The Bloodheart Read online

  “No. Niall, we’re not strolling into the midst of a dragon’s lair bearing firearms and…are those bombs?”

  “Why not? Any yes, those are bombs. Which Ariya used to good effect on a certain giant golem.” Niall gives the bag a shake.

  “We are guests bound to observe the customs of the dragons while we are here,” Ariya says coldly, “And not brigands who will strut about with guns. Dragons respect the blade but have no patience for weapons that kill like that.”

  “So much for your crossbow, then,” Niall says.

  “Enough. Leave them, Niall.”

  “Captain—”

  “Do it.”

  Gridley barks to emphasize my command.

  Niall grinds his teeth. He stomps below. A heavy thud and loud bang of metal on wood thunder up through the deck.

  I secure my scabbard. Gridley sniffs at my side. I favor him with a smile, but he’s not reassured.

  We disembark under the watchful eyes of our young escorts. They take up positions near Sleet and fold their wings along their backs. The sentinels standing guard by the entrance to the yawning mouth of the cave make no sound. I let Ariya take point, given her status as the only welcome biped amongst our party.

  “Greetings, brothers of the air.” Ariya bows deeply. The rest of us take that as our cue and follow her motion. “We wish to visit with Benath the Wise on a matter most urgent.”

  The dragons are unmoved. Smoke drifts in lazy tendrils from between their fangs.

  “Chatty,” Niall mutters.

  I skewer him with a glare.

  Ariya stands erect, and spreads her wings. “We desire Benath’s counsel. Will you not heed the request of your sister on the wing?”

  Again, nothing is said. But the two guardians do shift their gaze, far over our heads. I glance behind us. The young escorts standing watch at Sleet lower their heads to the ground. Perhaps more surprising than a dragon’s ire is seeing a pair embarrassed.

  Luc whispers to me, “Don’t they know we must find the next piece of the Bloodheart? Why can’t we tell them?”

  “We will, lad. Patience.” All the same, I tire of these forced pleasantries as much as Niall. I lean into Ariya. “It is time.”

  She nods. “Brethren, we have something valuable to present to Benath, a treasure of great worth and great power.”

  The dragons unfurl their wings, great leathery canvas that dwarfs the sails of Sleet. Wind whistles through rips in the blue-black material. They extend their necks, curved with scales, until their faces are ten feet from ours. Heat shimmers in the air between us.

  Luc steps forward, as easily as if he were approaching to pet Gridley. He smiles and opens his bag. “Here.”

  I catch a sparkle of light from the Bloodheart.

  Luc lifts it into the light. It gleams white and silver. And the dragons recoil. They move so swiftly their bodies snap the air as a cannon blast. How are creatures so large so nimble?

  They move apart, away from the entrance to the cave. Their wings shrink to their flanks. No words spoken. No commands given. Only admittance.

  Luc returns the Bloodheart to the bag.

  The dragons completely furl their wings. They watch us with narrowed eyes that shine yellow as we walk between them. Into the black depths of the cave. The breeze behind us rustles our cloaks and moans across the mouth of the cave.

  Our boots echo on rock. Scabbards slap against out sides. There’s no other sound, and the cavern grows darker with each step we take. It’s impossible for it to become darker. Ariya stays in front, until Niall pushes past her. His hand rests on the hilt of his word, and he can clear it for action.

  The floor descends, and light builds suddenly from the other end. A soft yellow glow. It glitters.

  The passage opens onto a chamber that dwarfs the greatest cathedral ceiling at Jasna Góra. It peaks far over our heads, lost in shadow. Light filters from several fissures, reflecting off crystals that dangle like icicles. A few aethershards lend their subtle illumination to the mix of colors. But the yellow I see is not from them.

  No. It comes from gold.

  There are heaps of it covering the floor of the chamber. We stand at the lip of rock, and look out over the sprawling pit filled with treasure. Ingots, coins, jewelry—it all runs together like grains of sand on the beach.

  Niall whistles, a low, soft sound.

  Luc peers over the edge. “There is a lot of gold down there.”

  I nod, struck dumb.

  Ariya tenses beside me. In the dim glow from the crystals and the treasure I can make out her face, wary and watchful. “He is here. Can’t you smell?”

