The seven thunders, p.19
The Seven Thunders, page 19
“That’s a Taragon that,” he said. “Tenebraks are black. Thangors are blue. Red dragons, all they know is fire and death.”
“Move, you oaf!” yelled Duma, pushing Tayori towards cover. “Poor time for the dragon lesson, don’t you think? If you mention the New Briny Journal, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”
The great Taragon made another pass and unleashed its fire and made a ring of death, to which there was no seeable escape. Goblins riding vultures rained down arrows from their saddles to assure it, their beastly birds hissing with the dragon’s roar. Tayori huddled over Duma as she was struck in the shoulder.
“Help them,” begged Hermium.
“They are not important,” argued the Qwee.
“They are important,” countered Hermium. “They’re my friends.”
The Qwee huffed and snorted. “Stay here,” he ordered. The Qwee charged under a merciless salvo of arrows and picked Duma off the ground and barked at Tayori, telling him to run for his mortal life.
The goblins jumped off their vultures and landed inside the ring of fire and feathered their bows. The Qwee deflected their arrows into the brush with just a nod. The goblins sneered and drew closer, feathering fresh arrows. Hermium heard the Qwee say that he did not know if he could stop them again. The goblins glared at him and bared their teeth, aiming for his heart. This time they released together. The Qwee, with his powers unavailable to him and Duma in his arms, heaved Hermium aside. The arrows missed Hermium and glanced off the minotaur’s breastplate, just inches from piercing Duma’s head. The goblins howled in fury and unsheathed their wicked blades and charged them.
Without warning there was a whoosh and flash. A gryphon screech pierced the air. Wings appeared and then lion paws. The goblins were pounced upon and torn in pieces, their severed parts beak-thrown into the ring of fire. The red dragon roared and landed, whipping its horned tail. “Not you again,” said the great gryphon. Trees snapped like twigs. Saliva dripped from its lips. Hermium, Tayori, Duma, and the Qwee were pinned against the trunk of the twisted trees with nowhere to run, the gryphon between them and the dragon. The dragon reared and spewed its fire to burn them alive, but they were gone, evanesced, and Elioth and Wurren were left to suffer the dragon’s vengeance.
Hermium picked himself up from the mountain snow, shivering. His red bangs whipped with the cold winds that swirled through the swaying pines. He was high on the edge of a cliff, layers of sawtooth, snow-capped mountains framed the horizon.
The Qwee removed the arrow from Duma’s shoulder and handed her over to Tayori and told him to keep her warm. Tayori held her for no more than a few seconds before she forced him to set her down.
“Are you alright?” said the Qwee. Hermium waved him off, protecting his blistered hand from the cold. “Rook, where’s the Aegus?” said the Qwee.
“Captured, but I feel he’s still alive,” said the gryphon gloomily, the moaning winds lifting his feathers. “I searched for you at the keep. I tried to sense where you were, but with my powers waning . . . The Rwaa?”
“Dead,” said the Qwee.
“Strange I did not feel it,” replied the Xylarook. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
“W-We can’t stay h-here,” yelled Hermium, bundled with Tayori and Duma.
“Is this . . .” said the Xylarook.
The Qwee took a long look at Hermium and said, “Maybe.”
“And the others?” asked the Xylarook.
“Friends,” grumbled the Qwee. “Our plans have unraveled, Rook. We must find the ruler of this world and have them prepare their armies.”
The gryphon agreed. “Surely this land has a king or queen. But where? We do not know this world as the Aegus does.”
“Glimmeroc-c-c,” Hermium said with his teeth chattering. Tayori tried interrupting, too. They were summarily ignored as adults would children.
Duma threw a snowball at the Qwee’s big bull head. “Hey m-m-minotaur! The q-queen . . . is v-visiting Glimmeroc,” she said, shivering.
The Qwee snorted irritably and wiped the snow off his snout. “The keep we just left?” he said.
“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you!” shouted Hermium. “We have to go b-b-back. B-Before w-we free-ee-zz-ee.”
“Are you sure you want to evanesce, Qwee? This wasn’t exactly where I meant for us to land when we evanesced from that dragon,” said the Xylarook. “Even together, our powers are erratic. Who knows how we’ll exit.”
