“I’ll get them. ”
“How? You’re too big. ”
“There must be a way to –”
Tense with anxiety, I said, “Shardas, we have to get Arjas and Nason to Roulain to call a stop to this war. The Citatian army doesn’t know that Krashath is dead, and they didn’t know that he was controlling the king. We’re going to need solid proof to persuade them to stop their advance on Feravel. ”
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“We spoke to Ria before we came here,” Marta chimed in. “They cannot win without our help. ”
“Then we must go at once,” Velika said. She extended her wings, one at a time, to look at the healed patches. Up close the pink patches did look somewhat raw, but far better than Shardas’s wings. She clucked over them, concerned.
“We don’t have time to fit you with silk wings like Shardas’s, I’m afraid,” I told her. Gala had cut out the pieces of silk, but that was as far as we’d got with the blue wings. There had not been enough time to sew them, and I saw now that there were no holes in her wings to pass the ties through anyway.
“There is some discomfort, but the flight will not be unbearable,” she decided.
At last Shardas nodded to Darrym, who lifted us up and over the rail and on to the marble floor of the throne room. Then he gripped the edge of the floor with his forelegs so that he could see us clearly, and I saw Shardas and Velika stretch up to watch on either side. Drawing my belt knife, I looked around the room.
It was empty, as I had expected. I started towards the large double doors that led into the rest of the palace, but Marta stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“Listen,” she whispered.
Freezing, we listened until I felt my ears straining away from my head. Then we heard it: a low sobbing sound that was quickly muffled. It was coming from a small door, half hidden by a silk hanging behind the throne, where Krashath used to lie.
We crept towards the door, followed by a barely audible rumble from Shardas, warning us to be careful. I went first, opening the door a crack and peeping into the room beyond, Marta breathing down my neck, and my knuckles white on the handle of my knife.
The room was a retiring chamber with a couple of low couches and a round table. On one of the couches lay a figure I thought was the king. It was hard to tell because his head was covered with a pillow that was being firmly held in place by Lord Arjas. The king’s legs kicked feebly, and I threw the door open and leaped into the room.
“Stop that!”
Arjas looked up in surprise, but didn’t remove the pillow.
“I said stop!” I shouted, and lunged at him.
Marta and I both attacked him, stabbing him with our little belt knives and screaming like vengeful ghosts. I could hear Shardas bellowing, demanding to know what was happening, but there was no time to respond. While Marta, who I had to admit was a better fighter than me, gave the vizier a long gash down one arm, I wrestled the pillow from his hands and freed the king. Nason slid on to the floor and lay there gasping like a landed fish.
Furious at not being able to see, Shardas finally tore the entire inner wall of the throne room down, exposing us like actors on a stage to the gaze of the three dragons. The king screamed as the light streamed in, and crawled under a couch. Shardas reached in and grabbed Arjas, who was struggling to draw his own knife, and pulled him out of the room to dangle above the courtyard.
“Who are you?”
Arjas could only gabble and kick, robbed of speech by this cavalier treatment by an angry dragon.
“That’s the vizier, Lord Arjas,” I told Shardas. “This one is the king. ” I grabbed his ankles and dragged him out from under the couch.
“I’ll get him,” Darrym said cheerfully. He plucked King Nason from the room and held him up to his face. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” he sneered.
“Don’t taunt him,” Velika ordered. “He’s clearly near breaking down. ”
“Also, he was already a bit simple,” I said. Marta and I went to the edge of the room and Shardas moved around so that we could climb on to his shoulders.
“This explains how Krashath got a hold on him,” Shardas said.
There was anger and pain in his voice, and I realised that, as much as we had all wanted – needed – Krashath to be eliminated, it had caused great turmoil for Shardas. I thought about how I would feel if I had to kill my own brother – Hagen would never hurt a soul, of course – but if I had to or thousands of people would die. It wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate for long.
