The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (63 page)

Looking down, Onin saw a disturbing sight: dozens of feral dragons swarming over the marshes and jungle. It was like looking down on sharks in the water from above, except these dangerous beasts were in the air. Despite the cold, a bead of sweat formed on Onin's brow. He and Jehregard could handle one or two ferals, which was the most that had been seen at one time in years, but now there were dozens. They would tear them apart.

Guiding his dragon out to sea, Onin cursed when he saw the mass of black ships approaching; this was something he'd hoped to be wrong about but he wasn't. War was coming, and the enemy had the upper hand. It was his fault; he should have been more diligent, he should have convinced the rest of the old guard to join him in his quest, but even they thought him mad. For too long they had lived under the mantle of symbolic power, and now they were soft and weak and lazy--no help to Onin at all--still, he should have tried harder.

When he saw the dark currents, a chill knifed through him. Moving like a single organism, clouds of something dark moved with the currents, riding along with the moving water like a ship sailing downriver. At first he thought it might be schools of fish, possibly a migration, but Jehregard took them lower and it soon became clear that these were large creatures and definitely not fish. Even from high above, something about these beasts seemed wrong. Onin grimaced. It was even worse than he'd thought.

He should go back and warn them, he thought, but then his better sense reminded him that they wouldn't listen; they never listened. Not until it was too late would they act. Even knowing this, Onin cared deeply about the Heights--the people and the dragons. In the end, he did as he'd known he'd do all along.

* * *

Scraped and bruised, Sinjin stepped up to Valterius with mock bravery. Benjin had told him not to flinch, but he couldn't help it; he'd already felt Valterius's displeasure. It was clear now that Valterius and his twenty-three brethren were not feral dragons, nor were they regent dragons; they were also not verdant dragons, which were described as four-legged behemoths. It was generally agreed that these dragons were the offspring of Kyrien and the feral queen, a mixture of feral and regent. Benjin had been the one to suggest that they be called regal dragons, and the name had stuck. Now, though, Valterius didn't seem as much regal as he did dangerous; perhaps it was his feral blood shining through. All Sinjin wanted to do was lay a piece of soft cloth over the dragon's back, but you would think he was trying to kill him. The two were bonded, and it was clear that Sinjin intended him no harm, and still the dragon refused.

When Valterius had returned with his own fish and had come to Sinjin once his belly was full, Sinjin had thought his dragon trained; the next few weeks had proven him wrong. Most of the Drakon had already acclimated their dragons to saddle pads, and some had even managed something akin to a bridle, though no one had attempted to get a dragon to accept a bit. They had all followed his lead thus far. Though having Valterius return from fishing on his own had been a major victory for Sinjin, he still knew he was losing what respect he'd had with regard to training his dragon. The Drakon trained in the same area, and there were no secrets. Successes were celebrated together, and failures were seen by all--especially Sinjin's failures. The last few had been rather spectacular, and he wasn't certain if people were rooting him on or hoping to see how he would fail next. Sinjin just prayed Valterius didn't kill him.

Valterius looked down at Sinjin in a way that dared him to take another step. He was large enough to overwhelm Sinjin and fly away, but that did not appear to be his desire. At the same time, he clearly did not want Sinjin to saddle him. No matter what Sinjin tried to put on Valterius, the dragon would have none of it. This time would be different, he told himself, though he squinted and tensed when he approached. He'd already tried letting Valterius smell the cloth, which had resulted in a sound rebuke, one that had left Sinjin's ears ringing and his ribs hurting. Tucking his wings and twitching his tail, Valterius lowered his head, looking ready to strike.

"Easy," Sinjin said. "Easy there. You know I won't hurt you."

Apparently that matter was still in question since Valterius struck him, closed mouthed, with force that made it feel like a hammer blow. Falling backward, Sinjin tried to catch himself but still he hit the stone hard, driving the wind from his lungs.

"The best ones are always the toughest to break," Benjin said. "If they weren't, you wouldn't appreciate it as much."

Sinjin had heard that before, and it hadn't helped the first time either.

"You're gonna have to blindfold him," Benjin said.

"I don't think that's going to happen," Sinjin said, and Benjin held his tongue. "I need to try something different."

Valterius watched him approach, clearly dubious. Sinjin held nothing in his hands and nothing behind his back; Valterius was far too clever for that. Though clever, he could not speak in Sinjin's mind as Kyrien had with his mother and a few other rather unwilling communicants. In some ways that comforted Sinjin since that made it less likely that regal dragons could control the minds of men, but it also presented Sinjin with his current problem. He was failing to clearly communicate his intentions; it was something his grandfather had taught him and that Benjin echoed, but that didn't make it any easier to accomplish. Steadily he approached, his hands outstretched. His well-muscled side heaving, Valterius watched, his flicking tail indicating his agitation.

