Blade of Glass: Chapter 42

Meriwether’s teeth hurt, and that was the good part. He’d grabbed the discs, hoping to give Geneve a rest from burning pieces of her life to ash to help everyone but herself, and that’s when the hurting started. It hurt a lot, and everywhere at once. It felt like a hot wire was pushed through his skin, into his bones, but all over his body.

When he hit the floor, his mind drifted. He felt like a leech had sucked something out of him. A component without a name. While his hands were on the discs, he’d felt his life play before him. Not the ridiculous term flashing before your eyes, but a blow-by-blow recap of everything he’d done. It wasn’t the events that were important, but who he’d been with, and what he’d done to them, or for them. The good and bad, displayed on a podium, an ancient temple reviewing the litany of his sins.

Meriwether drifted for a time, uncertain of his name, or where he was. A red-haired, honey-skinned woman in shining armor stood above him, grabbing two metal plates on spindles. She’d said something before putting her hands on them, but then he forgot what words sounded like. All Meriwether knew was he wanted to stop her holding those discs, because there was a devil inside them and a piece of her would be trapped, just like him.

But that would need those pesky words, and he didn’t have any to spare.

She screamed, and the moon above seemed to shine, which was weird because moons didn’t change their luminance. What was weirder was there was a moon to see, because he could swear there was supposed to be a ceiling above them. Meriwether felt like he should be doing something, but he couldn’t remember how his feet worked.

The red-haired girl swayed, then collapsed on top of him, her hands and armor trailing smoke. When she hit, it drove the air out of him, but he couldn’t work up the motivation to care. They lay like that, and for how long was anyone’s guess.

A shark-toothed man yelled at him. He had snake eyes, scaled skin, and looked to be in a lot of emotional distress. He kept pointing at the sky, like the moon was important, and after a moment Meriwether decided to look.

The ceiling above opened like a flower, and crawling atop one of the petals was a massive monster. Not massive like the shark-toothed man. Totally different scale: huge like a hill. It had a head like a cart, and impressive leathery wings. It climbed from within the temple, from what might have been the southern part. He thought he might have been through there but wasn’t sure.

Meriwether watched it for a few moments, feeling his heart pick up pace, because even if his front brain didn’t know what that was, there was a hidden yet vocal part that did. “Oh,” he said. “That’s a dragon.”

Then he shot up and dragged the red-haired woman with him. He remembered her name was Geneve, and she was a Knight, and good at killing people who deserved it, and also good at killing people who didn’t, like him. It was perplexing he was helping her, but it didn’t seem like a settled time for him right now.

She was heavy, but the massive scaled monster above gave him all the motivation he needed. He almost skipped off the dais, drawing her scraping armored form with him. “An exit. We need an exit.”

The shark-toothed man, Armitage, grabbed him by the shirt. “That’s a fucking dragon!”

Meriwether laughed, a sort of raggedy giggle that wobbled like a three-day drunk man. The dragon roared at the night sky, then blasted a jet of fire toward Cophine. The flame blast was twenty, maybe thirty meters long. “The legends were true. They breathe fire. Who knew?”

A cat man with wondrous golden eyes appeared before Meriwether. Gently, with fur-soft hands, he helped Meriwether put Geneve on the ground. He examined Meriwether with a jaundiced glance, wound up, and slapped him across the face.

Meriwether’s head rocked about, and while the room became less steady for a moment, all of his thoughts came into alignment. There’s a dragon. The Sky Forge makes them. The evil witch Nicolette started the process, and we finished it, because we’re fools. There’s only one way out, and it’s past the witch who started animating the dragon.

“Ah hah,” he managed, his voice weak. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

{We have many problems. How do we solve them?} The cat’s eyes searched his face. {There is a dragon above and Knights out the front.}

“There’s always a back door,” Meriwether said. “I’ve got a knack for finding these things. Come on.”

* * *

Armitage carried Geneve tossed over one shoulder like a drugged-out child. Sight of Day padded ahead on whisper quiet feet, with Meriwether between them. His nose for tavern back exits said go east. They ran as best they could. Armitage looked hollowed out, because his tribe was gone. Sight of Day looked frightened, and Meriwether had never seen a Feybrind look that way before. Geneve was lost to them, her mind gone. Her eyes stared, no intelligence behind them.

When they hit a dead end, a glass wall ahead, Armitage adjusted his human burden, lowered his head, and charged. He blasted through the glass wall in a shower of shards that chimed like metal bells as they fell.

