worked from looking at it, and he couldn’t imagine how he would make it grant him immortality.
did
something. Not a fancy light fixture for a room, nor a work of art. He couldn’t get any clear idea of how it worked from looking at it, and he couldn’t imagine how he would make it grant him immortality.
Those concerns would have to wait, though. Now he had business to take care of. At his direction, the captain of the
Heart of Fire
signaled a midair rendezvous with the
Galweigh’s Eagle.
He and Anwyn would direct the airships to Calimekka and would take on the Sabir soldiers who would be waiting, armed and armored, at Sabir House—and by the end of the day, or daybreak of the next day at latest, Galweigh House and its strategic position, vast wealth, and surviving population would belong to him to do with as he pleased.
Heart of Fire
signaled a midair rendezvous with the
Galweigh’s Eagle.
He and Anwyn would direct the airships to Calimekka and would take on the Sabir soldiers who would be waiting, armed and armored, at Sabir House—and by the end of the day, or daybreak of the next day at latest, Galweigh House and its strategic position, vast wealth, and surviving population would belong to him to do with as he pleased.
The women and children would make entertaining slaves, he thought. The men . . . they would become fodder for executions in the public squares. He would erase the Galweigh name and the Galweigh crest from Calimekka, and eventually from the world.
And
he would become a god. Sometimes he was amazed at how well his life was turning out.
he would become a god. Sometimes he was amazed at how well his life was turning out.
22
K
ait and the other survivors came ashore at the base of the volcano on Falea in the lengthening shadows of twilight, weary, thirsty, hungry, and afraid. They’d spent the day hiding from one of the airibles, which had plainly been searching for them. The Thousand Dancers, however, offered some cover from visual searches, and a second blood-drawn shield spell had given them equally effective cover from magical searches.
ait and the other survivors came ashore at the base of the volcano on Falea in the lengthening shadows of twilight, weary, thirsty, hungry, and afraid. They’d spent the day hiding from one of the airibles, which had plainly been searching for them. The Thousand Dancers, however, offered some cover from visual searches, and a second blood-drawn shield spell had given them equally effective cover from magical searches.
They had survived—so far—but they’d lost the Mirror. Kait had failed the Reborn. She dreaded the future.
They dragged the boat into the underbrush at the shoreline, then trudged single file along a narrow path that Ian pointed out. They were a quiet group, downcast and despairing. Ry and his lieutenants, no longer pressed by immediate fear of capture, had begun to talk softly of Karyl’s death. Hasmal and Kait didn’t speak at all; Kait still saw the Mirror of Souls tumbling beneath the surface of the water, the blood-red ray of light that burst from its center spinning as it fell. Her memory still heard the thrumming engines of the airibles growing closer, and though her heart wanted to believe those aboard the airibles would not be able to retrieve the Mirror, it did not. She knew, as surely as she knew her own nature, that they—whoever they were—had the Mirror already and were on their way to Calimekka with it.
Ian alone had lost nothing in that last exchange, but he was as subdued as the rest of them.
“The village is up ahead,” he said at last. “We have to stop here, or risk being shot by the sentries.”
Kait came to a halt with the rest of the small band, and sniffed the air. She smelled the village ahead, the scents carried lightly on the breeze. Along with unmistakable odors of human habitation—composting human waste, cookfires, sweat, and domestic animals—she smelled flowers, overripe fruit, and the rich sweetness of caberra incense.
“Hayan, etto burebban baya a tebbo,”
Ian called into the darkness.
Ian called into the darkness.
They waited. Kait listened, Karnee senses straining for the sound of the sentry, but she heard nothing. She could not smell his position either, though they had approached the village from downwind.
“I don’t think anyone is watching,” she said when they had stood in the darkness for a long time with no response.
“They’re watching,” Ian said. “They’re always watching.”
A cool breeze moved through the treetops, and Kait suddenly realized he was right. She didn’t smell humans, but she smelled . . . something. And she could feel eyes watching her in the darkness—eyes as sharp and wary as her own.
A shrill, high-pitched voice directly over her head trilled,
“Hayatto tebbo nan reet. Bey hetabbey?”
“Hayatto tebbo nan reet. Bey hetabbey?”