  Niall sniffs. “Rank. Fish and metal.”

  “And dragon.”

  The far wall of the cavern moves. Heaven help me, the entire wall moves. It shuffles and shudders, peeling itself up from the floor and lurching across the gold.

  Niall’s blade flashes in front of us. I clear my falchion from its scabbard.

  There are legends that tell of a dragon so old, so massive, that he is revered as the father of all sea- and sky-dwelling dragons. His form blocked the moon and the stars when he flew. None could stand against him, but he long ago foreswore his power to rest in solitude, to guard his hoard, and to ponder the mysteries of this world and the realms beyond.

  I can only guess at Benath’s size as he uncoils before us. Twice as big as the guards posted outside? He could measure two hundred feet, perhaps more. Wings are folded into leathery drapes of faded blue that could cover Sleet many times over. He has the same blue hide of the male dragons we have seen to this point, but the colors are dimmed by time and the skin weathered with age. Dozens of spikes, shining obsidian, protrude from the back of his head. His face his huge. He can swallow any of us whole. His expression is creased with lines as craggy as the rocks around.

  He roars. There has never been a more thunderous noise. Not even the volcanoes of Tamborata shake the air such as this. Niall drops his swore and claps his hands to his ears, howling in anguish. Gridley presses to Luc, whimpering and whining as if he wishes to do the same. My body is pummeled by the sound. For a long moment I cannot feel my heart beating.

  Ice paralyzes my hands, but I keep a death grip on my sword.

  Fire bursts from Benath’s mouth. It scours the ceiling, and that’s when it is apparent bundles of moss and wood are affixed there. Whether by man or dragon I do not know. All that matters is the ceiling becomes a mass of writhing fire, the greatest torch ever.

  Benath arches his neck toward us. He opens his eyes. They are bright green, and big enough for Luc to curl up comfortably inside.

  “Blades.” His voice is a rasp of rock on rock, and the rumble of waves on a storm-thrashed coast. “Worms come for me with blades. And an Aevorn betrays me?”

  “It … it is not betrayal, Great Benath.” I admire the steel that emerges in Ariya’s voice after the initial trepidation. “We bring a gift.”

  “Show it now,” Benath growls, “And let us see if you lie. For if you do I shall make meal of your flesh and bones.”

  THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER

  ~

  THE LIGHT OF BENATH’S FLAME leaps at us from around the cavern, reflecting off the shining gold and glinting blades. For despite his warning—or perhaps because of it—Niall and I keep out weapons at the ready.

  Luc is stock still, eyes wide as saucers. He makes no move to open the bag. Whatever joy he had at seeing the dragon guards outside has fled in the presence of Benath. Can I blame him? It’s all the determination I can muster to not let my sword shake in my grip.

  “Give me the gift,” Benath rumbles.

  Ariya bows. She ducks to Luc’s side. “Present Benath the Wise with the relic, Luc.”

  Luc shakes his head.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Niall growls. “There are four dragons outside this cavern even if we could manage an escape from this beast—”

  “Beast?” Benath laughs. The ground shakes, and the sound rattle
s my bones. Pebbles trickle down the sides of the caves, tinkling where they hit gold. This is no belly laugh. It grates on my nerves as a plow tears at the rocky soil. “I am the beast? You come with weapons forged to kill. Your ship carries man-fire. These things you make so you can challenge the power of the dragons.”

  “We mean no offense, Great Father.” I shoot Niall a glare faster than Ariya can loose an arrow in battle. “We have never before set foot in the realm of your kin. The lad fears you.”

  “The lad does fear me. You all do. Even our sister of the skies.” He takes in a long, slow inhale. His neck bulges. “Yes. Your fear is strong.”

  Ice tickles at my palms. I lock it away. Instead I ignore all but Luc. His hands grip the bag until the knuckles are white as clouds. I kneel in front of him. “Lad. It’s all right. Show him the relic, just as you did the guards.”

  He nods. Small fingers fumble with the opening to the bag.

  “Step closer, child, that I may see this gift,” Benath booms. Talons scrape across the field of gold.

  Luc gasps. He cradles the bag.

  I sheathe my sword. “Luc. Stand with me.” I take his right hand and loosen his grip on the bag until he’s holding my fingers.

