Edge of Destiny (38 page)

Two seconds later came the sound of the impact—shattering stone, a mountain breaking. The ground trembled and reeled, and the dragon’s broken body left a long furrow ending in a crater. A storm of sand rose into the heavens, and a rain of crystalline scales cascaded all around.

The dragon Glint was dead.

THE CHARR VANGUARD

L
ogan Thackeray and Flinteye Blazestone marched nearly a hundred charr warriors up from the bowels of Ebonhawke Keep. As they reached the ground floor, Logan gestured through a doorway: “Weapons in there, boys!”

The charr roared, piling through the door and greedily grabbing up swords, crossbows, axes, hammers, knives . . .

Logan strode to the banded-iron door and hoisted the beam. The door swung outward. “Whoever wants a fight, follow me!” He turned and bolted through the archway. “Charge!”

“Charge!” echoed Flinteye.

The charr vanguard rushed out past the ravaged body of Dylan Thackeray and into combat with the creatures that had slain him.

Crystalline hyenas ran rampant through the bailey and feasted on the fallen. The beasts looked up from their meals, jowls spattered in red. One loped away from its kill, and two more joined it. The pack formed up and came on. Stone hackles spiked across their backs, and they broke into a run toward the charr.

Logan and his allies lifted their weapons and charged. Logan’s hammer crashed into a canine head, splitting the rocky carapace and smashing through to bone and brain. The beast was dead, but its momentum carried it forward so that Logan had to spin aside and let the hyena smash to the flagstones. The move brought his hammer wheeling up and bashing into the head of another beast.

Flinteye meanwhile brought his elbow down to break the back of a hyena. With a roar, the charr lunged at another, seized its crystalline throat in his teeth, and ripped it out.

Two crystalline creatures leaped at Flinteye. He sidestepped one and ducked down to head-butt the other. Horned brow crashed into stone brow. One skull cracked. The hyena yelped and fell to the ground, whining. Flinteye reeled back and grabbed his forehead. Even as he did so, though, he stomped on the hyena’s neck and broke it.

Logan, meanwhile, slung his hammer overhead and shattered the hackles of the other beast. Enraged, the hyena crashed into him, knocking Logan back. Stony teeth clamped on his breastplate, digging in to gouge Logan’s chest. He slammed his hammerhead into the creature’s jaw but couldn’t break free.

Flinteye kicked it in the throat, and when the hyena staggered back, he grasped its head and twisted to snap its neck.

“Thanks,” Logan said.

“Whatever,” replied Flinteye, spinning to attack another hyena.

Logan and his charr allies waded through the pack of hyenas. They fanned out through the courtyard and bashed every beast in sight. Hyena cackles gave way to yips and barks and whines. The pack was calling for help. Every last hyena within the fortress converged on the killing ground. Fangs and claws met maces and mauls. Soon, in the bloody midst, only Logan and the charr remained.

Logan sighed, swinging his hammer in long loops to stretch out his shoulders. “Nothing like a good fight to get the cricks out.”

“That was nothing like a good fight.” Flinteye nodded ahead, where a band of ogres had just staggered into the courtyard. “
This
will be a good fight.”

Logan pivoted toward the ogres and brought his bloodied hammerhead to bounce on his hand.

The ogres’ eyes lit with rage, and they thundered forward.

Flinteye roared and charged. He ducked beneath the moaning hammerhead of one ogre and ripped his claws through the back of the monster’s thigh. Two loud
pops
sounded, and the ogre’s leg collapsed.

“Look out!” Logan shouted as the ogre toppled toward Flinteye.

The charr rolled away just as the beast crashed down, driving flagstones deeper into the ground.

Logan brought his hammer down to stave in the forehead of the ogre. “That’s one for me.”

“This is no game, mouse!” Flinteye roared, thumping his chest.

Logan laughed. “You’re no Rytlock Brimstone.”

“And you’re no Blood Legion warrior!”

Logan leaped back as a charr slumped down dead before him. The ogre that had killed the charr reached for Logan.

He wheeled around, his hammer shattering the wrist of the monster.

The ogre staggered back, shaking its hand, and nearly tromped on Flinteye.

Roaring, Flinteye hamstrung the ogre. It fell to its backside, and Flinteye leaped on its chest and ripped out its throat. Clutching the grisly trophy in his claws, he scowled at Logan. “Don’t make me clean up after you.”

“Look out!” Logan shouted, pointing.

Flinteye never saw the massive cudgel that struck him in the stomach and hurled him through the air. He tumbled across the courtyard, crashed into the wall, and slid down in a heap.

Logan charged the ogre and hammered its left leg. Bones broke, sending the creature to its knees. Then Logan smashed the ogre’s jaw. Down it went, rolling belly to face.

Dodging beyond it, Logan ran to the place where Flinteye lay. The old charr’s legs and arms were shattered by the impact, but his chest still moved.

“Flinteye!” Logan said.

The charr stared back, blood gurgling from his mouth. “Tell Rytlock . . . tell him I died fighting.” His last breath rattled out of his lungs.

A roar of incoherent rage shook the walls of Ebonhawke. Humans clutched their heads and charr and ogres winced back from battle.

The cry came from Chief Kronon, who stood above the bloodbath with arms outstretched and head thrown back—bellowing. As he brought his head back down, an eerie light shone from his eyes.

“This can’t be good,” Logan muttered.

Chief Kronon howled again, an otherworldly sound like the cry of the Elder Dragon itself.

