Journey Of Thieves (Book 5) Read online

  I reached the summit and ducked between a pair of boulders, just in time to escape her reach. She was too big to squeeze in after me, but enraged, Micanthria butted her head against the rocks. I knew it was only a matter of seconds before her powerful blows would break apart my flimsy shelter.

  But to my surprise, the attack did not continue. The dragon stopped smashing at the rocks and went strangely silent. After a moment, I gathered my courage and peered out to see what she was doing. To my horror, the dragon had reared and drew back her head. From around her jaws came a fiery glow, like flames about to burst out of the mouth of a giant oven. I watched her inflate her lungs, knowing I was about to be incinerated.

  And then something happened. An indistinct shout sounded in the distance, a cry of challenge. In the next second, Micanthria arched her back and screamed in agony at some unseen attack. Eyes blazing, smoke billowing from her nostrils, the dragon rounded on her new foe.

  It was then that I saw him at the foot of the rocks below. Martyn.

  It couldn’t be. In the moonlight, I could just make out his blood-soaked, bandaged leg. But he seemed not to feel the injury as he stood tall and brave with my bow in his hands.

  When Micanthria wheeled on him, I saw the arrow protruding from her broad back. It could not have pierced deeply, having struck between her thick, gleaming scales. But it was obviously hurting her by the way she writhed her shoulders and flexed her wings in a futile attempt to dislodge it. Infuriated by the pain, she galloped down the mountainside.

  Martyn never had a chance to dodge as she slammed her powerful wing into him. She caught him with the bone-spiked tip of her wing, and it punched through him like a spear. Then his limp body was tossed through the air to land in a motionless heap.

  It all happened so fast I could only look on, stunned. My life had been saved by an enemy, and I had no time to wonder why. All that mattered was that Martyn had bought me time, and I must use it well.

  I clenched my dragon-scale augmenter in my fist and tried to remember Myria’s lesson, tried to remember how to draw on the skill my mother had excelled at. Sweat popping out on my forehead, I gritted my teeth and summoned lightning.

  Chapter Eight

  It was a small bolt of lightning I created, weak compared to the charge a more skilled magicker might have produced. But it shot through the air in a crackle of blue light and struck true against the base of a tall tower of rock nearby. The lower stones exploded in a shower of splinters and shards. The heavy rocks above suddenly had nothing to stand on and collapsed, rolling end over end down the mountainside.

  Micanthria looked up, but in the path of the rockslide, she had only time to roar and spread her wings. Before she could take flight, the massive chunks of rock rained down on her with crushing force. In seconds, she was buried beneath the rubble.

  I didn’t wait for the last rock to come to rest before rushing down the slope. Only when I stood atop the mountain of debris with the dust settling did I realize the dragon buried beneath was not going to come bursting forth again. She was thoroughly dead.

  I went to Martyn then. The brutal force of Micanthria’s blow had knocked him safely free of the rockslide. But as I knelt where he sprawled on the ground, I knew he had escaped one death only for another. His chest was blood-soaked, and there was a ragged tear where the spike of Micanthria’s wing had ripped through him. He could not live long.

  He was conscious and, on realizing I was beside him, grabbed my arm, nails digging painfully into my skin.

  “You spoke the truth? About my father?” he gasped painfully, as if there had been no break since our last conversation.

  “I swear it.”

  “And he was avenged?”

  “He was,” I promised.

  Martyn coughed, and spots of blood formed at the edges of his mouth. “I followed… because I had to know.”

  I imagined him determinedly crossing the desert on his injured leg, dragging himself from one water hole to the next these past two days, trying to keep up with me. All for an answer.

  It was growing harder for him to speak, and he pulled me closer. “I have traded my life for yours… Repay me.”

  I winced at the urgency of his grip. “How can I do that?”

  “My young brother, Jarrod. Look after him.”

  I nodded dumbly. I had no notion where I could find this Jarrod or what looking after him would entail. But I was in no position to refuse.

