The Queen of Death

47

“Move!” Kandler said as soon as he saw the dragon. “Scatter! Force it to choose a target!”

He grabbed Esprë by the arm and half-led, half-dragged her toward the hole. Burch dashed past them, anticipating where Kandler wanted to go.

Sallah and Xalt went in the opposite direction, toward the crystal ball Greffykor had been studying before. As she looked back over her shoulder, Kandler saw in her eyes that she’d rather have gone with him, even if only to make a final stand against this new foe, but she did as he asked instead. He only hoped it turned out to be the right thing.

He knew they had no way to harm the dragon. Their only hope was to hide from it. Perhaps in a place as large as the observatory—built on a scale to accommodate the largest sorts of dragons—there might be some spaces tight enough that a dragon could not fit in them.

Even if they could find a hole in which to hide, Kandler wondered how long they might be able to hold out that way. Could they live like rats within the walls, scurrying out to steal what food and water they could find whenever the dragons disappeared or bedded down for the night?

Did dragons sleep? Kandler had heard tales of them resting on lavish beds made of fortunes in invaluable gems and precious metals, dormant for months, years, even decades, but he had no way of knowing if they were true—or if they applied to every dragon he might meet.

In any case, he only knew one thing: He had to get Esprë away from this new dragon and fast.

The red dragon folded its wings against its back and crept through the open portal. As it did, Greffykor said something to it in Draconic.

Zanga stood in the center of the room, between the two dragons, covered in her scaled shroud, which shimmered with its varied colors. She raised her arms in supplication to the red dragon.

“Welcome, O Great One,” she said to the creature. Her voice rang out loud and proud. “I speak in the repulsive tongue of our guests so that they may understand your holy intent. Permit me to be the conduit through which you may make your will be known.”

Greffykor interrupted before the intruding dragon could respond. “I speak in the tongue of my guests to show my disrespect for those of my kind who would disregard our traditions and arrive in my observatory unannounced. You may leave at once.”

The red dragon growled something. Zanga translated its words.

“The dragon-god known as Frekkainta greets Greffykor. She does not feel compelled to meet with traitors against the race of dragons or to treat them with respect. She has traveled many miles to come here to exterminate the lesser peoples and to take Greffykor prisoner for his crimes.”

Greffykor snarled. “You stray beyond your authority. I do not answer to you, nor shall my guests, who abide here under my protection.”

Kandler and Esprë reached the hole, and he saw that Burch had already lashed one end of his rope to a bit of strange machinery jutting from a nearby wall. The shifter tossed the other end of the coil over the edge of the hole, and it played out smooth and straight until it slapped into the floor, which seemed a score of yards below.

The dragons hadn’t turned to look at them. In fact, they had locked eyes with each other as if they both were sizing a foe up for a monstrous battle—or a meal. Kandler wondered if even the fortified walls of this amazing observatory would be able to withstand a brawl between two such terrifying beasts. He suspected the whole place could crumble around them without them giving much notice.

“Go with Burch,” Kandler said. He gave Esprë a quick hug with his free arm, then a kiss on the top of her head. He brandished his fangblade before him. “I’ll cover your escape.”

“But—”

Burch cut off the girl’s protest by wrapping his arm around her waist and leaping into the hole. Kandler knew the shifter would let the thin, strong rope pay out from around his free arm, slowing their descent to a safe but zippy speed.

The red dragon’s gaze flicked toward Sallah and Xalt then back across to face toward Kandler. Her head did not move, but Kandler swore he could hear the creature’s massive orbs swiveling in her head.

The justicar froze in the focus of the bright yellow eyes. He wondered if he might fit inside one of their pupils, they were so large. He had to remind himself to keep breathing. Then he realized he’d stopped out of fear that the creature might hear him.

He didn’t want to do anything to offend the dragon. He could see now why the Seren worshipped the dragons as gods. He’d never been much for religion, but Frekkainta was the closest thing to a deity he’d ever encountered.

The dragon’s eyes told Kandler everything he needed to know about her. She cared nothing for him. He meant less than an insect, despite the stinger he held in his hand. She could crush him flat or incinerate him in the space of a single blink of her massive eyes. He lived or died only at her whim.

Then Frekkainta turned her attention back to Greffykor, and Kandler found he could breathe freely again. He reached for the rope and knelt at the edge of the hole. Below, he heard Burch and Esprë touch down on the lower floor.

The red dragon growled something horrible. Zanga began to translate as the creature snarled out her intent at Greffykor.

“If the vermin present here do not show themselves immediately, Frekkainta will kill everyone in the observatory and then destroy the building itself. The traitor Greffykor will comply with her wishes or be subdued and crucified as a traitor. We have but moments to—”

Zanga stopped. “Everyone?” She stared up at Frekkainta, her face a mixture of confusion and awe. “But, my lady, I am the Shroud of Scales of the Tribe of Gref. I lead my people in the worship of your kind and your host in this observatory. Surely I—”

Frekkainta cut off Zanga with a cold-blooded snarl that Kandler didn’t need translated.

“But—”

The crimson dragon bowed its head until its nose nearly touched the Seren shaman. Kandler held his breath as he waited to see what would happen next.

A gout of fire spouted from the dragon’s nostrils and licked along the front of the shroud that Zanga wore. The woman shrieked and fell to her knees, the flames continuing to cascade down her back.

The fire stopped, leaving twin curls of thick smoke curling from each of the red dragon’s blackened nostrils. Zanga kept screaming until Greffykor reached out and tapped her on her shoulder with a careful, silver talon. She stopped so fast then that the effort sent her into an uncontrollable fit of coughing.

Greffykor cocked his head at Frekkainta, a scolding look in his eyes. As a child, Kandler had seen that look in his father’s eyes when the man had caught him playing with an innocent inchworm he’d found crawling across the front step of their home in Sharn. He’d stepped away from the harmless creature and let it go on its way.

Frekkainta, on the other hand, had no intention of letting Zanga go free. She growled something at the shaman, and Zanga staggered to her feet, the shroud falling from her tear-stained face. Smoke rose from her singed hair and reddened skin.

“No,” Zanga rasped. “Don’t kill me last—don’t kill me at all! I—” She swallowed hard. “I know— One of the people who arrived on the airship bears a dragonmark, a sign of blessing. I can tell you who it is.”

Kandler shivered. The Shroud of Scales was about to sell Esprë out, and he didn’t see what he could do about it. He considered charging Zanga and cutting her down before she could speak, but he knew that the dragon could flick him away with a single talon instead. He wished he had a bow—or that Burch was there.

The justicar knew, though, that he had no other choices. He would have to sacrifice himself. It might not ensure that Esprë would live, but it would buy her a few much-needed moments.

Thoughts of Esprina filled Kandler’s head. Then Sallah’s face entered his mind as well, sharing space with Esprë’s mother, never crowding her out. Whatever time the justicar could bargain for would help Sallah too.

Kandler shifted his grip on his fangblade and prepared to charge.