“Deegan,” the two shook on the introduction.
“I couldn’t give two shits about all the wrong you do here, so long as you put our ship back in the sky. Our concerns are well beyond parts-disposal permits. We have trade routes to establish and Dragon bases to destroy. You help us do it, and I’ll add a fifteen percent raise to whatever Lilia promised you,” Demi told him. Deegan glanced to Sylvia, who finally admitted defeat with a slow nod.
“Let’s start with the Chrysum condenser,” Deegan grumbled. He turned to Lilia on his way out of the cave. “What class craft are we dealing with?” Finally, Lilia eased back into a smirk.
“You’re not going to believe me when I tell you,” she said. Lilia and her old crew had only ever dreamed of flying so big as a Warbringer.
Chapter Twelve: Whispers in the Dark
When light warmed Donellanus’ scales once more, he felt hands all over him. At his arms, his back. He knew by feeling they were the armored, fuzzy hands of a Fader. He opened his eyes to Dormis, frantic over him. The poor thing tried with every ounce of its strength and dexterity to get Donellanus upright, but the average Dragon had twice the dense muscle mass as any full-grown Fader. The Dragons of the Higher Order were heavier still.
“Kreek metle eyiet fergun mors? Skel et omas moortema!” Dormis’ mouth - somewhere between lips and a small beak - clicked. Donellanus took his help to hoist himself up on his hind quarters. He glanced back at the glass pillar in the center of the room. Machaeus’ prison was empty. The formless nightmare had escaped through a massive crack in the back of it.
“Mek met tamah. Mek met tamah,” Donellanus managed to rum
ble when four helping hands became overwhelming. I’m alright. I’m alright, he’d said.
Dormis eased back from him, his clammy hands unclamping one by one until Donellanus sat up on his own. He looked up at the leader of the Faders, head of their Church of Scales. In his eyes, Donellanus saw a feeling he hadn’t before, something more acute than awe. Terror. Dormis slid away on his heels, until the feeling had infected the white-scaled Dragon on the floor just as deeply. What Donellanus didn’t realize was what the horrified Fader had seen, looking down into his eyes. On the very fringe of Donellanus’ ruby eyes swirled a cyclone of dark clouds.
“Rettle ge tomalor,” Donellanus told his most devout follower. I need to be alone. Dormis crept away from him without turning his face. He stared the whole way to the open door of gray stone. “Don met tamah. Magrar,” Donellanus tried again. It’s alright. Go. “Magrar.” He had to growl one last time before Dormis finally melted backward, into the darkness outside of the room.
Donellanus waited a good five minutes before he even moved from his spot on the floor. He waited until even Dormis’ most distant footsteps echoed to nothing above him. Only then did he roll over to face the glass pillar where Machaeus had been sealed. He crawled closer to it, one scaly knee after the other. He dragged himself across yellow-orange stone that was hardly visible in the dull light that came in from behind him. Donellanus stopped only once his own white-armored face appeared in the reflection of the glass a breath away from him.
“How long was I out?” he wondered aloud. Each word spread a stain of fog across the glass, which evaporated in the silence of thought. “And where did you go?” Donellanus demanded of the now absent darkness incarnate. He squinted through the glass for any sign of Machaeus in wait of an answer. He gave the formless monster all of twenty seconds to answer before he flopped back on his hind quarters. Donellanus hung his head to try and retrace his last memories before the blackout.
He’d come down to the chamber, to see… Hell, he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come down yet. Dormis had let him in without too much trouble. It had been easy to see, on his first step in, why the others feared Machaeus, but something else was born in Donnelannus on sight of it too. Intrigue. Drive. Command. He knew in his bones and blood, on sight of that swirling darkness, that what he needed to lead was just before him. If it hadn’t been for Drogan…
“Drogan!” Donellanus hissed. He stiffened from toe to claw at the memory. He’d heard Drogan speak - the outlaw had whittled down his bindings! Donellanus shot to his clawed feet.
“Drogan is of no concern to us,” a voice crashed through Donellanus’ mind hard enough to buckle his knees. It rang loud enough through the Chrysum in his body that he folded over his waist. Donellanus dug his talons into his temples to force the migraine out.
“Who…” he rumbled, though he had heard the voice quite recently. Right before he passed out.
“You need only look inside,” the voice ruptured Donellanus’ consciousness all over again.
He snapped his head to the glass, where the voice seemed to echo through last. There he found his own snarling face. For a moment, everything seemed normal. Then, all at once, it was disfigured by a burst of liquidy darkness. It slithered between his fangs. It seeped from the spaces between his scales. It whirled around the rims of his deep red eyes.
“No… Machaeus…” Donellanus smoldered. He clenched his jaw to keep the flood of shadows from escaping. The ring reared up in his ears like an orchestra of nightmarish piccolos.
“You’ll find your situation far more agreeable if you stop fighting so hard. I assure you, I can fight harder,” Machaeus screeched through his soul.
“You… You were supposed to be my weapon…” Donellanus struggled. His knees folded hard into the stony floor. He threw his head to one side, then the other to chase the demon out. “I could have saved us! But Drogan… Is he working with you?”
“Have you forgotten your history, Prince Donellanus? How long have I existed, in the darkest corners of this Universe?” Machaeus asked. He waited a few seconds for the answer, until Donellanus tightened his grip around his own skull with dangerous force. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Do me a favor and don’t rip it off. Focus on the question. How long have I existed, Donellanus?”
“I… Longer than we have any idea of,” Donellanus complied at last. He breathed a sigh of relief as the ring in his ears dulled to a low whine.
“Then, with my ageless experience, do you think I would ever trust someone who betrayed me the way Drogan did again?” asked Machaeus.
“No,” Donellanus answered. The immense pressure of Machaeus’ vice loosened from around his brain. His elbows unlocked, so he could sit up straight again.
“Forget about Drogan. He is a negligible detail in our story. Doesn’t that feel better?” Machaeus asked, “You’ll find working together to be infinitely more effective than resisting.”
“You mean letting you control me?” Donellanus growled. He stared into his own face in the glass. He watched the liquid darkness burn away from his scales and rise as steam, then dissolve to nothing.
“I cannot control you. I can, however, make it extremely hard to control yourself, like before,” said Machaeus, “We can stay at one another’s throats all day, maybe a few days. Or we can skip a good deal of suffering and go right to where we’re bound to end up anyway. Working together.” The stark white leader of the Higher Order of Dragons slumped over his knees in thought on it. The blackness newly residing in his chest gave him the respect of all the time he needed.
“Work together… To do what?” Donellanus asked.