“We must go quickly,” Velika said. “I flew wide around the battle, but even from a distance it was a terrible sight. ”
Marta and I settled ourselves on Shardas’s back, and he launched himself into the air. Velika, with Arjas in her claws, and Darrym with Nason, followed soon after.
“How is it that your wings are not as badly damaged from the flight as Shardas’s?” Marta called the question to the queen dragon before I could.
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“I left not long after he did, but flew slower and with more rest,” she explained. “Also, I am not averse to the use of alchemy. ”
Giving her a sharp look, Shardas said, “Leontes?”
“Indeed. ”
“Niva’s mate?” I asked. “He’s an alchemist?” I was longing to meet the dragon who could stand to be mated – for life! – to stern Niva.
“He dabbles,” Velika said. “He offered to try a healing potion on both of us when he first arrived with the hatchlings, but Shardas refused on behalf of both of us. ” She gave him a sidelong look. “As soon as your tailtip disappeared over the horizon, I drank the potion, then escorted the hatchlings and their father to the King’s Seat. ”
“That was your choice,” Shardas said with equanimity.
“And I do not regret it. ”
Twisting around, I exchanged amused looks with Marta. She had not spent as much time as I had with Shardas, and I would hardly dare to say that I knew Velika at all well, but I could see by her expression that this was refreshing to both of us. Shardas and Velika were bantering, in the wry, humourous way of the dragons, precisely like an old married couple. It cheered my soul to hear them like this, after their many years of separation and pain.
“Shardas can use alchemy,” I called to Velika. “He made me invisible yesterday. ”
“Did he?” She gave her mate an arch look. “A nice trick. ”
Shardas simply hummed to himself in a vibrating rumble that tickled my legs and made Marta giggle.
“But you wouldn’t accept a healing potion from Leontes?” I would have taken the potion in a heartbeat, especially if I were facing a long flight followed by a long fight.
“I do not trust the alchemy of others,” Shardas said reluctantly, after a long silence. We all nodded, understanding perfectly.
Despite the panel of silk that had been ripped off his wings by Krashath, and many small injuries, Shardas flew like an arrow towards the strait. Velika and Darrym flanked him, and I was pleased to see that Darrym, though in better health, had trouble keeping up. Of course, he was carrying the Citatian king in his foreclaws, but Nason hardly moved during the entire flight.
Arjas, on the other hand, screamed and thrashed for all he was worth. Velika soared on, ignoring the screeching human in her claws. In this fashion we proceeded to the Strait of Mellelie.
Citatie’s Mighty Army
The Battle of the Mellelie, as it came to be known, was a grievous thing. It extended into the air above the strait, and the hot dragon blood dripping down into the water sizzled and steamed. It reminded me uncomfortably of the last great battle I had seen, above the Boiling Sea, which had ended with the supposed deaths of Shardas and Velika. Nothing in the Dragon War or in last night’s skirmish on the beach had prepared me for this, though. A multitude of dragons were locked in combat, so many that I could not begin to count them. The
roaring and screams were deafening, and too often there was a great splash as a dragon fell into the water and did not resurface.
Those dragons who fought over the shore risked taking an arrow or lance from the humans on the ground. The Roulaini forces were massed behind hastily piled sandbags, firing volleys of arrows in an attempt to hit either a soft place between dragon scales, or a Citatian soldier. This made me wince, however: the fighting dragons moved with such speed and violence that there was no way to determine if an arrow, once shot, would hit a collared dragon or a free one.
There was a group of dragons clustered together on the ground behind the ranks of human soldiers that confused me. They did not appear injured, they were not collared, and yet they did not fight. They just huddled there, looking forlorn and rather useless.
“Who are they?” I pointed them out with an imperious finger. We needed every able-bodied dragon we could find.
“See the collars? They must have been uncollared, and now refuse to fight,” Darrym said, gesturing at a stack of the collars beside those dragons.
“Why wouldn’t they want to fight back against the people who collared them?”