  “I will.” He squeezes his eyes shut, and whispers words I cannot hear. When his eyes reopen he is the Luc we’ve come to know, bright and inquisitive, with a reserve of calm reopened. He smiles, and the expression does not falter. “We don’t have to be afraid, do we?”

  I look up at Benath, at that fearsome face, the fangs that can rip my body to bloody shreds, the armored scales that can bend my blade, and the fire licking at the ceiling of the cave. “No. No, of course not.”

  Luc opens the bag. “That’s what my father always told me. Be not afraid. I go before you.”

  Together we step closer to the lip of rock. Gold gleams far beneath our feet. Luc pulls the Bloodheart from the bag, and holds it aloft with both hands like an offering.

  Benath is so still, so silent, he’s become a statue as solid as the golem we fought. The crackle of the flames above and the steady rush of breath from his snout are the only sounds in the cavern. He moves in close, closer, until his snout brushes Luc’s body.

  The lad doesn’t panic. His eyes are white and wide, but he stands firm.

  I have my hand on my hilt, for the lot of good that will do me to wield steel against Benath should he strike.

  Benath sniffs. The air sucks at Luc’s shirt, ruffles his hair. The dragon’s eyes are pinched shut, until his nose brushes the Bloodheart. The relic gleams gold in the reflected light of the fire and the treasure.

  “My child.” His voice is a soft murmur that could have come from Niall whispering in my ear. His eyes open, glowing with green intensity that focuses on…me. He’s looking right at me. My insides freeze.

  “Yes?” Luc’s arms are starting to shake from the weight of the Bloodheart.

  “You have brought the Bloodheart back to me.” Benath chuckles again, a more pleasant sound this time. His face, though, looks no less fearsome. “Why?”

  Luc glances at me.

  “Mighty Benath,” I say, and my words are blessedly firm, “I have read legends that tell the answer to the riddle of this relic lies with the dragons of the Atlan Reach.”

  Benath snorts. Smoke mists about us in a cloud big enough to fill Sleet’s deck. Niall explodes in ragged coughs. “Who peddles such nonsense?”

  “The priests of Jasna Góra.”

  Scaly eyebrows rise. “Oh? No fools, then, they. But they overdramatize. There is no riddle to the Bloodheart. It was mine.”

  That’s unfortunate. Wishful notions of selling platinum to the highest bidder evaporate like Strovograd vodka spilled in the sun. “Then … all the better we have returned it to you.”

  “No, man-worm, it is not mine to keep. It was mine to create.” Benath smiles—or I take the spreading of his rows of gnarled fangs to imitate a smile. “My clan forged the Bloodheart from the purest metals a thousand years ago. But we did not give it strength. That was the doing of the Most High.”

  “The…Most High.”

  “You think you can stand against him. Man-worm.” Benath’s laugh shakes everything, the whole of the Half Fang. Niall has not put his blade away, and I believe this is a decent precaution. “The Bloodheart is of His making. It is the vessel for Him.”

  “We are told this is the place where another relic dwells,” Ariya says. “Great Benath, we seek the Father’s Tear.”

  He arches his brows. “Ah? You would reunite the three? Well, now. This is unexpected. Then you lied. This is not a gift. You will not return the Bloodheart to me.”

  “Our intent is to unite the three relics, as you said, and make certain they are available to hold the tides of darkness at bay.” My fingers grip the hilt of my sword tightly. The ice is unbearable. My hands are not glowing. Yet.

  “Darkness? What do you know of darkness?” Benath draws up as tall as the chamber will allow. He spreads his wings from cave wall to cave wall. There would be no escaping, nor would there be fending him off, should he choose to strike. “I will tell you of darkness. It covered this land a thousand years ago. Even the dragons cowered from it. But the Most High created a way to keep at bay those who would summon the elements of the world for destruction. They were sundered, and the Bloodheart separated into its components. They were scattered, entrusted, hidden. Now here you are with the Bloodheart borne on the hands of the innocent. Ice-summoner.”

  My heart goes solid. Niall swears in vehement vulpex fashion. Ariya bunches her wings together and stands steady.