Kait jumped, startled by how close the sentry was. Nothing had managed to get so close to her without her knowledge since . . . she couldn’t recall a time when anyone had gotten so far inside her defenses. The sentry wasn’t human, but that didn’t excuse her carelessness.
Ian said,
“Ian Draclas, ube reet.”
“Ian Draclas, ube reet.”
“Hat atty.”
“The sentry says to go ahead. They know me here. Don’t put your hands near your weapons as you go toward the village, though, or do anything that looks threatening. Some of them will be following us all the way in.”
“What are they?” Kait asked.
Ian shrugged. “They’re Scarred of some sort. Allies of the villagers here. I’ve never seen them; I don’t know what they look like or how the villagers came to reach an agreement with them. All I know about them is that they are deadly shots with the poisoned arrows they carry, and that they slaughtered more than a hundred men who attacked this village in the length of time it would take me to sit down. One instant the war party was charging forward, screaming, weapons raised, and the next instant every one of them had fallen to the ground, dead from the wounds of single arrows.”
No one spoke the rest of the way into the village, for fear of having some sound or movement mistaken as threatening.
Two men, both holding torches, waited for them at the village gate. They spoke Iberan, though with a heavy accent.
“We knowed you for to be coming,” one of them said. He was stout, middle-aged, his face laced with knife scars. His cloudy eyes squinted through the flickering light at them. “The old warrior, he telled us for to be watching for yourselves.”
“This is to being Ian Foldbrother, Father,” the other man said. “The old warrior was not to be saying Ian Foldbrother would come.”
“He never was saying who maybe to be coming. Only saying
someone,
and that the fire we was to be seeing last night was for being a sign.”
someone,
and that the fire we was to be seeing last night was for being a sign.”
“
Bad
sign, he saying.”
Bad
sign, he saying.”
“Bad sign,” Kait agreed under her breath. “It was that, for sure.”
“To be coming in, all of you,” the younger man said. “The old warrior is to be waiting.”
Some weary old village chief, Kait thought, had watched the sky and guessed the red beacon of the Mirror of Souls slashing through the night sky had portended trouble. And had warned the sentries and the villagers to be on the lookout for anyone it might stir up. Now they would go before him and try to convince him that they didn’t mean trouble. And after that—
Her mind was too tired to try to guess what would happen after that. She and Hasmal would have to try to get into Calimekka to find the Mirror, she supposed. They would likely get killed in the attempt, but they were going to have to make the attempt.
Meanwhile, she followed the old man, who, in spite of his near blindness, led them through the narrow streets of the tiny village with swift confidence. “To be following me,” he kept saying.
He stopped in front of a house that looked no different than any of the other houses. Whitewashed baked mudbrick walls, a roof thatched with bundled palmetto, windows covered with cloth mesh, a bamboo door that would keep out nothing but chickens or ducks . . . or goats, but only if they weren’t interested in getting in to begin with. The house smelled of caberra incense. And of something else. Something familiar, or perhaps someone familiar, though her mind refused to connect the smell with a name.
Their guide shouted into the house, “They are here! They are here, Foldbrother!”
She heard a softly muttered oath—but an Iberan oath, said in accentless Iberan—and the hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she braced herself.
In the next instant a face peered through the door, and face and name and scent all tumbled into one familiar picture, and the rest of the world fell away.
“Uncle Dùghall!” she shrieked, and burst past the old man and her traveling companions. She tore the flimsy door off its leather hinges in her haste, and threw her arms around the still-drowsy man who stood before her.
23
C
rispin still couldn’t believe his luck. The Galweighs of Galweigh House, invaded from within, had surrendered within moments of the landing of the airibles. Less than a station had passed since he had stepped out of the airible into his new House, and already he had claimed an apartment, sent the new Galweigh slaves to Sabir House, and sent both Anwyn and Andrew in search of whatever interesting treasures they could find within the House itself.
rispin still couldn’t believe his luck. The Galweighs of Galweigh House, invaded from within, had surrendered within moments of the landing of the airibles. Less than a station had passed since he had stepped out of the airible into his new House, and already he had claimed an apartment, sent the new Galweigh slaves to Sabir House, and sent both Anwyn and Andrew in search of whatever interesting treasures they could find within the House itself.
