Born of Dragons

“That’s… I’m glad,” Devin said. Why was it so hard to find the words around her? “I should go. The others are waiting for me.”

He took Lenore’s hand briefly, trying to work out whether it would be appropriate to kiss it or not. Probably not. He stood and headed for the door.

“Devin,” Lenore called out before he got there. He turned back, hopeful. “I… I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

“Thanks, I’ll miss you too,” he said, and then hurried from the room, cursing himself all the while for being unable to say the one thing that mattered.

Surely, whatever happened out there, trying to gain the fragments, it had to be easier than this?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Trapped in a tomb with a dragon just outside and the Hidden just beyond that, Renard had been in worse spots. He couldn’t actually think of what any of them were, but he was sure that he must have.

In theory, of course, he could make the whole thing simple: he could wait for the dragon to leave, then walk out to meet the Hidden. All he had to do then was hand over the amulet that even now siphoned his strength like a fine hole punched at the bottom of a reservoir.

He couldn’t do that, though. Instead, Renard was going to have to do this the hard way.

He checked carefully around the walls of the inner tomb, hoping there would be some hidden way out, some crack or tunnel that had not been there when the makers of this place had built it into the side of the volcano. A nice, convenient way out didn’t seem like too much to ask, did it?

Apparently, it was, which meant that either he walked out the way he’d come, or… or he went out through the opening above the main mausoleum space. Falling to his death versus being caught by the Hidden trying to cross them. Put like that, it was no choice at all.

Renard unlocked the golden doors to the tomb with his tools, hearing the click of it, feeling the sweat running down his brow at the thought of what might be just beyond. More scraping sounded, the dragon clawing to get in, and Renard kept perfectly still until the sound stopped. He left it another minute, then two.

He could sit here forever listening, but sooner or later, he would have to move. He did so, cracking open the door and looking out. The sky above was dimming, the light in the mausoleum less strong now. Renard didn’t dare shine his lantern, though, because that would certainly bring the attention of the beast. Instead, he crept out, seeing what he could by natural light.

There, across the cavernous enclosure, he could see the bulk of the creature. It was still, curled up almost catlike in sleep, its flank rising and falling slowly with its breaths. Renard kept his distance, suspecting that even the slightest sound might wake it.

In the dim light, he surveyed the internal walls of the tomb as best he could. The lower levels were rich with carvings and monuments; an easy climb for someone like him. Higher up though, the stonework seemed to give way to natural rock, and this looked like a far harder climb than the one outside had been.

It was either that or stay here until the dragon woke up, so Renard started to climb. He set off, using the statue of some forgotten warrior for a foothold, then launching himself up to catch an upper row of stonework. He swung his body up, twisting as he went, moving ever higher.

Renard gasped as the stone face of a grotesque form he was using for a handhold gave way, part of it starting to tumble down. His reflexes, at least, were still good, and his hand shot out to catch it, rather than let it clatter to the ground below. For a moment, Renard hung by one hand, his other holding a twisted stone face that seemed to find the whole thing very funny. He was glad one of them did.

Carefully, he searched with his feet, finding footholds that would support him. Just as precisely, he set the stone face down on a shelf of rock, where it could not fall and risk disturbing the dragon below.

He moved quicker now, knowing that even his grip would only last so long like this. He moved from hold to hold, reaching out, setting his hand or his foot in place, shifting his weight. He tried to map out his path to the space where greenery showed above, and his breath caught as he saw a problem.

There was a space where rock had fallen away, leaving no obvious handholds. If he’d had time in a space like that, it wouldn’t have been a problem, because Renard would have worked with hammers and spikes to make his own path. He’d done that once in the treasure vault of a merchant where to even touch the floor would have been to set off a truly elaborate array of traps. Now though, he didn’t know how much time he had until the dragon woke, and he couldn’t risk the sound of hammering into rock. That left only one thing: he would have to leap the gap to the next hold.

For a moment, Renard considered returning to ground level, exiting through the main tunnel, and just trying to sneak past the Hidden. Somehow, though, he doubted that would work. They would catch him, and then…

Yes, there were definitely worse things than falling.

He glanced down in that moment, and below him, he saw one of the dragon’s great, golden eyes open.

That spurred Renard to leap as nothing else could. He heard the dragon’s roar as he propelled himself upward, his body seeming to hang in space forever before his hands found a shelf of rock above. It was sharp edged, digging into his hands, but he didn’t care now, only cared about hauling himself up, out into the open air on the upper slopes of the volcano.

