Dragonhold (Book 2) (19 page)

Catrin smiled. It was such a wonderful thing, Pelivor lamented its rarity.

Kyrien launched himself into the air without warning, and Pelivor held on with white knuckles. In spite of all the time he had spent on airships and his skills as a flightmaster, there was nothing that compared to the powerful thrusts of a dragon's wings. Leaving the Godfist was bittersweet, knowing those who stayed within Dragonhold to serve them were now left behind. It was not without purpose, but he felt empty, hollow, and sad. Catrin felt much the same. Both were driven to save them all, even though both knew it was beyond them. The way was rarely clear nor the path easy.

Using their combined knowledge and skills, Catrin, Pelivor, and Kyrien raced through the skies at speeds never before seen. Roiling mists erupted behind as the dragon showed off, dragging his claws along the water and leaving rainbows in the air. Once again, they were free.

* * *

What Emmon lacked in spark, Gret made up for in fire and spark. It was plain to see. Even Emmon seemed to sense it. He gave the girl as wide a berth as Nora would allow. Neither of these two was accustomed to life on a ship, and they would be made uncomfortable many times to come.

"Build a fire, Emmon," Nora said. The boy looked at her as if he would ask an inane question but then thought better of it. She supposed he thought it was a test, which was good since it was. Gret risked making eye contact and shook her head. "He's a good kid," Nora said when Emmon was out of earshot gathering wood.

Gret just grunted in response. "Didn't you say we needed a clear area?"

"I did."

After looking around, Gret glanced back to Nora with a somewhat sarcastic question in her eyes.

"Yes. This spot will do nicely . . . but not yet. We've other business to attend to first. Chances are we'll want to leave in a hurry when we're done."

Gret rolled her eyes, which pleased Nora; she needed to test the girl's temper in a controlled environment. Selecting someone with the wrong temperament could be disastrous.

When Emmon returned, he carried a few pieces of dead wood, some dried leaves and couple of rocks. It really didn't look all that promising, but Nora wasn't giving up on him yet. To his credit, the boy started with some dry wood fiber he'd pulled from somewhere, and he placed small sticks and leaves around it, leaving the larger pieces of wood off to one side. Given the dampness in the air, he had a difficult road ahead, but he seemed determined, which was a good sign. In many ways, this was more a test of character than fire-making skills. Nora fingered the tinderbox in her pocket while Emmon smacked two rocks together, trying to generate enough spark to ignite the fibers.

Gret rolled her eyes. Still, Emmon tried. Harder and harder, he smacked the stones together, occasionally sending small sparks where he needed them but not enough to catch. His face reddening from the effort and the embarrassment, he smacked harder and pinched his thumb. Clearly in pain, the boy did not stop, now determined not to let his ego be so crushed, in spite of the tears that ran down his cheeks. Even Gret seemed to take pity on the boy. Staring at the shavings, she looked as if her thoughts were far away. Nora watched closely, her test working even more brilliantly than even she'd intended. A spark flew, landing on the fibers and glowing orange for an instant. Looking as if it would wink out, just as the others did, it nonetheless held on, Gret's eyes never leaving it. Smoke, first just a trickle then more, leaked from around the now growing glow. Emmon blew softly, and the orange glow winked out for a moment before coming back even brighter. Soon he was adding larger and larger pieces to the fire.

"Well done," Nora said. Gret nodded just the slightest bit. Emmon went into the woods, presumably to gather more wood and perhaps to compose himself. There would come a time for kindness between them, but she also needed to harden him some. He was too fragile. Experiences such as these would give him practice and pride. No matter what folks said about her offspring, Nora Trell had not raised soft children. Yet somehow, fostering other people's soft children was her lot in life. At least she'd had practice, she thought with a sigh.

"Are we waiting for something?" Gret asked. Her voice was respectful, which was the only reason Nora answered.

"Yes."

No more words were said, which was just how Nora wanted it. Soon these two would know their places and would be better prepared to fit in on her ship. What might seem callous or cruel was for a reason and toward their ultimate benefit as well as her own.

Frequently looking over his shoulder, Emmon returned with a small armload of twigs. From within the forest came a deep melody, almost indistinguishable at first but growing clearer and louder over time. Nora smiled. She hadn't been certain her friend would come, and hearing his voice did her good.

"Greetings, landfriend," said a deep voice. Emmon looked ready to flee, while Gret took on a defensive posture. The girl had potential.

"Greetings, friend Veterbas."

