Season of the Dragon, page 13
The Kovatha’s pointed stare made Quen achingly aware of the metal wrapped about her arms. The shackles’ chain looped through an iron hook affixed to the inside of the carriage at Imbica’s side. I’ll wait for her to fall asleep. She must sleep sometime. And then I’ll wrap this chain around her neck and…. But Imbica had said the lock on the shackles was magical. If Imbica dies, maybe then I can unlock the chains.
Quen weighed the pros and cons of attacking Imbica, but soon chased herself in a circle over it. She asked Imbica, “Where are you taking me?”
“To the place designated by the Dynasty for all Doj’Anira.”
“And what place is that?”
Imbica ignored her question.
When Quen attempted to speak again, the woman held up her hand and said, “Shh. Listen.”
There was only the sound of the wagon’s wheels rolling along the clay road and the gentle creaking of the wooden carriage. Imbica’s head was slightly tilted, her eyes closed. The wagon stopped.
“There,” she said. “Do you hear that?”
Quen heard nothing, but before she could answer, the horses shrieked. Her chest rumbled with the yindril’s low, mournful keening.
A now-familiar sound rose above the yindril’s dirge. A primordial sound.
The horses nickered. Somewhere close, fire crackled.
“Lumine’s teats, what now?”
A dark shadow flew over the wagon.
Quen sprang to her feet, ready to leap from the wagon and run. But Imbica held her by the lead.
The older woman searched the skies. When she glimpsed the fire-spitting beast, her mouth twisted into a shocked expression.
Imbica pulled the chain attached to the shackles and roughly yanked Quen from the wagon. The shadow swooped lower and headed toward them.
Imbica jerked Quen along as she put distance between themselves and the wagon. The yindril stood at the helm of the carriage, its long arms flailing, its grotesque mouth-hole sucking in and out.
“Get down from there,” Imbica called. But the yindril acted as though it didn’t hear her.
Dragon fire rained on the wagon, lighting the horses on fire. Trying to free themselves of their harnesses, the horses pranced and kicked. The wagon pitched as it rolled at the whim of the horses drawing it. Not knowing what to do, the yindril remained on the wagon bench, wailing its deep lament.
A tremendous roar followed a low grumble as fire erupted behind them. Imbica pulled Quen down a small embankment, and they ran through a ditch filled with weedy, knee-high grasses.
Quen didn’t need to gaze upward to know what bedeviled them. The dragon’s sulfurous odor assaulted her nostrils as fire rained from the sky and scorched the ground. The surrounding hills echoed with the creature’s thunderous screech.
Imbica looked back over her shoulder and stared, her mouth agape. “For the love of the Three, it cannot be.”
Quen didn’t want to look. The beast already haunted her dreams. She chanced a look backward, anyway.
This is the dragon of my nightmares. Its iridescent purple scales reflected the light of the fires it had started. Its eyes shone vibrant yellow, except one appeared partially closed. Is it possible I injured it with my dagger after all? She had convinced herself the whole thing had been a dream.
Its wings spread wide, and the creature glided effortlessly. The dragon gracefully turned, its long body undulating like a sand snake. It had legs like those of a giant lizard and claws like a winged bird of prey. Its jaw opened wide, rows of sharp teeth glistening. The dragon’s low rumble added to the yindril’s as fires burned in the beast’s gullet, ready to rain down on them.
Imbica’s voice was an astonished whisper. “It cannot be—a dragon?”
“But it is.” Quen added, “And it’s after me.”
Chapter 10
Nevara
Nevara had prophesied Quen would bring destruction wherever she went. Is this the terror the woman foretold?
“You spook animals, and a dragon is after you?” Imbica frowned while circling her arms. “You may prove to be more trouble than you are worth.”
She doesn’t realize how true that is. Quen’s neck ridge burned and ached. Is my shadow soul a Rajani like Nevara and gladdened by the sound of the dragon?
Imbica hurriedly looped the end of Quen’s chain around her belt. She thrust her hands at the circling dragon, flicking her wrists with such force they snapped. “Loa Hiyadi. Loa Vay’Nada.”
As best Quen could piece together, Imbica had called upon the god of fire, Hiyadi, and Vay’Nada, the Shadow. Drawing on the Shadow is dark magic. Pahpi and Dini would disapprove.