The room they found was much smaller. A glass table sat beside a pile of leather and metal. Behind a caged wall stood ten metal plinths. Seven held metal boxes with a glass front. Two metal boxes lay on the ground, glass fronts shattered, and one was missing.

“Here,” Armitage grunted, stopping for a breather. “Those are the things.”

“The things?” Meriwether looked through the bars. “Could you be more specific?”

“That steal the cat’s minds.” The monster waved a vague hand. “They speak, and the Feybrind get really dumb.”

“Behind these bars?” Meriwether raised an eyebrow. “How did you get them out?”

“Fucked if I know, I wasn’t here. They were trying to stuff me in a glass container and suck my balls out through my eyes.” Armitage shrugged. “Don’t ask me how it works. It was your ancients that built this place, not mine.”

“Fair.” Meriwether nodded, then strode to the cage. “Open!” The cage clicked, a section hinging wide on invisible hinges. “Honestly? I didn’t expect that to work.”

He stepped inside, ignoring the fallen devices. He picked one up from a plinth, shook it, and tossed it aside when it didn’t do anything. Sight of Day stepped into the cage with him. {How do metal boxes hurt my people?}

Meriwether picked up another. The glass shimmered, then glowed like the walls. “Huh.” He shook it, then held it up to the ceiling, trying to get it to do something. The cat watched him, walking a slow circle as Meriwether fussed. The box came between Sight of Day and Meriwether, and the glass panel shivered.

The voice spoke, but in a smaller voice than the temple did. “Sight of Day.” Letters appeared on the screen, spelling out the cat’s name. Some of the letters were odd. SI8HT FF DAA.

“Uh,” Meriwether said. “I think it’s damaged.” A horrible suspicion took root in his stomach. The device was ancient. Broken, most likely. The letters weren’t just odd, they were wrong. But it knew the cat’s name without being told. Meriwether knew the Feybrind had a name they gave to everyone, and one they kept just for themselves. It was a special, secret one. 

The cat shook his head. {I don’t think so.}

Meriwether shook the device, then slapped his palm against it. The box chirped, then said, “Sight of Day. Command key unlock, Roars Like the—”

Meriwether smashed the device against the ground. He slammed his foot into it, then again and again, until there was nothing left but pieces of glass and metal. He tore another box from a plinth, smashing it against the floor, one by one, until all were broken. He panted, chest heaving, fingers hooked into claws, then spun to Armitage. “Are there more?”

“Nice rage out moment. Good to see—”

“Are there more?” Meriwether screamed. “Listen, brute. These boxes take the Feybrind’s minds away. Your High Priest—”

“Ain’t my fucken High Priest.”

“The High Priest has one, and it gives him the names of any Feybrind he’s near. Not their called names, but their real ones. The ones they don’t tell anyone except those close to their hearts.” Meriwether stalked from the cage to stand before Armitage. He stared up at the monster. Meriwether was close enough to smell the musk of him, the animal beneath the leather armor. “Are. There. More?”

Armitage looked at Meriwether, then at Sight of Day. Meriwether didn’t step away, which was probably foolish, but he needed the monster to understand. Armitage chewed his lip, then sighed. “This place isn’t a temple, is it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“The ancients weren’t nice, were they?” He looked away, something close to sadness or betrayal in his eyes. “They weren’t good.”

“Not all of them, no.” He lowered his voice. “Are there more?”

“I don’t know, manling.” Armitage shifted under Geneve’s weight. “I remember what this place did to my tribe. They’re … gone. None died a warrior’s death. There was no honor in the fight.” He gave another massive sigh. “I don’t know if there are more magic boxes, but I would tell you if I knew.”

“Good enough.” Meriwether stepped away. “One left to destroy. Too easy.”

From far off, they heard a roar, and an answering boom of thunder. Sight of Day perked up a little, one ear flicking. {There’s the small matter of the dragon.}

Meriwether gave a long, slow nod. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

They padded around the ancient temple, trying to find a way out. The boom of thunder and roar of an angry dragon reached them no matter where they were. Meriwether wondered about the kind of fight you’d have in you if you went toe-to-toe with a giant, fire-breathing lizard. Those Knights aren’t made of paper, and that’s the Three’s truth.

Getting outside was hard, until it wasn’t. They didn’t want to go out the way they came in, because there was a dragon, high-ranked Knights, and Three-knows how many Vhemin. They spent their time looking for a back door. Meriwether felt there should be one. He led them through the warren of the temple. Ten minutes’ walk took them to a dead end, which left Meriwether astonished. “This isn’t fair.”

