Page 22

22

CHARLIE

I stood alone in the dragon’s den, watching at the edge of the cave entrance as other beasts left their roosts, flew upward, and disappeared back over the cliff face, heading, I guessed, for some gathering place where the riders would put on their armor and get their orders.

I squinted out at the horizon then, imagining for a moment that I could hear the buzzing of plane engines in the distance. Then the wind changed, and the sound was gone.

A battle. There was going to be a battle, and I wasn’t in it.

I felt strangely left out.

But I wasn’t a pilot today. I was a spy. And I found myself in a unique position. I was alone in The Hatchery, the inner sanctum of the Skrathan’s power. It was a chance I might never have again. With renewed energy, I turned from the sea and made my way back into the hallway from which I’d come, trying to decide what would be the most useful thing to do. Should I sketch a map of this place for use in a later raid? Commit some act of sabotage? Search for secret weapons or documents? Assess the place for structural vulnerabilities?

But I was no engineer or demolitionist; I would be of little use figuring out how best to destroy this vast stone edifice. And I’d seen nothing to indicate a cache of weapons, maps or papers nearby…

Think. You can’t let this chance pass by without doing something.

And then it hit me. The power of this place didn’t lay in some hidden information or in the stone of the building itself, impressive as it was. It was the dragons. That’s what I had to learn about.

Quickly and quietly, I made my way back up the hallway to the egg chamber. The workers who had been inside were gone, and I heard their voices moving away up the hallway. I crept into the room, looking left and right, but found no one inside, neither man nor dragon. Everyone was off preparing for battle. And why should this place be guarded, anyway? These eggs were to be destroyed. I might as well be walking into a trash heap.

Quickly, I unslung my oilskin bag and knelt. An array of eggs lay before me, of varying colors and sizes and patterns. There was no telling which would be the most useful for our scientists to study—assuming I could get the thing back home, somehow. So, I just grabbed the first egg that came to hand, a midsized pinkish one that sparkled slightly as the light hit it, like a chunk of rose-colored granite. It was surprisingly heavy as I lifted it, slipped it into the bag, and stood, hurrying away.

I had just emerged from the entrance when a voice called my name.

“Kit!”

I’m caught, I thought, my heart stuttering in my chest.

But Ollie was smiling as he strode up to me, his robes swishing.

“There you are,” he said. “Rohree said I would find you here. Prelate Kortoi has summoned you. It’s time for your audience.”

* * *

I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it.

Maybe it was the name. The Gray Brotherhood had always sounded so ominous. And yet, I sat now in high-ceilinged conservatory surrounded by windows. Outside, butterflies wafted between flowers in a lovely garden filled with varieties of flowers I’d never seen before. All around the room were interesting oddities. Samples of dead birds and bugs in glass jars. Heads of taxidermized creatures. Several human skulls decorated in gold leaf. On the walls were star charts, anatomical diagrams of all twelve dragon types, and detailed sketches of plants and naked people. There were also several paintings in the new, brutalist abstract style that was all the rage in Ironberg currently.

It hadn’t taken long to get here, even on foot. The Gray Brotherhood had their own walled compound about a quarter mile outside the city. It consisted only of an outer wall and a single tower, the architecture of which was blocky and jagged and dark. Its grim, square turrets were a marked contrast to the town’s nature-inspired shops and dwellings and the palace’s smooth, sweeping white walls. From the outside, the keep’s black stone had looked bleak and forbidding, and so I’d been pleasantly surprised by the cozy atmosphere that greeted me within.

The couch I sat on was of soft, fragrant leather, and a smiling man in a gray robe set a tray before us. On it was a generous cup of black liquid and a tray of cigarettes. I picked up the mug and stiffed.

It was coffee! At just the scent of it, the pounding headache I’d dealt with for days seemed to ease. I sipped. It was delicious.

“Oh, God. Thank you,” I said. The robed man bowed, then turned and departed.

“They don’t talk,” Ollie said when he was gone. “The brothers take a vow of silence, all except the Prelate and his top brothers. Oh, and I’d go easy on that coffee if I were you. The Brothers are known for adding potions to guests’ drinks. It can affect the mind.”

I gazing into my coffee cup dubiously. It was tasty, but now that he mentioned it, I did notice a strange, faintly sweet aftertaste. And there was a feeling, too. An odd effervesce that roiled through my stomach and seemed to rise up to my head; I wasn’t sure if I would vomit or float up to the ceiling. Grudgingly, I set the coffee aside and lit a cigarette.