Imbica stood firm on stout legs and tiny feet, her round face concentrating fully on the dragon. “Sunginare di Naj.” She repeated this phrase quickly and repeatedly.
Quen recognized the word ‘Naj.’ It was the frozen form of Enara and something virtually unknown in the perpetual summer lands of the Sulmére. But the word ‘sunginare’ was familiar. Imbica used that word when she cast the horrid spell on me. It had made Quen feel as though fire filled her veins.
Blood. Sunginare must be blood. Blood of Ice. A cold spell indeed.
Imbica’s attempt to freeze the dragon’s fiery spirit didn’t work. The dragon didn’t falter.
Quen crouched behind Imbica, trying to stay out of the beast’s vision as if Imbica could shield her. Quen had no weapon to fight the dragon or its Rajani handler.
While her preternatural speed might give her a chance to outrun the beast, she was bound to Imbica. I’ll never escape pulling dead weight behind me. Quen considered calling on the gods. Her past attempt resulted in disaster, but prayer was the only thing she had.
Quen imitated Imbica as best she could. She wound her arms, but sensed no magical energy flowing to her. She repeated the words Imbica had said. Sunginare di Naj.
Nothing changed.
The dragon circled and bore down on them again.
All she could do was run. Quen scampered up the hill. The chain briefly caught, but she tapped her deepest reserves and dragged Imbica. She stumbled out of the ditch and set off toward a copse of squat, spiky trees. Imbica fell and yanked painfully on Quen’s wrists, forcing her to slow down.
Imbica let out a string of curses. “Stop, imbecile. The beast can outpace you. Our only chance is another volley.”
Quen panted and watched helplessly as the yindril, still at the wagon, caught fire. The wagon was soon a remnant, and the yindril keened no more.
Imbica recovered and thrust her hands up again, this time speaking different words. “Incanticle d’Hiyadi simir.” A spear of blazing white-hot flame materialized in Imbica’s hands. It was as though Hiyadi had placed a weapon forged from his own fires into Imbica’s grasp. She hurled the spear at the dragon.
The dragon reared back and screeched. Imbica’s magical weapon opened a gash in the dragon’s upper front leg, but the wound didn’t deter the beast. Its eyes opened wider, glistening orangey-yellow, and it bore down again.
The dragon swooped lower. As before when Quen had seen the dragon, someone clung to the dragon’s black mane. A cowl and mask obscured the rider’s face.
Quen pointed to the dark figure behind the dragon’s thick neck. “Look, a rider.”
Imbica ignored Quen and repeated her last incantation. She conjured another white-hot spear and hurled the magical weapon at the black-clad rider.
A woman cried out in agony. The dark figure slid from the dragon’s back but hung onto its silky mane with one hand. The rider scrambled onto the dragon’s back, and it turned.
With the dragon momentarily distracted, Quen set off again, running as quickly as she could. Imbica’s dead weight hindered her. “I could run more quickly if it weren’t for these shackles.”
Imbica panted behind her. “I will not cut you loose. The law requires that I deliver you to the Dynasty, and I will do my duty.”
Quen sighed, continued running, and avoided glancing behind. At first, it was quiet, save for their hard breathing and footfalls. Quen hoped Imbica’s last attack had injured the beast and its rider enough that they’d given up. Her hope was brief. Behind them, crackling fire set the spiky trees aflame.
“Stop running.” Imbica panted hard. “We must face this beast.”
I can’t face it. Not yet. She had no sword, staff, bow, or even a small blade. Her hands were bound, and her attempts to call the Corners proved futile.
But Imbica stood her ground. Having little food or sleep for days, Quen’s remaining reserves were exhausted. She couldn’t pull the woman against her will.
“I know I said Vaya di Menaris does not concern you, but I fear we won’t survive this attack without your help.”
Quen didn’t see how she could be of help to Imbica. The woman wielded magic far beyond what Quen had known existed. But I’ll try anything to survive this beast again. “What do you need me to do?”
“This is a fire dragon, so I must draw on Enara to weaken it. I want you to summon Enara’s power—”
Quen protested. “But I have no—”
Imbica jerked the chain harshly. “Do as I say, or so help me, I will throw you to the beast for its dinner.”
