Destruction's Ascent, page 5
part #3 of Dragon Ridden Chronicles Series
She tilted her head with a frown. It looked like a mirror, the frame heavy and ornate, with symbols carved along its edges. The mirror itself looked like liquid silver, soft colors floating across its surface every few minutes.
"And you think it's not part of the current network?" Grimsly asked, his voice filled with a hushed anticipation. "That's an unusual assertion."
Thora stood back and studied it with an intent expression. "I'm still working through all the possibilities."
"What network?" Tate asked. "What is it?"
"The Saviors created five of these. Each linked to the other. At least, that we've found so far." Grimsly's face was alight with zeal as he explained.
"We believe they were used to communicate over large distances," Thora said, his expression distracted.
"Like the mirrors?" Tate asked. The ones she knew of were much smaller than this and were fairly plentiful. Most families who could afford it, had one.
"Those were created based off the ancients’ work, but we've never managed to get them quite right. The current mirrors are restricted to short distances—a few miles at most. The ancients could communicate across continents," Thora explained.
"Handy." She could think of all sorts of practical applications for such a device.
"We've uncovered them all over Aurelia," Grimsly said from his spot next to the mirror. He leaned closer, setting one hand on the side of it as he spoke. He ran his fingers across the symbols. "They're interconnected, but from what I've read in Lord Thora's notes, this one doesn't function the same way. Lord Thora's theory is that it's on a separate thread."
"No touching," Thora cautioned with a frown. "We don't know what it’s capable of yet.”
Grimsly jerked back with an apologetic look. "Of course, I don't know what came over me."
Thora made a sound very like a harrumph, giving him a suspicious look before gesturing him to follow. "I have some additional notes. You might as well look them over now, so I don't have to waste time sending them down later." To Tate, he said, "Stay here and don't touch anything until I return."
Tate nodded, a gesture lost on Thora as he'd already turned away, Grimsly at his heels. Alone, she drifted closer to the mirror, its symbols whispering to forgotten memories. She peered closer, noticing the way the symbols were lined up.
Words floated at the back of her mind, teasing her. She'd encountered these symbols before. They made up a language that floated just out of reach—recognizable and yet strange at the same time.
It seemed so familiar, calling to her from a past shrouded in shadows. She couldn’t help but wonder at its purpose. She knew what Grimsly and Thora had said, but somehow their explanation just didn’t fit. The other mirrors she'd seen were no bigger than her palm, the biggest about the size of her head. This thing was taller than Tate.
Why would they make something so unnecessarily big? Perhaps the other mirrors that could span continents were a similar size.
Still, something nagged at her, telling her it had a different purpose—that same instinct she’d encountered around other relics from the same era. She had some tie with that piece of history and the legacy left behind but had yet to put all the pieces together. If Brown Eyes was to be believed, her existence began when this thing had been created. It was a hard thing to believe when she felt so anchored in this time and place.
Something glimmered in the very depths of the mirror, drawing her closer as she tried to see its shape. She leaned in, resisting the urge to steady herself against the frame. She'd caused relics to react strangely before. She didn't want to risk anything happening here.
Strange. The shape in the mirror was blurred, its edges indistinct. She moved, frowning as the object in the mirror didn't follow her motion. Not a reflection then.
She began to straighten. The ground shook under her, bucking and heaving as the room shivered and trembled, the items in their glass cases creating a racket. She stumbled into the mirror, one hand reaching out to keep it, and her, from falling. A spark jumped from it to her as the earth's trembles abated. One of the rhombuses on her wrist stretched a silver filament out to the frame before she could jerk back out of reach. Her wrist stung as she wrenched it away.
One of the symbols along the mirror’s edge glowed an azure blue, its shape shifting and sliding into a new formation.
"Another earthquake." Thora sounded grumpy as he bustled around the room checking on his trinkets.
"That's the third one this month," Grimsly said, looking around as if afraid the room would tumble down around him at any moment.
Before Tate’s eyes, the mirror swirled, its silver surface rippling, the colors that had danced in its depths draining away until it turned the color of the darkest night.
