Authors: Stephen Deas
‘Vallas Kuy, big man. He in Xican?’
Tuuran threw back his head. ‘And how would I know that? How many worlds will you search before you find him? You, the ignorant sail-slave. Dhar Thosis is the place to start. We can get a ship there from Xican if we must.’ He shrugged. ‘That much I can manage for you, but if I were you I'd go looking for the man who's strutting about with my name.’
Crazy Mad looked at him balefully. ‘How many worlds are there? How many do I have to search? Because I will, Tuuran. All of them. Until I find him.’ And Tuuran had no doubt that he meant it.
That night the ship turned towards a line in the distance that was the storm-dark. The air grew thick and the wind howled and swirled, unsure of its own direction. Lightning raked the horizon. Night-black clouds roiled as far as Tuuran could see, thicker and thicker as the ship aimed for their heart. Always the same. And as the sky grew so dark that the moon and the stars were lost, the Taiytakei banished everyone below, as they always did.
‘I've seen it,’ he said to Crazy Mad and the other slaves as they sat in the darkness with just a few lamps to light their faces while the ship pitched. ‘The lightning turns purple. The stars and the sun and the moon go out.’ The storm grew worse. Wood creaked and popped. Slaves wailed and moaned, but not Tuuran and not Crazy Mad either.
‘I've crossed it before too, you know.’
No one else was listening. The other sail-slaves in the hold clung to one another, clutched at whatever they could reach as the ship lurched and heaved. The lamps fell over. One by one they rolled across the wooden planks and snuffed themselves out. Tuuran grabbed the last before it died. The ship crashed up and down, lashed and ripped by the wind and the waves. Tuuran and Crazy Mad wedged themselves against a wall, side by side against the pitch and roll of the ship. Tuuran clutched Crazy's arm. Crazy
Mad's eyes gleamed. Almost glowed. ‘And then, when you think the ship is about to fall apart . . .’
‘Let go, you daft bastard!’ shouted Crazy over the noise of the ship and the storm outside, and then the abrupt stillness of the storm's heart hit them. It knocked the words out of Tuuran's mouth. There was silence for a moment and then Crazy arched his spine and tipped back his head and his eyes turned luminous silver like the moon. They lit up the hold and he screamed, and Tuuran could hear the other slaves in the hold screaming too, and then something terrible and vast swept into his head and hurled him away.
Dragons! Filling the sky. Hundreds! Thousands! The air black with them and thick with their cries flying to war . . .
‘MINE!’
Men arrayed under the sun, light gleaming from silver so bright it blinded. Massed among spires so high they scratched the clouds, flawless white stone . . .
‘MINE!’
And in the darkness of the night the silver light of the moon shone down, hard and violent, and it burned and he clenched his fist and he would not bow, not ever, not even to the god that had made him, not now because he knew, he KNEW what lay beneath and behind and beyond
.
‘Go away!’ For a moment he was Tuuran again but the words sounded like they weren't his. Like they came from Crazy Mad. ‘Leave me
alone
!’
The vision went as suddenly as it came. Tuuran caught his breath. The ship was lurching as though the storm had never broken and Crazy Mad was staring at the ceiling, eyes bright and gleaming silver-white. Tuuran slapped him – hard – and the light slowly faded. Crazy rolled his head, looked about as though he didn't quite know where he was and then shook himself. Tuuran grabbed him. ‘What in the fire of the Flame was that?’
Crazy Mad shrugged as though this sort of thing happened all the time and was hardly worth mentioning. ‘I see things sometimes. From the other man's life. The one who used to have this face. Skyrie.’
‘The one who lived on the edge of a swamp somewhere? Some swamp!’ Impossible to see in the darkness now, but Tuuran could
sense the other sail-slaves shrinking away from them. Some were still wailing and moaning. He could hear others muttering under their breath, little mantras and prayers as the storm hurled the ship to and fro. Cautiously he lifted his lamp and peered at Crazy Mad's face. Crazy squinted and peered back.
‘Strange things happen when you cross the storm-dark, right? People see things. What I see is a man standing over me in robes the colour of moonlight, with a face one half ruined, scarred ragged by disease or fire and with one blind eye, milky white. Happened the last times too, ever since . . .
