Up In Smoke Page 10

  There was silence for a moment while everyone stared at Cyrene.

  “You see?” Kostya finally said. “Fiat is ready to recognize my right to be here. A simple vote will end the matter once and for all.”

  “The issue of recognition of a black dragon sept is not why the meeting was called,” Gabriel countered, a frown darkening his expression. “This sárkány is to establish which of the two blue dragons who claim they are wyvern should be acknowledged as such, nothing more. You have not petitioned the weyr in the proper manner, Kostya.”

  “You break the rules when it suits you to do so,” he answered with a pointed look at me. “Why should I not do the same?”

  “Damn straight!” Cyrene said.

  I tried to catch her eye, but she was clearly enjoying herself too much to allow me to rain on her parade by appealing to her reason . . . what remained of it.

  “Gabriel is correct,” Drake said slowly. “A sárkány is called for a specific matter of business, and was done so in the correct fashion by Bastian in order to receive official recognition of his right to the title of wyvern. If you wish for the weyr to consider the matter of the black dragons, you must proceed via proper channels, Kostya.”

  “This is a foolish waste of time. He was named by Baltic to be his successor; thus, he is wyvern. I move for the recognition of Kostya, and reinstatement of the black dragon sept into the weyr,” Bao said, snapping off each word.

  “I concur,” Fiat said quickly. “The blue dragons are officially prepared to recognize Kostya and his sept.”

  “You have no right to speak for my sept,” Bastian said quickly, a little wisp of smoke escaping him.

  “And you have no right to address an issue that did not call the sárkány,” Gabriel told Bao.

  She bared her teeth at him in what I assumed was meant to be a smile. Covertly, I reached for the dagger I keep strapped to my ankle, my fingers curling around the reassuringly solid length of its handle.

  “These rules are antiquated. Why should we not deal with all weyr business at once?” she countered.

  “It is not the way of the sárkány,” said Gabriel, turning a fearsome glare upon the two blue dragons. “The sooner we attend to the matter at hand, the sooner we can all leave. Shall we get started?”

  “It was your mate we were all forced to wait upon,” Fiat snapped. “Clearly, you fear the arrival of Kostya and his sept and are doing your best to keep them from the weyr, but the rest of us have no such problem. Let us deal with the matter here and now, once and for all while we are all gathered.”

  “I vote yes on Kostya,” Cyrene said, making herself more comfortable on his lap.

  Kostya looked like he was thinking about dropping her onto the floor, but at a raised eyebrow from me, he stopped fidgeting.

  Gabriel, however, was as tense as a snake about to strike. I gave his knee a little squeeze to remind him that fighting with Fiat would serve no good purpose, no matter how much he deserved to be punched in the face.

  “He is too afraid of what might happen should the black dragons be recognized,” Kostya sneered, his expression as dark as night. “He knows the silver dragons should never have been recognized in their own right.”

  “You know, I think I have to agree with Kostya on this,” Cyrene started to say, but I had had enough.

  “I realize that I’m new to the position of wyvern’s mate, and I’m probably speaking out of turn,” I said, standing to gain a slight height advantage over everyone sitting, “but I’ve just about had enough of this crap. What part of no do you not understand, Kostya?”

  Kostya looked startled, both at the fact that I was addressing him in such a discourteous manner, and at the fact that I held a wickedly sharp dagger.

  “Mayling!” Cyrene said, outraged. “How dare you threaten my boyfriend!”

  “For the love of the twelve gods, will you stop it,” I ground out through my teeth. “You are here merely as a courtesy—both of you—and I for one would appreciate it if you’d let Gabriel and the others get to the business they came to deal with.”

  Kostya puffed up like he was going to snap out a reply but said nothing, contenting himself with a glare that could have cut steel.

  I sat down, sliding Gabriel a worried glance. I had a feeling that I’d greatly overstepped the bounds of what was proper behavior in a mate, but I didn’t care. We’d be here all day if Kostya and Fiat were allowed to carry on.

  Gabriel’s face was impassive, but I saw amusement in his eyes, and he took my hand for a moment to give my fingers a reassuring squeeze.