"I told you not to touch anything." Thora's strident voice came from behind her.
Tate stepped away from the mirror, her expression guilty as the two men rushed toward her. Thora looked thunderous while Grimsly looked excited.
"I didn't touch it," she denied.
"You broke it," Thora accused, his eye going from the dark mirror to Tate.
"I didn't break it," Tate said. At least she didn't think she had broken it.
"My lord," Grimsly started.
"I told you not to touch it and you did. Do you disregard all orders given to you, Lady Fisher? Do you think you're special—that the rules don't apply to you?"
Tate winced, knowing she didn't have a good defense on this one. She shouldn't have gotten as close as she did. She should have listened, but as usual, when her faulty memories raised their ugly head, she got caught up, forgetting about anything else. It had gotten her in trouble in the past.
Before she could apologize, Grimsly shouted, his voice filled with fear as he backed away, bumping into Tate.
"Grimsly, what's gotten into you?" Thora asked in an irritated voice as he switched his attention to the other man.
Grimsly didn’t answer, his eyes locked on the mirror. Tate stepped to the side to get a better look, her expression arrested as the surface rippled, flashing like lightning was trapped in its depths. It bulged, splitting to reveal a furred hand tipped in claws. Tate grabbed Grimsly's shoulder and backed away, drawing him with her.
She had a bad feeling that originated from whatever was trying to come out of that mirror. She felt the need to put a little distance between it and her. Thora stayed motionless, his earlier anger forgotten as he watched the creature pull itself from the mirror's depths.
It towered above them by over a foot. Its shape was humanoid as it stood on two feet, but its knees were bent backwards. Its arms hung longer than any human’s, and its spine was twisted so it hunched slightly over. Red eyes fixed on them in an elongated face containing a snout and a mouthful of fangs. The being was very obviously male, and though he walked upright, he didn't wear clothes.
"I guess that's why the mirror is so big," Tate observed. She stepped in front of Grimsly, who shook with fear. She pulled her blades from her belt, one for each hand. She doubted they'd do much good against that thing. Its reach was twice hers, but she didn't plan to lay down and die.
"Ilith, you got any suggestions?" she asked her dragon in a low voice.
The tattoo shivered and then suddenly Ilith was there, crouched in her mind and using her senses. Feydor. Very nasty. Don't let it scratch or bite you.
"Poison?"
There was a feeling of hesitation as the dragon thought. Unclean. Very hard to treat.
Good enough for Tate. Don't let the nasty thing scratch or bite her and don't let it out of the room. Easy peasy.
She tensed as it stepped forward, a strange sound building in its throat—a cross between a growl and a hiss. It was like nothing Tate had heard before, its wrongness a tangible thing.
A sudden roar filled the room, something felt as well as heard. It was a sound designed to leave no doubt as to who was top of the food chain—and it wasn’t them. Thora stepped in front of the two of them, his face crinkled in a snarl giving no doubt who had voiced that roar, as he faced the monster. The creature dropped its head and gave its own roar. Thora gave a second roar in response, no less intimidating than his first.
The feydor dropped to all fours and leapt forward, dodging nimbly out of Thora's reach as he charged to meet him. Thora was quick, but the monster was quicker, its movements powerful as if someone had replaced its bones with springs.
Tate dragged Grimsly away, judging Thora to be better equipped to handle the beast. That thing would make mincemeat of the two of them if given half a chance. The movement drew its notice—the creature's eyes fixing on them. It let out an eerie warbling sound and bounded after them.
"Shit," she snapped. She pushed the other man in front of her, forcing him toward the door. If he made it out, he could at least bar the creature inside with them. It might provide safety for a short time.
She turned to face the monster, telling Grimsly, "Run."