"Always you must come back to land," the burly man said. He was tall and round, but none of his girth was fat. There were few men Nora would wager could defeat the druid in a fair fight, if there even was such a thing. She doubted it. "You claim to be a creature of the sea, and yet here you are again."

Knowing he enjoyed this part very much, she let the man have his fun. What he said contained a grain of truth; never could she completely sever her ties with land.

"But it's the trees you need, I suspect, and not dear old Veterbas. Do I see it true?"

"You do," Nora said, knowing argument would only prolong the process. Better to let the man think himself correct and get on with it.

"I fail to understand how you can need more wood for ships, Nora Trell. How many ships does one person need?"

"It doesn't help that my fool son keeps sinking them or leaving them on top of mountains."

The druid whistled at this. "To sink a ship seems an easy thing. To leave one on a mountain is a special kind of lunacy."

"Thank the gods I have but one son."

"So I have," Veterbas said. "So I have."

"I need to know where I can find certain kinds of trees but all in the same place."

Veterbas looked thoughtful as she listed a half dozen species. "You are not one to ask easy questions, Nora Trell. Why do you want to know this?"

"I have need of the wood."

"To quote my old friend Barabas, 'Trees are the noblest of creatures, for they provide us so much without complaint. But while the trees might not complain, I will. If you take too much, the land and animals suffer."

"We'll replant whatever we take."

The druid grunted, as if he'd heard it all before.

"The land will suffer more if we do not face the storm."

At this, Veterbas nodded. "So it is. I do not take this lightly, Nora Trell. You must do as you say and care for the land. Do not simply plant again what you've taken, nourish the land with your very being. Commune with it and thank it for the gifts you so desire."

"It will be so."

Even with that said, the druid hesitated, but then he seemed to see the truth. Darkness was coming, one way or another, and perhaps the land could be spared; perhaps this offering would appease the gods. Though his thoughts appeared to be written on his face, his words surprised her. "Perhaps Kenward could be encouraged to take up some profession that requires less wood."

"Perhaps he and Emmon could build fires together," Gret said with a wicked grin.

Though the notion seemed to disturb Veterbas deeply, Nora Trell laughed. This girl had fire and spark to spare.

Chapter 18

Sacrifice is the highest form of honor.

--The Pauper King

* * *

The sea called to Nora Trell, but landbound work remained. Her last stop, at least, was back along the shoreline. Consoled by the sea's scent on the air, she grinned, thinking about the night before. Gregorric had chosen well. Gret did, indeed, have talent to spare. Having had some of the ancient stories verified, Nora could move with greater confidence. It was one thing to read about power in an ancient text and quite another to see someone with a healthy dose of spark produce a breathtaking result. Neither Gret nor Emmon had spoken since. Nora understood. Gret was confused and worried but did not want it to show. Emmon most likely feared for his life. Nora couldn't blame him either. She could have warned him, but where would have been the fun in that?

The sunset reflected from the windows of a shop, making it harder to see the man inside. He worked with a small, round-tipped hammer. Nora waved as they approached. His straggly beard moved as he smiled, and his eyes behind metal-rimmed goggles twinkled. He always saw her coming.

"I didn't know it was my lucky day!" Ebrem said. "My favorite customer just shows up like the wind. I suspect you'll float out just the same."

"Hello, Ebrem, I am once again in need of your services."

"Did your boy put another one on the bottom?"

"No. And to be fair, he left the last one on a mountaintop."

"I can't help with that, unless said mountain is under water."

"Sadly not."

"That boy of yours is a piece of work, he is."

"You can say that," Nora said. Ebrem nodded. "I did, however, lose something dear to me." He looked as if he wanted to ask what but showed restraint. This was why Nora trusted him; that and he was the cleverest man she knew. He also happened to know a lot about diving. "I roped it at three hundred knots."

"Three hundred!" Ebrem's eyes bulged. "Outrageous."

"What's the deepest you can go now?"

"One seventy-five."

"What's limiting you?"

Now, it seemed, she had his attention. Nora knew the man well enough. Once he saw where she was going, his mind took over. He could see the possibilities. Even the most brilliant people sometimes need a little inspiration and motivation.

"Air is the problem," he said, his eyes going distant. "We need a more powerful pump."

"And what's it going to take to build said pump?"

"Time. Gold."

"I'll give you one of the two," Nora said, laying gold on the counter. He seemed to be doing the math in his head. "I need it now," she said, doubling the gold. This made the math much easier.

