The Orb of Xoriat

9 The Dragonhawk

Bang-bang-bang!

Startled by the pounding at his door, Hatch Vadalis jumped from his chair, banging into the table and scattering some of the food on his plate. He growled at the interruption. Just before he left the room, he pointed one finger at his dog and said, “Don’t even think about it, Stinker.”

Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!

“I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t split your gizzard!” he yelled. He opened the front door to his home and saw a young man panting on his porch.

“Hatch d’Vadalis?” asked the newcomer. He shifted a small bag in his arms.

“Just Vadalis,” said Hatch. “I married into the name.”

“My name’s Teron,” said the man, bowing, “I have an important parcel I need delivered to Passage as soon as possible.” He proffered a letter of credit from the church treasury in Fairhaven.

Hatch took the paper and scrutinized the arcane mark upon it. “Looks legitimate,” he said. He glanced at the amount written and nodded approvingly. “Very well. I’ll head out at first light.”

“No,” said the man. “Now.”

“But I can’t—”

Teron pulled a second letter of credit and handed it to Hatch.

“Well, um, let’s see,” the old man said, greed and concern warring in his mind. “Flying at night, it’s—”

Teron snatched the two letters of credit from Hatch’s hand. Hatch gasped, but then Teron provided a third letter, larger in sum than the previous two combined. “Final offer,” he said. “Accept it.”

“I think this will do nicely,” said Hatch. “Gome in, Tayrum.”

“Teron.”

“Teron. Right. I was, um, just eating my dinner, and—Damn it, Stinker! Get off the damned table!”

“Eat quickly,” said Teron.

“Right you are,” said Hatch. He crammed food into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “If you don’t mind, put the kettle on the fire, will you? I’ll be wanting some tea to see me through the night.”

“You might want to brew some for your bird, as well,” Teron said with a chuckle.

“What’s the package, by the way?”

“Me.”

Hatch stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “That’ll keep me honest,” he said.

The old man wolfed down the remainder of his food, leaving the scraps for the dog. Teron quietly appropriated a few pieces and let Flotsam out of the bag to eat on top of the table.

Hatch gathered several waterskins and poured a handful of tea leaves into each of them. Catching a clue from Teron’s pacing, he filled the skins with water that was merely warm, proclaiming them, “Good enough.”

Grabbing a lantern to light the way, he exited the house for the roost. Teron scooped up his cat and followed. Hatch walked over to the large barn next to his house, handed the lantern to the monk, and pulled open one of the large doors.

As the light spilled into the barn, Hatch turned to look at the monk’s expression. Sure enough, the young man gaped in amazement at the creature within. The expression of bedazzlement never failed to warm the old man’s heart.

The great bird was perched on a tree trunk hewed for just that purpose. Even without the stand, it stood almost twelve feet high, with large, intelligent golden eyes set on each side of a cruel gray beak. Its breast was a cloudy gray that blended well with autumn skies, while rich mottled brown feathers covered its wings and back.

It blinked at the unexpected onset of light and raised a single long feather set at the front of its black-feathered head. It balanced on one great claw to stretch out its other wing and leg, displaying its huge talons as well as the bony horn that protruded from the wing’s wrist.

“That’s impressive,” said the monk.

Hatch brought a stepladder over to the great bird. It bent its head down as he fitted the bit and reins. Then he coaxed the dragonhawk to stand horizontally while he mounted the saddle. “Soarwood,” he said as he tightened the hitches. “Makes it a bit easier on the old girl.”

Teron held up one hand. “I’m just glad well be riding on its back.”

Hatch stopped his preparations and stood up, “Back? You’re riding in its claws, son.”

Teron blinked. “You’re … joking, right?”

Wakened by one of the deck hands, Oargesha shucked off the canvas tarpaulin that had served as her blanket, gathered what gear she had, smoothed her hair, and climbed up onto the bow deck.

The sky in the east was just starting to lighten, silhouetting the Shadow Fox’s slim figure leaning on the railing. Oargesha walked up to stand beside her.

The Fox pointed to the north, and Oargesha looked. The airship was just cresting a large hill, and the vast panorama of Fairhaven lay sprawled across the rolling terrain in front of them. The Aundair River parted the city down the center, and a massive complex of buildings dominated the left bank.

“Will you look at those,” said Oargesha quietly, somehow hesitant to make any noise in the quiet predawn hour. “Those towers have to be at least a hundred-fifty feet high. And they’re so slender!”

Fox nodded. “Impressive, aren’t they? And they say the towers of Sharn are even taller.” She sucked on her teeth for a moment. “Metrol used to be that large,” she said.

“I know.” Oargesha dropped her head. “It’s hard to think of that many people all dying at once. And just lying there like they say they do….”