She didn't wait to see if he complied, racing at the beast. She threw one dagger, the small weapon flying through the air and embedding itself in the creature's shoulder. The wound had little effect as the beast's long gait ate up the ground, its red eyes fixed on her. Its muscles bunched, and it leapt. Tate was in a full sprint toward it at this point and dropped to her knees, sliding under its body as it sailed over her. She popped to her feet, slashing at the creature’s back as it landed, before she danced away from its slashing claws.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grimsly disappear through the door. Relief that the other man was out of harm's way was brief as she focused back on the problem at hand. He might have been safe, but she was not. She'd lost track of Thora and had no idea if he was wounded or just sitting back and watching. Either way, she didn't have time to check on him.
She backed away an inch at a time as the creature sniffed the air, its nostrils flaring. Another peculiar sound built in its chest as it stalked her with measured steps.
"Nice creature. You don't want to hurt me, and I don't want to hurt you," she said as she moved back. A black substance oozed out of its shoulder where her blade was buried, giving lie to her words. "Well, no more than I already have."
It made a crackling sound, saliva dripping from its fangs. No intelligence shown in those eyes, just hunger and rage. Tate didn't think it was likely to listen to reason.
Tate backed into a table. The creature darted forward. Tate gave ground, sliding under the table just as it jumped on top. Its head appeared over the edge as she inched away, a wall at her back. There was nowhere to go as it followed her from above, shadowing her movements. One arm darted down, claws flared, narrowly missing her leg as she rolled out of the way. It moved a few feet down and swiped at her again.
It was playing with her, like a cat with a mouse. Tate rocked side to side on her back, squirming her way down the table, avoiding its jabs.
She waited for the right moment. There. Her dagger flashed, black dripping on the ground as an ululating wail came from above her. The table buckled as the creature leapt down, tired of its game.
Damn. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea after all.
She watched with wide eyes as it slunk closer. "Ilith, can you kill this thing?"
They didn't stand a chance with Tate at the helm. Ilith's tail thrashed from side to side as she crouched in Tate's mind, paws tucked under her as she used Tate's senses to watch the creature draw closer, its fetid breath almost making Tate gag.
Not enough time. It'd take too long to switch.
She'd suspected as much. Ilith and she had only changed forms twice and neither time had been fast. Tate didn't want to take the chance now. They could be left defenseless between the two forms—easy prey for the monster. With the wall at her back, there was nowhere to go, no other choice but to face the creature.
She reached into her boot and drew another blade. At least she'd make a good show of it.
"Come on then." She lashed out, trying to draw it closer.
It batted at her, missing by the slimmest of margins, its fur brushing against her hand. She reversed her strike, drawing dark blood in a long line across its arm. A hiss came as it lost patience and gathered itself to attack. One paw lashed out, snagging a piece of her trousers and pulling her toward it. She kicked at it to no avail as she slid out of the table's dubious protection.
Its fangs came for her throat even as she slashed at it, her blades doing nothing to discourage it. It was like he didn't even notice the paltry weapon as she waved it in his face. She screamed as his claws pressed against her stomach, the pressure pushing the breath out as a rib cracked. She pushed through the pain, knowing if she didn't she'd be dead in seconds.
Her wrist tingled, the rhombus pattern on it spinning. A long silver filament snapped out, wrapping around the beast's snout. It reared back, both hands going to its nose as it tried to force the silver noose off it.
Tate took advantage of the unexpected chance, plunging her blade into any defenseless spot she could find. It did little good, the blade cutting her as it bounced off the monster's thick, scaly hide. Its mortal spots were protected and difficult to penetrate with her puny daggers. Giving up on killing it, she rolled to her feet and broke away while she had this slim chance.
She was just in time as the creature got its fingers between the wire and its jaws, ripping at it. The silver broke, falling to the ground. Freed, the creature’s head turned until it focused on Tate, its red eyes enraged. She backed away, knowing her time was limited.
It leapt; she stepped to meet it, already slashing out. At the same time, a dark, winged shadow tackled it from the side, the two crashing into several tables. Tate stared at the empty space it had occupied moments before, unable to believe the reprieve she'd just been given. She'd thought her number was up.
She touched her stomach, shocked when she came away with no blood. How was that possible? She yanked up her shirt. Smooth flesh greeted her eyes. Silver was fading from the area, sucked back into her skin even as she watched.