  “It would seem your mate is going to act as referee for this sárkány,” Drake said dryly.

  “Such behavior is not proper—” Fiat started to say, but Gabriel cut him off with a sharp, “Shut the hell up, Fiat. Let’s get this done. Bastian, you called the sárkány; present your case.”

  Behind us, I heard Maata muffle a snicker. I straightened my shoulders and prepared to keep my mouth shut while Gabriel dealt with the weyr business. Four hours later, I was sagging in my chair, wanting nothing more than to sink into a hot tub and soak away the tedium. Bastian evidently had used his time well while I had been in Abaddon, for he presented a thoroughly documented case against Fiat, bringing forth not only sept documents and affidavits, but witness after witness who attested to the fact that it was he and not his nephew who was to have been made wyvern.

  Fiat shouted, swore, argued, and threatened the entire time, but in the end, justice was upheld.

  “The weyr recognizes Bastiano Giardini Blu as rightful wyvern of the blue dragon sept,” Gabriel pronounced. He, too, looked a bit worse for the wear, the strain of having to keep everyone in line starting to show in grim lines around his mouth and eyes.

  Bastian smiled and thanked the wyverns present. I was a bit surprised that Bao didn’t fight the decision since she had seemed to favor Fiat, but after only a token protest, she agreed to go along with the majority and declared that the red dragons would recognize Bastian.

  “It is not important,” she had shrugged, and voted with the rest of the wyverns.

  “This is not ended,” Fiat shouted, jumping to his feet just as I knew he would. Half the room rose with him, his supporters glaring across the aisle at the blue dragons who were under Bastian’s banner. “I do not accept this ruling! Bastian is incapable of ruling the blue dragons! You will rue the day you allowed him to take power!”

  “Clearly the concept of gracious defeat has escaped him,” Cyrene told Kostya in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Fiat certainly heard, for he snarled something rude at her before he leaped onto the table and glared at Bastian. “Do not believe you have won, old man. You may hold the day, but I will win the battle!”

  “I name you ouroboros,” Bastian said, slowly getting to his feet, his eyes narrowed as he turned to look at the standing dragons. “As I will so name all who follow you. What say you? Will you remain in the sept with your friends and families? Or will you turn your back on it all and be cast out? Will you follow one who has brought the noble blue sept close to disaster with his treacherous dealings of other septs? Will you stand by while he strives to ruin all that we stand for, all that we worked to rebuild? Or will you return to sanity and reclaim that which Fiat has tried to destroy?”

  A couple of the blue dragons glanced hesitantly across to what were assumedly their relations, but none of them moved. They were almost all male, each of them silent as Fiat postured and Bastian pleaded.

  “They have no stomach to serve under you,” Fiat said, jumping off the table to stroll with studied nonchalance to his uncle. “It is you who will destroy the sept, you who will alienate everyone, but by then it will be too late. You think naming me ouroboros will harm me?” He laughed, the sound harsh and grating as his gaze slipped to Gabriel. “We will prosper. For we will not be alone. Have you never thought to wonder who was behind the actions of two months past, old friend?”

  “I knew it,” I w
hispered, reaching for my dagger. “I told you he kidnapped them.”

  Gabriel stayed my hand with a look, facing Fiat with a placid expression that I knew he didn’t feel. I could feel the dragon fire building in him, threatening to burst free. “What are you implying, Fiat?”

  Fiat laughed again, tossing his head back in an affected manner. “Just what I said—I will not be alone. Nor will I forget what has happened here today. I have a very long memory, Gabriel. And my friends, my old friends, have even longer memories than me.”

  Bastian made an abbreviated gesture, as if he wanted to punch Fiat but knew he shouldn’t. I gripped my dagger, wondering whether I could slip into the shadow world and follow Fiat without Gabriel noticing.

  “No,” Gabriel said under his breath, having read my mind. “He is posturing, nothing more, little bird.”

  “Very well. You have made your choice. What’s done cannot be undone.” Bastian gave each of the standing dragons a long, steady look. “Your families will not suffer for your actions, but know that as of this day, you will be dead to the sept.”

