Текст книги "Regent"

Автор книги: Brian Rathbone

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

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 woofwhen 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 slowlyand 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 histroops. 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.

Chapter 10

In a war with the mindless, there is no room for surrender or mercy.

– Enoch Giest

Straps pulled tight as Catrin fell back in the saddle, driven far into the seat by the force of Kyrien's launching himself into the air, colliding with Reaver, and ending up locked together with the massive feral dragon. Catrin found herself hanging, upside down, and flying over an army of demons that approached from the south, the air pressing her goggles back into her face. Spears flew at her, and she dodged them as best she could. Her left side remained firmly strapped in, but with every move, the right side of her harness loosened.

Reaver forced Kyrien low over the trees, and branches assaulted her. A stand of ancient pine rose above the canopy, and Reaver drove them toward it. Kyrien roared and Catrin felt his muscles bunching. Just before she struck the trees, Kyrien flexed and rolled, turning Reaver over and driving him into the trees. A terrible snapping resounded through the valley, and Catrin felt Reaver let go of Kyrien. Again she was driven into her seat as Kyrien climbed sharply. After cinching up the right side of the harness as best she could, she gripped the severed ends of the straps. It seemed a futile effort, but it was the only thing she could think of.

As Kyrien turned on a wingtip, Catrin caught sight of Reaver righting himself and slowly gaining altitude, as he did, he let out a terrifying roar that Catrin felt as much as heard. With little more than a quick mental warning, Kyrien tucked his wings and dived at Reaver, who roared again. Dropping like a stone, Catrin felt as if she would lose her stomach. Then she moved into the upper toeholds and gripped the horn with straining hands.

Brace!

Almost too late, Catrin prepared herself. With a terrible impact, Kyrien struck Reaver, who had rolled over and extended his claws just prior to the collision. The terrible sound of three sets of lungs being emptied of air echoed in the canyon. The world darkened as they plummeted from the sky, tangled together. In a haunting moment, Catrin wondered if she were dreaming. All around them flew dragons, which dived in close only to retreat. Just before she thought she would succumb to unconsciousness, Catrin lurched sideways, seeing another feral dragon reach in and pull Kyrien and Reaver apart. Immediately both dragons righted themselves, and still branches raked them before they could regain the air.

Kyrien stayed low and sped south of Lowerton. Edling's Wall marred the landscape, a brown and gray line that divided her homeland. The new gate was progress, but Catrin would prefer the Wall ceased to exist. Following the river as it broadened, Kyrien flew low over a waterfall that poured into a familiar lake. Catrin had no time to reminisce as Kyrien dived straight toward the lake surface, pulling up only when they were within the cloud of spray. One dark shape rose just above them and nearly clipped them; another climbed too late and struck the water at full speed, driving a wall of water before it. The backsplash sent water high enough to soak Catrin and Kyrien. Fortunately, Kyrien used his speed to get them clear.

In the reflection of the lake, Catrin saw dragons diving at them, and she looked up to see dozens ready to strike. Kyrien seemed to sense them, and just before the strikes came, he took sudden evasive action. Catrin thought she would be sick. His sudden moves unsettled her equilibrium. A loud crack sounded as another dragon struck the water, this one cartwheeling across the surface of the lake then landing flat and motionless in the shallows.

Dark columns of smoke choked the air, and Catrin cried out when she saw her old family farm burning to the ground. Everywhere was the same: smoke, fire, and nothing alive but demons. Kyrien suddenly climbed as the sound of ballistae firing rang out. Catrin tried to figure out how the demons could have so quickly replicated the weapons used against them, but as they moved toward Harborton, it became clear that the demons and dragons were not working alone. Greasy, black ships clogged the harbor, and men in equally dark armor laid siege to the Masterhouse. All of Harborton burned. This was not as much an invasion as it was extermination.

The taste of bile filled Catrin's mouth as Kyrien turned sharply again but not fast enough. A massive ballista bolt struck Catrin's saddle and smacked into her side before she knocked it away. The air pressure around her changed, and Catrin turned to see the jaws of a feral dragon about to close around her. She could feel the heat of its breath as it soared ever closer. Once again the sound of a ballista firing filled the air. Kyrien turned, dived, and pulled up sharply, using his head and neck to drive the other dragon into the path of the approaching bolt. It struck with a wet thunk,and Kyrien peeled away before the other could entangle him in its death fall.

Seeing the armada that choked the harbor, including ships armed with ballistae and other weapons Catrin didn't recognize, she urged Kyrien to go back north toward Dragonhold. It had all happened so fast that Catrin could hardly believe it. Even the return north was faster than she would have imagined as Kyrien used every trick he knew to gain speed. Always behind them came darkness on wings. Not far from Dragonhold, Kyrien climbed and gave Catrin a view of the Pinook and Chinawpa Valleys, her home contained within the range of mountains that divided the two. She almost cried when she saw Lowerton being utterly destroyed. The demons climbed the stair while their giants held a barrier of lashed tree trunks over their heads, protecting them.

