47. A change in plans
47
A CHANGE IN PLANS
“How are you planning to escape?” Gwydinion sullenly asked as Jaemeh steered the cutter. “You can’t use the eye. They’ll see you.”
Jaemeh gave him an annoyed look. “Did you forget I rode a storm dragon? We’ll leave through the storm wall, and it’ll be the smoothest flight you’ve ever experienced.”
Gwydinion crossed his arms over his chest to cover for checking on Legless’s position. “No one in Seven Crests will help you. Not after what you’ve done.”
“You’re an annoying little boy, has anyone told you that?” Jaemeh snapped. The dragonrider was grimacing, a thin sheen of sweat at his hairline.
“Are you injured?” Gwydinion hoped he wasn’t: Gwydinion knew how to fly a cutter, but not through a hurricane.
Jaemeh didn’t answer as he steered the flyer. He took care to make sure they stayed at roughly ten thousand feet above the mountain slope, which Gwydinion thought was interesting. When the winds began to batter the craft, Jaemeh closed his eyes. He seemed to be casting a spell, one that took considerable effort and energy.
The man was vulnerable and yet Gwydinion didn’t dare do anything. Unfair.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Jaemeh said when he opened his eyes. “You’re convenient. You’re not essential.”
“I haven’t tried to escape,” Gwydinion protested. “And being concerned about our destination isn’t unreasonable.”
Jaemeh ground his teeth together and bent over, hand to his stomach. He breathed shallowly through his mouth.
“You’re not doing well,” Gwydinion said. “Really, are you hurt?”
“No… but he is.” Jaemeh laughed. “Sure, now he shares himself.”
“Tiendremos?” Gwydinion couldn’t help but feel a horrible fascination.
“Yeah.” Jaemeh showed all his teeth. He wasn’t smiling. “He’s putting up a fight. Always knew he was a tough bastard.”
“He hurt you, didn’t he?” Gwydinion’s voice was small.
Jaemeh snapped out of the daze that had threatened to take over. “How did that work out for him?”
Gwydinion had no answer for that. All he could think about was Tiendremos being rampant. Neveranimas wasn’t a fool. The moment she noticed, she’d check on her hoard, and then she’d find Anahrod.
And then his sister would be dead.
Gwydinion felt his throat close, his eyes sting. He couldn’t believe…
He wiped his eyes, and then his nose.
Neither of them spoke for some time after that. They couldn’t have talked if they’d wanted to, given the noise of the storm. Jaemeh’s magic had softened the turbulence, but lightning strobed, thunder hammered, and wind howled.
It was hours before they’d passed through the storm, the churning clouds scattering to reveal a star-pricked sky. Then Jaemeh cried out, stifling a scream between clenched teeth. After the noise tapered off, he slumped against the flyer seat, each muscle slowly unwinding from a rigid, locked position.
Jaemeh started laughing and didn’t stop.
Gwydinion knew what it meant: Tiendremos had died.
He shuddered and wondered how many people had died this time.
“You can’t be that upset about a dead dragon,” Jaemeh told him. “He was a bastard.”
“I don’t care about him,” Gwydinion replied sullenly. Gwydinion allowed himself time to feel sorry for himself. To wonder if Ris would rescue him.
She couldn’t, could she? Maybe if Anahrod had been alive, they’d have been able to find him using Naeron. But now? They’d have to return to his mother. Except he had a terrible feeling that Ris and Peralon were about to have their own problems.
Gwydinion was on his own.
“Look, once we get to a safe place, I’ll let you go,” Jaemeh reassured him. “I just needed you to make sure that Ris didn’t pull anything. You see that, right?”
Gwydinion saw, all right. “And then what?”
Jaemeh looked away. “Don’t worry about that.”
Gwydinion didn’t move, didn’t react.
Jaemeh didn’t have a plan. The dragonrider had been angry and desperate and when this impossible chance had dropped into his lap, he’d grabbed it with both hands, but it’d all been improvised. He had no idea what he was doing.
Gwydinion would’ve felt sorry for Jaemeh, if he hadn’t killed Anahrod. That changed matters.
It would change matters for Sicaryon, too.
Sicaryon would return to the Deep, and he’d be angry. That’s what Sicaryon had been trying to tell him. Jaemeh didn’t have a clue, either, since Gwydinion was pretty sure Jaemeh didn’t realize “Cary” and “Sicaryon” were the same person. Jaemeh knew he had enemies in Seven Crests and Yagra’hai. He didn’t know he had them in the Deep, too.
Gwydinion reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief. In doing so, he dropped a folded piece of paper and bent over to retrieve it.
Jaemeh beat him to it.
“What’s this?” the former dragonrider asked as he unfolded one of Anahrod’s wanted posters.
“Nothing,” Gwydinion said too quickly.