Sinjin just remained calm and laid his hands on the dragon's side. Almost instantly Valterius calmed. Unmoving, Sinjin used the physical bond to communicate with the dragon, as his mother had once done with horses. He didn't know if he was doing it correctly, but the fact that Valterius hadn't stepped on him or smacked him with his tail was an encouraging sign. Reaching up, he put his hands higher, and Valterius leaned into him. For a moment, Sinjin worried the dragon might bowl him over, but it remained only a gentle push. Again, he moved his hands higher until his fingers crossed over the ridge of the dragon's back, the scales smooth and cool under his touch.

Hooking his fingers over that ridge, in front of the wing structures, Sinjin pulled gently, applying only slight pressure. Then he pulled again, using greater force. Gradually he built up the amount of force he was using until he was doing pull-ups. With a suddenness that startled all who watched, Sinjin pulled himself up and swung his leg over the dragon's shoulder. Straddling the dragon was surprisingly comfortable, and Sinjin fit well against his dragon; he felt secure and could wrap his hands around Valterius's neck. Pleased with the progress, Sinjin pushed down and raised his right leg to dismount. Valterius had seemed mostly at ease up until that moment, but to this move he objected.

Dropping down and rising back up sharply, Valterius helped Sinjin reseat himself. Then, without warning, he spun and started running. Sinjin wrapped his arms around the dragon's neck and held on as best he could, his perch no longer feeling safe or sturdy. Other dragons reacted to Valterius's calls, and soon all the Drakon had agitated dragons on their hands. Many turned to Sinjin and Valterius with looks of exasperation and irritation, but most just did their best to get out of the way. Sinjin could hear the shouts but could discern nothing.

Once more, he considered leaping from Valterius's back, but the dragon's speed was remarkable and they were nearing the edge. Looking back to when Valterius had first flown on his own, Sinjin once again decided to trust his dragon and abandoned his fear. An instant later, when Valterius leaped into the open air, he reconsidered that decision. Valterius did not soar on outstretched wings as Sinjin had imagined; he trimmed his wings, and they dropped like a stone. Feeling his guts pressing against his chin, Sinjin did what he could to hold on and not faint. The view was incredibly beautiful and yet more terrifying than anything he'd ever seen.

Valterius issued a shrill cry that this time sounded jubilant; he was sharing his favorite thing with Sinjin, and he was doing it his way. The message was clear, and Sinjin wondered at the fact that he understood. It was not what his mother and Kyrien had shared, but it was something, and he latched on to it as hard as he clung to Valterius's neck. He was surprised he wasn't restricting the dragon's breathing with his death grip. It was an awkward moment when he realized that he probably was, and he eased his grip. He received a vague sense of relief in return. It was not a mental image or anything like that; it was more from Valterius's posture and movements. Still they fell, and the wind threatened to tear Sinjin from where he sat. At that moment he would have liked nothing more than a smaller version of his mother's saddle.

Forested foothills raced toward them like a giant hammer ready to smite them. Even in his terror, Sinjin couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the natural beauty of this place and the vast swaths of land that had been devastated by armies, a monstrous battle, and the death of far too many dragons. Nature would win out in time and reclaim that which marred the landscape, but the history would remain. The place of dragons was not without a painful past. It was a strange thing to think in the moments before certain death, but it kept him from fainting.

At what seemed the last possible moment, Valterius spread his wings, opening them slowly. Sinjin was pressed down hard into the dragon, and the trees whisked beneath them at unbelievable speed. Keeping his head and body low to his dragon's neck, he ducked his head. Tears ran from his eyes from the speed. For a moment, there was a flash of bright white then dark blue; they were over the sea. Sinjin tightened his grip--probably a little too much--and prayed Valterius didn't drop him in the sea. He'd seen the monsters that lurked in those waters, and he wanted nothing to do with swimming in such dangerous seas. All of which assumed he would survive the fall at such speed, which was unlikely.

Sinjin had never considered himself a brave person, but he did his best to overcome his fear. Valterius shifted his course and turned toward where Sinjin could see a dark shape in the water; whatever it was, it was big. Fear continued to build, making him want to squeeze tighter, but he fought the urge, not wanting Valterius to black out. That would be the end of them both, especially with large creatures in the waters around them. Even if they survived the fall, they would likely be eaten, a thought that was almost too much for Sinjin, but he kept his grip loose enough to allow the dragon to breathe.