Imbica’s wild-eyed look of desperation left no doubt the woman would live up to her threat. Quen nodded.
“Menaris touches everyone’s soul, even if they do not know it. Now calm yourself. Search inward for what gives you strength.”
“I don’t know what gives me strength.” Lie. You know, but avoid it. Quen focused on the faint whisper of her Nixan soul.
Perhaps sensing that Quen had touched upon the source of her inner strength, Imbica said, “Yes, that’s it. Draw it to the fore. Put your hands like this.” Imbica demonstrated. “That is it. Now, gather your inner power and push it to me.”
Quen ignored the sweat dripping from her temples and closed her eyes. Her chest pounded with a double beat. Tharump-tharump.
“Do you have it?” Imbica’s voice sounded nearly panicked.
Quen kept her eyes closed, sure she’d lose concentration if she saw the danger headed for them. She nodded.
Imbica screamed, “Push, Doj’Anira! Drive your power to me.”
Quen was certain Imbica wouldn’t ask this of her if she knew a shadow soul, not Menaris, provided Quen’s inner strength. The dragon was coming for them. Her Nixan soul was their only hope.
Quen’s spine tingled, and the hairs on her neck and arms stood on end. She was cold, yet sweating. Raw power surged through her. Quen felt like she could sunder a boulder or rend Menauld beneath them. She’d never had this feeling before, and she wanted to keep all the energy she’d gathered.
But her arms shook, and as quickly as the feeling had come upon her, she feared she could hold it no longer. Using her hands as a funnel, Quen mustered all her intention and pushed the gathered power into her captor.
Quen’s legs wobbled and threatened to buckle. She was like a cup drained of drink. But Imbica looked ten years younger, her eyes radiant and refreshed.
Imbica swirled her arms again and hurled the crackling energy she’d gathered toward the dragon, now less than twenty paces away. She shouted at the flying beast. “Incanticle di Lumine simir.” Instead of launching a white-flamed spear at the dragon, she hit the rider square across the chest with an unseen but effective weapon.
The woman screamed and fell sideways. She didn’t snag herself in the dragon’s mane, and yelled, “Vahgrin!” as she fell.
Fortunately for the dragon’s passenger, the beast was close to the ground. The rider landed with a thud, but the impact didn’t kill her. “Vahgrin—ashta di Rajani,” she said.
Curling its body and swooping, the dragon scooped the rider into its mouth. That the dragon carried its rider gently in jaws that could easily have snapped her in two amazed Quen.
Vahgrin’s voice thundered. His sounds were a language, albeit a strange one made of long vowel sounds and tongue clicks. The sky in front of him wavered like heat rising from the dunes at midday. A swirling vortex of clouds formed in the previously clear sky. Vahgrin, the dark-clad rider still held gingerly in his great maw, flew into the gaping void. Though no storm threatened, the air smelled of lightning. As Vahgrin disappeared, the sky sounded as though it had been cleaved.
As suddenly as the sky had changed, it returned to its normal appearance. Vahgrin, the murderous dragon, and his Rajani were gone.
Quen should have been relieved she’d survived the attack. Instead, one word echoed in her mind, causing her chest to tighten. Rajani.
Rajani. That is how Nevara referred to herself in Santu’s Stand. Is that Nevara riding Vahgrin? The rider was tiny atop the magnificent beast’s back. With full dark approaching and the cowl, the passenger was in shadow, her features not discernable.
Vahgrin. Merely thinking the name brought a shudder. Nausea washed over her. Quen swallowed hard and instinctively drew herself into Still Waters.
Imbica stared at the sky where Vahgrin had been. She huffed, her hands on her hips. Dark circles edged her red-rimmed eyes, and her face was crimson and sweaty.
The chain hung loosely from Imbica’s belt. Exertion has drained her. Now is the time to attempt an escape. I could wrap the chain around her neck.
Quen imagined picking up the chain. It was nearly in her hand. She envisioned pulling the chain across Imbica’s throat, extinguishing the light in the woman’s eyes. I can find a smith to cut these shackles.
Yet Pahpi’s words echoed in her mind. ‘Blood on the hands forever scars the heart.’