The copper-clad doors creaked open, and a lady and two gray-robed men entered. The woman was tall, with fine cheekbones and long black hair. She wore black velvet robe tied with a black belt studded with diamonds, like stars sprinkled across a night sky. Many rings glistened on her long fingers. Her fingernails were long and her pale skin was unnaturally smooth, perfect and still, as if made of wax.

It wasn’t until the figure drew close that I looked at the facial features more clearly and realized it was, in fact, a man. The low voice, when the figure spoke, confirmed it.

“So, this is our esteemed guest from across the sea,” he said, gazing at me with dark eyes that glinted strangely—like the eyes of forest animal reflecting firelight.

Ollie stood and I followed suit.

“Prelate Kortoi,” Ollie said with a small bow.

“Good Torouman,” the Prelate said amiably, then his attention turned to me. Up close I could see how tall he truly was—a head taller than me, at least, and skinny as a stork. But the thick veins that crisscrossed his hands hinted at physical strength.

“A stout fellow,” the Prelate said, looking me up and down. “No wonder his nation has fought so bravely and for so long. And yet I hope one day soon we may call one another friends.”

I nodded, taking a drag off my cigarette. “That’s very kind of you,” I said. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

Something I said must have pleased or amused the Prelate, because his already excessive grin grew even wider.

“Ah, I’ve just remembered something. Joman!” the Prelate called, and one of the brothers entered. “Please take our friend Ollie and show him the Steinman. Then wrap it up so he can take it with him.”

He leaned to Ollie conspiratorially, looming over him.

“I’ve procured a gift for the queen. At great expense, I might add. A painting. You’ve heard of Steinman?” he asked me.

“Uh. Yeah,” I lied.

“One of Ironberg’s greatest living artists. We disagree with the Admites about many things, but their art is fantastic. Steinman’s work in particular truly captures the spirit of the void. I know you won’t mind delivering the gift to the queen on my behalf, since you’ll be heading back to the palace anyway…” the Prelate said to Ollie, gesturing toward the doorway.

Ollie hesitated for a beat, then gave a smile that seemed forced. “Of course, Prelate. I’d be honored.” He began moving toward the door. I went to follow him, but the Prelate stopped me with a hand on my chest.

“Mr. Rowley, please stay. The Torouman can manage the painting, I’m sure. But we so rarely get visitors from across the sea. Stay and chat.”

He gestured to the couch. Ollie gave me a grudging look, as if he hated to leave me alone with the Prelate, but after a moment’s hesitation he turned and followed gray brother, and the door shut behind them with a click.

The Prelate and I were alone.

“Well, well. Kitty Rowley,” he said. “Such and interesting name. I’m happy Hoatan was able to bring you here. I’m a great fan of your reporting.”

From the folds of his robe he took a newspaper and handed it to me. It was an edition of the Ironberg Times, dated yesterday. On the cover was a photo of a pilot in a flight helmet and goggles kissing a girl in front of a familiar looking plane. The headline read THE SILVER WRAITH FOUND SAFE.

What…?

I stared at the picture again. Sure enough, the plane looked exactly like my Wraith, which was now at the bottom of a sea cave. And the girl kissing the pilot… was Kitty. My fiancée.

I swallowed hard.

“Marvelous work ethic you have,” the Prelate said. “Even I have trouble being two places at once.”

He reached out with one long finger and tapped the byline of the article. BY KITTY ROWLEY, it read.

I felt suddenly cold and hot at once. My head spun—from the spiked coffee or from panic, I wasn’t sure which.

“Has the queen seen this?” I asked.

The Prelate took the paper from me and turned toward the hearth. “Oh, no. I’m quite sure I’m the only one in Maethalia with a subscription to the Ironberg Times.” Chuckling, he tossed the paper into the fire. In an instant, flames were consuming it. “It can be our little secret,” he said.

“So you’re… on our side?” I whispered.

“Sides? I am a priest of the void. Gaze into the depthless darkness void long enough and one realizes there are no sides. No good and evil. No male and female. No strong and weak. There is not even living and dead. All are one. Ripples on the great sea of non-being.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said.

The Prelate picked up on my sarcasm and laughed. “You’re a cynic. I like cynics. Tell me, who are you really?”

I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell this man. But it was clear already that he knew enough to be my undoing. Lying would only risk angering him and put me in further danger.

“I’m a fighter pilot,” I said. “My plane was damaged and I crashed into the ocean near the coast. I happened to have Kitty Rowley’ documents onboard, so I decided to pose as her.”

“Brilliant,” the Prelate clapped his hands, his many rings glinting. “And already you’ve wormed your way into the queen’s inner circle by way of the princess. That’s really impressive work, Kit. Or should I say, Charlie?”