"It's going to be big," he said, scratching down notes.

"I can do big. How long? Realistically."

"Sixty days if I put off everything else."

"Too long," Nora said. "I need it in fourteen days."

Ebrem's eyes bulged again. "Can't be done."

"Why not?"

Ebrem looked at her as if she were daft; it was not something most people dared to do. "Just getting that much metal hot and then cooled down again takes time."

"Then don't make it out of metal."

That statement confounded the man, but then his mind was fully engaged. He began sketching a spoked wheel. "We can make much of the structure from wood, but it won't last."

"If we paint the wood, it'll last a year," Nora said.

Ebrem nodded. "Yes . . . with proper maintenance."

"And that will give you a year to build one out of metal."

Blinking twice, Ebrem stopped. "That could work but it's going to be expensive. I'm going to need help from people with real talent. These things aren't easy, you know. People don't just dive to the bottom of the sea to recover . . ." He raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Something precious to me." Nora added another stack of gold coins.

"In fourteen days," he said, grinning, "we go diving, eh?"

"Fourteen days." Soon she would be ready to sail. When they left the shop behind, Nora turned to Emmon and Gret. "He's a genius but sometimes you have to do the thinking for him."

* * *

While not a swift ship, the
Portly Dragon
could sail without wind. Given time and practice, Jessub Tillerman might one day be just as effective a thrustmaster as Gwen. Though he possessed some ability as flightmaster, it was tenuous at best and he was glad this ship did not require it. Thunderheads, dark green and occasionally lit from within, were still reason for concern. The ship had not been designed to fly through storms.

Kenward stood at the clearly labeled stern. Some had laughed but he knew better. His ship had no broad side. With the exception of the masthead, there was really no such thing as a bow or stern. He continued to use them because that was what his crew understood. Such terms no longer fully applied to the ships in his mind, his imagination capable of so much more than the technology at his disposal. Construction techniques had already improved, and he himself learned from knowledge the ancients left behind, but there was much still to learn. Lessons at sea rarely came without pain.

"Some of the cleats are coming loose, sir," Bryn said. Having already fetched the tool they made for that task alone, Farsy made it clear he agreed. Bryn stomped on the deck, allowing Farsy to find the place where he stood from belowdecks. There the exposed bolt and nut would be located. Driving bolts through the massive timbers that made up the
Portly Dragon
's
deck had been a tremendous amount of work at the time, but the strength of these attachment points was paramount. Not long after, Farsy could be heard from below, albeit muffled and faint.

"Excellent work," Kenward said. "Call for me if you find any other trouble."

Walking toward the thrust tubes, Kenward avoided the parts of the deck painted with warnings, keeping to the space between the tubes, where the air was calm and smooth. "How are you feeling, my boy?"

"I'm fine, sir," Jessub said. "I'm just feeling a little hungry. Maybe if Grubb could bring me something to eat . . ."

"No. The
Portly Dragon
does not require thrust to stay in the air. When you're tired, when you are hungry, when you thirst, you may stop and satisfy your needs unless I tell you otherwise. There will be times I'll asked you to provide thrust until such a time as we no longer need it. There will come a time I'll ask from you more than you have to give. Be ready. We'll face the winds soon enough, and I'll want a refreshed thrustmaster when that time arrives. All I ask is that you use great care when you cease. When Catrin did it best, she reduced the thrust over time."

"Yes, sir," Jessub said, easing out of the thrust, allowing the
Portly Dragon
to slow gradually.

"Well done," Kenward said, and the rest of the crew hooted their approval. Jessub walked to the deckhouse with a lopsided smile on his face. Kenward Trell was determined to make the boy the adventurer he'd always wanted to be. He was well on his way. "How are those cleats coming?"

"We've still got a few more to cinch up, sir," Bryn said. "But Farsy says some of the bolts are cracking."

"Move those lines to spare cleats," Kenward said. "Then bring the cracked bolts to the forge. We'll see about reinforcing them." One advantage of steam-based travel was always having fires burning. Kenward had planned for this eventuality. All he had to do was reinforce the undersized bolts, one at a time, before any snapped. It was risky but no one complained. Those aboard knew what they had taken on, and they trusted him; the last bit was the hardest to believe. "And while he's down there, tell him to make sure there aren't any gaping holes in the hull." Putting the ship to sea for repairs wasn't Kenward's first choice but it never hurt to be safe. His mother would laugh.

After scouting the seas and weather conditions, Sinjin and Kendra returned with concern on their faces. "Permission to board?"