About when he thought he might be able to identify the type of monster to which Valterius wanted to feed him, the shadowy thing broke apart. It took a moment to register, and Sinjin chided himself for not realizing sooner. When Valterius hit the water, most of the school had dispersed, but one gleaming green, blue, and silver fish lay right in the path of the dragon's claws. The impact jarred Sinjin forward, and he nearly lost his grip. After that, Valterius pumped his wings vigorously to gain altitude, despite the heavy load. The fish was huge, and Sinjin wasn't certain all three of them would gain the air. The seas grew more distant, though, a testament to the dragon's mighty effort, and they were soon sailing on thermals that rose along the strip of sand. Every part of Sinjin tingled, and his arms felt weak. He hoped Valterius wouldn't make any more sudden moves since he wasn't certain he'd be able to hold on.

The dragon seemed a bit smug, and Sinjin sensed something of a rebuke as they returned to the hollow mountain. He hadn't trusted Valterius. He'd expected Valterius to trust him to put a saddle on him, yet he hadn't returned that trust.

"I'm sorry," he said as they glided back into the hold, where a crowd stood watching and waiting. Sinjin could sense the anticipation even from the air. This was a moment that had been foretold. Al'Drakon had flown his dragon. Sinjin hoped this would redeem him in the eyes of the others.

A moment later, the crowd parted, and Valterius landed gracefully. The fish he transferred to his jaws, and he walked to the area designated for him and Sinjin, just as he always did when he returned with a fish. Sinjin remained where he was until Valterius stopped; the dragon then turned and looked at him as if to indicate that he was holding up the meal. The Drakon had gathered round, and Sinjin felt as if he should say something, but the dragon's glare convinced him to dismount first. Pushing down with his hands, Sinjin attempted to swing his right leg over the dragon's back, but he didn't get it clear of the ridge, and he lost his balance. As a result, instead of a graceful dismount, he turned and slid, upside down, to the cold stone.

Looking at the inverted faces watching him, Sinjin had to accept the fact that, in his role as Al'Drakon, he might be something of a disappointment.

Chapter
17

Extreme thoughts yield extreme actions.

--Imeteri, slave

* * *

Standing before Valterius, Sinjin questioned the sanity of trying, once again, to saddle the dragon. Still, he knew they needed the ability to fly together. Though he had never aspired to riding dragons, he knew it was what he must now do. Part of it was the weight of responsibility left behind by his mother, and part of it was to feel closer to her. No matter how much time went by, he missed his parents terribly, feeling the gaping hole inside of him. Working with Valterius eased that weight and gave him the satisfaction that he was, at least, doing something positive, something his parents would've been proud to see him do.

Durin and Benjin stood nearby, ready to help, as always. Kendra also watched from not much farther away but didn't want Sinjin to know she was watching. She had taken on the role of huntress and was revered for her ability to provide skins, meat, and leather. A tannery had sprung into existence on a lower level, and those Dragon clan who were not Drakon worked to provide the materials necessary to construct saddles. It was a more difficult process than Sinjin had initially imagined. He'd always taken for granted the materials available on the Godfist and those skillful hands that turned raw materials into thread, needles, thimbles, candles, and the like. Here, on the Firstland, they had access to only the raw materials with the exception of what they had brought with them. Already he was considering asking Benjin to sail back to the Godfist for supplies and to check on the progress of the ships.

All of these things ran through his mind while he stood with a leather strap in his hands, one that he needed to put over Valterius's now mighty neck. The dragon continued to fill out and ate more than any creature Sinjin had ever seen, but he'd stopped growing longer or his wings wider. Still, he looked at the strap with distaste. Knowing he would need to do something different this time, Sinjin tried to remember all the things Benjin and his grandfather had taught him about horses, but he found nothing in his memory to aid him. It occurred to him then that his mother had taught him some things about animals as well, though seemingly not in as intentional a fashion as the men had taught him about horses. She had told him stories of the things she'd experienced, such as her adventure with Curly the cross-eyed bull, but it was another story that gave him inspiration in the end.

Taking one more step forward, Sinjin saw Valterius adopt a defensive posture, a sure sign that he wanted nothing to do with the strap. Then Sinjin sat on the stone before Valterius, closed his eyes, and held the length of leather. Nothing happened for a long time, and Sinjin was certain that he was, once again, making a complete fool of himself, but he could think of nothing else to do. Around him, the hold was silent save the rush of the wind. Feeling silly and more than a little in jeopardy of being stepped on, Sinjin was about to open his eyes when a puff of warm air hit his hands and the top of his head. Through sheer strength of will, he kept his eyes closed and waited. In his mind, he pictured himself on Valterius's back, a leather saddle beneath him and straps securing him so he didn't have to choke Valterius to stay in place.