Imbica didn’t turn to face her. “You will fail.”
Quen’s hesitation cost her the opportunity to escape. “Succeed at what?” Her voice came out squeaky.
“You wanted to use the chain to end me.” Her words were matter-of-fact.
“No.” Quen tittered. “Why would you say that?” She really wanted to ask what sorcery allowed the woman to read her mind? And can I also learn that magic?
Imbica turned. Her eyes were tired, her color pale. “Because it is what I would do.” She peered up, studying Quen’s bicolored eyes. “You harnessed considerable power for an uninitiated. No simple Sulmére dune flower.” Imbica squinted at Quen. “What are you?”
What kind of question is that? Especially coming from the woman who’d quoted law and taken her prisoner. In a far-away city she’d never visited, someone Quen had never met had decided Quen was subject to their whim. By extension, the Kovatha holding her chain, empowered by the Dynasty, held Quen’s life in her hands. Shouldn’t she be the one answering my questions?
“I’m Quen Tomo Santu di Sulmére. I’m a person, same as you.”
“No.” The Kovatha snorted. “We are not the same, you and I.” She looked over her shoulder toward the sky. “Rajani. You heard the rider say this, yes?”
Quen nodded.
Imbica narrowed her eyes again at Quen as though squinting at her would allow the Kovatha to see something beyond ordinary sight. “Perhaps you are Rajani.”
Ever since meeting Nevara, Quen had considered the possibility that she was Rajani, like the shapeshifting bird-woman. Hearing it from another’s lips gave the idea space to grow.
“I don’t think so. I mean, I should know it if I were, wouldn’t I?” She had the urge to rub the ridge on her neck. In truth, I don’t know what I am. I could be a Rajani. The idea made her queasy.
Imbica’s eyes softened a bit. “Perhaps.” She smoothed her tunic and pushed a few stray hairs from her face. “Or perhaps not. Like dragons, everyone thought Rajani had died off, too.”
Quen desperately wanted to know everything she could about Rajani—about the undesirable thing she feared she was becoming. She tried to sound nonchalant and hide her urgent need for answers. “What do you know of Rajani?”
Imbica shrugged. “Precious little. Legends claim Rajani are a form of Nixan, like slints, but intelligent. Able to move effortlessly between beast and human form. Some texts claim that before dragons existed, humans used Rajani as spies.” Imbica pulled the now-wrinkled cloth from her belt and wiped her sweat. She looked in the approximate direction they’d last seen Vahgrin before he disappeared into a rip in the sky.
“If Rajani are spies, why is one riding on a dragon?”
Imbica neatly folded her cloth, put it back on her belt, and smoothed her hair. “Other legends say that during the Dragos Teplo era, humans pressed Rajani into service as Dragomancers.” As if expecting Quen’s next question, she said, “Able to control dragons.”
Dragomancers. Things were beginning to make sense. The woman on the dragon’s back was giving Vahgrin commands. “But—”
Before Quen could ask another question, Imbica put her hand up. “This is all I know. It likely amounts to only collected gossip, tall tales, and speculation passed among the young impressionable students at the Pillar where I studied.” Imbica eyed Quen warily. “But for all I know, if they exist, you could be Rajani.”
Quen considered Imbica’s words. If I’m a Rajani, will I become a raven like Corvus? Imbica’s speculation contained a valuable nugget of information. Rajani were Dragomancers, able to command the most powerful creatures in the land. What if I allow myself to become Rajani? Could I then control Vahgrin? She wasn’t sure how things worked. Each new piece of information grew threefold questions.
Her most pressing question she gave voice to. “If I were Rajani, why would the dragon be trying to kill me?”
Imbica’s brow scrunched, and she rubbed her chin in thought. She shook her head. “These are mysteries beyond my ken. My masters are wiser than I. They’ll know something of this mark upon you—something beyond the understanding of Dynasty subjects or even Kovathas.” She tugged on the chain. “Come. We delay no longer. I will deliver you as my mandate requires.”
Quen followed as they returned to the awful sight of scorched soil and ghastly charred yindril and horses. The wagon had been overturned. Extreme heat melted the metal parts, and the lacquered wood gave off a strange aroma nearly as nauseating as the odor of scorched flesh and hair.
