Page 85 of A Dragon of Black Glass (Moonfall #3)

85

G RAYLIN LED THE hike across the black glass. Up close, its surface was rippled, like the edges of a lake washing up against the dark mountain. In its shadow, the glass took on a darker hue, one more menacing.

The dead-eyed sentinels added to this shivery aspect. Figures and beasts stood leadenly, unmoored and broken, amidst wagons and sleds of stone or tarnished copper.

“Looks like they were hauling in ore,” Krysh noted. “Possibly mined from the Samskrag cliffs to the east.”

“And crystals.” Jace nodded toward a sled piled with trunks and branches. “Harvested from the gemstone forest.”

Rhaif pointed to the twin columns of smoke rising from the broken crown of the mountain. “Someone’s definitely doing some refining in there. Reminds me of my home in Anvil, with its hundreds of chimneys and stacks.” He took in a deep breath. “Smells like the sarding place, too.”

Graylin had grown accustomed to the sulfurous brimstan reek, the breath of this foul Dragon. With them closer now, it stung his eyes and tasted like acid on the tongue. But he could also pick out a bitter, metallic quality to the air. Though this did not rise from the twin smokestacks. It seemed to exhale from the cavernous mouth that opened ahead of them.

Kalder padded alongside him. A low growl tremored the vargr’s chest and hackles. His lips rippled back, exposing the tips of his fangs. He kept a close watch on the shadowy figures and beasts, while his ears swiveled all around.

Behind him, Daal and Nyx followed, guarded over by Vikas. The large woman had donned all her leathers again and carried her broadsword, but she had kept the headscarf that Arryn had given her during the trek from the ?rgos forest to Tosgon. It was the only nod to this land’s customs that she seemed willing to adopt.

Shiya also kept near Nyx and Daal, ready to use her bronze strength to protect them. Past her, Darant had spared another dozen men, who swept a cordon at the rear.

Farther back, the Fyredragon echoed with shouts and hammering. The captain and his remaining crew were hastily doing repairs to the ship, both to its broken hull and to its damaged forge-engines. After what had happened the last time a turubya had been activated, they knew a hasty departure would be needed.

Around the Fyredragon ’s balloon, a trio of raash’ke swept circles, ready to guard the vessel from an attack. And not just from any resurgent force of ta’wyn.

Wings swept high overhead, spattering the glass with guano.

Kalder’s growl reverberated louder.

“That’s the eighteenth I’ve counted,” Daal said, shielding his eyes with a hand and following the passage of the mankrae through the air.

Others flew and fluttered about the mountain’s sheer cliffs. A few perched up high, wings extended, cooling themselves. After the first three wraiths had been spotted, more had emerged.

“I sent in twice that number,” Nyx said grimly. “The last of the wyldstrom. ”

“They must have run into a few of the ta’wyn, ” Krysh commented. “Let’s hope they rid the mountain of them all.”

Graylin noted Nyx staring at the meager flock, her eyes haunted, her expression forlorn. She had sent the horde on its rampage, and this was all that was left of them.

Jace showed his usual aptitude at reading Nyx. “Their numbers may allow the colony to rebuild. Undoubtedly, hundreds more still roost in the cliffs. The young, the heavily gravid, or those who simply failed to heed the call. They will multiply again. Only now, maybe they’ll be free of the festering anger that tainted them.”

Nyx mumbled this hope. “The last gift of their king.”

As she headed on, her back grew straighter.

Graylin nodded to Jace, appreciating this support, more even than the large Guld’guhlian ax he carried.

Together, they crossed the distance in silence. The weight of all that glass smothered any talk. Graylin stared up at the mountainous expanse. Huge sections had calved away long ago and shattered into a maze of razor-sharp rock. Ahead, a towering rift cut into the mountain. Underfoot, a path of ruts and sandy glass led the way inside, worn down by the passage of wagons, sleds, and the crystalline pads of the lumbering p?rde.

As they reached the threshold, Graylin motioned for a stop and drew out his sword. He waited until the clutch of Darant’s men closed ranks with them. “Stick together. Shiya will lead from here. If there are any ta’wyn inside, she has the best chance to deal with any survivors.”

Once he got confirmatory nods all around, they set off. Graylin dropped back to Nyx, gripping his sword. The metallic taste to the air grew stronger, along with a sharper bite of alchymical odors, much like the scent given off by the ship’s ta’wyn coolers. Several areas stank riper from the guano left behind by the first force to sweep through.

