Wings of Flame (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 5)

by JD Monroe

  “I know the way,” she said evenly.

  “It was not a request.”

  As they walked back into the temple, Sidran’s bodyguards, the Talons, fell in behind them. Corrupted by his blood magic, their scent was acrid and burnt, not the pleasant smoke smell of her kind. Like many dragons of these lands, the Talons were afflicted with a degenerative illness called tam-kadi. The sickness had no cure, and ultimately claimed all its victims in feral madness. Sidran’s blood magic had made the Talons stable but poisonous. Two of his most loyal Talons, Adron and Firsa, had protected him from her failed assassination attempt, and had left their marks on her face to remind her of her failure.

  “Where is Veraxa?” she asked. Two younger healers, Ayla and Veraxa Mara, had been brought in after her attempted escape. Once Sohaila learned how to make the Aesdar shift safely, Sidran made her teach the others. He still only entrusted the first transformation with her, which was why she was holed up in the temple. Sidran claimed it was for her safety, but she knew it was so she couldn’t run away. Instead, Veraxa had left the temple with the Aesdar weeks before, presumably to send them into battle and mend whatever survived.

  “She was exhausted,” Sidran said. “I ordered her to rest. Besides, Enzar likes you.”

  She was silent. Inside the temple, the quiet halls were filled with soldiers. Most of them were bloodied and bruised, their armor charred and dented from the battle. Several of them watched Sidran pass, averting their eyes to avoid his attention. The fraught silence of defeat hung in the air like thick smoke.

  “Clearly, we sustained losses,” Sidran said. “You’ll check on my men this afternoon. After that, you will pack up the medicines you have created to aid my Aesdar. Make more if you can. If you need assistance with the manual labor, I will assign men to help.”

  “Why? Are you leaving?”

  “We are leaving. All of us,” Sidran said. “We’re heading north. With your help, the Aesdar are ready to fight.”

  “Where in the north?” she asked. Home was to the north. It had been over fifty years since she had seen the great expanse of Ironhold, but it would always be home. And the thought of Sidran laying eyes on it, let alone unleashing his white-scaled weapons upon it, made her stomach churn.

  “Everywhere,” he said mildly. “The details are not your concern. Your duty will be the same as it is now. You will care for my children using your divine gifts.”

  “You say it so politely, but you want me to help you kill my kind,” she said. Behind him, Adron and Firsa tensed. Heat emanated from them, a silent threat.

  “As always, I will give them a chance to yield,” Sidran said. “I am not a cruel man.”

  “Of course not.” She reached for the door and jolted when Sidran covered her hand, holding it tight so she couldn’t open the door. His other hand rested on the back of her neck. A warning tingle of power radiated from his fingers. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to turn and let him see her fear.

  “You forget your place, sister,” Sidran said, his lips brushing her ear. “Over the last year, I have grown to appreciate your attention to detail and thought you would appreciate the time to prepare. We move at dawn day after tomorrow. You will be ready, or there will be consequences.” His hand tightened on hers. Her nerves tingled with the current of his power, verging on painful. “Am I understood?”

  “Yes,” she said, carefully controlling the timbre of her voice. “I understand.”

  He released her. She let out a heavy sigh and shoved the door open. Firsa scurried after Sidran, but Adron remained, looming in the open doorway. His nails were elongated into black talons, with dark veins tracing down the back of his hands. His bright green gaze drifted down to his hand, then back to her face. “You heard your orders,” he said. “Get packing.”

  “Why don’t you go chase your master like a good dog?” she snapped.

  His eyes widened. “You should show some respect, unless you’d like me to mark the other half of your face.”

  “Do it and see what your master says,” she replied. Despite her flippant tone, a note of fear wound through her. Those claws had sliced her face open and left her choking for air as his poison seeped into her blood.

  Adron’s lip curled, baring smooth white teeth that evoked the sharp dragon fangs of his other form. “My mother taught me the Marashti were holy, virtuous women.”

  “Then you should consider how far you must have fallen to earn my contempt,” she replied. “Leave me alone.”

  “Shak-ersath,” he muttered. “I have things to do.”

  “Good dog. Perhaps you’ll get a treat,” she said sweetly as he walked down the hall after Sidran. When he rounded the corner, she let out a heavy sigh.

  It was a dangerous game to taunt Adron, but she had so little power, and Sidran would not let him hurt her any further for fear of ruining her ability. It was one of her few small pleasures.

  Sohaila’s workshop was her refuge here, the only place where she held any control. The wooden shelves were packed with carefully dried herbs and paper-wrapped packets of mixtures ready to be brewed into potions and teas. As she surveyed the mess from this morning’s work, a tiny chirp broke the quiet.

  The brown bird perched on a stack of books, little claws curled around a red leather cover. Her heart thumped. “Hello again. Please don’t fly away,” she said quietly. “Were you waiting for me?”

  Chirp.

  “Are you Edra?” she asked.

  It chirped.

  “Do you understand me?”

  Another chirp.

  “Are you just making noise because you’re a bird?”