In the Chinawpa Valley, hordes of demons built an assault ramp leading toward the back entrance of Dragonhold. Catrin let out a cheer when she saw those within the hold fighting back. With a tremendous noise, the mighty, wooden stair and framework pulled free from the mountainside, using the failsafe mechanism Martik had designed. It was terrifying to see something that had seemed so permanent suddenly come tumbling down, taking the demons and giants with it. Elation turned to horror when Kyrien climbed toward an unnatural-looking cloud that hung over Dragonhold. Below, gaping holes in the landscape looked as if a god had been trying to tear the mountain apart. Enormous holes plunged to unknowable depths where Catrin was certain there had been solid rock only a short while ago.

Light glinted from newly exposed fields of massive crystals that jutted up through rifts in the rock and soil. She caught only a brief glimpse before a huge shape burst from the dust cloud and slammed into them. Another dragon struck them from behind, and again Catrin experienced the terrifying feeling of falling.

Kyrien managed to break himself free of Death's grasp, and Catrin was whipped side to side then pressed deep into the creaking saddle as they climbed. Kyrien's flight wobbled and Catrin could see gashes on his neck and upper breast. From her vantage point, she could not see his belly or hindquarters, but she suspected he had injuries there as well. Gaining altitude, Kyrien dived in and out of the clouds, more than a dozen ferals giving chase. Their serpentine movements belied flight, and they appeared to be swimming in the air rather than flying through it.

It became very apparent that ferals were not mindless creatures and that they were not acting independently. Something was orchestrating their movements, and Catrin shivered at the thought. Not since Archmaster Belegra had she faced the power of slavery and coercion, and that was what the dragons' actions seemed like: the result of coercion. She could feel their anger and hatred; it did not seem directed at her and Kyrien, but that did little to keep them from taking it out on them.

Dark shapes moved within the clouds, never really giving Catrin a clear view until an entire formation of ferals suddenly dropped through the clouds at the same time, creating what was effectively a giant net that forced Kyrien down and into the open once again. Tucking his wings, he dived, and Catrin watched the mountains disappear behind them. The Arghast Desert lay ahead. There, she knew, would be massive thermals rising from the desert sands, and Kyrien could use those to gain altitude once again, but he continued to dive.

Soon Catrin saw what he was aiming for; near the head of the Pinook Valley, a small fire blazed, and around it stood more than a dozen men in black robes. Hatred rolled from them like rippling waves of heat, and Catrin recoiled. Kyrien extended his wings just a little, causing a rushing sound as he pulled up and reached out for one of the robed figures. Amorphous gouts of darkness leaped from the hands of the assassins, as Catrin knew they were. These monsters were here to kill her and everyone she loved. Using her sword as a focal point, she cast a violent burst of energy into their midst, hoping it would incinerate them all, only a small and lightning-quick feral dived into the narrow space between Catrin and the assassins and took the brunt of the blow. With a sickening crack, the dragon fell, struck stone, and would rise no more. It was but one of many, and malevolent force concussed the sky, like explosions of pure night.

Leaning heavily to one side, Catrin recovered from another thunderous concussion that erupted not far from her head. Kyrien tucked and dipped down to soar low over the sands, stirring a roiling dust cloud in his wake and pulling up only when Catrin saw riders approaching from deep in the desert. A sizable group of Arghast tribesmen approached, and their battle calls lifted Catrin's spirits if only for an instant.

The tribesman launched their spears into the air. Catrin turned in the saddle to see a few spears hit their marks, but the ferals shrugged them off as if they were little more than bug bites. It was then that the dragons turned their anger on the Arghast. Catrin cried out for them to retreat, but Kyrien left her no time to see what happened next. Pumping his powerful wings and riding on the overheated air, he thrust them back into the clouds.

Whether by luck or by Kyrien's design-Catrin wasn't certain-for a brief time, they dipped beneath the clouds. Below them, amid towering peaks, lay a lush, green oasis, the air above it alive with birds. When Catrin had struck the well, this was what she had hoped would happen, but actually seeing it exceeded her expectations. It was beautiful. That vision sustained her during what seemed an endless flight. Despite her urgings, Kyrien would not respond to her. His flight was direct, his path unerring, yet she had no idea where they were going or how long the journey would take. Her heart yearned for her husband and son, but they were lost to her. The pain was almost more than she could bear.

Catrin let the straps hold her in place as her mind wandered aimlessly without direction or reason. She was exhausted and allowed herself to doze off in the saddle. Some time later, Catrin woke, soaked and freezing. The gray mist that surrounded them was an ever-changing landscape. Where the air became thicker, Kyrien would suddenly rise higher, and where it thinned, he would drop. It was an uneasy feeling. Catrin had done what she could to shore up the weakness. When the air tossed Kyrien in a certain way, she was sure she would be torn from his back, but the straps held firm despite the two that had been cut. It was during those times that she came back to herself, drifting out of the half sleep long enough to try to communicate with Kyrien. His continued silence worried Catrin as much as anything else, though she had worry aplenty.