The Dragon’s voice in his head had spent much of the trip back to Calimekka telling him the other things he needed to do. Now he paced in his apartment, feeling the press of time at his back.
It is essential that you have a crowd around you,
the voice told him.
The moment you activate the Mirror, it will draw its magic from the lives of those within its reach. If you are alone, it will have no one else to draw on, and will draw from you and suck you dry. It has safeguards built in to protect the operator, but those safeguards are useless if you’re alone.
the voice told him.
The moment you activate the Mirror, it will draw its magic from the lives of those within its reach. If you are alone, it will have no one else to draw on, and will draw from you and suck you dry. It has safeguards built in to protect the operator, but those safeguards are useless if you’re alone.
How many people did he need? he asked. Ten? Twenty?
The more people around you, the more power you’ll draw into you, and the more godgifts you’ll receive. You don’t want ten. You don’t want a hundred. You want thousands—tens of thousands.
That was how Dragon magic—
kaiboten
—worked. All the books he’d read about it had been clear on that.
Kaiboten
was the magic of masses; it could draw power from everyone at once, not just from those few who had been specially prepared and offered as sacrifices. To the practitioner of
kaiboten,
all the world could become an unknowing, involuntary sacrifice.
kaiboten
—worked. All the books he’d read about it had been clear on that.
Kaiboten
was the magic of masses; it could draw power from everyone at once, not just from those few who had been specially prepared and offered as sacrifices. To the practitioner of
kaiboten,
all the world could become an unknowing, involuntary sacrifice.
And he was about to acquire the secrets of that ancient, wondrous magic. He needed someone who could give him the crowd he required, though.
A knock sounded on his door, and the servant stepped into the room. “Nomeni heo Tasslimi,” he said, and bowed.
Calimekka’s head parnissa, Nomeni heo Tasslimi, stepped into the room behind him. Nomeni had been Crispin’s instructor when he was young. The parnissa, a lean old hawk of a man, looked like he had come directly from his prayers; he breathed hard and still wore his parnissal robes, though the parnissas never wore the sacred robes into the streets.
“Crispin!” He smiled and patted his old student on the shoulder. “How odd it is to hear from you at this late hour, and how strange the circumstances: I had just been thinking of you. A rumor had already reached me of your . . . acquisition . . . of this fine House.” He glanced around the room, noted the glowing artifact sitting in the corner, and raised an eyebrow.
Crispin smiled. Nomeni had always maintained good sources, which was essential in his line of work. “I found treasure,” he said.
“So I see. I’ll hope that will be good news for the parnissery, too, of course. The generosity of the gods deserves commemoration with a suitable gift.”
“I have such a gift, I think. But only for you.” He nodded at the artifact. “That’s the Mirror of Souls.”
Nomeni’s shocked expression gratified Crispin, and he elaborated.
“It’s better than anyone could have imagined, Nomeni. It’s a wonder; the greatest of the Ancients’ creations.” He watched the old parnissa from the corner of his eye. “It can make men immortal and give them the powers of gods.” The old man’s eyes grew hungry at that, and Crispin smiled inwardly. He turned to the old man. “I want to be a god.”
“I’m old. I’m sick . . . I suspect that I’m dying. Will you give me immortality, too?”
Crispin nodded. “That’s why I asked you to come here. I won’t share this great power with everyone. Gods must have their subjects, after all. But two gods could share the vast world with little problem, don’t you think? The two of us . . . and eternity.”
The parnissa looked down at the floor and said softly, “I fear death. There is little peace for me in the thought of dying and being reborn, of struggling through helpless childhood again, of creating myself anew, of fighting my way back to power. I’m already where I want to be, doing what I want to do.” He looked at Crispin and said, “Tell me how I can help you.”
“At daybreak, call a holy day. Ring the summoning bells, require all businesses to close, and demand that the people gather in the great square to hear your prayers. Say you had . . .” Crispin shrugged. “I don’t know. Say you had an omen, or words from the gods, or something. Whatever you want. Just get as many people into the square as you can. The Mirror will draw its magic from them to give us life and power.”
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