  Silence.

  “Are you with Master Sidran?” She was careful to keep her tone even and neutral. Silence again. “Are you looking for something here? Are you a scout?”

  A definitive chirp.

  Excitement bubbled up in her chest. “Is it safe for you to transform back?”

  Silence.

  She sighed. “Are you looking for Sidran?” Chirp. “Whoever you’re with, they need to move fast if they want to get him. He just told me we’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  Chirp.

  “Will you come back?”

  Chirp.

  She clasped her hands together and sighed. “I feel like an idiot, but I’m putting my faith in you, little bird.”

  It was unfortunate that it had taken a war threatening the continued existence of his people, but Kaldir Dawnblaze was pleased to finally pray in the fabled Shrine of Mara. His travels had never brought him this deep into the Iveron until now.

  High above the dome-shaped sanctuary, a skylight of azure glass cast a dreamy blue haze over the floor below. The soothing smells of incense and flowers filled the air. Though it was not an official hour of prayer, a woman in blue sat in one corner, plucking a soothing melody on a harp.

  The aches and pains of the last week’s battles threatened Kaldir’s focus as he knelt on the cool stone. He’d nearly wrenched both arms out of joint as he felled one of the monstrous white dragons attacking Greenspire.

  Blessed Skymother, clear my mind and direct my thoughts to a worthy path. Thank you for guiding me safely through another battle. I ask for your blessing on my warriors. Heal their wounds and let them return to fight for you again. And for those brave souls who fell in battle, please welcome them into your halls. Know that they fought with honor and pure heart.

  Quiet footsteps shuffled past him. A cool air current carried the scent of medicinal herbs and dried flowers. He stole a glance and sighed with disappointment at the long, white-blonde braid dangling over the healer’s shoulder. Since arriving at the Shrine yesterday, he’d hoped he might catch a glimpse of Falmina. He hadn’t seen her in fifty years and didn’t even know what name she had taken since committing her life to Mara.

  And he wasn’t sure she would want to see him. If she was displeased, or even worse, indifferent to him, he preferred to not see her. She would remain a bittersweet memory, eternall
y perfect because it could not be altered by reality’s touch.

  As her bright eyes and playful smile flitted through his mind, he could practically hear his mother’s sharp tongue scolding him. He was preoccupied with an old flame while he knelt in the holiest of places, beseeching the Skymother with only half his attention.

  Blessed mother, spread your great wings over us and let your light shine upon us.

  He silently recited the rote prayers he’d learned as a boy, hoping his good intentions would outweigh his distraction. He had just finished his third recitation of the Oath of the Sky when soft footsteps halted just inches from him. The clean mint smell wafting over him was the oil his partner used in her hair.

  He opened his eyes to see his partner Azeria kneeling next to him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” she said quietly. “But one of the Edra scouts has returned. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said.

  “If you’d like to finish—”

  “I was finished,” he replied. After returning his prayer mat to a wooden shelf, he followed Azeria out into the winding halls of the temple.

  A pair of Marashti passed them in the hall, clad in similar blue dresses. He thought he recognized the coppery-red hair peeking from beneath a gauzy scarf. “Sister,” he said, his tongue thick and clumsy.

  “Be blessed,” she said, giving him a polite nod before returning her attention to her companion. The woman’s green eyes were unfamiliar, and the bone structure was all wrong. Not Falmina.

  “Sir?” Azeria said. “You seem a bit distracted. Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “And you?”

  She nodded and pulled down the neck of her dark tunic. A nasty welt on her throat glistened with a thick ointment. Thin cuts and scratches marked her jawline and forearms. “I’m still a bit sore, but I’m fine. Nothing a night’s rest won’t take care of,” she said. Her face was clean, and her thick chestnut curls were tamed into a loose braid. They’d been fighting for weeks, and this was the first time they’d had a chance to breathe.

  The Chosen, an army of red-clad zealots proclaiming faith in a false god, were sweeping over the lands of Ascavar from the south. After a brutal siege, they had toppled the desert capital of Arvelor, and then set their sights on Greenspire, a peaceful city in the forest.

  Home to the Ashflight, an unusually peaceful nation of dragons, Greenspire had little in the way of military might, and it had fallen quickly to the superior numbers and dragon-killing weaponry of the Chosen. By the time Kaldir and his men arrived, Greenspire was already occupied by the Chosen and cowering under the gaze of the monstrous Aesdar.

  However, Kaldir’s strike team, the Scalebreakers, and the army that followed were better prepared to eradicate the Chosen. The worst of the fighting was over in just hours, but it took another day to clear the city, and another day still of skirmishing in the forest as they chased down the stragglers.

  The Shrine of Mara was a few miles northwest of the city, well hidden by the dense forest and magical warding. Kaldir had escorted their injured comrades here. Some were beyond saving, but their losses had not been as great as he feared, thanks to the skilled healers.

