Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse) (3 page)

“Burning the boat itself seems like a dead-end plan,” Menagerie said. The shape-shifter nodded toward Sorrow’s sea-chest in the corner. The lid was open, exposing Sorrow’s books, journals, and maps. “Bound parchment burns rather nicely in my experience.”

“I’ve been keeping journals since I was ten,” said Sorrow. “But I didn’t spare them solely due to sentimentality. I suspect historians may one day find my diaries of value.”

“Ah,” Menagerie said with a smile. “Still planning on ruling the world?”

“Quite the opposite,” she said. “I’m planning to free the world from tyranny.”

Menagerie stooped in front of the chest and thumbed through one of the journals without asking permission. “Nice handwriting. Precise and tidy. Nothing immediately tips a reader off that you’re insane.”

“Just because you’re mad that I’ve burned your furnishings is no need to be insulting.”

Menagerie closed the book and stood. “I mean no insult. But I’ve earned my living as a mercenary since before you were even born. I’m a good judge of people.” The shape-shifter stared at her face with a penetrating gaze. “Mentally, you’re one of the most dangerous people I’ve ever met.”

Sorrow smiled.

“I didn’t mean that as a compliment.”

“I’ve spent a great deal of my life in pursuit of the goal of becoming more dangerous. As have you, if the stories about you are true.”

“My goal wasn’t to be dangerous,” said Menagerie. “My goal was to be effective. I always knew what I was fighting for, and I always knew the steps I would take to reach my end game.”

“As do I.”

“Do you?”

“My end game is a more just world,” she said.

Menagerie nodded. “And step one toward achieving this is to gain power. That’s why you’ve got a head full of nails and scales all over your legs.”

“Correct.”

Menagerie crossed his arms over his breasts. “And what, exactly, is phase two of your plan?”

“I... I’m still in pursuit of the first phase. Once I have the power I need, I’m confident the path forward will be clear. One thing I do know about my path is that I’ll need allies. Infidel rebuffed me. Will you consider my offer? You know I can pay your wages.”

Menagerie shook his head. He asked, “Did you know there’s a hell?”

“So the church teaches.”

“I just spent what I felt was eternity there,” he said. He pressed his lips tightly together and took a long breath through his nose. “It’s... not a place I’m eager to return to.”

“Don’t tell me the legendary Menagerie has lost his nerve?”

“Menagerie died when an angry god tore his soul into a thousand tiny shreds,” he said. “Whoever I am now, I have a clean slate. I’ve got a chance to make a new life.”

“As a woman,” Sorrow said. “If you return to the civilized world, I suspect you’ll find that people treat you much less equitably than they did when you were a man.”

Menagerie shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out. I’ve sold this boat to the Black Swan. I’m using the funds to head for the Silver Isles for a taste of civilian life.”

“You won’t last a week in that city of hypocrites,” Sorrow said. “You’ve lived too long in Commonground. People here are thieves and murderers and scoundrels, but at least they’re open and honest about it. The so-called civilization of the Silver City is nothing but a den of vipers.”

“I guess I’ll find out. If it’s not too much of a burden, could you try not to destroy civilization while I’m still using it?”

“I can make no promises,” said Sorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

GRAVEDIGGERS

S
ORROW’S KNUCKLES WERE
white as she gripped the sides of the dugout canoe. The Dragon’s Mouth, the river that fed into the bay at Commonground, was normally a broad, placid body of water, but snowmelt had swollen the river beyond its banks. Ancient trees felled by the snow bobbed in the current, forming an ever-shifting maze.

The river pygmies she’d hired to ferry her to the Knight’s Castle navigated silently through the treacherous waters. When the four canoes had first departed Commonground, the pygmies had been chatting and laughing with one another. Now they paddled without saying a word, their eyes barely blinking as they studied the roiling river. Their faces were hard, stoic masks.

