Lost mark 3 The Queen of Death: (26 page)

"That was Draconic,” he said softly, never taking his eyes off the woman in the shroud. "Burch?”

"Mine’s rusty,” the shifter said. "It sounded like she said, You’re not welcome here.”’

"I don’t speak the language at all, and I understood that,” said Sallah.

"There had to be more to it than that,” Kandler said.

"That last bit sounded like, 'Which of you is of the dragon?’ ”

"What in Khyber is that supposed to mean?”

"She saw the dragons escort us here. Maybe that’s what she means.”

"I don’t think so,” said Burch.

"Does anyone on the airship speak Draconic?” Sallah said.

Kandler shrugged. "Ask her to repeat that,” he told Burch.

"Two weeks aboard a ship with a crew, and you don’t know any of them well enough to ask what languages they speak?” said Sallah.

"It didn’t come up,” Kandler said as Burch said something to the shrouded woman in her strange, twisting tongue.

The woman snarled something this time, angrier than ever. It sounded like she spat on the ground inside her shroud. With that movement, the gate in the palisades grew wider still, and a small army of men and women marched out.

The Seren warriors were short and stocky, with tar-black hair and skin that had been burnished a deep, rich brown. Their eyes were narrow slits cut into their faces, exposing only pit-black pupils. Many of them wore bits of bone or dragon scales pierced through their noses or their lips. Each of them bore a wicked weapon—a spear, axe, or club—fashioned from bone, wood, or even large bits of what looked like shells that had once served as homes to monstrous creatures.

Each of the warriors wore a skirt made of silver-bleached grass but nothing else. They had painted bands of silver across their faces and over their eyes that gave them an inhuman look.

The Seren surrounded Kandler, Burch, and Sallah. They spoke not a single word but moved into place with the surety of a well-trained unit, their bare feet almost silent on the sand.

"They’re barbarians,” Sallah said, wrinkling her nose.

One of the Seren women jabbed at Sallah with a spear tipped with the tooth of a gigantic shark. The other warriors started chattering among themselves, rattling their weapons against each other.

"Better smile when you say that,” said Burch. He flashed the warriors a sincere grin and held up his empty hands to show them that he meant them no harm.

"They’re as sophisticated as they come around here,” Kandler said, "and we need their help.”

He wondered when Xalt or Te’oma might decide to loose a bolt into the crowd. They had to be getting nervous aboard the ship, which meant he had to make something good happen here fast.

The woman in the shroud shrieked something and flung her arms into the air, exposing hands as brown as those of any of the other Seren. The others fell silent and brought their weapons back in front of them. Kandler could tell that they wanted to attack, to kill him and the others where they stood. Only the word of the shrouded woman kept them back.

The woman said something to Burch again. The shifter scratched his chin and responded. He chose each word with care, and he stumbled over a few pronunciations, but the head inside the shroud bobbed in understanding.

After a few tense exchanges, the woman stopped speaking.

"What’s the story?” Kandler asked Burch.

"This is the Gref tribe, guardians of this particular stretch of beach. They serve the dragon who founded this village for them: a silver beast by the name Greffykor.”

"The ones who brought us here were red,” said Sallah.

"The dragons put the Seren in charge of protecting Argonnessen from the rest of the world. Since the island lies straight between their home and Aerenal and Khorvaire, most traffic toward Argonnessen passes around the island of Seren.”

"But the Seren can’t patrol the skies," Kandler said.

"So the dragons help them out there. Most of the time, the dragons just blast people out of the sky. Other times, they bring them down to whichever village they figure’s the best fit.”

"So why are we here?” asked Sallah, staring at the angry eyes surrounding them.

"Seems the Gref have a fine reputation for killing most of the people they come across. I’d guess the dragons wanted

us dead but didn’t feel like dirtying their claws on us.”

"Doesn’t look like the Gref are so picky,” said Kandler. Burch spoke with the shrouded woman again. She replied forcefully.

"She says that the Prophecy said that circle of fire would bring the favored of the dragons to them.”

A horrible thought struck Kandler. He hesitated to voice it, but eventually he spat it out. "Are you sure she doesn't mean 'dragonmarked’?”

"Ah!” said Burch, his yellow eyes lighting up. "That’s it!” The shifter’s face fell even quicker than it had brightened. "They want Espre.”

Kandler glanced up at the airship. "All right,” he said. "On my mark, drawyour swords, and let’s do this. If we spill some blood quick that might frighten the others enough for us to make it on to the ship.”

"And once we get there?”

"Did I ever give you the impression I was doing more than making this up as I went along?”

"No!”

Kandler recognized Xalt’s voice instantly. He looked up just in time to see a flash of blond hair, then his stepdaughter landed next to him. The warforged still stood on the deck, reaching out his empty hands that had missed grabbing the girl and keeping her safe aboard the airship.

The islanders leaped back—all of them but the woman in the shroud. Then they closed in again, tighter than ever. Espre’s sudden appearance had startled them for an instant, but now they were shamefaced and mad.

"Go!” Kandler said.

Burch slung his crossbow off his shoulder and into his waiting hands with a single, practiced shrug. Sallah’s sword appeared in her hand, just as the fangblade did in Kandler’s. The three of them put their backs to each other to cover all angles, leaving enough room between each of them to form a protective pocket in which Espre could stand.

Kandler lashed out with his sword and sliced the heads off a pair of spears that had reached in too close for his liking. They tumbled to the soft sand and embedded themselves there point-down.

Sallah’s holy blade burst into silvery flames, and she brandished it at the Seren nearest her. They leaped back out of her reach and gaped in awe at her weapon.