“Like fractured lightning, I’m sure,” replied the Qwee, snidely. “They’ll be safer on your back.”
“Qwee,” the Xylarook said sternly, “we need the Aegus. We can’t do this without him.”
“We have the nectar,” said the Qwee, glaring at his brother. “C’mon, boy . . . up. Friends of boy, c’mon. You’re next.
“More like an unwitting accomplice,” retorted Duma.
Hermium looked back at Tayori. “And you call me difficult.”
We’re becoming friends,” inserted Tayori, handing Duma his hand to help her up onto the gryphon’s back.
“Up with you,” grunted the Qwee. “There. Now hold on no matter what. You understand? Be careful yanking his neck feathers because the ruddy gryphon won’t thank you for that. Rook, what?”
“This conversation isn’t over,” pecked the Xylarook, his neck feathers flared.
“On my count,” grumbled the Qwee. “One. Two. Three. Evanesce!”
Hermium exploded out of the sky above the viewing stands of Four Winds Field like a flash of lightning on a clear day, riding bareback on a gryphon, with Duma and Tayori hunkered down behind him. They cleared the gasping faces and pointing fingers of the of Isle of Wey’s nobility and careened right into the middle of five cannon volleys of the Pirate’s Revenge. The prelims had started.
“Watch out!” hollered Hermium, yanking the Xylarook’s neck feathers to bank right, just missing smashing into Rufus Renethor of the Halfwit Hawks just as he rang the bell to move on to the Horsefly’s Guillotines. His pair, Wuvi Wuvain, ahead of him at the Shrinking Sphincters fingered his displeasure. “Sorry!” yelled Hermium.
“We’re missing it!” yelled Duma.
“I have eyes; you don’t have to yell in my ear,” scowled Hermium.
Hermium turned and looked for the Qwee, who had yet to exit. He heard his roar and cursing and spotted him free falling out of the evanesce and then crash into the Sortie Cage.
“Oh no,” said Tayori, looking back. “Hissapits everywhere. That’s going to hurt.”
Daphne Pree of Halfwits and Aria Lavinia of Crows, duking it out for position out of the spiky arms of the Flinging Octopus, were waved down by Professor Oxterac and stopped their attack of the Ace of Shaves. Zay Bartimus of Crows, done with his run, was not so lucky, and took it on the bum for looking over his shoulder as he flitted too close over the Flaming Geysers.
Hissaspits, nasty and crafty reptilian beasts as they were, escaped the strange, air-suspended aviary through the fresh breaks in the mesh the minotaur had made in his fall and swooped down, terrorizing the townsfolk that had left their cheap-seats to watch that part of the course. Concessioners dropped their wares. Many around them fell to the ground complaining about venom in their mouths and their eyes.
The queen’s guards surrounded Her Majesty’s Box, while others charged the field with their captain barking out orders to form their shield wall. Glimmeroc airjocks descended with their swords free of their scabbards. Professor Oxterac slid past their numbers and motioned them to hold. He looked to the sky. There were no dark clouds or winds or crackles of thunder. No one had sounded the alarm.
“Goodspeed,” glowered the Summer Commodore, landing on the grass. “I should have known. Put ‘em in irons!”
The Qwee roared at the guards as they rushed him with noose-poles to rope him by the neck. He threw them aside and snapped the poles in half and glared at the Summer Commodore, snorting heavily and shaking his horned head. “Ill-advised,” he said.
“Stop!” ordered the queen. The Summer Commodore cowed and stepped back as she approached.
The Qwee snorted. “Are you the leader of this world?” he said.
“I am one leader, yes,” said the queen. The regal monarch stared at the minotaur and the gryphon intently. Hermium watched as her eyes widen. “You are Vivirim . . .” said the queen, nobly nodding her crowned head. “How strange it is that I just read an article in one of our finest journals on supernatural phenomena and now you’re here. Coincidence? I think not.”
“She’s talking about the New Briny,” whispered Tayori, beaming. Hermium brushed him off.
“Forgive my men,” said the queen. “We are new . . .” she said, letting the word hang, “to godly visitations.
“There are more important matters than introductions and pleasantries,” said the Qwee.