There were eight pygmies, two in each canoe. She was their only living passenger; the rest of the canoes held her gear, plus Trunk. She’d left him inert for the moment. She didn’t want to alarm the pygmies with his unusual appearance. That said, the pygmies struck her as difficult to alarm. She’d allowed her hood to slip as she boarded the canoe and they hadn’t even taken a second glance at her head. River pygmies dyed their shaved bodies blue and cut fish scale scars along their shoulders and backs. Her scalp studded with nails probably struck them as positively banal.

The terrain around the river grew more rugged and rocky. She wondered if the pygmies would be up to the task of carting her gear to her destination. She’d made her needs quite clear to the pygmy leader, Eddy (his full name, translated, was White Foam Curling Past an Eddy, which she found rather mellifluous). He’d assured her that his men were the strongest of their tribe, but the tallest of pygmies barely reached the bottom of her ribs, and she’d not packed lightly. She’d come into the jungle seeking the lost Witches’ Graveyard, and was prepared for an extensive dig when she found it. The canoes were heaped with picks, shovels, wheelbarrows, ropes, tents, and enough food for a six-month expedition.

After several hours of paddling against the fierce current, their immediate destination came into view, the towering, vine-draped walls of the ruins known as the Knight’s Castle. She’d lost Stagger’s map in the rush to abandon the
Freewind
, but his directions were simple enough. Locate the Knight’s Castle and head east. Here, she’d find rows of evenly spaced depressions in the ground. Stagger had been certain the place was a graveyard but had always assumed, since the graves weren’t marked, that it had been used to bury people of little importance. It seemed unpromising, and no treasure hunter had ever done the hard work of digging there. But she’d come seeking knowledge, not treasure, and the thought of the waiting graves filled her with an almost childlike excitement. For the rest of the world, the burial of hundreds of executed weavers was ancient history, but for Sorrow, if this was a graveyard of witches, it would be a repository of lost secrets needed to give birth to a new golden age of witchcraft.

The pygmies guided the canoes between two enormous walls. In the flooded gap was a broad avenue, draped by shadows. Sorrow strained to see in the dim light. At the end of the avenue, steep stone steps rose from the water, leading to the top of the walls. Her canoe shuddered as it scraped unseen rocks beneath the coffee-colored river.

Eddy leapt from the tip of the canoe, his feet splashing loudly as he landed in knee-deep water. His muscles bulged as he pulled the canoe to rest on one of the broad steps hidden just inches below the surface. Eddy wasn’t a young man, but his muscles were well-sculpted beneath his leathery blue hide. Sorrow was embarrassed that she’d doubted the pygmies’ capacity to cart her gear. Despite their small stature, these men needed immense strength to survive this savage land.

Sorrow rose from her canoe as the other pygmies brought their vessels to rest on the steps. The pygmies still looked nervous, but she felt relieved to be away from the worst of the river.

She said, “Well done, Eddy.”

Eddy frowned as his men gathered around Sorrow.

“It’s time for us to take our moons,” said Eddy.

“You’ll be paid when we reach the graveyard. Three moons each. We were clear on this subject.”

“At the market, my brother saw you pay for provisions with a purse full of moons.”

“Perhaps he did,” said Sorrow. “I don’t see how that matters.”

“It matters because we’re eight warriors,” said Eddy. “You’re a lone woman, far removed from any long-men who could hear your cries.”

Sorrow crossed her arms. “It’s bad enough that you would renege on an agreement. I can’t believe you’re trying to threaten me.”

“No, no, no,” Eddy said, laughing gently. “You misunderstand. I make no threat. I’m merely saying that, in such a hazardous landscape, you’ll give us all your coins. You can hand them over willingly, or we can take them after we are done amusing ourselves with your corpse.”

He raised his hand and brought his thumb and little finger together. At this signal, all seven of his companions drew knives from their belts.

Sorrow sighed. “I see. Fortunately for you, I abhor settling disputes with violence, and wish to avoid doing so now. Here’s my counter proposal: your men will drop their weapons. You’ll unload the canoes in a neat and professional fashion. After this, we shall part ways. In exchange, none of you will die in unimaginable agony. At least, not today. ”

Eddy drew his own knife. “You’ve a bold tongue, witch. We’ll see if you’re still as arrogant when I cut it from your mouth.”

