Feral

Feral

Book Two of The Balance of Power trilogy

Brian Rathbone

Smashwords Edition

Cover art by Mike Brooker

http://mikebrooker.com

Copyright © 2012 Brian Rathbone

White Wolf Press, LLC

Rutherfordton, NC 28139

The World of Godsland

Fantasy Series

The Dawning of Power trilogy

Call of the Herald

Inherited Danger

Dragon Ore

The Balance of Power trilogy

Regent

Feral

Regal

Chapter 1

Permanence is an illusion.

--Nat Dersinger, prophet

* * *

Shades of darkness crowded close, creaking and rocking in the muffled silence. Unable to move, Sinjin Volker struggled against his bonds without effect, always expecting something to come hurling at him from the darkness; it had happened before. With the ship rolling beneath him, he imagined finding his end at the bottom of some nameless ocean. Those on this ship bore no love or humor, and though they kept him alive, he wondered how much longer they would do so. Even after days aboard the ship, his guts churned. His mother had loved sailing. It was a painful memory. Sinjin almost smiled at the memory of his father, who had secretly admitted that he hated sailing and hoped never to step foot on a ship ever again, especially one captained by Kenward Trell. Though this memory was a fond one, it did little to raise Sinjin's spirits or calm his stomach. He did not share his mother's love of sailing. Had she traveled in the belly of a foul-smelling ship while trussed up like a spring pig, he guessed she would feel the same.

Without warning, a beam of light poured in and brought searing pain. Sinjin averted his eyes, able to discern only a silhouette. Once again, he tested bonds that held him fast. Nothing had ever terrified him more than being helpless in the hands of his enemies. The light retreated as quickly as it had come. The hatch slid silently closed.

Sinjin sucked in a ragged breath. Delicate hands removed the gag and immediately clamped down on his mouth.

Do not speak, came a whisper. Sinjin could not identify the voice, but his addled mind knew it was familiar. I didn't know, the voice continued. I would never have gone along with this. Now you listen to me and listen to me good. If you want to get out of this alive, you're going to have to trust me. When I take away my hand, I only want to hear a quiet, one-word answer. Do you understand?

Sinjin nodded his head, and she slowly took her hand from his face.

Do you trust me?

Cool air rushed in, and Sinjin breathed deeply, not caring about the stench at that moment. His memory fuzzy, Sinjin tried to understand what was going on, but he just found himself confused and frightened. Yes, he said after an overlong pause.

Meaning, no. You're still an idiot.

Where are they taking me? Sinjin asked, his mind starting to warm up.

Somewhere you do not want to go, she said. Somewhere I don't want to go, she added in a soft whisper.

The pain in her voice was clear, but Sinjin could think of nothing to say.

The darkness was silent for a time, but the sounds of boots on the deck soon sent Kendra scrambling back out of the hatch. For a brief moment, he saw her face, frightened and tense, yet he still could not claim to fully believe her. There had been no kindness between them in the past, and he could see no reason for it to start now. Still, he was surrounded by enemies, and no one else was extending a hand in friendship.

The sound of boots still approaching drove the thoughts from his mind as he realized that his gag hung below his chin. In a split second, he managed to grab a piece of the gag in his teeth and pull it mostly back into place. The rough-looking man who dropped into the hold barely spared him a glance as he retrieved a wooden crate from the stacks of supplies. Another man reached down from above, and Sinjin prayed they would leave him alone this time. After the case was lifted from the hold, the man climbed out without a word, and Sinjin was plunged back into darkness.

* * *

Those gathered in Catrin's Vale had not yet recovered from the shock of the loss of the regent dragons--Kyrien now being the last of his kind. It seemed too impossible to be true, but that fact hung over every moment, especially since Kyrien rested among them, looking as if he might follow his brethren to the afterlife at any moment. The Slippery Eel lay on her side, a constant reminder that most of them would be stranded on the Firstland. There had been few words since Kyrien had last spoken in Catrin's mind.

Now I will accept your healing.

That single thought, full of pain, and the admission of weakness were the only things he'd had the strength to convey. Her voice had cracked when she told this to the others.