The sound of my real name jarred me. But that wasn’t what bothered me most. It as the Prelate’s voice, I realized. It didn’t match his face. Though he looked no more than twenty years old with skin that was smooth, even milky, his voice had the rumble and crackle of an old man’s.

The Prelate wandered to the mantle and took up a brass figurine of a biplane. He held it up, considering it.

“Yes, I know who you are. Charlie Inman. The ace of aces. The famed Silver Wraith.”

“Well, not anymore,” I said. “Looks like I was easily replaced.”

The Prelate turned back to me, his too-wide smile replaced with a mocking pout. “Of course. The void contains all abundance, every possible permutation of life and destiny. We are all infinitely replaceable, Charlie. Even me. But still, you have done well. And you might do so much more.”

My hand drifted to my pocket. “In Kitty’s papers, there was a note that said to come to you. With any reports.”

I took one of Kitty’s lipsticks out of the bag. It contained the notes I’d made so far. Sketches of Charcain. Targets. Ideas about how defenses might be overcome. The location of the hatching grounds on Dorhane. Information about dragons and dragon riders, all written on tiny pieces of paper which I’d rolled up and stuck inside the lipstick’s cap, just in case this moment presented itself.

The Prelate took the lipstick and slipped it into his robes.

“I’ll see this gets delivered. We should plan to meet once a week, you and I. I’m sure you’ll be glad to come back for more of my coffee and cigarettes. You’ll find no one else in the kingdom with such Western style luxuries. And some find mine especially addictive.”

I glanced at the cigarette in my hand. Most of it had burned down to ash while the Prelate had been talking and I hadn’t even noticed. I took a final drag then stubbed it out in an ashtray. “I’ll certainly come back, if Essaphine lets me. She’s my escort while I’m here.”

The Prelate took my hand in his and patted it, as if he were comforting a child.

“Don’t worry, Charlie. She won’t be around long enough to stand in our way for long. She’ll be joining the void soon.”

I guessed he meant death, though it was a hell of a creepy way to talk about it. I considered telling him my plan. If I got my way, Essa would live—in fact, she’d be Irska. But something in those sparkling, dark eyes of his stopped me.

He might be an ally—but that didn’t mean I could trust him.

Instead, I just nodded.

He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. His lips were so cold they sent a shiver through me.

“Charlie. The Silver Wraith. Crashed. Gone. Think of this like an afterlife, Charlie. When you’re dead, anything is possible.”

His dark eyes bored into mine, hypnotic, bright with some avarice I didn’t understand. Then footsteps were coming toward us. Instinctively, I jerked my hand from his as the doors swung open, revealing one of the gray brothers.

“The Torouman is eager to depart,” he said.

The Prelate smiled, the mouth of his once more seeming too wide, like the maw of a shark.

“Of course,” he said. “We are done here. But I’ll see you again soon, Kit. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

* * *

Outside, Ollie hustled me away from the black keep. He held a wrapped-up painting under his arm and had a scowl on his face. As we walked, he kept looking over his shoulder, as if he expected them to be chasing us. I had to admit, the hulking, black armored Lacunae guards made me a bit nervous, too.

I tripped over a rock and went down hard on my knees. Cursing, Ollie caught me under the armpit and hauled me up.

“You alright?” He demanded.

“Fine,” I said, the word coming out slurred.

“Curse those Brothers,” Ollie said. “I told you not to drink the coffee.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I was craving coffee and a cigarette for days, though.”

“And now you got them,” Ollie said. “But at what price?”

It didn’t seem like a terrible price, honestly. I only felt a little buzzed. Although, perhaps I’d been a bit less guarded with the Prelate than I should have been… Now that I was on my feet, Ollie was hurrying me along again.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To Essa. She needs me.”

“Is she hurt?”

“No. They didn’t let her fight. And she’s furious about it.”

“They didn’t let her fight? Why? Because of her arm? Or because she’s the princess?”

He didn’t answer; he just kept hurrying along as I struggled to keep up.

I squinted at him. “How do you know?”

“Othura told me.”

“Wait. The dragon can talk to you, too?”

“You’re just a font of questions, aren’t you? Yes. Anyone can communicate with a dragon if the dragon wills it. Especially a Torouman who is sworn to protect that dragon’s rider. Now hurry up. The dragons are returning.”

We entered one of the palace courtyards and found Essa sitting astride Othura and gazing up at the sky. Above, the Skrathan and their steeds were returning one by one. Some dragons were injured, the webbing of their wings in tatters, or dark bleeding holes in their thick hides, courtesy of my friends’ 10-millimeter guns. None of those who landed paid us any mind. Some riders tended to their dragons, along with green-smocked medics who hurried out from a round barn, pushing handcarts filled with medical supplies. Others threw their steel helms to the ground in frustration or gathered together in small groups with their comrades, where they talked together in low, angry voices.