Sorrow stepped back as Eddy ran toward her. She snapped her fingers, then extended her hand as Eddy leapt high in the air, swinging his knife at her torso. She caught him by the arm just as a second pygmy attempted to stab her in the back of her thigh. She felt his blade tear through her pants and skitter along the hard scales beneath as she toppled backward.

Meanwhile, Trunk had heard the snap of her fingers and stirred. Her last golem had been built of driftwood, but she’d had no patience for rooting around on a snow-covered beach looking for appropriate timber. Trunk’s torso was a heavy cedar chest; his limbs were thick, sturdy boards. His fingers and toes were built of oak dowelling. For a head, she’d used a bucket so new it had never been touched by a mop.

As expected, most of the pygmies turned toward the wooden man as he rose with a clatter. She had only to deal with Eddy, who was straddling her torso, attempting to press his knife to her throat, and the thigh-stabbing pygmy she’d fallen upon.

Dealing with Eddy was simplest. She relaxed her arm and allowed him to press his iron blade to her throat. The second it touched her flesh, she willed the knife to crumble and it did so, rusting instantly to the core and snapping as Eddy pressed down.

The pygmy she’d fallen on had managed to untangle himself from her legs and rose on his hands and knees directly in front of the soles of her boots. This was an unfortunate place for him. While she wasn’t happy about the scales covering her legs, she’d discovered that the external changes were accompanied by internal changes, including superhuman strength in her lower limbs. She kicked the pygmy squarely in the chest and he went flying, smacking into the vine-draped wall twenty feet away.

“Now, Eddy,” she said as she grabbed the diminutive robber’s face in both hands, “it’s time for me to teach you a lesson in keeping promises.”

She could have been merciful and killed the man. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on the dragon’s tooth in her skull. In her mind’s eye, it was like a tiny black doorway. She opened the door a crack, allowing the smallest fraction of Rott’s power to surge from her bare palms.

Eddy howled as his flesh sagged on his face. She pushed him away and he fell on his back, writhing in agony. He wailed as his teeth turned black, falling from their sockets. His muscles shrank as his skin grew paper thin. He raised his hands before his face as they twisted into arthritic claws. Mercifully, he didn’t have long to stare at his deformity. Thick cataracts fogged his eyes, turning them into twin white marbles.

She rose on trembling legs. As before, she found the after-affects of using Rott’s power unpleasant. The energy hadn’t flowed from her cleanly. Her whole body tingled. She nearly gagged as she exhaled; the odor of her lungs was like rotten meat.

Eddy’s mewling whimpers of pain drew her focus back to her immediate surroundings. When pressed into violence, she killed as efficiently and coolly as possible. She despised those who took pleasure at inflicting pain. Yet a smile crossed her lips as she looked down at the man who’d threatened her with such swaggering confidence. She fought back the urge to taunt him, but not the urge to educate him.

“You called me a witch,” she said, standing over the now ancient man. “It’s a term commonly used to describe women inadequately subservient to men. I, however, embrace the word’s true meaning. I command forces you can never hope to comprehend. I’m heir to an ancient and awesome power. You should not have betrayed me.”

She glanced behind her and found Trunk standing in ankle deep water surrounded by six headless corpses. She shook her head slowly. She’d hoped at least one survivor would bear witness, to spare her further trouble from the locals.

There was always Eddy, weeping at her feet, splayed out like a rag doll, covered in his own bodily waste. She doubted there was enough left of his mind to pass on her warning.

“What’s the point in teaching lessons if there’s no one around to learn?”

Then, because she was disturbed by the satisfaction she was taking from his feeble, wet sobs, she placed her boot upon his throat and pressed until his suffering ended.

She had Trunk dispose of the corpses in the river while she sorted through her supplies. They would have to cart her gear in one load at a time. Fortunately, the dug-out canoes would prove handy for storing what they left behind. Trunk turned over one canoe and placed it atop another. She used her power over wood to weave the two halves together, forming a sealed container that held most of her provisions. For now, Trunk would cart only tools and a few days’ worth of meals.