Darkstalker

  “You arrogant porcupine!” she shouted.

  “This has been delightful,” he said. His wings flared open. “But I have a queen to kill.”

  “Stop!” Clearsight leaped at him, tumbling him backward on the roof until she had him pinned down. “I’m not going to let you do that!”

  Darkstalker looked up at her, and she saw with a shiver of fear that he was genuinely puzzled.

  “Why not?” he asked. “I’ll be a great king. Can’t you see that? We’ll be the strongest tribe in Pyrrhia. Our kingdom could stretch from shore to shore. You and me, side by side, bringing harmony to the whole continent, with our dragonets inheriting the throne after we’re gone.”

  “After we’re gone?” she said bitterly. “You won’t ever let that happen. It’s a short step from invulnerability to an immortality spell. Have you done it already?”

  His silence answered that question. Darkstalker was immortal now — which was one of the most important things Clearsight was supposed to prevent to protect the future.

  Was there any hope left?

  A vision trembled through her mind, rumbling up from below and gathering strength like a volcano.

  There was only one way to stop Darkstalker from killing the queen right now — and it might not save Vigilance in the future, and it definitely led to more bloodshed, but it would give them at least a moment to think, if she took this path.

  If she told him what was happening at this moment, while his back was turned.

  Then she saw that she didn’t have to; the vision was sweeping over him as well. He sat up abruptly, knocking her away.

  “Whiteout,” he said in a strangled voice.

  “Your father has her,” Clearsight said, touching her forehead. “He’s taken her and they’re flying …”

  “North,” Darkstalker finished. Murder glinted in his eyes. “He’s taking her to the Ice Kingdom.”

  They were flying before Fathom quite realized what was happening. He only knew his friends were going north as fast as their wings could take them and he was going, too.

  At one point he felt something like a shock sizzle through the air, just as they flew out of the mountains. It startled him into glancing down, and he nearly tumbled out of the sky, his stomach heaving. The land below was littered with IceWing corpses, charred and ripped apart into tangles of white-blue limbs.

  “What happened here?” he yelled to Clearsight.

  She glanced at Darkstalker, flying furiously ahead of them. “He put up a border shield,” she called back. “It kills any IceWings who try to enter the kingdom.”

  Fathom should have guessed. His magic did this.

  He closed his eyes tight, beat his wings faster, and flew on.

  Soon he saw sand below him, a vast expanse of desert that rippled like a pale ocean. Down there was the Kingdom of Sand, ruled by Queen Scorpion. All he knew about her was that she allowed the NightWings and IceWings to battle across her territory in exchange for large piles of treasure from each of them; rumor had it she played both sides and didn’t care who won. The desert kingdom was big and empty enough for the battles to play out without much collateral SandWing damage, as long as the warring dragons stayed away from her oasis towns.

  The sun had passed the high point of the sky and was sliding down into late afternoon, but it was blisteringly hot on Fathom’s scales. He wished he could dive into an ocean to cool them off. He wondered if they had made a grave mistake, flying into the Kingdom of Sand without water. But he followed his friends; he would follow them anywhere.

  He couldn’t believe their fight. He could barely understand it. From the outside, he’d thought their relationship was perfect. The way they’d suddenly exploded — the idea that Darkstalker had cast a spell on Clearsight — the fact that he’d been on his way to kill his own queen! Fathom wondered if he really knew his friend at all.

  So why are you following him into a strange kingdom? whispered the worries at the back of his mind. Without either of your guards?

  “Darkstalker,” Clearsight called. She swept one wing around at the endless desert. “They could be anywhere.”

  He checked himself in the air, frowning at her, and then soared quickly down to the ground. When Fathom landed beside him, Darkstalker was unrolling a scroll on the shifting sands.

  That’s the scroll, Fathom thought with a start. Where he keeps all his power.

  Darkstalker reached into his bag again and pulled out a dagger. Its jagged edge caught the sun, flashing into Fathom’s eyes and blinding him for a moment.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Clearsight asked, resting her wing against one of Darkstalker’s.