  Fiat rolled his eyes in an obnoxious display, stopping only to looked past us, directly at Kostya. “I’ll give my friend your kind regards, shall I?”

  Kostya pushed Cyrene off his lap, standing slowly, his head lowered, his eyes mere slits as he stared at the ex-wyvern. “You lie.”

  “Do I?” Fiat smiled, looked as if he was going to say something else, but changed his mind. “We leave,” he told his followers, and they did just that. With their exodus, the air seemed to warm up several degrees, but whether it was due to the tension lightening or the actual physical removal of them, I had no idea.

  I looked from Kostya to Drake and back to Gabriel. “Did he just say what I think he said?” I asked.

  “What did he mean? Who is his friend? And why was he looking at you?” Cyrene asked Kostya.

  “He lies,” the latter repeated, exchanging a look with his brother.

  Drake didn’t look too convinced.

  “What is he lying about?” Cyrene asked, tugging at Kostya’s shirt. “Who was he talking about?”

  “His name seems to crop up with increased frequency,” I pointed out. “Are you guys really sure he’s dead?”

  “Oh!” Cy gasped, her eyes widening as she understood. “You’re talking about that Baltic person, aren’t you? The one who tried to kill Kostya? But I thought he chopped his head off or something.”

  “I did,” Kostya said, turning to Gabriel. “I wish to formally petition the weyr to call a sárkány in order to grant recognition to the black—”

  The lights suddenly went out. Instantly I shadowed, but before I could grab Gabriel, the double doors at the far end of the ballroom were thrown open, and a shower of automatic gunfire from four silhouetted figures who appeared in the doorway immediately followed.

  There was instant uproar as everyone in the room threw themselves out of the spray of bullets. We might all be immortal, but being shot still hurt. Gabriel called my name, his hand closing tight on my arm as he yanked me to the side of the room, shoving me to the floor as he moved to shield me.

  The people at the door lobbed in a couple of smallish objects. I had time only to wonder if they were bombs when loud explosions rocked the room, the noise deafening as smoke began billowing forth.

  “Smoke bombs?” I whispered to Gabriel, keeping a tight hold on his shirt so as not to lose him in the darkness and confusion.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. “Protect the phylactery.” I’d forgotten about that. I released his shirt in order to grope at my neck, pulling the large locket out to verify it was still safe.

  “Don’t use it unless—”

  Another explosion filled the room, this one lighting the darkness with an intricate pattern of fire. Gabriel and Tipene moved off, leaving Maata to scoot over into Gabriel’s spot.

  “I don’t need protecting,” I told her in a whisper, coughing as the smoke filling the room began to choke me. “Go help Gabriel.”

  “Stop fussing. Can you see anything?” she asked, coughing between words.

  The room was utter chaos—it was impossible to see what was going on, impossible to breathe without choking. Four men remained at the doorway, sweeping the room with bullets. Nearest the door, I could see outlines of overturned chairs, and now and again movement as someone crawled past. There were occasional cries and some swearing that indicated bullets, raking the room in a steady stream, were finding marks, but otherwise, it was beyond my means to see what was happening.

  “I’m going into the shadow world,” I whispered, leaning toward a dark shape that was Maata. “Go help Gabriel. I’ll keep the phylactery safe that way.”

  She didn’t say anything as I slipped into the safety of the shadow world, that slightly altered version of our reality. Things always looked a bit different in the shadow world, and the instant I stood up, I saw what it was that had been hidden from my eyes in our world—behind the four men who continued to pump the room full of bullets, another man paced, a tall man in a long black duster, with a blue aura of power around him the likes of which I’d never seen.

  Smoke still obscured my view, although it was lessened greatly in the shadow world. I walked toward the man, intent on getting a closer look at him. I was safe from bullets or other physical attacks, facts that drove my curiosity as I made my way around the struggle that was going on in the room. I passed Gabriel, Drake, and Kostya as they huddled together, Drake giving the other two orders. They split up, a group of dragons going with each wyvern as they skirted around the edges of the room, clearly intent on ambushing the men at the door. Bao and Bastian were on the other side of the room, obviously following a similar plan.