There was another long silence, but then there came a muted snuffling sound as Valterius sniffed the strap. The dragon snorted and Sinjin heard the mighty beast recoil. For a moment, he thought he'd failed again, but he remained silent, his eyes closed. He held the strap in the air. In his mind, he pictured them flying together; all he wanted to do was share the skies with his magnificent companion.

It came as a shock when Valterius snorted again and the strap was yanked from Sinjin's hands. Slowly he opened his eyes, hoping he wasn't about to be rebuked. Before him, Valterius stood tall and proud, the leather strap now draped over his withers. Never before had he so resembled the regal name, and he looked as if he wore the strap with great pride, something Sinjin had trouble understanding. He'd tried dozens of times to put something over the dragon's withers, and always he'd been rebuked, but now the dragon beamed with pride. There had been only one difference: Valterius, not Sinjin, had decided, and apparently that made all the difference in the world to the dragon.

In a behavior that Sinjin hadn't seen before, Valterius strutted before the other dragons, many of which already bore trappings of saddles in progress. Sinjin wasn't certain how the other dragons and Drakon would react, but all of them showed Valterius great respect and deference. For the first time, he heard the name Al'Drak whispered then chanted as Valterius stood before the open air, silhouetted before bright blue skies. The dragon spread his wings and gave a triumphant call that was returned by all the dragons. Sinjin knew then that, as Al'Drakon, he did not command reverence and respect, but as Al'Drak, his dragon did. It was a humbling moment, but it taught him something. He and Valterius complemented each other, each strong where the other was weak.

Valterius then resumed a more humble posture and walked back toward Sinjin. He'd once imagined that dragons would walk awkwardly, like many birds, but Valterius moved with fluid grace and economy of movement. When he returned, he bowed his head to Sinjin, who had no idea what to do. Everyone was watching them, yet he did what his heart wanted him to do, he wrapped his arms around the dragon's neck and gave him a hug and a couple of pats on his neck. It was something he'd seen horseman do with their favorite steeds, and it seemed appropriate. Valterius sheltered Sinjin within his wings and arched his neck, his head hovering over Sinjin, daring anyone to threaten him.

When he released his dragon and turned around, Sinjin saw the Drakon approaching. Many of them had made a great deal more progress in making their saddles than Sinjin had, and each of them approached with parts of the saddles they had created for themselves. These items they presented to Valterius by sitting cross-legged and holding their contributions above their heads--they had been watching. The dragon gave each gift equal consideration and inspection, his great waffling sniffs causing some to giggle. To each he gave a gentle nudge of thanks with his forehead; for some the gesture was too much, and they had to be helped away by their brethren. The Drakon paid respect to Sinjin as well, but it was Valterius who commanded that respect. Soon all the components Sinjin needed for his saddle lay before Valterius. By their Arghast heritage, the Drakon were practical people, and once the needed saddle components had been given, people gave other items they thought would be needed for flying. One woman gave a leather water flask with straps to easily bind it in place; another gave a coat made of deer hide, and two men presented supple but warm boots they had crafted together.

It was as strange a feeling as Sinjin had ever felt, as he stood by his dragon's side and watched the Drakon show him their respect. The gifts were generous beyond anything Sinjin had ever received, even if indirectly, given the scarcity. These objects were the things that the Drakon had poured all their resources into creating. These were the hopes and the dreams of the Drakon, the Dragon clan, and perhaps the Arghast collectively. Sinjin couldn't claim to understand the Arghast legends and beliefs, yet he was now deeply entrenched in them. He came to know then how his mother must have once felt. He was part of something over which he had no control and very little understanding, yet his actions would write history. The pressure of it made him tremble.

After the gifts had been given, the Drakon came to Sinjin. He stood before them, humbled and a little shocked. They had all just effectively ignored him in the moments before, but he now realized that they saw things differently. The respect they showed him now made it clear the insult was only perceived; Sinjin reminded himself to be careful of that; he was among a community whose rules he did not know and whose traditions were a mystery to him. If only someone could tell him exactly what it was he was supposed to do. The world was falling apart, and he knew so few of the things needed to make any difference whatsoever, yet here were these people standing before him.

"May we help you assemble your saddle?" Mikala asked, Arakhan at her side.