  Martyn gazed past me, his expression growing fixed. I sensed his life slipping away, but I couldn’t let him go yet.

  “Wait! I need the name of the man who hired you in Selbius. The member of the Praetor’s council who wants me dead.”

  But he was already gone, his hand on my arm growing slack and falling away.

  Disturbed by the way his staring eyes still looked like Brig’s, I drew down his eyelids. They would not stay closed, so I covered his face with his torn, blood-stained cloak.

  Collecting my bow from the ground near his lifeless corpse, I felt hollow inside. This young man had not been my friend, had in fact spent most of our short acquaintance trying to kill me. But in the end, he had sacrificed his life for mine, even if it was only for the chance to question me. That combined with the memory of his father made it impossible for me to be indifferent to his death.

  I became aware of the approach of several strangers and turned to face them. There were maybe a dozen winged Drejian warriors surrounding me, and as I watched, others poured out the mouth of their fortress.

  The tightening of my grip on the bow was purely instinctive. There was little point in resisting against such numbers. I could only stand resigned as the Drejians ringed me, pointing spears and arrows my way.

  * * *

  It was my first-ever glimpse of these people, and they were an intimidating sight. Although I was not particularly short, they towered a good two feet taller than me. Their limbs and torsos were muscular, nearly twice the width of those of an ordinary person. Their leathery wings, even while folded as they now were, rose high above their bared shoulders and were tipped with sharp spikes of gleaming bone, much like Micanthria’s. That was not the only resemblance they bore to the dragon. The faces were lean, cheekbones sharply prominent, and their necks and limbs were long. Their skin was leathery, with faint scaling patterning their faces and the backs of their arms. They had fiercely glowing, golden eyes and claw-like hands and feet.

  For all that, intelligence shone from their eyes. They were more like men than beasts. And despite their unnerving appearance, their attitude was strangely cautious, as if they were reluctant to confront me. If they guessed I came from Swiftsfell, maybe they feared my magic. They could not know my power was now too drained to defend myself.

  I waited to be killed.

  Instead they disarmed me and bound my hands. Even the warrior who did this touched me as little as possible, looking as if he would rather keep his distance. I was then led by them through the gaping entrance of their stronghold, the great stone doors now standing wide open like the jaws of some hungry beast prepared to devour me. After I passed between them, I heard the doors groaning closed again. My shoulders tensed with the realization I was cut off from the outside world and all chance of escape.

  All around, cold rock walls glistened with dampness while rough columns of granite soared to the shadowed ceiling. I was led through vast empty caverns that stretched so far into the mountain I couldn’t make out where they ended. This was such a foreign place that I couldn’t guess what I would encounter next. I was surprised to be escorted through a corridor and onto an unstable platform of timber banded with metal, suspended by chains disappearing into the darkness above and below. This space was only wide enough to hold a handful of us. The rest of my captors stayed behind, as the platform gave a sudden jolt with the grinding of pulleys and began to sink into the unknown abyss.

  Deeper and deeper we descended into the bowels of the earth. With every level we passed, my spirits plummeted
further. I could feel any hope of ever returning to the safety of the upper world slipping away. Even if I managed to break free of my bonds and my strong guards, I would only become lost in these warrens and caverns. Unlike my captors, I had no wings to fly to the surface, and I didn’t know if I was strong enough to operate the pulley system they used for my benefit.

  As the platform propelled us bumpily downward, its rusty chains screeching in protest, I vaguely made out a pale glow from the level we approached. We were slowing for this one. And it was different from the rest. The others had been lit by flickering torches placed intermittently along the walls. But those gave way here to the harsher light of glow-stones embedded in the rock. Their cold light illumined a cave vaster than any yet.

  Unlike the previous caverns, the touch of human hands was evident here. These columns weren’t natural towers of granite but were carved and etched with runes and likenesses of men and beasts. They were primitively done but probably considered ornate by Drejian standards. From what I had read in Calder’s book of their culture, they typically rejected art and beauty as unworthy pursuits.

