Edge of Destiny (37 page)

Logan held up the keys. “And I can release you—if you will fight beside me.”

Laughter roared from the cells, a deafening sound.

“You are a stupid young man!” the one-eyed warrior growled.

“How’s that?” Logan asked.

“Because we’ll swear anything to get out, and the moment we’re out, we’ll kill you.”

“No, you won’t.” Logan lifted the Blood Legion amulet from his neck. “Because I am your brother.”

“Bring that emblem here!” said the one-eyed charr. “Let me see that!”

Logan stepped up before the charr, whose single eye scrutinized the amulet.

“He stole it! He took it off Rytlock’s corpse.”

“No! He gave it to me willingly,” Logan said. “We have a common foe. These crystalline ogres are not just attacking the humans in Ebonhawke. They are attacking your people on the plains outside.”

“Damned ogres!”

“Fight beside me! Don’t wait in your cells for them to come kill you. Swear to fight, and I will release you.”

“I swear it on the Claw of the Khan-Ur,” growled the one-eyed charr, spitting on the floor.

Logan jabbed the key into the lock and turned it, hauling the gate open.

The charr strode from the cell and snorted, “I’m Flinteye. And you don’t stink as much as most humans.”

“Greetings, Flinteye. You don’t stink as much as most charr.” Logan flashed him a smile. “You think any of these others want to fight ogres?”

“Let’s find out.”

Logan turned to the other cells in the corridor. “All right, listen up! You can sit in here and rot and wait for the ogres to break in and kill you, or you can come with me and get weapons and fight these monsters. Who wants to kill some ogres?”

KRALKATORRIK

B
ig Zojja kicked her way down into the sands. Great plumes of grit flew out of the trench she was digging, curving in a wide semicircle from one side of the northern archway all the way to the other side.

Eir waited beside the trench, clutching a burnoose full of enspelled dragon-blood jewels. “Looks like ten feet deep, Zojja. That should do it.”

Big Zojja looked at her, and from within the golem came the metallic voice of Little Zojja. “I don’t want anything to jump out.”

“Me, neither,” Eir said. “But you’ve got to be able to
climb
out. We need you to guard the east entrance.”

The golem stared at the sandy ground up to her waist, nodded, and then began her less-than-graceful climb from the trench. Meanwhile, Eir walked along it, pouring the dragon-blood crystals into the bottom. Those stones were enspelled to cling to the dragon’s minions, to embed in the flesh and root deep.

At last, Big Zojja had extricated herself from the trench and clambered to her feet. “One more to dig,” said Zojja within.

“No. I got Glint to do it.”

Big Zojja’s head slumped dejectedly.

Eir shrugged. “We just ran out of time. Don’t worry. You’ve contributed tremendously here, Zojja. These stones at the bottom of the trenches—they’re the genius of this plan.”

Big Zojja looked up at Eir to see if she was kidding.

“I’m serious. This is going to work,” Eir said. “Now, go make sure Snaff is finished with the powerstone yoke, and make sure he’s safe within his golem. This whole thing rests on him.”

Big Zojja stood rooted before her. “You promise me he’ll be safe.”

“I promise,” Eir replied, “as long as you get to your post.”

Big Zojja nodded and tromped off through the archway, heading toward the central dome.

Eir meanwhile looked to the north, where the sky was darkening. At first, it seemed only a giant shadow, as if an eclipse were moving across the world. But then the shadow gained substance. It was a storm—a boiling cloud that grew on the horizon. In minutes, it spread across the whole northern desert. Then it came on, piling high in giant thunderheads.

A monster was in that storm.

She could see it now—the flash of a gigantic eye, the surge of a huge wing, the long lash of a scale-covered tail.

“He’s coming!” shouted Eir. “Stations, everyone!”

From within the sanctum came the tromp of Bigs and the scratch of talons and the skitter of claws.

Garm bounded up beside Eir, pressing his muzzle to her hand as if to say this was the day she had always wanted—the day that she would destroy a dragon.

