Zachary Jernigan - No Return

Pol stepped forward for a closer look. She could not read his expression, and refrained from asking his opinion. She admired the graceful curve of his neck above the collar of his suit. Once, not long after his arrival from Pusta, he had fallen asleep in a chair during a private tutorial. She had watched him for close to an hour, counting the doubled pulses of his jugular. Then, as now, she wanted to cradle his jaw in her hand.

She admonished herself for her preoccupation, which had only ever produced frustration.

“You know your role?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said, and patted the pack attached to his stomach. “I keep the spells at ready.”

A whistle blew—a long, trilling blast that rose in pitch sharply before cutting off.

“Two minutes!” the huge tamer yelled.

Ebn and Pol retreated to the edges of the circular roof. Most of the mages had already assumed the waiting position. Helmets on, they lay on their backs, hands gripping the newly installed handles inset into the floor above their heads, feet hooked under the bar running the inner perimeter of the low roof wall. Minor magic would have secured them equally well, but Ebn thought it best not to tire anyone before the evening’s major spell.

She watched the remaining officers ready themselves and then turned to the tamer, who gripped the thick shaft of the twelve-foot-tall sky-hook. A solid piece of steel, it resembled an immense shepherd’s crook welded to a small, heavy platform on which the tamer stood.

“Your pet is in an agreeable mood?” she asked the heavily scarred man.

He shrugged heavy shoulders chalked with bonedust. “Seems to be. Tough to tell with Sapes, sometimes. She’s temperamental, and this sort of thing’s never been done before.” He blew into the whistle again and bellowed the one-minute warning.

Their eyes met. The tamer smiled, and suddenly the stubby horns on his forehead seemed quite vulgar to her.

She flinched as a ragged scream tore through the night, far louder a sound than elderman or human lungs could produce.

“Better get settled, miss,” the tamer said, positioning the grimy blackrimmed goggles over his eyes. “Dragon coming down.”

‡

A long shape blotted out a section of stars above them. Wings the size of galleon sails forced waves of compacted air downward, pushing the voidsuited bodies into the floor. The wyrm roared again. Muffled through the outbound mages’ glass helmets, the sound was nearly indistinguishable from the wind.

The beast descended and the pressure increased. Ebn craned her neck to see the tamer. He had wrapped his arms and legs around the sky-hook’s shaft, but his goggled eyes were directed upward. He yelled, and whether they were incantations or encouragements, Ebn did not know. Wyrms were violently temperamental, and the elder hybrids the Tamer’s Guild raised from hatchlings could only roughly be called tame.

Ebn assumed the tamer’s lore would be sufficient to control the beast, for its task was simple enough. Still, she found herself mouthing a silent entreaty to Adrash for his blessing.

Apparently, he heard. The building shook as it took the wyrm’s weight, and the air stilled.

Ebn opened eyes she had not realized were closed.

For a moment, the scope of the animal could not be fathomed. When she turned her head, the large black object a few feet from her head resolved itself into one of the beast’s talons. She gazed up at its heaving stomach, a full thirty feet above her, and shuddered. It was so immense! She had never seen a wyrm up close. Craning her neck painfully, she located its head, which hung far out over the roof ’s edge. The animal seemed to be watching the city.

The tamer whooped, and Ebn shuddered again to see that vicious, wedgeshaped head swinging toward the roof. It came sailing in, and she lost scope once more: a giant black fist, a meteor tumbling out of the night sky. The visions fused, became a tooth-lined grin as long as two men, a gigantic double-pupiled eye glowing soft blue. The head lay against the stone floor, and above it floated the horned head of the tamer.

No, not floated. He stood behind the wyrm’s head, and spoke in its ear. The talons near Ebn twitched, scraping across the flagstones. The wyrm gripped the statue easily with one foot and Ebn winced, though she had strengthened the marble with reliable spells only hours ago.

The great head rose, dragging the length of its neck in an arcing line behind it. Flexing its haunches, the wyrm’s stomach lowered until it seemed it would be impaled by the sky-hook. The tamer huddled under the beast, a huge man compressed into insignificance.

A cry rose in Ebn’s throat as the wyrm leapt upward, sky-hook firmly gripped in its other foot. The gust of its passage pressed her flat into the roof, knocking the cry from her lips. She counted to thirty as the beast rose into the air, unhooked her feet, and slammed her gauntleted fist into the first spell on her bandolier. To her right, she saw Qon do the same. Ebn whispered the gathering words, her own secret incantation to bind the mages’ energy together and keep them safe during flight. Immediately, she felt as if she were being pushed from either side—like a giant pair of hands squeezing her flat. Lines of red fire shot from the mages’ bodies and wound together above the roof, forming a rope that shot heavenward, converging on the statue clutched in the wyrm’s foot. Any moment now , Ebn thought.

They shot into the sky.

‡

Rising swiftly under the wyrm’s power, they spun slowly, a circle of suited figures at the end of a fire tether. Ebn’s complex spell caused the mages’ suits to repel each other, so that no one crashed into their neighbor. For all of her planning, however, she had not prepared herself for the nausea. Rising straight into orbit was one thing, spinning and being jounced around another thing entirely. She looked to the right and caught Qon’s eye.

The woman was grinning.

“An odd way to enter the void,” she had said when Ebn outlined the plan originally. “I see the need for the wyrm, I suppose, though I think in time we could develop a spell powerful enough to lift something as large as the statue into orbit.”

“We do not have the time,” Ebn said. “And I want us to be as fresh as possible when we reach orbit.”

Qon’s eyes roved over the thaumatic diagrams again. “Two questions. Will the tamer be able to handle heights of this magnitude? Thirty miles is no joke, Ebn. And will this spell”—she pointed to the projections Ebn had drawn out—“be enough to lift the statue in the event several of the less experienced mages are disoriented from the ride? Or simply afraid?”

Ebn nodded. “The tamer assures me that he can make it, and I see no reason to disbelieve him. It is his life on the line, too. From the point where he turns back to earth, it is but a short push. I have done the maths over and over. You and Pol and I could lift it into orbit by ourselves if need be.”

“Would we be able to affect any spells afterwards?”

“Probably not.” Ebn traced the line of trajectory she had drawn, met her friend’s eyes, and shrugged. “But I think it highly unlikely that thirty-nine well-trained mages will suffer fits of uselessness at the exact same time.”

Qon quirked an eyebrow. “I think we crossed the line separating likely and unlikely some time ago.”

POL TANZ ET SOM

THE 23 rdTO THE 25 rdOF THE MONTH OF CLERGYMEN, 12499 MD

JEROUN ORBIT

From twenty miles up, Tansot was only a speck of light on the ebon blanket of earth. The stars above burned brighter every second. A vague but definite shadow above the spinning mages, the wyrm beat immense wings against air too thin for any natural creature to fly upon.