I am the Bringer of Endings
. That's what he says. Every time.’ For a moment Crazy Mad didn't sound either crazy or mad. Just scared. And Tuuran must have sounded it too. ‘What is it, big man?’
‘Your eyes,’ said Tuuran. ‘They went silver. Pure solid silver and they glowed.
That
didn't happen the last time we crossed the storm-dark.’ He took a deep breath and let it out between his teeth. Now he'd seen it again there was no pretending about the other time any more. ‘It's not the first time. When the grey dead came. After they were gone and I hauled you out the water. Same thing.’
Crazy Mad grabbed him. ‘I need to find who did this to me. I need to find Vallas Kuy!’ And Tuuran thought,
Yes, Crazy Mad, you probably do
.
They reached land within a week, quick for a crossing of the storm-dark. They were sailing with other ships now, until the whole flotilla anchored together off a cluster of mountain islands draped in a thick carpet of green, deeper and darker than Tuuran had ever seen. The ships lowered boats for fresh food and water, and Tuuran and Crazy Mad went with them to a gleaming beach, a small curve of white sand squeezed between two jagged fingers of black rock. A few dozen yards from the sea the sand gave way to a wall of trees and plants tumbling on top of each other for precious sunlight. Distant shrieks and hoots echoed across the water, but none held Tuuran's ear for long.
Three mountains, not great or grand or even particularly tall but sheer and sharp, rose from the green heart of the island. Each had a tower on top. They seemed small from this distance but two of them caught the sun in a shower of colour, and Tuuran knew, because he'd heard the stories, that they were carved of solid diamond.
A dozen glasships dragged the floating eyrie deeper and deeper into the desert. The dunes beneath them were lifeless and after a while, to Chay-Liang, they all looked the same. For a long time no other glasships came. Chrias Kwen was back again but no others, no return of any of the Vespinese. Chrias, she knew from overhearing things that she wasn't supposed to, was preparing to go away to Xican to gather his fleet and then to . . . She wasn't sure. It wasn't her business. To the dragon realms to speed the hunt for another rider-slave so that this one could meet the fate she so deserved? But surely that hunt was already well under way. No, this was something else. The Great Sea Council, after two hundred years, was finally going to burn out the runaways of Bom Tark, and Baros Tsen's dragon was going to be their tool. And after that, Aria and its witch. It shouldn't trouble her, she told herself. The slaves in Bom Tark were probably murderers and rapists and thieves else why run away? And this other realm? Far away. The Great Sea Council was only doing what was needed to preserve their way of life.
Her
way of life. But it did trouble her. No one deserved to be set upon by that monster and the murderously deranged slave who sat on its back. And Belli was no help at all.
I'm a slave. Would you burn me too if I ran away? And what do you think you are to anyone from another realm if not a witch?
Right now, however, those were Tsen's troubles because she had quite enough of her own. The dragon disease again, which was why she was standing out in the yard along with every other Taiytakei, every slave, every single person who lived in Baros Tsen's eyrie. They were crowded together in a great big arc, all of them together, pressing themselves back as far away from the ever-looming presence of the dragon as they could. They were staring at the dozen slaves caged at the dragon's feet. Those found to be infected would
be fed to the dragon. Liang supposed it was as good a way as any to dispose of the problem, and Tsen was doing it openly, a grand display for all the slaves and for his own men too.
If you get the disease, this is what will happen to you. If you get this disease you will not be able to hide it. There is no cure. There are no exceptions. Do not get it. No one will leave until the eyrie has been cleared
. He said his piece and then the dragon leaned down with the rider-slave Zafir on its back and picked up the cage between its claws. The slaves inside screamed, tumbling over one another, tangling together as the dragon lifted the cage and eyed it, turning it.
She's enjoying this
, Liang thought, and for a moment she wondered how easy it would be to make a little device on the dragon bitch's helm to make her head explode when no one was looking. Very easy, that was the answer. Very easy indeed.
She watched the alchemist's eyes. He didn't like this either. He was watching the cage now, but as Tsen had said his piece his eyes hadn't been on the t'varr at all. He'd been watching Chrias Kwen. She wondered why.
I am missing something?