Despite the fact that Kenward had already told Sinjin and Kendra they could land on his deck whenever they wanted, he shouted in return, "Permission granted."

Having landed the bumblebee on the decks of the
Portly Dragon
, Kenward marveled at the ease with which Valterius and Gerhonda gained the decks. No sooner did they land than did Sinjin and Kendra remove their straps and march toward him, their faces sour. Dragons flanked the boiler house, lying down to rest. Kenward wasn't sure if this was to shield their riders in the event the boilers failed or if the dragons just liked keeping warm. Either way, Kenward particularly liked the look of dragons on deck, rather than just as the masthead. Still, they could be unreliable creatures, and he hoped they behaved. It seemed unlikely.

"Bad weather coming," Sinjin said. "How's the ship holding up?"

"We haven't found any gaping holes in the hull, sir," Bryn said from nearby with a grin.

"She's doing just fine…just fine," Kenward said. "How many people did you say those dragons can carry?"

* * *

The
Trader's Wind
was a purpose-built ship rarely called to do anything but what she was specifically designed to do. On this day, though, the crew would witness a spectacle. While the
Wind
was far from the ideal exploration ship, she did have a few advantages. Her cranes and pulleys were built to lift massive cargo, and her decks, large enough to hold both an enormous pump and the barge that would soon support it. Getting the barge into the water was an impressive but simple enough affair. Getting the pump oriented properly, lowered onto the barge, and secured proved a more difficult and dangerous endeavor.

Nora held her breath as the diver struggled against the waves while trying to tighten the straps. Two men used long poles to push the barge away from the ship since it was naturally drawn toward the
Trader's Wind
. Once the top and bottom straps had been secured, the crew took their places on the barge. On deck waited a suit of metal and oiled leather with a helmet that looked a lot like a cookpot with a hose coming out of it. Carefully the suit was secured to the hoist and readied for lowering to the barge.

"Are you going to tell us what we're looking for yet? Is it a shipwreck? Lost treasure? What is it?" Ebrem asked. He had insisted on coming to fix any problems that might occur with his experimental pump. It was a beauty, painted black and gold, looking like a machine of the new age.

Nora grinned. "You are sworn to secrecy." Ebrem nodded in acceptance as the loading crane lifted his pressurized dive suit from the deck. Nora reached in her pocket and pulled out a black crystal. "This is what we're after."

Ebrem reached out his hand and grabbed the stone. Nora reluctantly let go. It was among her most precious possessions. "I don't get it. I've seen prettier crystals than that . . . and darned easier to get."

Nora said nothing. She hated watching from above rather than from the barge itself. She felt disconnected from the operation but had learned to get used to such things. The climb was simply more than she could handle. She could have ridden the crane down, but as she was always so quick to point out to Kenward, that would create a risk not worth taking. If the crane malfunctioned, she would be in serious trouble. No, the deck was better--just frustrating and nerve wracking. She wanted to yell to them to triple-check the air supply before the suit dipped beneath water. Weighted down as it was, the suit sank like a stone, leaving a trail of air bubbles behind it.

From her vantage, the suit disappeared almost immediately. All she could do was wait while those aboard the barge took turns using their full body weight to turn the massive wooden wheel that drove the oversized air pump. It was a graceful and stressful ballet the crew performed, lining up to jump onto the spokes at just the right time then riding the spoke down. Before it reached the bottom, the crewmen needed to jump off or be pulled through the framework that held the wheel and pump assembly in place. Nora was proud of their brave efforts, but she worried for them. This would all have been difficult enough on dry land, but compensating for the motion of the barge and pushing off the hull of the
Trader's Wind
made for an unsettling spectacle. Always when she needed them, her crew was there, and she prayed for their continued safety.

"I just don't get it," Ebrem said, scratching his head.

"Show him," Nora said to Gret, knowing he would never let it go. Again with reluctance she handed the noonstone crystal to the young woman. Nora could not blame Ebrem; she, too, had been unconvinced until Gret managed to test the ancient technique. Now she understood and soon so would he.

"Come with me," Gret said. "This is most safely done inside. Captain Trell would not be happy if I lost her crystal."

Thoroughly intrigued, Ebrem followed the young woman to the forward deckhouse. He watched in silent fascination as Gret produced a wooden cylinder and some string. When Gret suspended the crystal within the wooden tube and ran her hand over it, the man's eyes went wide. Soon he, too, came to see the truth.