“It’s a wall. Nothing fair or unfair about it.” Armitage laid Geneve on the cool floor. She lay like the dead, eyes sightless, only the slight rise and fall of her armor showing she was still with them.

“But who puts a passage to a wall?” Meriwether held his hand out to the wall in a see? gesture. “There should be a door.”

Sight of Day put his ear against the wall. {It sounds thinner here.}

“How’s something sound thin?” Meriwether cocked his head. “It’s a wall. Doesn’t sound like anything.”

The cat gave a half-smile. {The dragon’s anger is louder.}

“Out of the way.” Armitage shouldered the Feybrind aside, but without rancor. He hefted his club, then took a one-two-three spinning step, swinging with all his might. The club shattered. The wall didn’t seem to care; it wasn’t even chipped. “Fuck. That was my favorite club.”

“Didn’t you take it from a dead Vhemin?” Meriwether tried to fit the blade of his knife between where the glass walls met the white stone-like material of the outer wall, but the gap was too fine to get the edge in. “Oh, come on.”

“I did. Didn’t stop it from being a damn fine skull basher.” Armitage dropped the splintered haft, then shouldered Geneve like a sack of yesterday’s laundry. “What now?”

Meriwether sighed, then looked back the way they came. He was sure this was a back door, but whatever mechanism the ancients had for opening it didn’t work, or wouldn’t for them. Eight hundred years is a long time. There’d be another way out, surely? “I guess we head back that way—”

The wall exploded in a shower of white stone. Meriwether took a head-sized chunk to the chest and crumpled to a heap. He saw Sight of Day pirouette beneath a slab the size of a cart that pinwheeled from the wall and vanish in a shower of glass as it tumbled into the temple interior. Armitage curled around Geneve, rocks and chips showering him like hard rain.

The broken wall revealed … another wall. It was a ridged, dark red affair. Meriwether’s brain cycled through the options. He started with that’s weird, and moved onto why do they make walls inside walls? The stone’s pretty good, right? Eventually he managed to draw a wheezing breath, coughed out a cloud of dust, and spat onto the chalk-strewn floor. The ridged wall slid to the left a half meter, and that’s when Meriwether’s brain started working right. He spoke quietly, hearing the fear and urgency in his tone. “That’s the dragon. It’s right there. It’s outside, and we shouldn’t move or make any noise.”

Sight of Day stared at him with golden eyes that said, you’re an idiot. {Of course it’s the dragon. It landed here with immense force. Once it’s stopped being stunned, it’ll probably look for who’s making all the stupid comments.}

“Hah,” Meriwether said, then coughed. He clapped hands over his traitorous mouth. {Sorry.}

Armitage straightened, then shifted Geneve to his other shoulder. He took a step back from the scaled hide blocking their exit. “I don’t want to go out this way.”

Meriwether brushed himself off. Go on. I’ll hate myself until the end of my days if I don’t. He stepped past Armitage and Sight of Day, hand out. His footsteps slowed as if his feet didn’t want to die regardless of what his brain suggested, and he forced himself forward. Meriwether’s heart hammered in his chest so much it made his hand shake, but he reached for the dragon’s hide.

It was hard, like steel, but warm, as if the dragon burned deep inside. The scales were smooth, like the finest glass, and were just as sharp where they ended. “Ow!” He yanked his hand back, fingers in his mouth, sucking blood from a cut. With a little more care, and a little less caution, he put his hand against the dragon. He could feel the slow thud, thud of a massive heart. Meriwether leaned closer, ear toward the beast, and heard the hiss, huff of god’s forge bellows breathing. The sound was deep, something you almost felt. He’d never been beside such a majestic creature.

The scales shifted, and Meriwether took five steps back very fast indeed. The dragon slid away from the breached wall. Sand swirled in the wake of its passage. A massive head swung to the hole. Meriwether felt like there was no finer time to wet himself, but no part of him wanted to move, not even his bladder. The dragon’s skull was bigger than Armitage’s bear, Beck. Its eyes were the size of plates, and glowed a sullen, angry red. Fangs like swords protruded from its jaws. A flanged ridge of bone sat at the base of its skull, and Meriwether saw a line of runes imprinted in the scaly hide. They glowed the same vermilion of the creature’s eyes.