She patted him. “You’re right, Garm. You’re right.”

The black presence now overspread the whole sky. Lightning crackled among the clouds. Golden beams of light stabbed down to bake the desert sands. The ground seemed to melt, to boil and twist. The golden fire seared a highway through the desert. It was heading straight toward Glint’s sanctuary.

Eir hoisted her bow, nocked three explosive charges on the string, and drew back to sight the heart of the cloud. She took a deep breath and released.

Three long shafts vaulted skyward, carrying their powerstone payloads toward the beast. The shafts vanished into the murk, and three green flashes ignited within the cloud.

Then came the
boom! boom! boom!

Shock waves shook the ground.

Already, Eir was lifting three more arrows.

But suddenly the belly of the cloud ripped open, and out of it dropped the dragon. Huge and jagged like cracked stone, it soared toward Eir. Its fangs gaped, its eyes blazed, its hackles spiked.

Eir held her breath and launched another salvo. The three arrows arched over the dragon’s head and dropped to stab through the thing’s back. Three more flashes, three more
booms!
and the creature shuddered.

Still, the explosions seemed only to enrage it. Its massive mouth dropped wide, and golden breath roared out. The plasma splashed down across the desert, melting sand to glass in a road that led toward Eir.

“Come on, Garm!” Eir shouted. She turned and ran through the archway of the stone sanctum, her wolf at her heels. Behind them, dragonbreath bathed the great arch, which crackled dangerously. “Take cover!” Eir leaped into a niche along one wall.

Garm, meanwhile, ran full out ahead of a flood of dragonbreath. It filled the air from floor to ceiling and gushed around every column and crystallized anything it didn’t dissolve.

A moment later, the caustic cloud drew back as the dragon strafed over the top of the sanctuary. The stone ceiling boomed with a huge impact. Stones split, and the archway came to pieces. Another boom sounded farther down the corridor, and this time, the dragon’s tail broke straight through. Blocks of stone plunged from the ceiling and bashed down columns and shattered the floor. The dragon’s tail ripped on toward the crystal dome.

Just as Eir had planned.

Kralkatorrik struck the dome, and it shattered, hurling shards of glass outward.

And out of that shattered dome, Glint vaulted into battle.

For thousands upon thousands of years, Glint had waited for this moment. She spread her wings, grabbed the air, and rose above Kralkatorrik.

The Elder Dragon was gigantic, twenty times her size, but more sorcery than sinew.

How do you fight a hurricane?

The answer hung in her fangs—the dragon-blood yoke. It had to fit down tightly behind the horns of the giant beast, pressed against its stony skull.

But where was that skull in this tumbling sandstorm?

Glint knew her master—rapacious and ruthless. Its gold-beaming eyes would even now be raking the ground for her. The best way to bring its head around toward her was to draw its attention.

Glint soared down through the pelting crystals of the storm until she could see the beast’s broad back. A blow between the wings would bring that massive head around.

Shrieking, Glint dived onto that back and smashed into Kralkatorrik. Talons tore off scales, and fangs ripped through muscle. Green blood sprayed from it, emerald droplets plunging through the air. Glint vaulted off its back, rose up, and dived again.

This time, though, there was nothing to strike. The Elder Dragon’s flesh had melted into a sandstorm. She tore at it with claws and fangs, but Kralkatorrik was as insubstantial as a dream.

The dream turned on her. In midair, the Elder Dragon rolled to its back, talons reaching up. Glint tried to loft away, but those claws solidified and grasped her. They pierced her leg and flank and held on crushingly as Kralkatorrik rolled again.

She flailed but could not escape. She could little breathe. Her lung was punctured and bubbling.

Kralkatorrik climbed into the sky, hauling Glint away from her lair. Its hissing bulk merged with the storm.

Eir ran back to her post at the shattered northern archway and loosed three more shafts. They rose past the gutted sanctuary and buried themselves in the storm. Three more flashes bloomed from the cloud.

