Margaret Weis - Fire Sea

Alfred shook his head. He lacked the strength to talk.

“We may not need to,” Jonathan said. “They attack only when they feel threatened.”

“But they have little love for us,” added the prince, “as I have good reason to know.”

“Whether it attacks us or not, the delay could prove fatal,” Haplo poirited out.

“I have an idea.” Jonathan walked slowly and deliberately across the colossus toward the approaching dragon. “Don’t make any threatening moves or gestures.”

The beast glanced at him, but the red eyes were far more intent on the phantasm of the prince.

“What are you?”

The dragon spoke to the prince, ignored Jonathan, ignored everyone else standing on the broken column. Haplo put his hand on the dog’s head, keeping it quiet. The animal trembled, but obeyed its master.

“I have never seen anything like you.”

The dragon’s words were perfectly intelligible, clearly understood, but they weren’t spoken aloud. The sound seemed to run through the body, like blood.

“I am what was always meant to be,” said the phantasm.

“Indeed.” The slit eyes flicked over the group. “And a Patryn, too. Stranded on a rock. What next? The fulfillment of the prophecy?”

“We are in desperate need, Lady,” said Jonathan, with a low bow. “Many of the people in the city of Necropolis now lie dead—”

“Many of my people now lie dead!” The dragon made a hissing sound, its black tongue flickered. “What is this to me?”

“Do you see those ships, crossing the Fire Sea?” Jonathan pointed. The dragon did not turn her head, she was obviously aware of what was passing in her ocean. “They carry lazar and armies of the dead—”

“Lazar!” The slit eyes of the dragon narrowed “Bad enough the dead walk. Who brought lazar into Abarrach?”

“I did, Lady,” said Jonathan. His hands clasped together, holding tight, keeping his pain within.

“You will get no help from me!” The dragon’s eyes flared in anger. “Let the evil you have brought into this world take you down with it!”

“He is innocent of that charge. Lady. He acted out of love,” stated the phantasm. “His wife died, sacrificed her life for his. He could not bear to let her go.”

“Folly, then. But criminal folly. I will have nothing further—”

“I want to make amends, Lady,” Jonathan said. “I have been given the wisdom to do so. Now, I am trying to find the courage. . . .” Words failed him. He swallowed, drew a deep breath. Hands clasped tighter. “My companions and I must reach the opposite shore, ahead of the lazar and the dead they command.”

“You want me to carry you,” said the dragon.

“No . . .” Alfred shook in his shoes.

“Shut up!” Haplo laid a silencing hand on the Sartan’s arm.

“If you would so honor us, Lady.” Jonathan bowed again.

“How can I be certain you will do what you say? Perhaps you will only make matters worse.”

“He is the one of whom the prophecy speaks,” said the prince.

Haplo’s hand, on Alfred’s arm, twitched. Alfred saw the man’s lips twist, the brows knot in frustration. The Patryn kept silent, however. His major concern now was to reach his ship in safety.

“And you are with him in this?” the dragon queried.

“I am.” Prince Edmund’s cadaver stood straight and tall, the phantasm was its shining shadow.

“The Patryn, as well?”

“Yes, Lady.” Haplo’s words were brief, bitten off at the end. What else could he say, with those fire red eyes intent on him?

“I will take you. Be quick.”

The dragon glided nearer the broken colossus, spike-maned neck and head towering over the puny figures who stood beneath. A sinuous, twisting body rose out of the sea, flat backed, spikes extending the full length of the spine. The tip end of a spiny tail could be seen slashing through the lava far, far behind it.

Jonathan descended swiftly, grabbing hold of one of the spikes and using it to steady his landing. The cadaver followed, its gleaming phantasm guided the corpse’s steps. Alfred came after, touching the mane gingerly, expecting it to be hot. The scales were quite cool however, hard and shining as black glass.

The Sartan had ridden dragonback on Arianus and, although this dragon was considerably different from those in the air world, he wasn’t nearly as frightened as he’d expected to be. Only Haplo and the dog remained standing on the column, the Patryn eyeing the dragon warily, his gaze shifting to the column ahead of him, as if measuring what his best decision might be. The dog whimpered and cringed and ducked behind its master, doing its best to avoid the dragon’s eye.

Alfred knew enough about the Labyrinth to understand the Patryn’s fear, his dilemma. Dragons in the Labyrinth are intelligent, malevolent, deadly; never to be trusted, always to be avoided. But the steam-powered ships of the dead were nearing the middle of the ocean. Haplo made his decision, jumped onto the dragon’s back.

“Here, dog!” he called.

The animal ran back and forth on the column, made a tentative try at a jump, gave it up at the last moment, ran up and down the column again, whining.

“Hurry!” the dragon warned.

“Dog!” Haplo commanded, snapping his fingers.

The animal gathered itself together and made a desperate jump right into Haplo’s arms, nearly bowling him over.

The dragon whipped around with a speed that caught Alfred unaware. He had let go of the mane and now almost slid off the back. Grabbing hold of a spike that stood taller than he did, he clung to it with both hands.

The fire dragon swam through the magma as easily as the dragons of Arianus flew through the air, using slithering motions and the push of its strong tail to propel the wingless, gigantic body forward. The hot wind of their passing blew Alfred’s wispy hair back from his head, fluttered his robes behind him. The dog howled in terror the entire way.

The dragon moved at an angle to cut off the ships, then raced ahead of them. At home in her element, her speed was formidable. The iron ships could not match it. But they were now more than halfway across. The dragon was forced to cut close, swinging across the bow of the lead ship. The dead saw them. A hail of arrows rained down around them, but the dragon was sailing too rapidly for the archers to find a good target.

“My people,” said the cadaver in its hollow voice.

The army of the dead of Kairn Telest was drawn up on the docks, prepared to meet the army of the dead of Necropolis and drive them back before they could establish a foothold.

Baltazar’s strategy was sound, but he didn’t know of the lazar, had no word of what had happened in Necropolis. He was prepared for war—a war between cities. He had no idea that now it was a war between the dead and the living. He had no suspicion that he and his people were among the last living beings on Abarrach and that, soon, they might be fighting for their lives against their own dead.

“We’re going to make it,” said Haplo, “but not by much.” His gaze flicked to Alfred. “If you’re coming back with me through Death’s Gate, run straight for the ship. The duke and I will join you.”

“Duke?” Alfred was puzzled. “But he won’t come. Not voluntarily.” And then he understood. “You don’t mean to give him a choice, do you?”

“I’m taking the necromancer back to the Nexus. If you’re coming along, head for the ship. You should thank me, Alfred,” Haplo added with a grim smile. “I’m saving his life. How long do you think he could survive here?”

They were within sight of those waiting on shore. The cadaver of Prince Edmund, prompted by its phantasm, raised its arms. A cheer greeted him; swarms of the dead soldiers began running along the wharf to assist them, protect them from attack as they disembarked.