The Xylarook gave the Qwee a stern look, stepped forward, and performed a courtly bow. “What my brother means to say is that we have urgent news and seek an audience with your majesty.”
“Commodore Grissero, make the Arch Captain’s office available immediately,” commanded the queen. “I will meet with them in private. The cadets as well. Have your physician bring medicines and bandages to tend to their wounds.”
“Yes, my queen,” said the Summer Commodore.
“You lightning scar is bleeding, commodore. See to yourself. And by the Thunderseat, get your gamekeepers on those vile Hissaspits before they hurt anyone else.”
“Straightway, my queen,” bowed the Summer Commodore, leaving and barking orders.
Hermium paced outside of the Arch Captain’s doors. “What’s taking them so long?” he said. “Ow!” Hermium rubbed at his suit’s sleeve. “You know, for an Aeriatis, you’re awfully fussy. I have not forgotten about the stone,” countered Hermium. “You need airing out. And it’s an egg, not stone.”
“I swear; is there no end to your weirdness?” snapped Duma. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
Tayori leered at the doors. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”
“Deciding our fate,” said Duma, as she put pressure on her bandaged wound.
“You look at life through a peephole and you think you know about fate,” snorted the Qwee. “They,” he said pointing at those beyond the door, “deliberate over tarts and strawberries. They’re worrying that the room is too small and are arguing over flower arrangements.”
“Mmm,” concurred the Xylarook, looking up from pecking clean his lion paws. “Her counselors are advising her that she should listen warily to what we have to say. They doubt that we are from the Godhead. One in particular utters lies and says he has seen similar feats of illuminations performed by the augers of the Olyrian Wizard Society, whatever that means. And to not forget that Star Snatchers of the Seventh Thunder have become quite proficient in the pyro arts with their creative use of their wielder, Luminot. Thin-nosed man, proud brow. Senator something. Has a tongue accustomed to lying.”
“You can hear what they’re saying?” said Hermium. Hermium squinted with a terrible headache.
“And see them,” said the Qwee.
Duma sighed and walked away to look at the vestibule’s tapestries.
“How can they judge before we’ve told them anything?” said Tayori.
“Easy. They’re mortals. And mortals know all,” the Qwee said, spitting the words.
The Xylarook looked about uneasily. “He knows I’m here,” he said, staring at the high window.
“Who?” said Tayori. “Who knows you’re here?”
Duma answered with her back turned. “After the entrance we made over Four Winds Field, the Phewaa of the Winter Range know you’re here.”
“The Necrogist. He knows . . .” repeated the Xylarook. “He’s here . . .”
The Qwee and the Xylarook exchanged cross looks.
“Wait. What?” piped Tayori.
The Arch Captain’s doors creaked open. “Her majesty will see the cadets and creatures now,” said the interior guard.
“Did he just call us creatures?” snorted the Qwee.
“Clearly, the man is an apostate,” said the Xylarook, passing the guard with his chest swelled and feathers puffed out.
“So much for private,” grumbled the Qwee.
Hermium stepped inside to side looks and murmurs of the Kid with Two Letters. The aisle was made tight by the queen’s advisors; they pressed in as if to examine him as he passed by. His heart raced, his feet like lead, before him, seated on her throne, Queen Erellia, monarch of all the Thunderlands. Her stare was dreadful despite their earlier meeting, like you would imagine a snake wrapping its coils around you before it struck, if that snake had a royal crown on its head and wore fine, blue robes and a ruby brooch the size of a river stone prominently displayed above its left breast. One blueblood by her side stood out: Senator Vexus Wuvain. It was like staring at Wuvi, only older and with actual power, as head of the Senate Finance Committee, as Wuvi often bragged about.
“Blowhards,” Hargus called them. Hermium would have bet the Drunken Monk he was the one with the key to the queen’s ear.
The queen diverted her eyes to the Qwee as he snorted and grumbled irreverently.
“Leave us,” she said. “The senator and guilderman can stay.” The queen’s court exited, minus her guards. “My advisors think me rash for thinking you are Vivirim. I find that I doubt it some myself. I trust, then, that you will not find offense in a small request for proof. To assuage those concerns.”
The Qwee snorted in outrage.