Overhead, spears and broad rafts of sharp glass hung from the roof. Upon entering the rift, they had lit lanterns, carried by Krysh and a few of Darant’s men. The fiery light reflected off the walls, adding to the haunted nature of this passageway.

“It appears to be sloping down,” Jace noted. “Taking us deeper.”

Graylin frowned, unsure if this was true. The strange cast to the light, the crunch of sandy glass underfoot, made it difficult to get his bearings.

And not just him.

They reached the broken body of a mankra, but it hadn’t suffered any attack by a ta’wyn. It looked like it had gotten thrown off by the strangeness and brushed across a crystalline stalactite, slicing a deep gouge across its back. Blood pooled under the body after trailing a distance to this spot. Even after the mortal wounding, it must have dragged itself along, trying to continue the task bridled into it.

Nyx stepped well clear, her shoulders bowing again.

As Graylin passed, he noted the blood leaked slowly downward.

Jace was right.

The tunnel was leading deeper under the mountain.

As they continued on, Rhaif cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

“I feel it, too,” Jace added. “A faint rumbling.”

Krysh touched a wall. “It reminds me of the Flüst of Tosgon, the muffled reverberation of some infernal engine.”

Graylin kept them moving. “We must be approaching the source.”

After a final long stretch, a wan glow appeared ahead. It grew brighter as they continued and the rumbling louder. Graylin hissed for the lanterns to be doused. Their pace slowed to a wary approach.

At a sharp bend in the tunnel, Graylin stopped them with a raised hand. The light rose from just ahead. The ground trembled with a force that hardened the muscles of his jaw. A glance around showed sparks flashing with the brush of clothing. Fine hairs lifted and hovered.

Nyx lifted a palm. “The air thrums with energy.”

Graylin leaned close. “Shiya and I’ll scout ahead. The rest of you wait for our call.”

Nyx stiffened and looked about to argue, but for once he beat her down with an uncompromising look. She finally nodded.

Graylin set off with Shiya and passed around the bend. Ahead, the tunnel ended abruptly. Power wafted from there, shivering hairs. It felt as if they were walking into a thundercloud. The air smelled with the sharpness of a lightning strike.

Graylin edged forward, in step with Shiya.

They reached the tunnel’s end and gaped at the cavernous dome that opened ahead. It was large enough to entomb the full span of Kepenhill’s nine tiers.

The space was both familiar yet strange,

Still, Graylin knew what he was staring into.

The heart of the Dragon.

He and Shiya stepped out onto an apron, perched a quarter of the way up one wall. Ramps curved to either side, sweeping down to the floor.

Graylin’s gaze searched the space.

Like the turubya site in the Frozen Wastes, a layer of seamless copper lined the dome’s every surface, encrusted by a dense labyrinth of crystalline tubing, steel joinery, and hundreds of windowed tanks bubbling with a golden elixir. It all glowed softly, occasionally bursting with blinding dazzles and brilliant arcs, which shot over sections like bottled lightning.

Movement caught his eye. A set of dark wings glided out of the shine, slowly circling the yawning dome. It was a lone mankra, a last scout still on duty.

Graylin searched below and spotted the broken forms of a half dozen ta’wyn. Two still smoked, with sparks snapping out of their darkened cavities.

“A few last defenders,” Graylin noted.

“There are probably more.” Shiya nodded to the seven tunnels branching off from the floor of the dome. “Let’s hope the wraiths dealt with those, too.”

“The mankrae likely caught them by surprise. I doubt any strangers have trespassed here in countless millennia.”

Still, Graylin eyed those tunnels. The site in the Frozen Wastes had similar passageways. Here, as there, giant rubbery cables—four times a man’s height—snaked out of the darkness, humming loudly, and dove deep under the dome’s copper floor. Though they vanished away, Graylin knew where they were headed, what they were meant to power.

So did Shiya.

She pointed to the center of the floor. “The turubya. ”

Graylin grimaced. “What happened to it?”

Back in the Wastes, a perfect sphere of crystal—as large as a warship—had hung over a bottomless round pit, suspended by a rigging of arched bridges. Its crystalline surface had been circumscribed by crisscrossing bands of bright copper, while smaller wires etched a complicated pattern everywhere. However, its most miraculous feature churned at its core, where a huge pool of golden fluid pulsed and writhed, as if marking the secret heartbeat of the Urth.

Which maybe it did.

Especially considering the turubya ’s purpose.

To set the world to turning, in harmony with its twin in the Frozen Wastes.

Only now there was an insurmountable problem.

Shiya voiced it.

“The turubya has been corrupted.”