  He shook her off. “Not what you think.” He placed the dagger on the scroll, weighing down the flapping paper, uncapped an inkwell, and scrawled Enchant this dagger to lead us to Arctic and Whiteout, then stab Arctic once in the foot, injuring him enough that he has to stop, but not so badly that he bleeds to death. Above all else, stop him from crossing the Great Ice Cliff.

  Darkstalker wrote with unhesitating confidence, ignoring the shiny green beetle that popped out of the sand, scurried over his claws, and buried itself again. The wind lifted his wings and the sun burnished his scales to gleaming ebony. He looked heroic and sure. He didn’t even have to pause and think. He knew exactly what he wanted to write, his carefully crafted spell.

  He has no doubts, Fathom thought. He wished he could have just a moment of feeling that way, of that kind of belief in himself.

  But it was better that he didn’t. The world might not survive it if he let himself stop being afraid, even for a moment.

  Darkstalker shot him an irritated glare. He’d finished the spell, but the dagger wasn’t moving. “Why isn’t it working?” he growled.

  “Maybe he’s protecting himself with his own magic,” Clearsight suggested. “Maybe instead of attacking him, we should —”

  Darkstalker flicked his tail, cutting her off. “Yes! His shielding earring!” He stabbed his talons into the sand and dragged out the green beetle, who squirmed frantically in his claws. It had tiny black pincers that snapped at the air.

  Enchant this beetle to find Prince Arctic as fast as possible and take off his shielding earring, Darkstalker wrote.

  The beetle flickered into the air like a puff of smoke and a few moments later, the dagger rose up and spun like a compass needle. Suddenly it shot away, heading northwest.

  “Let’s go!” Darkstalker cried. He threw the scroll back in his bag and hurled himself into the sky. He flew as if his wings were possessed and Fathom had to strain every muscle to keep up. Next to him in the air, Clearsight flew with the same determination. Her eyes had a distant measuring look, as though she was climbing down into a dark abyss, trying to see the bottom.

  The dagger flashed and danced ahead of them as they flew and flew. Finally, as the sky was just starting to fade to darker blue, the dagger put on a burst of speed, and a moment later there was an agonized shriek from somewhere up ahead.

  Fathom caught up to Darkstalker in time to see a silvery white shape fall out of the sky and crash-land on a dune below them. Another figure, black-and-white, drifted down after him.

  “We found them!” Darkstalker cried exultantly.

  They landed in a semicircle around Arctic, with Clearsight and Fathom on either side of Darkstalker. Whiteout crouched beside her father, examining one of his back feet, where the dagger was buried to the hilt and blue blood poured out over the sticky dark sand. Another thin trickle of blood slid down his neck from one ear, where an earring had once been.

  Arctic glared up at Darkstalker, his face twisted with pain and fury. “Just let us go,” the IceWing hissed. “I let you live. Do me the same courtesy. We never have to see each other again.”

  Darkstalker calmly slid his scroll out of his bag. “Where do you think you’re taking my sister?” he asked.

  “She wants to go with me,” Arctic snarled. “Tell him, Whiteout.”

  ??
?I want to go with Father,” she said. Even Fathom could see that there was something wrong with her voice, with her eyes. Clearsight reached for her and Whiteout jerked away, keeping her talons on her father.

  “She’s going to marry an IceWing prince,” Arctic said, his breath coming in short gasps. “Not some lowborn NightWing.”

  “That’s right,” Whiteout said. “I’ll be an IceWing princess. And have lots of baby IceWings. And live there forever. Where it is very, very cold.”

  “You are not taking her to the Ice Kingdom,” Darkstalker said. “She would be miserable there, even worse than you were.” He unrolled the scroll to a blank section and carefully set a rock at each corner to hold it down.

  “I’m doing this for your mother,” Arctic spat. He tried to sit up, setting off another gush of blood from the dagger wound, and fell back again. Whiteout blinked anxiously and pressed her talons to his foot. “Queen Diamond will let Foeslayer go if she has me instead.”