The dragon came soaring out of the hole behind him, powerful wings sending it up into the sky. It circled, and for a moment, Renard thought that it might turn and head straight for him. Instead though, something seemed to distract it, perhaps the sight of prey in the distance, perhaps something else. It wheeled and flew into the distance with rapid beats of its wings.

Renard lay on his back for long seconds, trying to get his breath back after the terror of the last few moments. He couldn’t stay like that long though, because he had no way of knowing when the beast might decide to come back for him. Worse, with it gone, the Hidden might think it was worth the risk to follow him into the mausoleum, might see that he was gone.

He forced himself to stand, if only because he needed all the head start that he could get when it came to enemies like that; and they were his enemies now. They’d become that the moment he’d defied them, the moment he hadn’t just walked out to them with the amulet.

They would probably have killed him anyway, of course. People like that were just the type to double-cross a thief. Was there no honor left in the world? Of course, by doing this, he put more than himself in danger. What might they do to Yselle, or the others back in Lord Carrick’s lands?

Renard just had to hope that they would be too busy hunting for him, and that seemed like a stupid thing for a man to hope. Still, he set off down the far slope of the volcano, heading for the farmland below, moving quickly now. He could feel the thin trickle of strength running out of him from the amulet, but it seemed that as long as he didn’t try to use it, it was only a trickle.

He kept going, and he was on the very lowest slopes when he looked back and saw three robed figures far above. It seemed that Void, Wrath, and Verdant had worked out what he’d done, which meant he needed to run.

He ran, plunging toward the fields, and around him, the landscape seemed to explode with danger. A tree twisted its branches toward him, and Renard barely stepped out of the way in time. A rock became razor-sharp fragments, forcing him to throw himself flat. He got up and kept running.

He leapt over a low stone wall and ran through the fields, darting this way and that, keeping low and hoping that the dark secrets that infused the Hidden only had a limited range. Looking back, he thought that the crops had obscured their view of him, but Renard knew better than to stop. He had enough experience of running away in his life to know that didn’t mean anything.

He kept going, and now he found a stream that was wide, and muddy, and probably waist deep. Beyond it, there was open ground with only a scattering of cover, trees and bushes. A man like Renard might be able to hide there, but for how long? There had to be a better way. Looking at the river, Renard thought that he could see one, but what if—

“We’ll find you!” Wrath roared somewhere behind him. “And then I’ll melt the eyes from your skull!”

His mind made up, Renard took a breath, plunged into the murky waters, and crouched at the bottom.

Instantly, the silty waters hid the world above from view except as faint shadows. The water was cold, rushing around him at speed, but Renard stayed where he was, not daring to move as three figures appeared on the banks above. Echoes of their voices filtered down to him.

“…way he went?” Wrath demanded, his angry red mask visible for all to see.

“We will find him,” Verdant said in that melodic voice she had. She called out. “Come out, Renard, dear. Come and play!”

There was something about the tone of that voice that made Renard’s limbs want to react on their own. He had to fight to keep them in place, and he had to fight more than that, too. His lungs were starting to tell him that it was time to come up for air, but if he did that, he would pop up right in front of the Hidden. The terror of what might happen then kept his head below the water.

How much longer he could do it without drowning, though… Renard’s lungs were starting to burn, while above him, Void was looking around, more frightening with his blank mask than the others put together.

“Keep going,” he said. “Find him. Find the artifact.”

Above Renard, Verdant stepped up to the bank. Branches and vines stretched out over the water, forming a living bridge that creaked and twisted as the three of them stepped across, continuing their chase.

Even when they passed out of sight, Renard left it as long as he could before he came up for air. He left it until blackness pressed in on the edges of his sight, because every second he waited was another that his pursuers were moving away from him.

Finally, he could take it no more, and broke the surface, gasping.

“Damn it,” he said to himself. “Damn them all!”

He held up the amulet, its octagonal form containing a dragon scale, surrounded by runes and gems of different colors. It was what they wanted, but Renard knew that he couldn’t give something so powerful to people like that. Nor could he just hold onto it, not when he could feel it leeching at his life, bit by tiny bit.

What he really needed was a sorcerer of some kind to tell him what to do with it, but Renard didn’t know any of those. He had no experience with magical amulets, no experience with dragons or words that could twist the world, or any of this strangeness. Thankfully though, he did have plenty of experience with stolen goods.

He knew exactly where to get rid of those.

CHAPTER EIGHT

By the time Vars stalked into the great hall, it was already full to its stone-lined walls with people. There were so many there that the large squares of carpet that normally divided them up by rank had given way to only a general approximation. The nobles were there, and the leaders of the Houses of Merchants, Weapons, Scholars, and even Sighs. The doors at the far end were open, letting even more listen in, and setting the banners around the walls to flapping.