  “Yes, I smell the cold on you, man-worm.” Benath bares his teeth. “You come here with the Bloodheart, demand of me the Tear, and expect the dragons to do your bidding. No. Never. I shall enjoy sucking your gristle from between my fangs, meal.”

  “Please!” Luc’s voice cuts across the chamber, echoing plaintively from the walls. He thrusts the Bloodheart out and steps closer to the edge of the treasure pit. “You must help us. My father said this is important. And they killed him! But they didn’t take this away. We kept it safe. Help us!”

  The Bloodheart flares white.

  The light is dazzling, more intense than looking into the sun full on. I shield my eyes. Luc is silhouetted against the light, a shadow at sunrise, and a ringing like chimes at vespers fills the room. Gridley howls in frustration. Ariya and Niall clamp their hands to their ears.

  Rock crumbles. Luc slips at the edge, and falls.

  “No!” I lunge for him but cannot see in the blinding light. My fingers grasp for his cloak and miss. Fabric slips through them.

  There is a great rush of air, as if a storm front were blowing in from the west. Luc’s body hits something hard with a slap, but not metallic in sound. He’s not fallen far. My eyes are squeezed shut, dripping tears, and the Bloodheart’s light turns everything under my eyelids red. It fades unto a soft glow, until I’m staring at black. I open them.

  Benath is there, his head just below the edge of the rock plateau on which we all stand. Its edge is more ragged, crumbled away. Luc still holds fast to the Bloodheart, and he is curled atop Benath’s snout, with a free hand gripping a long black spike. The Bloodheart pulses, a soft white glow that appears and disappears in rhythm.

  It beats.

  “You.” Benath’s tone is a murmur again, a low rumble. “You hold the Bloodheart and it listens. Your heart is clean, then.”

  Luc looks up at Benath’s spikes. He cannot see the great dragon’s eyes from where he lay. “I know the truth.”

  “So you do. So you do.” Benath rears his head, and angles his snout so Luc can be safely deposited on our rock outcropping. I pull him close into a hug, surprising myself with the ferocity of my grasp. He was lost to me, for that brief heart-stopping moment. Why should it matter?

  Gridley is on us, dispensing licks whether desired or not. He turns to Benath, cocking his head in evident puzzlement. But he doesn’t growl or whine.
r />   Benath turns his head again. Those great green eyes glow as lanterns. “I was mistaken.” He rumbles with a chuckle. “Remember well, worms, because I do not often err. You carry the Bloodheart not for gain, but for good. The Most High is with you.”

  Most High. The talk is enough for me. My teeth grind but I manage a civil tone. “Will you help us, then?”

  “I will help the lad, because he is like me. He is consecrated, knowing the truth and ultimately unafraid because he does. Here.” Benath inclines his head, bringing it closer still. Luc does not flinch now, but regards Benath with all the concern Gridley would give a mouse. “Behind my right eye, amidst the scales. Reach until you feel the cold.”

  Luc has the Bloodheart tucked under his left arm. With his right hand he does as Benath instructs. Tiny white fingers poke between scales the size of dinner plates. Luc chews his lip. “Wait. Here?”

  “Yes. Take it. Pull, child.”

  Luc yanks. Metal rings out. In his right hand he holds a metal spike. Four inches long and black as night. Its edges shine with reflected light from the fire, and the Bloodheart. Strange runes are carved on its surface. Each side is perfectly symmetrical.

  “It’s … strange.” Luc frowns. “It pulls my hand.”

  Benath nods. “Set the Bloodheart down. Hold the Tear over the Bloodheart.”

  Luc obeys. As he extends his arm with the Tear aimed straight down to the rock floor, the Bloodheart’s pulsing increases. It rises off the floor, hovering, floating slowly upward, a feather drifting in reverse. As it nears the Tear it begins to spin, faster, ever faster. It bursts apart, curved fragments of flashing white metal. A warm breeze washes over us.

  “It’s pulling stronger!” Luc’s arm shakes.

  “Release it.” Benath’s eyes are locked on him.

  Luc lets go the Tear. It snaps down to the Bloodheart. When it reaches the center of the whirling fragments it stops cold, suspended in midair. The Tear emits sparks—first, tiny ones like static, then more and more until a flurry of miniature bolts of lightning lance out at every one of the Bloodheart’s pieces. They drag the pieces back in.