  I walked down the middle of the room, trying to get a better look at the man who continued to pace back and forth behind the gunmen. Two dragons hauled another one to the side of the room, the injured member groaning piteously. I hesitated, wondering whether I should help, but a shout from another group of dragons as they ran for the door distracted me. The pacing man stopped, spinning around to peer into the room, but it wasn’t the distracting rush that held his eyes. I took a step forward and was suddenly flung a good three yards back as his gaze locked onto me. He turned toward me, and I saw his face in the light: high cheekbones and deep-set black eyes lending him a faintly Slavic look. His hair was dark as well, pulled back from a pronounced widow’s peak into a long ponytail.

  I stumbled, shocked that he could see me in the shadow world. He was a dragon, of that I was sure, and dragons as a rule couldn’t enter the shadow world. Gabriel was an exception due to his shaman mother, but I’d never heard of another dragon who could see someone in it, let alone enter. And yet as he strode forward toward me, he slipped as easily into my world as if he had been born to it.

  I scrambled backwards at the same time I reached for my dagger. Dimly, I heard Gabriel shout my name. A spike of fear ripped through me as the man continued to approach. I glanced around quickly for an avenue of escape, not wanting to engage him in a battle until I was sure of who he was. He stopped suddenly, the quick intake of breath a hiss as his gaze narrowed on the object hanging outside my blouse.

  “Lindorm Phylactery,” he said, and slowly reached out a hand as if he was going to take it. I scrambled backwards, falling over a table and a dragon who lay on the floor groaning, clutching the platinum case so hard it cut into the flesh of my palm.

  To my horror, it didn’t seem to want to be held. It slipped out of my hand and rose straight off my chest, the chain cutting sharply into the back of my neck as if it was answering his call. I grabbed at it again, using both hands to pull it back to me.

  The man snarled something,

  “Mayling!” Gabriel yelled, his voice coming through to the shadow world faint, as if he was a great distance away. It was hard to hear over the dull noise of everything going on around us, but I could pick out a few words. “. . . use it!” he shouted. Behind the mysterious man, the wyve
rns had commenced their attack on the gunmen, Drake’s people swarming the one nearest them, a full-fledged battle going on as the other three gunmen were simultaneously attacked. I caught sight briefly of Gabriel as he and Tipene fought one of the shooters, Gabriel ripping the automatic weapon from the latter’s grip, slamming the butt of it down onto his attacker’s head. He turned back to me and yelled something, but it was impossible to make out the words. Three more men appeared in the doorway, throwing themselves on Gabriel as he called out again.

  “Use it!”

  The phylactery—he wanted me to use the phylactery. He must have seen the mysterious man as well, and he wanted me to use it in order to protect it from capture.

  The man in front of me snarled again, making a sharp gesture. The platinum casing that held the phylactery exploded, small bits of metal piercing my hands and stomach.

  I bit back an oath at the sudden pain, clutching the vaguely dragon-shaped lump of gold that was revealed. I studied it for a fraction of a second, unsure of how I was to use it. I wasn’t a dragon; such things were not instinctual to me.

  The man took a step toward me, lifting his head slightly as if he was scenting the air.

  “Mate,” he said, the word holding equal measures of disbelief and anger. “Silver mate?”

  “Who are you?” I asked, unable to keep from speaking.

  He shook his head, and for a moment I thought he was going to turn and leave. But he launched himself at me, knocking me painfully backwards onto overturned chairs.

  Gabriel shouted again, and time seemed for a few seconds to telescope. The doorway was black with bodies as reinforcements streamed in, attacking the dragons, who had managed to take three of the four gunmen down. There was no way we were going to be able to stand against those sorts of numbers, not when we had been taken by surprise.

  Light was blotted out as the man rose above me, his eyes glittering with a bluish black light that scared me to death. Electricity gathered in the air around him, giving him a blue corona that made the air crackle.

  The phylactery began to shake in my hand as it struggled to free itself from me. I had a momentary vision of me telling Gabriel I’d lost the phylactery, the horror that it instilled within me giving me the strength I needed.