Please help me get the saddle off of him, she said, her voice a little more steady, and those around her assisted wordlessly. No one else seemed willing to speak in this new world in which they found themselves. Everything had changed, and there was no chance of it ever going back. Knowing this, Catrin laid her hands on Kyrien. Pelivor swayed in the light breeze and lent his energy to Catrin and, thus, to Kyrien by proxy. To his eyes, it seemed the poor beast ought to already be dead, but there was a stubborn refusal to die that made Pelivor proud. For Kyrien, he would give of himself freely. Feeling her eyes upon him, Pelivor turned to Catrin. Her smile was sad and forced, and it was almost worse than seeing her cry. Pelivor wanted no more of that. Kyrien's aura, though, radiated remorse, and it was difficult not to take on his dangerous and black mood.

Still trying to read Catrin's expression, Pelivor found himself lost in old feelings, and he castigated himself for such treachery. Prios was his friend, and yet he found himself tempted. She was here, in front of him, wounded, her heart broken. Prios was not here. He could not comfort her. Should not Pelivor comfort her in his stead? Would his friend not want his wife to feel consolation and love? No. He had to stop himself before he gave away his feelings.

Catrin's eyes told him that he had betrayed them long before. She knew. She would not act but she knew. It was a heady thing, and he slowly pulled his energy back. The instant she sensed his desire to withdraw, Catrin released him, and the suddenness of it left him reeling. Wishing he had kept his thoughts to himself, he watched her turn away. Their energy no longer connected, she felt distant and receding as she concentrated on Kyrien. The feeling left Pelivor longing.

Looking at the last of the regent dragons, he could see no visible effect from Catrin's healing. He had felt and experienced the deep impact, though, as if it were his own essence that had been revived. Instead of healing each individual injury, Catrin fed energy to Kyrien's core being and allowed his body to heal from the inside out. The cuts and gouges in his hide still looked angry and grave, but his breathing was deeper and steadier. All the while Catrin drew on the mighty saddle that now sat alongside Kyrien. When finally the dragon forced her away and made her stop, Catrin stepped back, looking unsteady on her feet, the moon and comet light casting her in soft hues and shadow. Even drained and bedraggled, she was beautiful.

Pelivor looked to the saddle. The dragon ore stones were now cloudy despite retaining their glossy sheen, proof of how much energy Catrin had drawn from them.

Rest, came pure, raw compulsion from Kyrien, and Catrin was defenseless against it. Pelivor felt as much as heard the command, and he caught her before she fell to the ground, but only just, and he helped her back to the Slippery Eel.

With Catrin safe and comfortable, Pelivor returned to the vale and joined Kenward at one of the massive rock formations that provided a commanding view of the valley beyond. The memory of regent dragons perched on those rocks not so long ago was like a knife in Pelivor's chest. They had failed the dragons. Even though he hadn't been with Catrin physically during that battle, he had sent his energy to her, but they had failed. Part of him could not believe such a thing had worked, but any excitement over the accomplishment was doused by the painful reality that it hadn't been enough to save the regent dragons.

The black devils are leaving, Kenward said in a flat voice. Moving to his side, Pelivor saw what he meant. Bathed mostly in long shadows and violet, the valley was filled with pinpricks of light from slowly moving torches. Inexorably they marched toward the coast, where tall-masted ships waited, silhouetted against the horizon.

"If the Eel were still in the water, she'd almost certainly be sunk," Kenward said.

Pelivor wasn't certain if this statement inspired Kenward to new hope or if it was simply a reminder of how impossible their situation really was. Pelivor chose hope. Seeing the armies of demons leaving and giants being loaded onto massive barges also made him wonder, though, where this black navy would strike next. No force the world had ever known could stand against such a foe, and the thought made him shiver. Returning to Catrin's side, he yielded to Kyrien's continued insistence that he join her in sleep.

* * *

When the sun sent isolated rays of light through a patchwork of clouds, Pelivor stirred, though part of him wished to sleep longer. Catrin was no longer beside him, and he rose to look for her. Kenward and the crew slept deeply, their snores filling the valley. When Pelivor saw the glittering saddle on Kyrien's back, he stopped short. Though the dragon's hide was crisscrossed with deep chasms and slashes, there was dark, shiny flesh now covering them.

There is no pain.

Having a dragon speak directly in his mind was not something Pelivor was entirely prepared for, and his reaction proved it as he fell backward, landing on his rear and staring up at Kyrien, agape. Catrin had obviously heard the same and more while she worked at cinching the girths.

You're not really going to fly again so soon, are you?

Catrin looked at him but did not smile. Her eyes carried an apology he didn't want to accept. She was leaving him. She was leaving the crew of the Slippery Eel on the Firstland, alone. The thought was terrifying. Even if the dark army did leave the Firstland, how would he and the others ever get off this unforgiving rock?