“Look,” Ollie pointed as a shape so large it blotted out the sky passed over us. Three stout dragons held another dragon by its wings and tail.

As they flew in, I saw the beast had two heads. If I was learning my dragon types correctly, it was a geminus.

“Braimar,” Essa whispered, watching as they set the beast down in the middle of the courtyard.

One of the dragons carrying the geminus belonged to Laynine, I saw. Braimar sat behind her in the saddle and as they alighted, he leapt off and ran toward his dragon’s twin heads. One was very still, a mass of dark blood and torn flesh, with a glint of white skull exposed. But as his rider approached, the other head rose and gave a heart wrenching bellow. Then it dropped to the cobblestones again and Braimar fell to hugging it and weeping.

Laynine had climbed off Tryce and stood watching Braimar’s sorrow, her face twitching with some unreadable emotion—anger or sorrow or pity.

Murmurs rifled among the riders as they watched Braimar’s anguish and a general feeling of foreboding and unease seemed to settle on the entire square like a mist.

Othura took a few paces toward Laynine and Essa cleared her throat.

“What happened?” she called.

Laynine turned to us, her eyes hard. “It was the Silver Wraith.”

Essa recoiled. “Impossible. He died with Paemalla.”

Essa’s three friends were landing. The one called Lure shook their head grimly. “There’s no question. It was him, silver plane and all.”

The hell it was, I thought, my mind returning to the article the Prelate had showed me. Running a fake news story was one thing. But the brass had really painted another plane silver and sent an imposter up in my place? The thought of it stung my pride.

“They baited us,” Laynine said. “Their planes made a sortie and were nearing the hatching ground. We swept in and broke their formation, had them scattered and on the run. We pursued them, hoping to pick off the stragglers before they made it back to their base. Then, they sprang a trap on us. There were more flying machines than I’ve ever seen. And the Wraith was among them. He?—”

From the center of the courtyard there came a horrific roar. The geminus seemed to have realized that his twin head was slain. It nudged its other head with its snout again and again, then gave a blood chilling roar and blew a blast of flame into the sky, bright as a second sun.

“We’ll kill him,” Braimar shouted, a terrible, haunted look in his eyes. The blade of his drawn sword glinted in dragon’s firelight. Both man and dragon flailed, blind with mad rage, sword and flame flashing so wildly, even the other dragons and their riders backed away. Braimar’s eyes went to me.

He pointed his sword at me, its tip trembling.

“We’ll kill them all!” he bellowed, stumbling toward me. “You tell them. WE’LL KILL THEM ALL!”

He began running toward me, his sword raised. This wounded dragon turned toward us, too, dragging its dead head with it, leaving a trail of gore behind.

It opened its mouth and sent a blast of flame toward us. Othura leapt in front of me and reared up, shielding me with her fire-resistant underbelly.

“Get on,” Essa shouted, offering me her hand as I clambered up into the saddle behind her. Then Othura was flapping into the sky, bearing us upward as Braimar’s dragon blasted flames after us.

Below us, Ollie was fleeing on foot. Skrathan were scattering, giving Braimar’s mad dragon a wide berth.

Many of the Skrathan seemed more concerned with me and Essa than Braimar, though. From below I could hear their outraged shouts.

She’s taken a foreigner on dragon back.

No!

Look!

It is forbidden.

The queen will hear. There must be justice!

Braimar’s dragon pumped its wings frantically, trying to pursue us despite his horrific injury and blasting fire into the sky. Braimar screamed after us like a maniac.

“Go!” Essaphine shouted, and Othura wheeled and bore us away.

It was only a short flight, a hop over the roof of a hall and into a nearby courtyard. Essaphine slid off Othura’s back and I followed her down, my heart still beating fast. I’d faced plenty of angry dragons, but the madness and hatred in Braimar and his dragon’s eyes left me shaken me.

Essa and I stood looking one another up and down, as if making sure the other was okay. I realized what I was doing with a start and looked away. She did the same, turning to pat Othura’s flank.

“You okay, love?” she asked, and the dragon nuzzled her.

“I hope you don’t get in trouble—for flying me,” I said.

Part of me couldn’t believe I’d actually been on the back of a dragon. What the hell the boys back home would say to that, I could hardly imagine. But the flight had been so brief, it had left me wanting more. I could imagine soaring on Othura’s back out over the sea, into the mountains, across the dark, wild forests of Maethalia…

Essa just gave me a grim smile. “Don’t worry about me, Poet. I’m the naughty daughter. There’s no trouble this place could offer that I haven’t gotten into already. Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”