Jaemeh examined it curiously. He could only read the parts written in Haudan, but that was enough.
“Can I have that back, please?” Gwydinion asked.
Jaemeh instead showed the page to him. “The person guaranteeing this reward… Sicaryon. Who’s he, again?”
“He’s a self-proclaimed king,” Gwydinion said. “Down in the Deep. He hates dragons and he wanted Anahrod to work for him. That’s how Ris found her—because Sicaryon had spread these wanted posters everywhere. Ris must have told you.”
“I think I remember her mentioning this.” Jaemeh studied the page again. “Hates dragons, you say?”
“Dragons killed his parents.” It sounded like a good, easily understandable motive for hating dragons. He’d claim he’d misheard if it became important later. “But I don’t know how to find him.”
Jaemeh paused. “I didn’t ask if you did.”
Gwydinion widened his eyes. “Oh. Right. That’s good. We ran into some of his soldiers when we were down there and they’d trained rock wyrms to fight for them. It was scary.”
“I imagine.” Jaemeh folded the poster and tucked it into a pocket.
Gwydinion studied the dragonrider—or rather, the former dragonrider. Jaemeh was more shaken than he pretended, with trembling fingers and an uncontrolled tic below one eye. The excitement, the fear, the shock of what he’d done had him wound tight, but the tension was draining.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
Jaemeh blinked at him.
“How did you kill Tiendremos?”
Jaemeh gave him a hard stare, such that Gwydinion wondered if he’d pushed his luck too far. Then Jaemeh fished through his sack and pulled out a large grayish-brown stone—a sphere of rainbow feldspar, meticulously polished, which caught the light with flashes of red, orange, and green. “This is Neveranimas’s alternative to having a dragonrider. She calls it the Rampant Stone, because… I don’t know. She likes to call a door a door, I guess. She dumps all her anger, all her emotions, into this thing, and when it can’t hold anymore, she empties it out into some convenient dragon. Who goes rampant.”
“And you used it on Tiendremos.”
The man scowled. “Don’t give me that look. You’d have done it too if you’d suffered even a quarter of the shit that bastard did to me. He—” Jaemeh shuddered. “He deserved it,” the man whispered.
But Anahrod hadn’t. Kaibren hadn’t. Gwydinion didn’t say the words out loud.
Jaemeh scratched his cheek. “I’m going to land us on an unpopulated mountain. Get some sleep. I’ll figure out where we’re headed next in the morning.” The man paused and added. “Do I need to mention that if you try to escape, I’ll kill you? Because we can discuss it if you think it’ll help you make smart choices.”
Gwydinion raised his chin. “No, you don’t need to mention that.”
“Good. That makes this easier.”
Gwydinion went into the back area. Ris (no, it would’ve been Jaemeh, wouldn’t it?) had provided them with a small but well-appointed cutter. Given the general assumption that most of the crew would’ve used it, it did not surprise him to see hammocks slung across the main cabin, with a further set of cots on the floor. Everyone had their own sleeping area. Practically luxurious.
Less nice, now that he shared the cabin with Jaemeh alone.
Gwydinion searched the cabinets. He discovered bottles of flavored vinegar water and a variety of foods. Several days’ worth if the full crew had been on board, easily weeks for the two of them. A small galley could be used for cooking.
Gwydinion didn’t feel hungry, but his body was too busy tying itself into stress knots to communicate basic information like “you should eat something.” He pulled out a bottle of pickled vegetables and some bohr grains and tried cooking himself dinner. He wouldn’t claim to be a good cook, but he could make something edible.
It’s not like he’d be able to taste it, anyway.
Gwydinion didn’t make enough for Jaemeh, but Jaemeh never asked for any. He probably wasn’t hungry either.
Afterward, Gwydinion cleaned up after himself, straightened the area, and picked a hammock. He lay in it for a long time, stared up at the ceiling, and thought about what he’d need to do next if he wanted to get out of this alive.
Jaemeh nudged Gwydinion awake.
“This Sicaryon fellow. Think you could find him?” Jaemeh asked without prelude.
Gwydinion rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry?”
Jaemeh scowled. “The fucking troll king! The one who put out this reward for Anahrod.” He shook the parchment at Gwydinion. “Do you know how to find him?”
Gwydinion swallowed. “Well, I—”
“The truth,” Jaemeh said.
“Maybe,” Gwydinion admitted. “He burned down a swamp. It has to be visible from the air. But… we don’t even speak their language.”
“We don’t have to.” Jaemeh waved the wanted poster again. “Half of this is written in Haudan—they speak ours.”
Gwydinion gulped. “The swamp was east of the Bay of Bones.”
“Fine,” Jaemeh said. “Come help me look.”
Gwydinion did so. He even managed it without smiling.