Burch leveled his crossbow at the shrouded woman’s head. Kandler wondered how well a bolt would do against tightly arranged dragon scales like those, but he figured now was as good a time as any to find out.

"No!” Espre screeched. She pushed between Kandler and Sallah and thrust herself in front of the shrouded woman.

Espre s,aid something to the woman in Draconic.

Chapter

41

S
top!” Espre said to the woman in Draconic. Just tell me what you want! ”

The Seren warriors froze. All eyes turned to the woman in the dragon-scale shroud. She hesitated for the barest of moments then raised her hands to signal a halt to the hostilities.

The warriors each took a step backward. This put them out of the reach of the invaders’ swords, although Burch’s crossbow could still take down any of them with a single pull of the trigger.

"Your mother taught you Draconic,” Kandler said behind her. His voice betrayed how impressed he was. In other circumstances, Espre would have smiled.

"Good job,” Burch said gruffly, "but don’t think Kandler’s not still going to spank you when we get back on the airship.”

"If we survive that long,” Sallah said. The lady knight began muttering some sort of prayer under her breath.

Espre ignored all three of them and focused on the woman in the shroud.

"Our founder told us to await the bearer of the dragon-mark,” the shrouded woman said.

"Founder?” Espre glanced at the faces of the islanders and spotted nothing but humans among them. "How long have you been here?”

"For over four thousand years our people have protected this part of the shore and helped to keep invaders like yourself away from the land of the dragons beyond.”

"Four thousand years?” Espre couldn’t believe the number. That was a long time, even in elf terms. "How could your founder tell you about dragonmarks? He must have— Did he inscribe his prophecy to you on a scroll?” "Greffykor lives still high atop the Wyrmsperch Mountains. He bequeathed to me this part of the Prophecy only two weeks ago, and we have been alert for the bearer of a dragonmark ever since.”

"What if we do not have this dragonmark—or are unwilling to show it to you?”

"Then we kill you.”

Espre wondered what it would be like to be part of a tribe that murdered any strangers who happened to cross its path. It sounded horrible. "You kill anyone who does not have a dragonmark?” she asked.

"Yes. So Greffykor demands.”

A chill coursed through Espre’s guts. "Who is this Greffykor? ”

"A dragon of the purest silver and the most inquisitive of minds. He has dedicated his life to the study of the Prophecy, and we are blessed to rank among his servants.” Espre felt like she wanted to stop breathing. "So the dragonmark shows that the stranger is favored by your dragon?”

"Today, when Greffykor has decreed it so, it is so.” "What about our lady knight here? She has a sword that

burns with a silver flame. Our warrior here bears a blade made from a dragon’s fang.”

"These are the finest of omens. They cause Greffykor’s faithful to search even harder for evidence of the fulfillment of the Prophecy. Without them, we may have slain you already.”

"You may have tried.”

"Produce the dragonmark now, or we will bring the full force of our people upon you.”

Espre looked to Kandler. He shrugged at her. "I have no idea what you’ve been talking about,” he said, "but if you want to start showing off that dragonmark of yours, go right ahead." He hefted his sword in his hand. "If you’d rather keep it private, I’d be happy to help cut our way out of here instead.”

"What would you do?” she asked.

Kandler smiled. "I don’t want to influence your decision.”

"That’s a first.”

"What do you think you should do?” Kandler said. Espre stood there, stunned. For the first time, her stepfather seemed to be treating her like an adult. She reached out and gave him a quick hug.

"Go get ’em,” he whispered to her as she broke away from him once again.

Espre wrinkled her brow at him, a strange, wry smile on her face. Then she reached behind herself to pull the collar of her shirt down, exposing her back to the islanders who stood waiting for her decision.

As one, they gasped.

Chapter

42

K
andler had to suppress every paternal urge in his body to keep himself from grabbing Espre and hauling her back on to the
Phoenix.
He stood with his sword ready, prepared to slash out at the first islander who made a dangerous move toward the girl. He didn’t think he and the others stood a chance of surviving a battle with so many—especially if the dragons that had brought them there returned—but he’d take down as many of them with him as he could. Centuries from now, the survivors would talk of the trio of warriors who nearly wiped them all out.

Kandler ran through a plan of action in his head. He figured he could kill three of them before they could reach Espre, perhaps five with the fangblade. He’d never used a blade so sharp and deadly before, and he marveled at the way it could slice through just about anything. With none of the islanders sporting any armor thicker than a thatch of grass, the sword would make quick work of them.

Then the shrouded woman raised her arms and said something in Draconic. The other islanders lowered their weapons.

Some of them seemed relieved, but the turn of events clearly disappointed most of them. They'd gotten their blood boiling and the lack of a battle left them frustrated. Kandler wondered if they had much else to do here on the island other than get into fights, heal from the last fight, and prepare for the next one. Still, they did as the woman in the shroud had ordered and gave up on the battle.

That didn’t mean they’d welcome the intruders with open arms. Kandler read hostility and suspicion in every face—except that of the woman under the shroud.

Then the woman lifted the front of the shroud over her head, draping it over her shoulders. Unlike most of the others in the tribe, her hair bore streaks of gray, and her face showed fine lines around her mouth and eyes that showed that she often smiled. Still, she was not smiling now.

"My name is Zanga,” the woman said. Her voice was low and rough but sweet, a pleasant counterpart to her exotic accent. "Welcome to Seren. We are the Gref.”

"You speak—?” Kandler could not believe his ears. "You can understand us?”

"In my youth, I spent time in Port Krez.”

Burch grunted at that. "You don’t look much like a pirate.”