“That’s why we did this,” said the Fox. “That’s why we’re doing this. I want it all back. Even if it takes a hundred years.”

The ship drew closer to the Aundairian capital, just starting to come to life with the growing dawn. The Shadow Fox craned her neck and then dashed for the forecastle. Oargesha followed, wondering what the alarm was.

“Belay there!” ordered the second mate as the two women climbed the short ladder. “I told you not to come up here! I got into enough trouble already just bringing you aboard.”

“Just for a moment, Jendro, I promise,” said the Shadow Fox. “I just wanted to borrow your glass, and I didn’t feel right bothering an officer like you to bring it to me.”

Jendro lost his bluster. “I’m not really an officer, of course, but.”

“Just for a moment,” said the Fox with a wink as she gently pulled the small scope from his hands. “I’ll give it right back.” She put the glass to her eye and scanned the cityscape. She gasped in delight. “I was right! Gesha, the lightning rail is at the station! We ought to be able to catch it!” She handed the glass to Oargesha and pointed, “See? It’s that large building with all the light, just over there.”

Jendro snatched the glass from Oargesha’s hand. “You said you’ve give it right back!”

The Shadow Fox smiled. “I’m sorry, I just got too excited. Can you—could you please, could you debark us at the lightning rail station?” she asked.

Jendro shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” asked Oargesha.

“Aundairian law requires us to go to the airship dock at the west side of town. We’ll be able to let you down after the dock opens for business, an hour or two after dawn. That’s of course assuming that no one else is ahead of us.”

“Wait a moment,” said the Shadow Fox, grabbing Jendro’s arm.

The second mate yanked his arm out of her grasp. “Unhand me,” he said, “and clear the forecastle! You’re not supposed to be up here in the first place! We’ll get you down as soon as we can, assuming you give me no more troubles. You,” he added, pointing to a burly half-orc deckhand, “make sure they stay off the forecastle, understand? And if they cause any more trouble, send them below decks.”

The two Cyrans withdrew from the bow and repaired to a spot on the rail amidships. They watched in silence as the airship crossed above the outskirts of Fairhaven. The details of the city grew in size and detail as the sky grew lighter and the airship gradually descended.

Oargesha looked wistfully at the glowing lightning rail station, slowly drawing nearer as the airship cruised to the appointed dock. “So much for catching this run,” she said. She leaned over the railing to look at the ground below. “Who would have thought that such a short distance could be so far away?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the ground. It’s right there, and yet it’s too far away. We can’t jump. It’d be the death of us.” She sighed in exasperation. “I just wish I had a spell that could help us, but that’s not my kind of magic.”

The Shadow Fox turned, a wry smile brightening her face. “It is mine,” she said. “Gather your belongings and meet me right back here. Quickly.”

Oargesha went back below and quickly stuffed her clothes, personal articles, and spellbook into her bag, then sauntered back across the deck to the railing.

The Shadow Fox was at the aft end of the airship, her bag over her shoulder. She walked up the length of the beam, idly trailing one hand over the railing.

As she approached, Oargesha looked past her to the stern, and the parcel that had been left unattended at the rail, “Hey, Fox, isn’t that the—”

“Yes. Walk with me.”

Oargesha turned and walked alongside the Shadow Fox up the length of the airship. The half-orc deckhand glared at them as they approached the forecastle.

The Shadow Fox stopped and looked over the railing. “This looks good,” she said. “Face me. Hands on hips.”

“But—”

“Obey me!” hissed the Fox.

Oargesha turned to the Fox and placed her hands on her hips. As irritated as she was becoming, it was easy to do.

The Fox pulled her hand up over the side of the airship to reveal the end of a rope that arced sternward. She quickly slipped it around Oargesha’s waist and secured it with a square knot. She shoved Gesha’s bag against her belly and handed her what little slack there was left in the rope. “Grab tight,” she said.

No sooner had the Cyran wizard grabbed the rope than the Fox wrapped her arms around her, grabbed the rope in both hands, and flopped the pair of them over the railing.

Oargesha shrieked as they tumbled through the air toward the city streets below. But almost immediately the rope went taut, and the two women glided in a smooth arc. They reached the bottom of their pendulous path a mere ten feet above the streets, but instead of rising again, it felt like their path started to flatten out.

The Shadow Fox looked up and said, “Here we go!” She let go and pushed off slightly.

Instead of the reverse swing that she expected, Oargesha felt herself start to fall freely. Her throat tightened; she was too terrified to scream again. She dropped to the ground, landing hard on the packed dirt.

She lay there in pain, wondering if anything had been broken in the fall, when she felt the Shadow Fox grab her under the arms. “Here it comes,” she said as she dragged Oargesha along the ground.

