The Queen of Death

48

The redheaded man grinned at Te’oma, and his mouth parted wider than humanly possible. The changeling doubted that even she could have pulled off such a trick.

What frightened her most was that the dragon-man didn’t seem to be trying. Pulling and twisting himself into different shapes didn’t strain him at all. Only a creature of horrible power could do such things so effortlessly.

“Welcome to the Phoenix,” Monja said, keeping her hands lightly on the wheel. “We’re pleased to have you as our guest again.”

The dragon-man snorted. “I doubt that,” he said, “but for the sake of amusement, let’s pretend it is.” He stared directly at Te’oma as he spoke.

The changeling willed a smile on to her face. “Let’s.”

“If it’s no bother, what business brings you here?” Monja asked. Te’oma could tell that the halfling was taking great care to keep her voice and her attitude proper and light.

The changeling marveled that the tiny shaman could keep her cool so well in the face of such horrible danger. After all, the redheaded man could transform into a dragon in an instant and murder them where they stood. She was sure that he wouldn’t suffer a single pang of regret for doing so, no more than she would for crushing a stinging bug.

The dragon-man looked at them, his eyes wide and unblinking as he studied them up close. He seemed to be able to see right through their skin and peer into their bones.

“Of course,” he said. “It’s only natural for thinking creatures to want to know why they must die.”

Te’oma gasped despite herself, but the dragon-man ignored it. In fact, he gave no evidence he had even heard her outburst.

“It has to do with the Prophecy,” Monja said, prompting the dragon.

“Of course. The Prophecy dictates all our actions. It guides our thoughts. Only by the greatest struggle can we maintain the illusion of free will and exert our own desires upon it.”

“How is that?” Monja asked. “If the Prophecy is infallible, can it not predict every moment with complete accuracy?”

The dragon-man glared at the halfling for a moment to assess whether or not she was mocking him. Te’oma wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that question either. However, the dragon seemed to conclude that such a tiny creature wouldn’t dare toy so carelessly with its own life, and he spoke to answer her question.

“The Prophecy models reality—or reality models the Prophecy. It is impossible to tell. Either is so complex as to be unknowable. Even such as we cannot comprehend it in all its glory.”

“Like blind hunters feeling the different parts of the thunder lizard,” Monja said.

The dragon-man spat out a mirthless laugh. “It is a poor metaphor for a poor mind, but not without some truth.”

“So why are you here?” It surprised Te’oma to realize the voice asking the question was hers.

The dragon-man’s eyes swiveled to meet her gaze. “Great things happen here and now, and we of the Chamber wish to influence the events.”

“How?”

“The bearer of the dragonmark among your number must die.”

Te’oma shivered at this. She’d not come so far to let anyone kill Esprë so easily. There had to be some way that she could spirit the girl away to safety.

Instinct told her to find Esprë right away. Her cunning, though, kept her rooted to the spot. It would not do to rush into a battle between two—or three—dragons. Better to arm herself first with the only weapon that would be any good against such creatures: information.

“Is your mother part of the Chamber too?” Monja asked.

The dragon-man’s eyes widened and turned a blazing yellow. “She does not concern herself with such things. She knows only that she must kill the bearer of the dragonmark. The Prophecy makes it clear that this will happen.”

“And who interprets the Prophecy for your mother?”

The dragon-man’s smile spread wide enough to show several rows of wicked teeth.

Te’oma stifled a gasp. The dragon-man had twisted the Prophecy to his own unfathomable ends. If she could get away from the ship, she might be able to use that to her advantage.

The changeling fingered the knife at her belt, but she knew that the dragon-man would slay her before she could clear the blade from its sheath. Perhaps his mind wouldn’t be protected quite so well though. If she could reach out with her psionic powers before the creature could muster his defenses, she might have a chance to stun him. Then he would be at her mercy.

Te’oma’s breath caught in her chest as the dragon-man transfixed her with his stare. At that moment, she knew that he understood what she meant to do. Still, he hadn’t done anything to stop her.

Desperate, Te’oma focused the power of her mind into a mental whip and lashed out at the dragon-man with it. She hoped to feel it curl around his mind, draw tight, and then squeeze it until it split. Instead, her efforts struck a mental wall that might as well have been built from iron.

The dragon-man’s expression did not change. If anything, he looked bored at Te’oma’s feeble attempt to do him harm.

The changeling drew back her mental resources again, forming them into a sharp-edged wedge this time, hoping to stab it through the dragon-man’s defenses. Before she could strike, though, she felt the dragon-man’s wall lurch forward and smash her down.

Te’oma’s knees buckled as her mind gave way. She fell to the deck, unable to feel the wood beneath her as her mental protections crumbled beneath the dragon-man’s crushing attack. The world became dark and began to spin.

“Stop!” Monja’s voice seemed to be calling out from a distant tower. “She is no threat to you. Killing a harmless creature is cruel.”

Te’oma felt the pressure in her mind ease up, and she realized she’d stopped breathing. She forced air back into her lungs with a cough that felt like it might tear out her throat. Her eyes watered, and her head wobbled on the end of her neck.

When Te’oma’s vision finally cleared, she sat back on her haunches and glanced up at the dragon-man. He stared down at her, his face as expressionless as a mask.

“Go,” he said. “If you wish. Mother won’t listen to you. She won’t even talk to you. She considers your kind a lower form of life.”

“My kind?”

“Non-dragons.”

Te’oma shivered and turned away. She spied the top of the rope ladder still hanging over the gunwale, and she scrambled toward it. She knew that moving fast would make no difference. If the dragon-man wanted to kill her, she would be dead before she reached the rail.

Despite that, she lurched for the ladder and let herself fall over the railing. She slid down the ropes fast enough to leave burns on her hands, but she didn’t feel them. Her feet slammed into the landing platform, and her knees buckled. As she pushed herself to her feet, she smelled brimstone from where the red dragon had passed just moments before.

Te’oma glanced up at the airship and breathed a silent prayer of thanks that she could not see the ship’s bridge from here. She didn’t think she could bear the dragon-man’s penetrating gaze, not so soon after he’d nearly smashed her mind flat.

She turned toward the observatory. For a moment, she considered spreading her bloodwings and flapping up toward the top of the place again, but the thought of drawing any attention to herself made her shiver. Far better, she thought, to creep into the place like a cockroach, hoping that no one of any import—no dragons—would notice her.