A skittering sound came behind Eir, and she turned to see Garm rush up beside her. He halted and stared up at the boiling cloud.

Within it, flashes of light illumined two draconic figures locked in a death match.

“She’s overmatched,” Eir said breathlessly, nocking and releasing three more shafts. “She’s a wren, and it’s a hawk.”

The three charges blew within the cloud, illuminating the hackled back of the dragon.

“I only hope she can place the yoke.”

Garm nudged Eir’s leg. She glanced at him, but he was watching the horizon.

There, on the plains of the Crystal Desert, marched new figures—giant Gila monsters and tarantulas, gargantuan lizards and snakes and coyotes. All had been turned to living stone by the breath of Kralkatorrik.

Eir stepped back and cupped a hand to her mouth and shouted through the archway. “Man your posts! The minions approach! Let none of them through!”

The monsters came on rapidly. They bounded over the desert—stone jackals and hackled lions and hulking hyenas. All moved with the hunger of the dragon itself.

Eir nocked three more arrows and pointed them at the flood of beasts that approached. She didn’t want to waste arrows meant for the dragon on his minions, but they came so quickly. Eir stepped back, and Garm with her.

A stone-skinned lion and a gibbering hyena arrived first, leaping over the trench works. Their claws were spread before them, their fangs gaping in mad grins—

But stones shot from the trench into their bellies.

The lion and the hyena tumbled in midair and crashed to the ground. Their translucent hides showed where the dragon-blood crystals had bedded within them. Thrashing in fury, the two beasts scrambled to their feet and turned on Eir.

She backed up another step, the powerstone arrows jutting before her.

But the lion and the hyena only turned away. Side by side, they bounded back over the trench and rushed into the oncoming wall of monsters.

“Snaff’s got them,” Eir said breathlessly. “He’s got control.”

The lion and the hyena tore apart a number of the beasts, but more slithered and pounded and bounded forward. Some dropped right into the trench, and others tried to leap over it, but all of them were brought down by dragon-blood stones. All of them turned from attackers to defenders.

“He’s buying her time,” Eir said, at last releasing the three arrows to vault skyward and explode in the hide of the beast. “If only Glint can set the yoke.”

Kralkatorrik held Glint in a death grip. It would never release her now. It wanted her dead, and to kill her, all it had to do was close its talons.

But then—
boom! boom! boom!—
three bright green blasts erupted across its belly. Pain ripped through it, and for a moment it was not thinking of the traitor clutched in its grip.

A moment was all Glint needed. She wrenched sideways, ripping the claws of the dragon from her side, and darted away from it on the wind. The dragon-blood yoke was still clutched in her fangs—this one slender hope for success.

Though her lungs were filling with blood, Glint labored skyward like a wounded dove. She would have but one chance this time. Kralkatorrik knew she was there in the storm, would be seeking her with all its focus. If only she could spot its head first.

And there it was, below her and to the left.

Glint tucked her wings and dived. She jutted her jaw so that the blood-stone yoke reached forward to take hold. She fell from the sky, millennia of vengeance packed into a moment.

The yoke stabbed down toward the dragon’s horns and neck.

But it glimpsed her.

Its head darted up.

Before she could set the yoke, its fangs snapped onto her body.

Glint jolted, seized in the maw of the monster.

She could almost reach the back of Kralkatorrik’s head, could almost put the yoke in place, but one more bite from him would kill her.

She lunged.

Kralkatorrik bit.

A dragon scream split the heavens.

Eir looked up. “Which one?”

The black cloud parted, and something plunged from it.

“No!” Eir cried.

The figure that fell was Glint. Broken wings streamed in the wind. Claws jutted stiffly. She fell like a comet, trailing smoke.

The other heroes saw it, too—staggering out into the sands.

She plunged toward the desert. Her body struck, hurling up a great plume of sand. Fire erupted around her, and she tumbled end over end across the ground.