Continuing to strap herself into the saddle, Catrin's expression changed into something that frightened Pelivor more than the black army. Smoldering rage built in Catrin like a boiling kettle, and he could feel her drawing on the saddle, its ancient store of power still vast and mostly restored after basking in the light of the comets. It seemed to Pelivor as if Catrin had the power to tear the world apart; it was frightening and exhilarating.

Kyrien shifted beneath her, appearing to take on Catrin's mood. The fierce scowl he cast around the vale just about sent Pelivor scrambling for cover. Shining like the sun, Catrin looked like the goddess come to life. So terrifying was her beauty that Pelivor fell to his knees, the lush grasses cradling him, reminding him that this place had magic of its own. Natural or not, this place was magical, and the light radiating from Pelivor's dear friend only served to illuminate that fact.

When the armies have gone, she said after a moment more, her voice loud and clear, gather wood and build a fire. A ship will come for you.

Pelivor's head slumped forward.

This is not the end, Catrin said. You'll have to return this to me one day.

When Pelivor looked up, there was confusion in his eyes, which grew wide when Catrin handed him the spider stone.

I couldn't-- he said.

But you will, Catrin said, her expression distant and haunted. You must keep them all safe, my dear friend. I never meant for this to happen, but I'm putting most of those I love in your care.

Pelivor looked up, unable to hide his emotions, and her look softened for a brief moment. I am sorry, Pelivor, so very sorry. Those words brought Pelivor great pain, and that seemed to make Catrin even angrier than she had been. Agitated, Kyrien turned, climbed the nearby rocks, and, his tail twitching, launched himself into the air, giving Pelivor no more chance to say what was in his heart.

* * *

Though the sounds of demons within Dragonhold remained, the attacks had stopped, and Miss Mariss insisted everyone stay quiet, even though there was little doubt the demons knew they were there. Still, the kitchens were eerily quiet when the hollow echo began. Gradually it grew louder and louder and higher and higher in pitch until dust and the debris of ages began to issue forth from long-dormant channels.

What have those fools done this time! Miss Mariss exclaimed, earning a few glares from those she'd silenced, but that didn't deter her. When I get my hands on those two, I'm gonna-- Her words were cut short when brackish water gushed from the opening in the wall and began to fill the basin that had been holding a store of brown rice. The rice poured over the ledge, along with the water, and ancient channels that had baffled them all since the hold's discovery were once again filled with flowing water. Despite the dust that hung in the air and the overflowing water, there was a sense of jubilation. Even if it did not solve all their problems, it was something magical and unexpected. It was as if part of the keep had come back to life, not unlike when the central fire had been lit. The water seemed to play counterpoint to the fire, and together they made Dragonhold breathe. One channel brought icy cold water, which was steadily becoming clearer, and another yielded steaming hot water. Throughout the hold, channels were blocked or had supplies and other items stacked in them. Water began to pool and spill from the channels that were clear, and Martik stood watching the situation unfold. Deep vibrations thrummed through the heels of his boots, and he could feel it in his teeth. Some of the tremors were more violent and made him wonder if the keep would collapse.

I hadn't anticipated this, he admitted.

Well it's not like those fools could see fit to give us a bit of warning. And since causing the hold to move is nothing to them, why not do whatever they did to cause water that hasn't flowed in a hazel's age to start flooding the hold? If I could reach 'em, I'm telling you, I'd throttle 'em.

Martik didn't argue with Miss Mariss, partly because he agreed with her. Strom was his friend, but he wasn't sure what the smith had been thinking. The thought of trying to defend Durin was laughable.

What do we do about it? she asked after a long silence.

We've got to get these channels clear. Have people gather up broom handles or anything else that is long and thin . . . and rags, we'll need rags.

Miss Mariss knew good sense when she heard it and was moving before he finished the sentence.

* * *

Growling and with her teeth bared, Catrin stood in the stirrups and held on to the pommel with one hand, her lance in the other. Never before had she armed herself with the intention of attacking for no other reason than to cause the destruction of her enemy. This fight, in particular, was not about protecting what she loved; it was about avenging what she'd lost. Kyrien writhed with furious and righteous intent, ready to throw his barely healed body back into the fray for the memory of his very race, his species, and his loved ones. Such passion and rage could not be contained by their physical bodies, and their fury raced before them like a brooding storm front, dark and foreboding and promising destruction. When they struck, it was an attack like nothing Godsland had ever seen. With the might of the saddle and lance and total reprieve from all rules and boundaries, Catrin focused and released their combined rage.