The wizard opened her eyes and saw the bag with the black globe crash belatedly to earth a few feet in front of her, its aberrant inertia finally bringing it down to rest upon the rope it had supported a few seconds earlier.

Oargesha’s hands were trembling; her heart raced. “Clever,” she panted. “But couldn’t you have given me some warning?”

“There was no time,” said the Shadow Fox, gesturing with her thumb at the lightning rail station that stood less than a hundred yards away. “We have a run to catch.”

Hatch turned and elbowed the person sleeping behind him. “Time to wake up,” he said.

Teron stirred from his slumber. He sat in the portion of Hatch’s saddle ordinarily used for luggage, which, in a sense, he was. His arms and legs were lashed to the saddle and to Hatch. Although Teron hated to be constricted in any way, he saw the sense in so doing, for the extra security it afforded allowed Teron to catch some much-needed sleep.

Teron straightened up and blinked his eyes open. He tried to stretch, but the lines restrained him. He undid the knots that held his arms, leaned back and stretched out, popping his back and shoulders in several places. He grabbed his head and twisted his neck, eliciting more pops. Then he drew a deep breath and looked around.

They were flying some five hundred feet in the air. The air was cold, crisp, and very clean, and the only sound was the steady swoosh swoosh of the great raptor’s wings. The sun was rising behind him, casting the countryside in a marbled pattern of golden glow and blue shadow. The whole rolling landscape was cut by a patchwork collection of hedges, roads, and wooded margins, dividing the land into farms for as far as he could see, broken by tiny villages and large wooded tracts. A low-lying mist lingered at the edges of the fields below, but it was a healthy, clean white, not the malign haze that so often lurked over the Crying Fields.

Teron leaned way over to look straight down, stabilizing himself with the end of one of the ropes that had bound his arms. Below, for an instant, Teron saw the dragonhawk’s reflection as it crossed a calm stream. Then they crossed over a large, very green meadow, and he saw a flock of sheep stampede in panic as the great dragonhawk flew over them. Their bleating reached his ears, at once clear and tiny.

“I’m surprised I can hear them all they way up here,” said Teron.

“You can hear all kinds of things up here,” said Hatch. “There’s nothing to block the sound.”

Teron looked around some more, surveying the vast panorama that receded to a curving horizon. “This is utterly amazing,” he said, and a genuine smile of pure delight crossed his face for the first time in many long years.

Hatch smiled and nodded. “Delivering mail,” he said. “The job may be boring, but the work is very enjoyable.”

Teron laughed. “I envy you,” he said, and with those words, darkness rolled back over his disposition. “I envy you your job and the ability to enjoy it.”

Hatch said nothing. They flew for a while in silence, then, as they passed a particularly large residence, Hatch reached into his satchel and pulled out a rock. Tied to the rock was a small scroll, and a long, bright red streamer. Hatch tugged at the bird’s reins, and it slipped down and to the right. Hatch tossed the rock overboard, and it fell to the residence, trailing the bright red streamer all the way down. “It wasn’t much out of the way,” said Hatch, “Hope you don’t mind.”

Teron did mind, of course—any delay could prove crucial— but it was too late to do anything about it. Instead, he asked, “So Hatch, is that a nickname, or your real name?” Despite his dark mood, the beautiful morning made him feel more sociable than normal.

“It’s short for Hatchling, and that came from the first bird I owned. It wasn’t as big as this one, but it was big enough. Of course, I was a bit lighter of girth at that time. Anyway, I called it my Hatchling once, as a joke, and, well, you know how people are when they think they’re clever. The joke never got old, not to me, at least. And after the old thing died and I got a new bird, the name kind of stuck to me. You know, they start out saying, ‘Look, it’s Hatchling,’ meaning the bird, and then it ends up being, ‘Look, it’s Hatch,’ meaning me. Ah, I loved that old bird. That’s how I met my wife, too. I needed some help with my bird, and she was there to give it. Can’t say it was love at first sight, but after I’d seen her enough times I decided to ask her if I might court her.”

“So what happened?”

“She slapped me.”

Teron laughed.

“No, really, she did,” said Hatch. “A couple months later, though, she finally agreed. I can be rather persistent. Damn it!”

“What?” asked Teron.

“Look over there,” said Hatch. He pointed to the west. Teron looked and saw the conductor stones, a long strand of white pearls that marked the lightning rail’s path. And farther west, near the town of Passage, he noticed something that looked like a white, actinic caterpillar inching its way along the path.

“I thought we’d made better time,” said Hatch. “Either that, or they kicked the elemental a bit early this morning.”

“Let me make this clear, Hatch,” said Teron, “I must be on that run.”

“It can’t be done,” said Hatch. “They aren’t going to stop for us. Even if I dropped you right on one of the stones, it takes the rail a good long time to come to a stop. You’d be crushed and roasted long since, Tayrum.”