That cry was answered by another ogre, and a third and a fourth. All of them were throwing their heads back and bellowing to the sky. Their voices rattled the stones of the keep and made humans and charr drop to their knees. The ogres shuffled toward their chieftain and stood beside him, wailing their lament. The remaining hyenas loped up beside them as well, adding their peculiar cackles to the cacophony.

As the ogres and hyenas filled one side of the courtyard, the humans and charr gathered on the other, all around Logan.

Suddenly, the howling ceased. The crystalline monsters lowered their heads, and their gold-glowing eyes stared levelly across the courtyard. Then they broke into a charge.

Logan raised his hammer and roared, “Charge!” He swept forward, surrounded by humans and charr.

The tide of ogres crashed on the defenders, trampling some, kicking others through the air, crushing more in titanic claws.

A man on one side of Logan fell beneath a stomping foot.

A charr on the other side had his head bitten off.

The clamor of combat, the groans and screams—it was the same as that battle in the Blazeridge Mountains, as Logan and Rytlock fought side by side against ogres.

This time, though, there would be no survivors.

BATTLE OF THE CRYSTAL DESERT

A
t the center of Glint’s sanctuary, Big Snaff stood alone, so there was no one to hear the tinny shout of joy that came from Little Snaff: “She did it! Glint did it! She got the yoke on Kralkatorrik!”

The powerstone laurel on Snaff’s head flashed, bathing the cockpit in an eerie glow. Those stones cast an even stranger light into Snaff’s mind.

Everything went green—solid green, as if he was staring into an emerald. He could even see his own reflection in a facet of the stone. His face looked intent, squinting, trying to peer into the heart of the gem.

Snaff backed away.

This jewel had
many
facets, all reflecting his curious gaze.

But it wasn’t a jewel. It was an eye—a huge compound eye.

The true eye of Kralkatorrik.

The dragon was
staring
at him, seeing him in a thousand facets. Its gaze was cold and calculating, inexpressibly cruel.

Then every reflection of Snaff in every facet began to crystallize.

“No!” Snaff yelled.

His flesh hardened, grew rigid and angular.

He was becoming a minion of the Elder Dragon!

Panicked, Snaff thrashed to get away, but the dragon saw all.

Snaff was dying.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . !

What was that sound?

Tap, tap, tap—

Was it the stony heart of the dragon, mesmerizing his mind with its monotonous beat?

“Did you call for me?”

His eyes flashed open, and he ripped the emerald laurel from his head. The cockpit was plunged into darkness. Through the windscreen, Snaff saw the concerned face of Big Zojja.

She crouched beside Big Snaff, tapping her finger on the glass. “Helloooooo? You in there?”

“Yes, I’m in here!” Snaff blurted. “Of course I’m in here. There’s not an escape hatch.” He blinked in sudden alarm. “Why isn’t there an escape hatch?”

Big Zojja straightened up, and Little Zojja’s voice rang from within. “I thought I heard you shout something, and I wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“I’m trying to wrestle a dragon’s mind! Of course everything’s not all right!”

“Don’t get testy. I was just checking on you.”

“Go guard.” Snaff said, waving his hand vaguely toward the eastern colonnade. “I
’
ll be safe. I’ll be fine.”

“Better be,” she said, and Big Zojja pivoted away, her foot grinding grit into the floor.

Snaff watched that miracle in steel and silver—that genius apprentice of his—jog away through the sanctum. “You be safe, too.”

And then Snaff closed his eyes and lifted the emerald laurel to his head and sought out the mind of the dragon.

It was not hard to find.

The dragon’s eye was seeking
him.

Its mind was in every facet.

As Big Zojja stood in the eastern colonnade, inside the cockpit, Little Zojja wondered if she or any of her friends would survive this day. They had fought dragon champions, yes, but never dragons, let alone
Elder Dragons.
And nobody in the history of
history
had ever tried to take hold of an Elder Dragon’s mind.

But Snaff would succeed—wouldn’t he?—if only so that he could brag about it afterward: “Did I ever tell you about the time I single-handedly wrestled Kralkatorrik to the ground? Or I should say, single-
mindedly
?” How annoying would
that
be?

Yet Zojja hoped against hope that Snaff would live to tell that tale—and that she would live to hear it.

The fact was, Snaff really was a real genius. No one could build golems the way he could. No one understood mind auras the way he did. He could think circles around anyone. That was what was so annoying and inspiring about him.

If anyone could take hold of an Elder Dragon’s mind and drive it to the ground, Snaff could.

But not if those giant devourers reached him.

Ahead, a line of massive, two-tailed scorpions scuttled through the eastern gate and swarmed among fallen hunks of ceiling.

They’d never come close to her master.

Big Zojja’s left hand splayed, and fire roared from her fingertips and engulfed a group of devourers, sizzling their joints until they couldn’t move. It baked their innards until they burst like popcorn.

Pure genius. Snaff had stocked the water reservoirs with oil.

Big Zojja’s right hand crashed into another batch of devourers. The rock drills cracked through stony carapace and ground the meat within.

Big Zojja cleared the hall, baking half of the monsters and grinding through the other half. In mere moments, she had cleansed the whole colonnade and stood, shiny and spectacular, in the sanctum’s eastern entrance.

Let the dragon minions come. None would get past her.

Snaff stared at his reflection in the compound eye of the beast—stared so long that he passed
through
the reflection and found himself on the other side . . .

Within
the dragon’s mind.