The fate of those within Dragonhold weighed heavily on her mind along with the fate of the Arghast and even that of those south of Edling's wall. Despite their disagreements, she wished them no ill, especially not the likes of which was now taking place. There was little doubt that Master Edling wanted Catrin dead, but she did not reciprocate. While she wanted to see him fall from power and be forced to live like those he oppressed, she did not wish him dead.

The sight of the assassins had raised her fury like nothing else. Those people had tried to kill Sinjin twice already, and they had nearly killed Durin in the process. Someone was behind this evil, and Catrin burned to know who and why. For most of her life, she'd been misunderstood, thought to be a mighty hero or the basest devil, but she was neither of those things. She was just a wife and mother who happened to have access to Istra's power. Certainly she had abilities that no other could claim, but those powers did not make her invincible, nor did they make her wise; they simply gave her the ability to do things that could not be undone, and with that came tremendous responsibility. Most of the time, it seemed the wisest thing to do with her power was nothing. For years she had concentrated on preparing Dragonhold, and she had failed; those within were doomed. She tried not to think about it. It was simply too painful to imagine.

Now when the greatest need she'd ever known had arisen, she was mostly powerless against the forces that sought to wipe her people out. Even the attacks she could launch lacked real power and accuracy. The darkness the assassins controlled was devastating, and Catrin knew she would need to learn a great deal in a hurry. The problem was that she had tried before and had made absolutely no progress. Her dragon ore carving had given her access to more power, but Koe was back within Dragonhold. The Staff of Life rested in the Grove of the Elders, possibly already in the hands of the demons. She'd been such a fool.

Cupping her hands, she collected moisture from the surrounding air until she had enough to quench her thirst. It amazed her that she could be so wet and still be so thirsty. It didn't quite make sense, but her mind was addled. Bright sunlight assaulted her eyes as the clouds suddenly dissipated. Desperately Catrin searched the skies around her for ferals, but she saw nothing but clear skies and occasional fluffy white clouds. The comets, though hidden, flooded the air with energy, and Catrin reveled in being beneath the open sky. She didn't know how long she and Kyrien had been flying, but she had the hunger of days without food, and she thought she might pass out.

On the horizon rose a smudge of darkness. Catrin quailed at first, but then she recognized the shape of a volcano protruding from the sea. Clouds gathered around its peak, but no smoke or lava could be seen. Kyrien glided closer and, as if reading Catrin's mind, landed on the black beaches south of the volcano, where a string of tiny islands waited. From the air, Catrin had seen whales and other large marine creatures. There should be plenty of food to be found, she thought, though by the size of some of the shadowy forms in the water, she would need to be careful not to end up food for something else.

Desperation and grief made the sunny day seem disrespectful. The sudden shock of icy cold water brought her fully alert, and she panicked, afraid she would drown while still attached to Kyrien by harness and saddle. Kyrien, though he did not communicate with her, obviously knew this and moved to the black sands. After unbuckling straps that were now cinched tightly took longer than Catrin would have thought, but she eventually wriggled free.

Light surf caressed the shoreline with more of a murmur than the roar Catrin recalled from the coast of the Godfist. A warm wind blew from the far side of the island, and the smell of brine was heavy in the air, its saltiness somehow refreshing despite its tang. Orange crabs with white bellies skittered along the black sands, holding their one massive claw up high, their pointed legs leaving scroll marks in the sand.

Along the horizon nothing could be seen but occasional whitecaps, and Catrin had no idea where they were. When she looked inland, Catrin saw steam rising from what looked like a giant wound in the landscape. Like claw marks, a series of glowing gashes marred the otherwise seamless black stone. The air above them shimmered, and jets of steam issued forth at regular intervals. Catrin backed away, unable to bear the waves of heat that radiated from the massive claw marks. Memories of an erupting volcano and the nagging feeling the gashes had been created by a giant monster made Catrin look over her shoulder more than once.

She found Kyrien sunning himself in a field of stone that looked almost liquid with its ridges and swirls. Catrin feared it would sink under her boots, but it proved solid. With his wings extended, Kyrien's many wounds were exposed. Seeing his flesh rent repeatedly and places where scales were missing brought tears to Catrin's eyes. Many new gashes ran alongside old scars, and some crisscrossed, making his hide look like old leather with only patches of scales.

Ignoring her own needs, Catrin laid her hands on Kyrien, hoping to ease his pain. The energy here felt pure and uncluttered, and Catrin drew deeply. Her vision swam, her legs trembled, and her knees buckled. She would have struck the stone hard had it not been for Kyrien, whose muzzle supported her. Many would have been terrified to be so close to his daggerlike, curved teeth, but Catrin knew he would never hurt her. He had once carried her in those jaws and had been as gentle as if she were his child. She had no fear of him, despite his looking like a giant snake made of moss-covered stone. His membranous wings and stout legs capped with claws that looked like they had been carved of solid marble added to his formidable appearance. His green-flecked gold eyes seemed incapable of conveying warmth, yet she could feel how much he cared for her.