“Those aren’t the people who collared them,” Velika said. “Those are other dragons, their friends and family. I cannot blame them for not turning around and clawing out the eyes of their fathers and brothers. ”
“Some of them seem very young,” Darrym added. “It’s likely that they were born into the collar. ” He pointed to one small green dragon. “He’s maybe two years old, probably just reached his full growth. ”
“Hold tight, ladies,” Shardas said.
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We were now close enough to the battle to have been noticed by the fighters. An uncollared dragon headed our way, claws extended in a threatening posture, and I realised that since we had come from the Citatian side, and were humans aboard Shardas, he assumed us to be the enemy.
“Stop,” I shouted, just as Shardas did the same.
Shardas’s voice drowned mine out, though. He drowned out the sound of the battle, the screams of combatants, and the crash of scale meeting scale. His voice was so loud that I clapped my hands to my ears and worried that the vibration would cause me and Marta to fall right off his back.
“More of his own alchemy?” Marta whispered into the silence that followed.
I nodded.
Many of the embattled dragons did freeze, and in the quietness I heard a human give the order for the archers to make a halt. Shardas’s lungs filled for another alchemy-boosted bellow, and I squeezed with my legs and put both hands over my ears in readiness. Behind me, I could feel Marta hunkering down as well.
“Krashath is dead,” Shardas shouted.
Despite my preparations I nearly slid sideways off his back. I had to take my hands off my ears and grip the spine ridge in front of me, so I shook my dozens of thin braids down over each ear, in the vain hope that they would provide some buffer against that voice.
“The king of Citatie is here,” Shardas went on. “Driven mad now that the dragon who controlled him is gone. Army of Citatie, surrender. ”
Darrym obligingly held up the gibbering King Nason.
We had the attention of the entire army now. Those who couldn’t see us were being nudged and shouted at by their neighbours, and we looked out on a sky awash with bloodied dragons and frantic Citatian soldiers.
Then they attacked us.
The first rank of collared dragons, under orders from their riders, disengaged from their Feravelan and Roulaini opponents and came towards us with claws outstretched. Bellowing for Velika and Darrym to get their prisoners to safety, and for Marta and me to hold tight, Shardas flew forward to meet them. On his back, my friend and I clung like burrs, and I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had my eyes shut.
I heard the whoosh of flames, but felt no heat, and dared to open my eyes a crack. Shardas had incinerated the first of our attackers, and was drawing breath for another burst of fire. I saw Darrym streak by, above and to one side, as he flew over the Citatians to make for the safety of the ground defences with King Nason. Velika flew below us at the same time. Shardas whipped his tail around to strike an opponent with the barbed tip before that dragon could pursue Velika.
Another dragon charged us from above, and Shardas swerved and came around, fire blazing. His attacker screamed, and raked at Shardas’s wings with his claws before falling, aflame, into the sea below. Another dragon came at us then, and another, and another. Shardas fought them all as he had fought his brother, with fang and claw, and with fire, while Marta and I clung to his back and tried to make ourselves the smallest targets possible.
But there were simply too many of them.
I saw Velika and Darrym fight their way to the sandbag fortress, surrounded by a guard of free dragons, to deposit their prisoners. Then my view of the shore was obscured by a wall of dragons, all intent on destroying Shardas, who dived and twisted to avoid their fire, shouting for them to surrender.
And then.
Marta put her hands on my shoulders and gave them a little squeeze.
And then.
Marta used me for support as she stood up.
And then.
Marta leaped from Shardas’s back.
She landed spread-eagle atop the Citatian soldier on our nearest attacking dragon. Marta stabbed the man with her belt knife, scrambled over his body before he stopped moving, and grabbed the leather collar around the dragon’s neck. With a vicious slice, she severed the collar and let it fall free.
The dragon dropped out of the sky like a stone, silent and heavy as if it had been struck dead. Its rider, dead in actual fact, was still attached to the riding harness and hung limp on its back just behind Marta.