  “Mother is dead,” said Darkstalker. Fathom shivered at the eerie blankness with which he said those words.

  Darkstalker uncapped the inkwell and placed it gently on the edge of the scroll. “You are doing this for yourself, Father. You have no reason to stay in the Night Kingdom anymore, now that Mother is gone. So you’re taking your chance to go home, like you’ve always wanted.” He dipped one claw in the ink. “You’re planning to tell Diamond all the secrets you know about NightWings to help her defeat us. You may even use your power again, to launch an attack on us.”

  Fathom glanced over at Clearsight and saw from her unhappy face that it was true.

  “I might, but only to protect Whiteout,” Arctic said. “If that’s the only deal Diamond will accept to keep her alive.” He reached down and yanked out the dagger, hissing furiously as blood spurted out. “You’ll be fine with your invincible scales, don’t worry. Now say good-bye to your sister and let us go before Diamond’s army finds you.”

  “I want to go to the Ice Kingdom,” Whiteout said. “I want to be with Father. You go home,” she said, pointing at Darkstalker. “I don’t even like you.”

  Darkstalker paused, meeting her cool blue eyes, then turned back to Arctic. “But you made one odd mistake,” he said. His claw was poised above the scroll, ink gleaming on the tip. “You should have killed me before you left, like Diamond wanted you to.” He tilted his head at his father. “I’m not sure why you didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t going to kill my own son,” Arctic snarled. “Whatever you think of my soul, it’s not so far gone that I would actually do that.” He started to laugh, a cracking, bitter sound like icicles snapping off a roof. “I know I should, though. One more spell, and I’ll probably be there, won’t I? I mean, what are you going to do to stop me?” He spread his wings, staggering upright. “Our magic is equal, you and I. Our souls are equally doomed. What are you writing, you little monster?”

  “Darkstalker, please, please don’t,” Clearsight pleaded. Fathom took a step toward him, but he didn’t know what to do. He could rip the scroll out of his talons — but then what would happen? Would Arctic attack? Of these two dragons, if one was about to use magic, wouldn’t it be better if it was Darkstalker?

  It was too late anyway. Darkstalker’s claw was sliding smoothly across the paper, words falling into place, spelling out the beginning of the end of the world.

  “Now,” Darkstalker said to his father. “Stop talking.”

  Arctic opened his mouth.

  And nothing came out.

  “Never use your magic again,” Darkstalker said pleasantly. “Never attack me or my friends ever again. Don’t try to escape.”

  Arctic clutched his throat. His tail was lashing like a snake on fire.

  “What did you do?” Fathom whispered. On the other side of Darkstalker, Clearsight had her face buried in her talons. He couldn’t tell whether she was crying or planning or spinning herself into the futures to get as far away from now as possible.

  “Release Whiteout from the spell you put on her,” Darkstalker went on, ignoring Fathom.

  Arctic’s claws reached toward his daughter, although he was clearly trying to fight them. He seized the golden glass shell necklace around her neck, pulled it off, and smashed it.

  Whiteout let out a gasp. She shook her head, blinking like mad, then looked around, taking in the scene as if she’d just woken up.

  “Oh no,” she cried. “It’s too late. The sand is falling.”

  “You’re all right, Whiteout,” Darkstalker said, reaching to take her front talons in his. “I saved you.” She touched his snout gently with hers for a moment, then stepped back.

  “I’m grateful to be unfrozen,” she said. “But I’m sorry for winning.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “We both win. We’re going to have the greatest future I can give us. All of us.” He swung his head to include Fathom and Clearsight, then rolled his eyes at the expressions on their faces. “Calm down. I saved the day. It was amazing, didn’t you notice?”

  “Let me see,” Clearsight said, holding out her talons.

  Darkstalker shrugged and slid his scroll toward her. Fathom stepped around him and read the spell over her shoulder.

  He’d known what it would say. It was clear from what he’d seen in front of him.

  But still, seeing the words in black and white …

  Enchant Arctic the IceWing to obey my every command.

  “No,” Clearsight breathed.