Tate didn't know what to think as the sound of battle drew her attention. The two creatures skirmished—her savior dwarfing her attacker and taking up a good portion of the room as its big body laid waste to the glass cases. A silver dragon with eyes of the brightest blue and a face full of rage bit its smaller opponent's neck, ruthlessly bearing down with the entire strength of its jaw. There was a sharp sound of pain from the feydor before the great dragon shook its head hard, its prey flopping about like a marionette with the strings cut. With one last shake, the dragon opened his mouth and spat the monster out. It hit the hard floor with a thud, lying limp and unmoving as black blood spread on the ground under it.
The dragon snorted at the feydor before lifting a paw and nudging it. The dragon cocked its head, hooking one claw under an arm and lifting it before letting it fall back to the ground. Satisfied its foe was dead, the dragon lifted its head, piercing Tate with a gaze every bit as intelligent as a human's.
Tate gulped but didn't back away. Showing fear to a predator—especially one of this size and ferocity—never ended well. She just hoped the dragon wasn't hungry and in the mood for two-legged prey.
Ilith made a trilling sound of approval before shoving forward in Tate's mind until it felt like there were two beings trapped in a tight space. It wasn't necessarily a comfortable sensation, sharing her mind and body with another, but she'd grown used to it in the time since learning of Ilith's presence.
It would be hard to describe the experience to an outsider. It was like Tate's mind consisted of rooms; for the most part, she was in a room by herself—one that was perfectly sized for her consciousness, not too big or too little. She could hear Ilith and see her, but they were separated by invisible walls that preserved their sanity.
When Ilith pulled her little melding trick, the rooms became one—a small, cramped space where you were always elbowing the other. It meant they were forced to mingle their core selves, their minds nearly meshing. Thoughts could become tangled, and Tate wasn't always sure whether an idea originated from her or her dragon. It was enough to drive a person mad, and it was easy to see how dragon-ridden of the past went crazy if they held such a state for very long.
Ilith/Tate stared up at the dragon as it padded over to her—its great body moving in a sinuous glide, its head snaking down until one eye peered at her.
Little queen, you have been gone a long time, the dragon's voice boomed in Ilith/Tate's mind—the sound at once painful and welcome.
If Ilith made some answer, Tate didn't hear it. After a beat, the dragon above her lowered its head and nudged her gently with the side of his jaw, a rumbling sound issuing from its chest. Ilith faded back, leaving Tate standing next to a dragon's fang-filled mouth as it made a noise very like a purr. Tate held very still as it rubbed its cheek against her, almost losing her balance because of its great strength.
She kept her hands at her side, not wanting to accidentally incite an attack—even as her fingers twitched with the urge to pet the scaled skin to see if it was as soft as it looked. His head retreated as he curled his legs under him and rose, looming high above her. If she stood on her tippy toes and stretched as tall as she could, she wouldn't even be able to brush against his chin. His belly, maybe—if she added a slight hop.
He shook his head as he ambled through the room, glass crunching under his paws. Tate trailed after him, cautiously keeping a huge gap between the two of them in case he changed his mind and decided she'd make for a tasty treat. Not that it would do much good. He could reach her from any place in the room with a single bound. She chanced a glance at the door, noting it was closed. If Grimsly had any sense, he would have barred it before going to recruit the person with the biggest weapon to this fight.
Thora's dragon seemed to have lost interest in her, nudging and pawing at a few objects on the ground before moving along. Now that she wasn't in imminent peril of being eaten, she took the time to study the dragon, fascinated and wondering if this was what she and Ilith looked like.
Before, she'd only got an impression of a silver being, now she saw that while he was covered in silver, there were blue edges along his scales, creating just the faintest hint of a pattern. His wings were furled, but she could tell from their size that if he were to spread them, they would stretch from one end of the room to the other—an impressive feat in a space of this size. Silver and blue horns curled back from his head above soft-looking strands that almost looked like a mane. A ridge of sharp spikes ran down the length of his back and onto a tail that was nearly as long as his body.