“Qwee, don’t,” said Hermium. “She didn’t mean anything by it. My head . . .” he grunted. “What’s wrong with me,” he said through the pain.
“I can see her heart well enough,” snorted the Qwee.
The queen scowled at the Qwee. “You would deny me, a monarch, the simple act of vetting someone foreign to our lands?”
“What do they know, these advisors of yours?” railed the Qwee. “I am Qwee, second of the Vivirim order to the Triune Crowned, emissary to the Sovereigns—not some street corner sorcerer that sells ‘miracles’ for gold.”
“She’s just testing you,” said Duma. The Qwee brushed her away.
“And I am Erellia of House Thierry, First Queen to the Seven Realms and Praecuro of the Thunderseat and I will not be talked down to like some prattling schoolgirl,” decried the queen.
“Says the woman asking for parlor tricks,” snarled the Qwee.
“This is your doing. Guards,” motioned the queen.
“Rook, do something,” pleaded Hermium, his head pounding.
The Xylarook screeched and clapped his wings above his head. Lightning struck the floor just feet from the queen and cracked it open. Wind blew portraits from the walls. Personal effects were whipped into a funnel. The double doors rattled, the windows as well. The sentries’ shouts and pounding, only whimpers that could barely be heard. The wind settled, then fell snow like slow-falling cotton that melted as soon as it touched the ground. It was beautiful to behold. As a fat flake landed on the tip of the queen’s slender nose the Xylarook looked at her and said, “There is your proof. Now, you will listen to what we have to say.”
The queen gestured her guards to stand down and stared at Hermium. “Perhaps I should start with the boy,” she said. “Cadet Goodspeed, step forward, please. I was most aggrieved to learn of your disappearance when I arrived. I very much looked forward to watching you, the Kid with Two Letters, run the Gauntlet. I have heard of your suit. Extraordinary. Is it true that you also have a Woe Hammer?”
“He’s the only one who can move it, my queen,” inserted Tayori.
“The Woe only responds to its owner, unless circumvented or by dire need of use by someone in service to its owner,” the queen said matter of factly. “The Wielder Guild has already sent men to dispossess him of the Woe, yes, Guilderman?”
“Yes, my queen,” said the short man.
“The Guilderman has been quite keen on meeting you, Cadet Goodspeed. One can hardly blame him, well, with your suit and the Woe. Such a thing has never happened.”
The Guilderman glanced at Senator Wuvain then stepped forward and bowed. “I have met with Cadet Goodspeed, my queen.”
“And how did I not know of this?” said the queen.
“A lapse on my part, my queen. Forgive me,” said the Guilderman.
“And your assessment is?” she replied curtly.
“He is an impressive young man, my queen,” said the Guilderman, offering no more.
“Brevity. I do believe the loquacious Guilderman Dreary’s tongue must be stuck in his throat,” the queen said with disbelief. “This boy stifles even you.” Hermium felt naked at the queen’s piercing gaze. “You are the talk of the realms. Speak, Cadet Goodspeed. I am piqued with interest to know where you’ve been. And these stories of—fangists, is it?—and dead-undead hands.”
“She flouts us,” said the Qwee.
“It matters not who speaks,” replied the Xylarook. “Everling . . .” he whispered to Hermium, “bow like this.” The great gryphon gestured with his head and wing lowered in honor.
Hermium bowed awkwardly, stood and then blurted, “My queen, there’s a man out there who calls himself the Necrogist. He’s robbing graves and twisting the corpses and turning them into hideous monsters.” The queen sat stiff at his assertion. “The Xylarook has seen him,” continued Hermium, squinting in pain. “The Uhlan brought us one of their severed hands. He’s got goblins and trolls helping him. A-and a big red dragon, a fire drake with wings!” Taragon was whispered across the room. “Tayori and Duma—they’ll tell you,” he said glancing their way. “And fangists, my queen, lots of them. They’re huge werewolves. They’re in the keep. I’ve seen them.”
“But the fell fey races of goblins and trolls haven’t attacked anyone in years. Certainly not as one force. Not since the Great War,” replied the queen. “And now you would have me believe that they have come together and joined with creatures like werewolves, vampires, and a Taragon?”