Its jaws cracked open, no more than two handspans. Not enough for it to get Meriwether inside, but enough to show more teeth, which took the terror to a new level. It rotated its head sideways like a curious dog, then stepped back from the hole in the wall.

Meriwether tried to say something, but nothing came out except a cough. He held up a hand, steadying his breathing. “Are you … laughing at me?”

The dragon chuff-chuffed, shook its head, then vaulted for the sky. Meriwether felt the ground shake as it launched. It made him stumble, and sand swirled like a storm as massive wings beat sky. Then, silence. The dragon was gone.

“Did you see that?” Meriwether spun, and found the corridor empty except for piles of rubble and dust. “Guys?”

* * *

After Sight of Day and Armitage returned, the former’s tail curling about his legs like it was shy, the latter trying to look like he’d just taken a stroll to walk things off, they headed outside. The desert had become chill, and Meriwether shivered in his borrowed clothes. They snuck around the temple’s massive circumference, trying to be small and inconspicuous. 

They scuttled around a low lump of ruin, regaining sight of the encampment in front of the temple. Or, what was left of it. Where tents had lain in neat rows, lines of burning fabric lit the night. Three people stood amid the ruins. The black-armored Nicolette held two glass blades low and ready. She still wore no helmet, showing a slight mocking smile.

Two others faced her, helmets on, but Meriwether knew who they were by how they stood. Tall, broad Israel was shoulder to shoulder with lean Vertiline. Nicolette was about fifty meters from the temple’s entrance. Israel and Vertiline held their peace twenty meters from her, but they weren’t there to hug. Israel held a massive two-handed glass blade, and Vertiline’s thinner sword caught and held firelight within. Her shield was close to her body, helmeted face peering over the lip at Nicolette.

There was no one else upright. “Ikmae’s sometime cock,” Meriwether hissed. “Everyone else is dead.”

Nicolette stood like she could do this all day. //DROP YOUR WEAPONS.// Meriwether felt the command in the words, his own knife somehow suddenly on the sandy ground beneath his feet. Geneve groaned, while Sight of Day’s tail lashed, but the Feybrind tightened his grip on his bow.

Vertiline swayed, blade trembling, but Israel shook his head. “The Sway is a cheap trick, witch. The Light knows our cause. It won’t let us fall.” He took a step forward. //YIELD.//

Meriwether felt the same command in the Valiant’s words. He wanted to drop to his knees, head bowed, but Nicolette laughed. “The Sway isn’t cheap or a trick, but it won’t work on me. I’m a Champion of Light, Knight Valiant Israel, and you will do as you’re commanded. Drop. Your. Sword.”

The massive blade in Israel’s hands didn’t waver. “The hard way, then.”

Vertiline stirred. “I was hoping for something easier.”

“Strength, Tilly.” Israel didn’t look away from Nicolette. “I’m here.”

“As you’ve always been.” Vertiline flourished her blade. “No better person to end things with.”

Sight of Day tugged Meriwether’s sleeve. {When they are done fighting, the black witch will come for us.}

“She’s a Champion, not a witch.” He kept his voice to a murmur. 

The cat shook his head. {The big Knight spoke true. He faces a witch, not one of his own.}

“Sounds like bullshit,” Armitage hissed, but without a lot of conviction. “Looks like a Knight. Talks like a Knight. Uses Knight powers. Seems like a Knight to me.”

The three combatants circled each other. Israel and Vertiline stayed close to each other, their mutual orbit bringing them closer to Nicolette. Sight of Day shook his head. {If she’s a Knight, the temple would have opened to her long ago.}

“They needed a sinner,” Meriwether said. “I mean, someone like me.”

“Bet they’ve got one or two stashed away,” Armitage mused.

Nicolette let her smile drop like an unwanted baby, then stabbed her blades into the sand. She held her hands wide. She turned a slow circle to keep Israel and Vertiline in view, and as her gaze passed over their position, Meriwether saw her eyes were green. Not a gentle color of the hills, but a rancid, glowing insistence. Her lips moved without sound.

A clank from the right caught Meriwether’s attention. A pile of Vhemin lay in a charred heap. One threw its arm high, clawing the sky. “Three’s mercy, but he’s alive.”

Armitage took a step forward, but Sight of Day put a hand on his chest. {He doesn’t live.} The cat seemed impossibly sad for a moment, his golden eyes carrying the misery of the world for a moment. {He hungers for death. His pain is without end.}

The Vhemin shifted his load of Geneve absently. “Are you saying—”

Another Vhemin in the pile moved. It rolled over, got to its hands and knees, then stood with a forlorn cry. Israel and Vertiline stopped their circling, glancing at the monsters. Israel spun back to Nicolette. “It is forbidden, Nicolette. Your soul is forfeit for this heresy!”