And maybe she was. There were clues to be had in the slaves screaming in their cage. All bar one of them were women. It didn't seem likely that the one male slave in there with them had spread it to all the rest. So someone else, and almost certainly a man. She didn't know the ins and outs of the slave hierarchy terribly well, but Tsen would. He'd have worked it out already, who the carrier was. One of the kwen's soldiers? And that made sense, since soldiers were generally stupid and didn't understand anything they couldn't hit, and the ones with the kwen came and went and didn't understand how the eyrie worked at all.
The dragon turned. Its tail swept across the dragon yard and there were more screams. Then it climbed onto the eyrie wall and launched itself into the air. Liang raised an eyebrow. She took Belli's hands in her own and forced him to look at her. His skin was pallid and there were dark lines under his eyes. ‘How long, Belli? I need to know how long before I can tell Tsen we've found everyone who has the disease.’
Bellepheros closed his eyes. ‘A month, perhaps, before it begins to show. Among the Scales it was quicker but they're exposed every day so that was to be expected.’
‘This isn't over, is it? These are just the first.’
The alchemist shook his head. ‘It always spreads, despite my efforts to hold it back. There are others here who carry it. A few of your people. I know who they are.’
‘Soldiers?’
He looked a bit surprised, then nodded. ‘Two so far. Tsen knows. They'll never be allowed to leave now. But I'm certain there are more in whom the disease has yet to show itself. How did you know?’
‘When did you last sleep, Belli?’
‘I slept last night.’
‘You dozed on your couch. When did you last sleep a full night in your bed?’
He turned away from her. Around the eyrie all eyes in the assembled crowd were following the dragon. ‘Tell Baros Tsen T'Varr that no one may leave the eyrie for another month at least. After that, for the month that follows, I will inspect any who must depart for sign of the disease. I should be able to see it by then. Really, everyone here or everyone who ever has been should keep to themselves for half a year to be sure.’
‘Half a year?’ Chay-Liang laughed. ‘I'll tell our t'varr but I can't be sure to make him listen.’ The dragon was circling high over the eyrie now, still clutching the cage in its claws. Higher and higher, and then it simply crushed the cage in the air above them. Little specks began to fall. They were too high for Liang to see their flailing arms and legs or to hear their screams but she found she could imagine them clearly enough. The dragon tucked in its wings and dived after them, snapping them up one after the other.
‘Couldn't you simply have made them into more Scales, Belli? Did they have to die?’
‘I could. I have no need of any more, but I could. Don't underestimate the Hatchling Disease, Li. It's a slow and insidious killer that will grip half an eyrie before it even reveals itself. Entire cities have died of it because it's never seen until it's already spread far and wide. All who live here need to understand that. Tsen's right to set an example. He's right to make everyone afraid to their very bones. A dozen men or women lost is a sadness, a tragedy, but a small one. If the disease spreads though the eyrie, I'll do what I
can to contain it. But if it ever gets out, Li, you have no alchemists, no resistance, no defences, nothing. It will savage your cities. Your sailors will carry it, unknowing, across to other lands. You can see that dragon, Li, but you cannot see the Statue Plague. No, Tsen's right to do this, although he shouldn't have let the dragon eat them. He's reminded it that we're food.’
‘Did it have to be so cruel?’ The dragon was coming closer. Falling like an arrow, guiding itself with twitches of its tail. As the last few slaves fell past the eyrie towards the desert below and the dragon rocketed after them, Liang glimpsed Zafir. She was pressed down hard on the dragon's back, dressed in the dragon armour Liang had made for her.
Belli shrugged. ‘All
I
said to Tsen was
not
to let the dragon eat them.’ He shook his head. ‘Her Holiness may have suggested otherwise. Still . . .’ He looked out over the crowd in the dragon yard. They were still silent. Stunned. ‘You can't deny it's put his message in their heads. Her line always did have a flair for the dramatic when it came to spilling blood.’
Liang stared out over the desert. The dragon was somewhere underneath them now. She shook her head. ‘And all this because some idiot soldier took a Scales to their bed? Wouldn't that person be the first to show the disease? And why? Why would anyone do that? They were told, all of them. You could hardly have been more clear!’