Teron chuckled, “I’ve done many things that can’t be done, Hatch. I will be on that run. Have your hawk dive for it, match speeds as best you can and as low as you can. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Not on your life,” said Hatch. “I don’t want my bird’s wings to get caught in that lightning wreath. The last thing I want is to crash under a burning dragonhawk.”

“Final offer, Hatch,” said Teron. “If you won’t, I’ll break your neck and pilot this bird myself.”

Hatch turned and cast an uncertain look at Teron. He checked forward again to ensure the sky was clear, then looked back again, his eyes wide and fearful. “You wouldn’t.” He gauged Teron’s expression. “Oh, Fury’s finger, you would. Damn it!”

He turned to look forward again, and Teron was pleased to notice that he now hunched his shoulders.

“All right,” said Hatch. “You paid me well enough. I’ll do it.”

Teron rolled his eyes at the rationalization.

“We can dive to match its speed, but I can’t get too low. It’ll be a long jump for you.”

“Extra height I can handle,” said Teron. “It’s the left-right leeway I can’t manage.”

Hatch giggled nervously. “I hear you,” he said. “But you’ll be just fine. I’ve been flying this bird for years. I’ll get you on target.” He urged the bird to the north, positioning themselves to intercept the lightning rail. “You’ll only get one shot, I’m afraid. My bird isn’t as fast as the rail, although I do believe we can outpace it while diving—at least for a short period.”

Teron shrugged. “I’m used to only having one chance.”

“Maybe so, but if you blow this chance, you die.”

“I’m used to that, too.”

Hatch looked back over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow. Seeing Teron’s bland expression, he pursed his lips and returned to piloting.

They flew closer to the lightning rail line. Miles off to their left, the harness coach flew over the conductor stones, gaining speed. As the caravan accelerated, the number of energy bolts writhing over the coaches’ surfaces increased, as did the intensity of the individual strands. Then Teron heard the sounds of the rail, crackling like a distant fire.

Hatch looked to the left, hissed, and urged his great raptor faster, guiding it into a slight dive to increase its speed without losing much altitude. “You’d better untie and hold on tight!” he yelled. “Probably best if you got straight off the end of the tail. Sit yourself behind the parcel backboard, right on the bird’s arse, then when I pull her up, you let go and slip right off. Got that?”

“Got it,” said Teron. He climbed over the back of the wooden parcel holder and stepped onto the dragonhawk’s huge, feathered rump. He turned around to face forward, and kneeled down. “All right, Flotsam,” he said as he hitched his satchel around to the front. He tightened the straps until it sat securely against his chest. “You’re not going to like this.”

He heard a small yowl of dread emanate from the canvas bag.

Long moments passed as the great bird moved to intercept the coaches. Teron took a firm grip on the wooden partition. Teron calmed his mind, purifying it of all distractions, then he felt the sickening lurch of weightlessness as the bird swooped. Adrenaline surged into his blood, making his mind ring like a newly drawn blade.

“Hang on … get ready … Damn it! The rail line turns up ahead! Jump!” Teron felt the dragonhawk spread its wings, and it changed its dive to a climb, Teron pushed off the rear of the luggage carrier and slid off the bird’s tail. Its stiff, soft tail feathers brushed against his face as he fell, and suddenly he found himself in midair, abut thirty or forty feet over the lightning rail.

He had a scarce heartbeat or two to appraise his situation before he landed, and the moment seemed both preposterously long and dangerously short. He saw the top of the lightning rail coaches, and was relieved to note that they had a flat surface down the center suitable for walking … or tumbling from a height. Lightning flashed across the surface, and just as quickly disappeared. He had to rely on luck to get past the arcs without injury.

He realized that the lightning rail was moving faster than he was; Hatch had lost too much speed pulling the dragon-hawk out of its dive. This meant that Teron was positioned all wrong—he’d planned to tumble forward on a slower-moving coach, now with a faster target he had to tumble backward when he landed. With no time left to turn his head and look, he’d be operating blind. All he knew was that he was near the midsection of the coach.

Fear and exhilaration fueled his reflexes. To control his backward acceleration, he kicked out with his feet as he landed. He rolled himself into a rear tumble, whacking the back of his head nastily as he rolled head over heels. Stunned for the briefest instant, he did nothing to decelerate. Instead, he protected Flotsam, secured to his chest, and kept rolling. He felt his hair stand on end and wondered whether a blast of energy was about to rip through him. It didn’t, but the distraction caused him to lose more control of his tumble. He rolled to one side, kicked himself away from the side of the car toward the center again, then flipped off the back of what turned out to be the last coach.

There was a short, sharp cry as Teron disappeared over the end of the string of coaches, and the lightning rail sped into the dawn.