Spinning and flowing, energy leaped from Catrin's lance with a thunderous clap. Plasma burned and danced across the winding surface of the lance before rings of boiling light and air thrummed toward the remains of the demon army. The bulk of the ships waited in deep water, but a dozen or so were still anchored along the coast, waiting for their turn to load. Demons and men milled around in disorganized groups, and that was where Catrin's cones of destruction struck, tearing into the land and turning it inside out, launching everything into the air. At any other time, Catrin would have been appalled to see such destruction of the land, and surely she would never have conceived of having so much righteous rage. But fate had made it so, and Catrin vented her potent fury. Again and again, she pumped her fist, and her enemies were tossed like leaves in the wind. Great swaths of soil erupted, looking like bleeding wounds in the land. Kyrien brought them in low, and vengeance was Catrin's. Thrusting her energy before them, she tore trees from their roots and hurled them at the black army. There was no counterattack the army could launch, as Catrin literally threw the forest at them. The song of the dryads came to her loudly, and it contained a note of vengeance that salved Catrin's guilt over killing the trees. That was one of the problems with acting without thought: consequences.

On the horizon, sails climbed masts and ships moved slowly out to sea. Catrin let out a harsh and terrible laugh that rang through the valley before turning into a ululating battle cry. With grim satisfaction, Catrin changed tactics, looking for an attack that did not drain her so quickly. Rather than compress air, she evacuated it and asked the winds to part. She smiled as the vacuum reached the hold of a mighty ship before it imploded and brought the ship crashing in on itself. The sweat on her brow gave proof of the effort required for either attack. Always there was a price to be paid.

Ahead a group of ships gathered into the largest formation Catrin had seen, and as red light leaped and churned between them, they simultaneously left the water. Kyrien used his speed to come in behind the formation and hold at a short distance. With a sort of wicked of glee, Catrin constructed a series of latticework structures around the formation of ships, lifting them higher on the growing winds. Red lightning lashed out at her and Kyrien, but Catrin shrugged it off, barely feeling the sting. Eight ships were now joined together by Catrin's will alone; those aboard with power were concentrating on attacking Catrin and Kyrien with everything they had. Her howling rage made it clear that she had no intention of ceasing her attacks. Higher and higher the ships climbed, until the shouts and cries of those aboard trembled with panic. Still higher they moved, and a strong tailwind sent them hurtling toward the waiting armada. Soon anxious cries rang out across the water. In an instant, Catrin released the structures. What followed was the most terrible sound she had ever heard. They deserved it, she decided, every one of them.

Fully loaded ships dropped from the sky and landed on top of equally loaded ships, and even amid that chaos, attacks of fire, air, and lightning were launched against Catrin and Kyrien. Wood and metal struck wood and metal with thunderous force, and masts tore through hulls like knives at a feast. Screams filled the air, and final bolts of red lighting reached out for Catrin and Kyrien, some making their bite felt but not stopping the dragon and his rider.

Focusing on the remaining ships, Catrin imploded most and just blew holes in the sides of the rest as her fatigue threatened to overcome her.

Flying in behind a fleeing ship, Catrin swayed in the saddle and had no good angle for an attack but found she needed none as Kyrien came in low and grabbed the railing at the bow, their speed and inertia carrying them forward and bringing the ship with them, forcing its prow into the waves and eventually flipping the ship over forward.

When not a single ship remained, Catrin felt some sense of satisfaction, which soon turned to even greater anger. Though the men clung to flotsam or drowned, Catrin could see that the demons and giants simply swam away, like a dark current moving in the direction the ships had been headed. Unwilling to grant them this victory, Catrin attacked the seas themselves. Hurling balls of compressed air, she blasted away the water to leave the demons bare. Roaring, she sent them into the air then slammed them back down. Dark water rushed back in to fill the void, and none escaped Catrin's wrath.

Kyrien expressed nothing after the battle, but Catrin could feel the same sense of disappointment in him as she felt in herself. It hadn't helped. The vengeance had not eased her pain. But she did not regret it. This darkness had to be stopped, and if that was how she met her end, then she would die an honorable and worthwhile death. She reminded herself that she was a good-hearted person who would not willingly bring violence to those who did not deserve it. But she was cursed to know that some truly did deserve it, and for them, she would become the nightmare.

Chapter 2

Even the mighty can be