  Fathom was dizzy, falling, the world and everything he knew rushing past him.

  If it was possible to enchant living dragons this way — to treat them like objects, to use them however you wanted …

  He looked at Clearsight. It could start as simply as a pair of enchanted earrings. A small shifting of the world, rearranging other dragons to make your life a bit easier, telling yourself it was harmless, for the best, even.

  But once you took a step down that path, once you let yourself think manipulating someone else was all right … when every new turn seemed right to you, seemed justified, no matter how far you went …

  Where would it ever stop?

  All things considered, Darkstalker thought he was doing a remarkably admirable job of keeping his temper.

  His queen had tried to kill him, after everything he’d done for her.

  His father had bewitched his sister and tried to betray the entire tribe.

  Clearsight was acting as if his gift of the earrings was some enormous life-altering horrible treachery, instead of a perfectly sweet, kindhearted gesture he’d made to make her feel better.

  And now Fathom was flooding Darkstalker’s mind with panicked screaming mobs of DOOM DOOM THE SKY IS FALLING MY FRIEND IS EVIL THE WORLD IS ENDING blah blah overreacting melodramatic nonsense.

  Darkstalker was doing exactly what he needed to do. He had to stop his father. He had to save his sister. He had to protect his friends. He was clearly the good guy here.

  If Clearsight and Fathom couldn’t see that, what kinds of friends were they? Trusting him and supporting him … as his best friends, wasn’t that their ONE JOB?

  He clenched his claws, stamping his rage down to a simmer below the surface. His work was not done. He needed to make himself and his friends safe permanently, forever. He needed everyone to know that you never came after Darkstalker.

  “Follow us back to the Night Kingdom,” he ordered Arctic. “Keep up. Don’t try anything. Don’t even think about anything except flying, one wingbeat after another, until I tell you you can land.”

  His father was beautifully, magically silent. He could do nothing except stare at Darkstalker with seething hatred. Arctic was finally, finally no longer a threat to anyone.

  And now he’s going to pay for what happened to Mother, for what he did to Whiteout, and for what he nearly did to the tribe.

  “Maybe we should rest first,” Clearsight said hurriedly. “Whiteout looks tired, right, Fathom? We could all sleep for a while, maybe find something to eat. Ma
ybe talk about … everything.”

  “I have things to do,” Darkstalker said, packing up his scroll and putting it back in his bag. He knew her so well. He knew that she was trying to delay the inevitable. She was hoping to wrestle them onto a new timeline. She thought that if she had a little more time now, tonight, she’d be able to change the future.

  But she couldn’t. He was weaving the path now; no more tweaks and tugs from her. Even if he had to drag her along it kicking and screaming. Once they got there, to his beautiful future, she’d admit it was the best one and he’d been right all along. He spread his wings. “We’re going now.”

  “Darkstalker,” Clearsight said. “Please don’t do what you’re about to do. Please stop and look at the timelines with me — we can still find one that’s safe and peaceful for all of us.”

  “I know we can,” he said. “We’re on it. Accept your destiny, my love. We’re the ones who bring the peace, once the throne is ours. And who’s safer than the king and queen?”

  He took off, relishing the sound of all their wingbeats hurrying after him. These were his dragons, Clearsight and Fathom and Whiteout. They might fuss and worry at him, but they’d follow him to the edge of the sky. They’d be right beside him as he took his throne, and they’d love him no matter what.

  He didn’t stop once, the whole way back to the Night Kingdom. The sun buried itself below the horizon and darkness spread cold wings over the desert. A few times as he flew, he saw the flicker of campfires or the shadows of moving dragons, preparing for yet another battle.

  That will be my army soon, he thought. We’ll crush the IceWings easily once I’m king. I’ll punish Diamond for what she did to my mother.

  Rage surged through him again. He’d delayed his vengeance for months, listening to Clearsight’s worries, following Queen Vigilance’s strategy instead of using his own. He’d made her a stronger queen; he’d given the tribe a shield and strengthened her army, and then what did she do? Send an assassin after him!

  She’d brought this upon herself.