The two had continued to grow in power and influence, and they wore it well. Sinjin was proud of his mother's choices. Though he missed her dearly, she had, in many ways, made this easier for him. Even if he did still face insurmountable challenges; she'd done what she could. No one could have predicted what the future held, even those who seemed to have some uncanny ability to catch glimpses of the future. Her struggle was over, it seemed, and his had only just begun.

* * *

Numb, Allette followed Thundegar and Rastas in a haze; only the light of comets and the moon shining through the patchwork of clouds lighting their way. Thundegar looked over his shoulder, looking near worn out but still determined. What looked like annoyance crossed his face for an instant, but it was replaced by concern and empathy. "I'm sorry."

Allette said nothing; there were no words. She did meet his eyes, and there was an apology in them.

"Do your best to keep up," he said.

It was pointless, Allette knew, but Thundegar would not give up; he would persist until they died horrible deaths in the swamps and marshes. There was no cover between the jungle and the Cloud Forest, only open expanses of marsh, swamp, and desert, and there would be no place to hide. With ferals in the skies, those were the last places they should go, but still she could find no words. Something inside of her was broken, and she wasn't certain it could ever be mended. The pain was unbearable, and only the need to survive, driven by primal instinct, kept her going. Already the trees were thinning, and the marshes could be seen through the gaps. Despite her thoughts, she continued to follow, unwilling to let Thundegar and Rastas go, yet unable to make them stay.

Not long after the trees were left behind, they found their canoe, which had been mostly claimed by the grasses; even if there had been large enough channels to row through, getting it out intact looked like an impossibility. Thundegar gave her a wistful look and shook his head before moving on. Again she wanted to speak out, to plead with him to stay in the jungle where they at least had some chance, however slim, but still she could not. Tears of frustration flowed freely.

"Are you all right?" Thundegar asked when he next looked back.

Allette shook her head.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Again she shook her head.

Thundegar was about to ask another question, but he went silent when the light around them shifted. He cast his gaze to the skies, and Allette did as well, feeling like a squirrel looking for the hawk. When she saw a dark shape block the light as it moved across the skies, she couldn't help but draw a sharp breath. Waves of fear washed over her, and her strength fled. Thundegar had said that the ferals didn't fly at night and that he, Allette, and Rastas could hide themselves within the grasses during the day. She'd been skeptical of his plan from the beginning, knowing the sands waited beyond, and the thought of being buried in the sand along with the snakes and scorpions frightened her almost as much as the black swamp did. Now knowing the dragons could and did fly at night, the plan seemed hopeless. They'd be lucky to make it back to the trees. She knew they were scant protection, but they were preferable to the wide openness of the marsh.

Silently he pointed back the way they had come, and they moved with all the speed they could muster over the unpredictable and spongy landscape. Thundegar took a bad step and slid up to his knee in mud. Twice he tried to pull himself free, but the quagmire held him fast. Grunting, he tried again, and Rastas huddled nearby, crouched low, his ears folded back. When Allette heard the first growl, she thought it was Rastas, but the cat sat trembling before her and was incapable of issuing a growl as deep as the next one she heard. This one sounded like drums being played in a cave, and she could feel it as well as hear it. Thundegar's movements became more frantic, and Allette reached out to him, trying to help pull him free. There was a long sucking sound, and they both fell backward, Thundegar's bare foot suddenly free of the mud and his boot.

Before either of them could move or react, the big cats struck. Rastas let out a high-pitched howl, and one of the much larger cats squared off with him. More cats came, and Thundegar pushed himself backward with his hands and feet. Allette could not move quickly enough, and a massive paw struck her in the face, the claws only a hair's width from raking her eyes. Sent tumbling backward, Allette was separated from Thundegar and Rastas. She could see their forms struggling in the comet light. Dividing them was the shape of the cat that stalked her. Thundegar screamed and Allette yearned to be by his side, defending him. A moment later Rastas issued a terrifying sound, and Thundegar's cry suddenly rose in pitch and intensity.

The menacing darkness moved closer, crouched low and silent, its muscles bunched and ready to release. Faced with the most difficult and painful decision she'd ever known, Allette shamed herself and the memory of her father and the memory of the
Maker's Mark.
Thundegar was lost and so was Rastas. She could not save them, and she chose instead to save herself.
To be a coward,
part of her screamed. Again, the darkness flying through the skies blotted out the comets and Allette ran. Behind her, she could hear the grasses parting as the land-bound black death descended upon her. Just before she expected to feel the bite of tooth and claw, Allette turned and fell, looking back at the rapidly approaching cat.