  Our conveyance jerked to a halt, and I was hustled forward into what I guessed to be something like an audience chamber. Ahead there was a dais atop rows of stone steps, and occupying the dais were several empty seats. One was so big and high-backed I could only assume it was intended for a person of importance. I was permitted to advance only halfway across the room before my escort stopped me. One of them spoke in Drejian, a guttural tongue that was incomprehensible to me. I understood by his gestures that I was to stay where I was. Under my boots, a series of carved triangles intersected on the floor to form the pattern of a many-pointed star enclosed within a broad circle. Torches stood on high poles around this circle. They were rendered unnecessary by the cool light of the glow-stones, but maybe their purpose was ceremonial.

  At the heart of the many-pointed star was a heavy metal ring attached to a chain. One of my guards looped the chain through the ropes binding my hands. Once I was secured, all the warriors faded back, leaving me alone in the empty, echoing chamber.

  Only I wasn’t really alone, because I quickly realized there were other, silent presences stationed in shadowy corners of the room. Servants perhaps. They were dressed simply, in sleeveless tunics that reached past their knees. They were unlike the warriors in that their heads were unshaven. And they had no wings, despite possessing other Drejian features. I wondered if their wings had been removed to symbolize their servant status or to show they belonged to a lesser class. Whatever the case, these dull, motionless observers showed no interest in me.

  Since they all seemed to be awaiting something or someone, I stilled the nervous fluttering in my stomach and adopted a waiting stance myself. A sudden rumbling sound drew my attention across the room to where a pair of heavy doors slowly swung back. Through this entrance marched a small procession led by a tall figure clothed in red.

  The first female Drejian I had seen, she was as tall and powerfully built as any of her warriors. Atop her shaven head rested a circlet with long strands of golden beads descending like a mane over her shoulders and flowing down her back. There was a scepter in her hand, and bracelets adorned her arms.

  Flanked by a dozen others of her kind who I guessed were nobles or councilors, the queen mounted the dais and seated herself on the high-backed throne. When she surveyed me with her golden gaze, I tried to appear respectful but not overawed. Confident but not arrogant. It was a difficult manner to convey, and I had no idea whether I managed it.

  One of the Drejian warriors who had taken me into custody stepped forward now, placing himself between me and the queen. After offering her a deferential gesture, he delivered a short speech in their strange tongue, probably a report on the cause and means of my capture.

  Listening, the queen’s eyes widened in surprise and, at one point, apparent anger. But she quickly recovered, a mask of cool boredom slipping over her face. When the warrior fell silent, she flicked her bony fingers, motioning him to one side. I saw that her claw-like nails were sharp and long.

  Although I sensed through my dragon-scale augmenter that she was unnerved, the queen’s expression was tranquil as she addressed me in my own language. “I am told you have trespassed on my lands, puny stranger, and that you have killed my dragon, Micanthria.”

  “That is true …” I hesitated, trying to decide what honorific she was accustomed to before giving up.

  “And you make no defense of these crimes?” she questioned. “Are you not aware that the sentence for a captured spy is slow death?”

  “But I’m no spy.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Liar. I know what you are and whence you come. None but a filthy magicker could have defeated Micanthria. You are one of those cliff-dwelling rats from Swiftsfell.”

  I bit my tongue, remembering more lives than mine were at stake, and spread my hands in a pacifying gesture. “It is correct that I am a magicker with connections to the cliff-dwellers. It is on their behalf that I come.”

  “As an assassin,” she accused. “Here to destroy my beautiful and terrible Micanthria.”

  My mind raced. A dangerous plan was beginning to form in my head, and there was no time to consider whether it was good or bad.

  “Come to execute Micanthria,” I corrected, “for the killing of my grandmother. But I have another purpose as well. I am here as a representative of Swiftsfell, to arrange an agreement that will see the end of the Drejian attacks on that village.”

  At this, the queen’s surrounding companions began whispering among themselves.

  She ignored them as, eyes narrowed, she asked, “You have authority to speak for the cliff-dwellers?”