Who was getting ready to jump off again.
Seconds before the uncollared dragon hit the water, Marta leaped from its back to another dragon that soared underneath just in time.
It was Feniul.
Feniul, his claws and tail actually dragging in the water of the strait, arrowed below the falling Citatian dragon and caught Marta on his back as smoothly as though they had rehearsed the move. She shouted an order to him, and he took her up, up, up, before tilting so that she could jump on to yet another Citatian soldier. She pulled yet another knife from some concealed place – a trick I had no doubt Tobin had taught her – but this soldier surrendered, and sat with his hands in the air while she removed his dragon’s collar.
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“Well!” I refused to be shown up by Marta.
Clambering to my feet, I crept over Shardas’s shoulder, and he, anticipating my need, gave a little dip and roll that bounced me into the air. I landed right on the neck of another dragon, and got the collar off before his rider could react.
Looking down, I saw a familiar bronze-scaled back, and leaped backwards on to Gala, who took me up and under a Citatian dragon. I uncollared that one from Gala’s back, and he pitched his rider into the sea with a bellow of pure joy.
Looking around for my next quarry, I saw other uncollared dragons, among them Niva, Ria and Amacarin, carrying riders who were leaping with varying degrees of success on to the collared dragons. Many were falling, but the strait was deep and none of the dragons were very high in the air. I saw the riders swimming towards the shore, though they were soon picked up by their dragons for a second try.
I noticed one dragon that did not engage our forces. Hovering high above the fight, a dull orange-coloured beast hung back and surveyed the scene. There was no wound on him that I could see, although every other dragon in sight had at least a singe mark, if not a gash or patch of missing scales.
“I think that’s the Citatian commander,” I shouted to Gala, pointing.
She went for him, passing well below and then twisting in midair to come up behind. I stood up and went to her shoulder as I had done wit
h Shardas. The orange dragon and his rider had not noticed us. I grasped my belt knife, took a deep breath, and then leaped across the gap. I landed on the orange dragon’s rump and nearly slid off. But then, in my frantic scrambling, I jabbed my knife between two scales. It was purely by accident, but it provided me with a much-needed handhold, while the orange dragon twisted in pain. As soon as I was high enough on his back to take hold of a spine ridge, I pulled my knife free, narrowly avoiding the splash of burning hot blood that came with it, and started to creep up behind the rider.
“Daan oon lang!” the man was shouting at the dragon, beating on its neck with his fist. He hadn’t seen me, and no doubt thought his dragon was merely being fractious.
He was very surprised when I sat down behind him and pressed a knife to his throat. I hoped he would surrender: it just wasn’t in me to kill a man.
“Nod if you understand me,” I said, loud and slow.
He nodded, just as slowly.
“Are you in command?”
He nodded.
“Give the order to surrender. ”
A tentative shake of the head.
“Surrender,” I repeated.
“No. Die for King Nason. ”
“Nason is mad,” I said. “Krashath and Arjas controlled him. Do you understand?”
He hesitated, and I pressed the knife harder against his neck.
“Nason is a prisoner there, in the Roulaini defences. ” I gestured over his shoulder and down, to where the humans on the shore swarmed around the sandbags. “Arjas too. You have lost. Stop the battle.
“Do you see those dragons there? The gold and the blue?” I pointed up at Shardas and Velika. “They are the king and queen of the dragons. They have killed Krashath, and are here to free their people. You do not want to make them any angrier than they already are. ”
A long pause. I tensed my arm, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I thought I might have to use my dagger after all.
Then he nodded.
The Sandbag Throne
I waited until the order had been given and the fighting had stopped before I directed the Citatian commander down to the shore, where the main part of the Roulaini defences was gathered. Part of me wanted to tell him to order all the dragons uncollared, but the voice of reason spoke up in my head. Many of the dragons – most of them probably – harboured deep grudges against their “masters”. Now was not the time to risk another battle.