The black-armored woman shrugged. “My soul was forfeit a long time ago, Valiant.”

Israel shook his head as if confused, then squared his shoulders. He and Vertiline charged Nicolette. Meriwether watched in horror as more of the dead Vhemin lurched upright, but they weren’t the real threat. A Smithsteel-armored figure, the metal encasing him charred, sprinted from behind Nicolette toward the two Knights. He was joined by another, then a third.

The black-armored witch called the dead to fight by her side. Glass flashed as Israel and Vertiline fought a growing tide of the fallen.

Meriwether hunkered down, beckoning the others down. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”

“We should run,” Armitage enthused.

“No.” Meriwether rubbed his face. “They’ll find us. Tracks in the sand. We’re going to sit right here, in plain sight. We’re not going to make any noise. We’ll do it for as long as we need to.”

Sight of Day turned his sad golden eyes on Meriwether. {Can you do it for that long?}

Meriwether nodded. “If the option’s dying at the hands of the dead, sure.”

“Do what?” Armitage looked confused but set Geneve beside Meriwether. The Knight Adept groaned, one eyelid twitching.

“This.” Meriwether closed his eyes, picturing what he needed. A sand dune about two meters high, four wide. Big enough to hide beneath. He imagined the sand behind them, once tracked with their footsteps, smooth and clean as if they’d never stepped there. When he opened his eyes, they sat in gray shadow.

Armitage looked around in wonder. “Fuck me.”

Sight of Day’s ears were flat against his head, but the cat nodded. {You’ve covered us in the seeming of a dune. You have some small use after all.}

Meriwether held his hands up for their attention. {No noise. I hide what people see, but not hear.}

Geneve, as if following someone else’s script, groaned. Armitage made to cover her mouth, but Meriwether pushed him aside. He laid Geneve as gently as he could. Her legs ran one way, his the other, as they sat side by side. He held her armored body close, lips to her ear. “Hush, Geneve.”

The dead fought against the living, and she groaned again. Her arm twitched, as if it wanted to hold steel and fight by her friends. Die beside them, if need be. Meriwether tried again. “Geneve, it’s Meri. You’re a long way from home. We all are. But it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t answer, but her arm relaxed, and her head lolled against his cheek. Good enough.

The sound of massive wings beat the air. Meriwether craned his head, taking in the dragon’s black bulk against the night sky. By the Three, it blocks out so very many stars. The dragon’s maw opened, fire jetting into the night sky. It tucked its wings close, diving for the ground.

The beast landed with a thud Meriwether felt everywhere. It crunched through the melee, raising its head and spewing fire against a horde of the dead. There was so much flame it looked like a liquid torrent. The dead flashed to ash.

Nicolette drew her swords from the sand. “Dragon. You belong to me.”

The beast swung that massive head toward her. It seemed to study her for a long time, but Meriwether knew it was only seconds. The dragon reared, then blasted fire on the black-armored woman. Meriwether noticed the runes about its head glowed a brilliant red as it did this. Nicolette’s swords held in a perfect guard, blades crossed, and the fire spilled around her.

Israel and Vertiline backed away from the fight. The Knights looked between the dragon and the barbecued dead as they retreated. Not stupid, those Knights. Wish I could join them, if only they didn’t want me dead. 

Nicolette straightened when the fire abated. “You need a lesson, cur.” She ran at the beast, blades flashing. The dragon watched her come, head tilted as if curious. Her blades struck its armored fore claw with a sound like a glacier breaking.

A single dark scale spun across the sand, and the dragon surged upright, roaring, then it slammed forward, claws hitting Nicolette. The beast grabbed her, slamming the faux Knight into the ground, then tossed the woman in a pinwheeling arc off into the night. Meriwether watched her body sail a very long way before he lost sight of it.

Sight of Day stroked his chin. {Dragons can throw things very far indeed.}

Armitage sniffed. {Dragons can also take a hit from a Champion without breaking.}

Meriwether didn’t want to let Geneve go to join the conversation, but he agreed with them. He breathed in the closeness of Geneve and focused on keeping their illusionary shelter together. Despite the focus demanded, one thought kept coming up.

How did the ancients, who could bring dragons to life, ever fall?

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