  “Absolutely,” I lied.

  “It will take a very high price to diminish my wrath after the destruction of my dragon. Swiftsfell’s tribute is doubled.”

  I took a chance. “I haven’t traveled all this way to pay the gold demanded. I had come instead to claim the ancient right of judicial combat.”

  Throughout the room, all whispers fell silent and a hush descended.

  The queen’s face was hard and her voice strained, yet I sensed a twinge of secret alarm. “What know you, puny magicker, of judicial combat?”

  In my mind’s eye, I saw again the pages of Calder’s book. I hoped I remembered their contents correctly. “Drejians follow a strict honor code in the resolution of legal disputes. A part of that code allows for a wronged party to challenge their adversary in an ordeal of strength. A trial by combat, with the Drejian gods ensuring victory for the just party.”

  I took a breath and hoped I wasn’t going to regret what I was saying. “I charge you, Queen of the Drejians, with ordering the dragon Micanthria’s attack on Swiftsfell, thus bringing about the wrongful death of my kinswoman. I demand justice by judicial duel.”

  The queen laughed sharply, casting a quick glance toward her noble companions. “You reveal your ignorance of our ways, magicker. The challenge to a trial by battle can only be issued to and by persons of Drejian birth. Your inferior, wingless race possesses no rights under our law.”

  I winced at the blow to my plans.

  But a flurry of whispers had resumed from those surrounding the queen. One of her companions spoke up, and I wondered if it was significant that he spoke in my language, so that I could understand his words to the queen.

  “With respect to your Magnificence,” he said, “tradition dictates that if a wingless stranger has proven himself a courageous opponent, he may be granted the right of combat. Many would say that, in slaying Micanthria, this magicker has demonstrated worthiness.”

  The queen scowled at the speaker. “You know this is a questionable challenge, Prince Radistha. I mark you as its supporter.”

  It seemed I was benefitting from some personal or political undercurrent I did not understand. But I didn’t need to know the root of the discord between this Radistha and the queen to use it to my advantage. Quickly I said, “I
am certain her Magnificence does not seek to hide behind technicalities to avoid this ordeal. Surely the justice of her cause gives her faith in the trial’s outcome?”

  Judging from the scorching look the queen shot me, I was pushing too far. But a glance at her nobles revealed thoughtful expressions and nodding heads. Some, at least, were looking favorably on my words.

  But just as I was beginning to hope, one of the nobles broke in with a sharp protest. Because it was in the Drejian tongue, I was left to guess at what he said. But his outraged tone and scathing glares in my direction made it obvious he was protesting my challenge. A heated dispute broke out among all the noble companions.

  I sensed events were veering off course and that my chance was slipping away from me.

  The queen, never looking away from her advisors, made an impatient motion with her hand. One of the Drejian warriors took that as his signal to unfasten me from the floor ring that had held me to the spot.

  I was unable to accept that my audience could end so abruptly. “Wait! What’s happening?” I demanded as the guard prodded me away. “I will not leave before my challenge is answered!”

  The winged warrior either could not or would not answer. As for the queen and her nobles, they were locked in debate, and spared my protesting departure no notice. With the sinking knowledge that my final ploy had failed, I had no choice but to be led through a side entrance out of the chamber. I wondered what was planned for me next. Imprisonment? A hasty execution?

  Chapter Nine

  Wordlessly, my captors brought me down a series of twisting tunnels and then an endless flight of steep stairs. It looked like we were entering a less inhabited area now. The air was cold and damp, and a draft came from somewhere. Our path grew rougher and narrower, so that my tallest guards had to stoop and draw in their wings to avoid the walls and ceilings. If they had forgone flying in favor of walking for my benefit, they now did so for their own. There could be no swooping or gliding through these tight spaces. Glow stones became more infrequent, until finally we passed no more at all and would have been left in utter darkness if some of my escort had not taken up torches. Wherever we were going, it was apparently a place where illumination was an unnecessary luxury.