  Some of their forces were already celebrating as if the war had ended, but he did not dare. This felt too easy. They had taken prisoners for questioning, but they hadn’t yet confirmed that Sidran, the head of the Chosen, was among the prisoners or the dead. Kaldir needed to know that they had lopped off the head of this bloody red beast, and he wouldn’t call this done until he saw Sidran with his own eyes.

  Azeria led him to a small sitting room that had been converted into a war room. The head of the Marashti order, Mother Akshas, sat in a high chair with two well-armed Shrine Wardens flanking her. He recognized several of the other Kadirai leaders, along with General Ralna Iceborne. Her cool gray eyes swept over him. Iceborne was from the Stoneflight, and until six months ago, they might have killed each other as soon as shake each other’s hands.

  But after Arvelor fell, everything changed. Petty differences and stubborn pride had been put aside when the dragon queens gathered for a Conclave and formed the Broodguard, a combined army to push back the Chosen.

  At the end of a table, a slender young man in a loose linen robe sipped from a steaming mug. His dark hair was slick with sweat. His almond-shaped eyes lifted to Kaldir, and he started to rise. “Sir.”

  “Please sit,” Kaldir said, shaking his head. “Tell me what you saw.” He’d sent the Edra man scouting after one of the white dragons fled the battle.

  The younger man’s eyes widened as he nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. I scouted west like you told me. Along the way—”

  Azeria interrupted. “The short version, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry,” Vikosh said with a wince. “I followed the white dragon’s scent. It disappeared over the Iveron, because it had a couple of wind dragons to cloak its passage. But once they were about twenty miles out from the city, they dropped the illusion. I guess they thought they weren’t being followed anymore. I stayed low to the trees so I would blend in. They landed at a temple pretty far west of here. It was a few miles beyond the forest, near a dried-up riverbed.”

  “Do you recognize what he’s describing?” Kaldir asked, looking at Mother Akshas.

  The older woman nodded. Her hair was pure white, but her tattooed brow was still smooth, making it hard to pinpoint her age. “West of here, dried up river…likely the Silent Orchard,” she said. “It was one of our temples in Ifrahl, but it was abandoned decades ago.”

  “It’s not abandoned now,” Vikosh said. “And Sidran is there.”

  Kaldir stared at him. “You’re certain?”

  “I saw him and heard people addressing him. One of the Marashti confirmed it,” he said. “He has another healer there, too. Maybe more.”

  Akshas gasped. “He has Marashti prisoners? Tell me who you saw.”

  “I didn’t take the risk of shifting back,” Vikosh said. “But the one who spoke to me said her name was Sohaila.”

  “Blessed Mother,” Akshas murmured. Her face paled, one hand drifting to cover her mouth.

  “Does that mean something to you?” Azeria asked.

  “She…we thought she was dead,” Akshas said. “She left for Blackstone more than a year ago and never made it there. We found the bodies of her guardians on the road, but no trace of her.” She turned to Vikosh. “Who were the others?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I saw a pretty girl with blonde hair. Kind of short and curly. She was wearing blue robes, too, so I just assumed.”

  “That sounds like Veraxa,” Akshas murmured. “The last I heard, she was serving in Auran-Kahl. I had no idea.”

  General Iceborne frowned. “What else did you learn?”

  “Sohaila told me that Sidran was leaving the day after tomorrow,” he said. “They were packing everything. I also saw at least a dozen of the Aesdar, and I suspect there were more. I smelled them behind closed doors.”

  Kaldir leaned against the stone table. The Scalebreakers were independent of the Broodguard. Along with their subordinates, he and Azeria had been trained to hunt the Aesdar. If more of them survived, then dealing with them was their responsibility. And if Sidran himself, the mastermind and leader of the Chosen, was there…

  “Mother Akshas, how far is the Orchard from here?” Kaldir asked.

  “Two hundred miles, maybe less,” Akshas said. “I can show you on a map.”

  They could be there in a few hours. Sidran was practically in their grasp. Flame burned in his chest as he contemplated bringing the man down, clapping him into chains to answer for his crimes.

  “Is it truly wise to attack now?” General Iceborne said. “Our victory at Greenspire was costly, and we do not know what other tricks the Chosen hold.”

  “I agree with you,” Kaldir said. He glanced at Azeria. Her face was a stony mask, betraying nothing. “But we must act. With a dozen o
f the Aesdar, they could be anywhere on the continent within a week’s time. If Sidran has something else planned, I don’t intend to let him do it.”

  Iceborne sighed. “This will require us to fly blind.”

  “We don’t have the time to scout ahead,” Kaldir said. “We know exactly where Sidran is right now. This is an unmatched opportunity, one that we will lose if we wait.”

  “The temple is rather small,” Mother Akshas said. “Unless you speak of learning their numbers. But you could fit the whole of the Silent Orchard into the garden of this place.” She touched Iceborne’s shoulder lightly. “Please, if it is in your power, return our lost sisters to us. Ensure they aren’t hurt in this attack.”

  Azeria spoke up. “Vikosh, can you take a message back to the Marashti, just ahead of our arrival? Tell them to get somewhere safe until we can get them out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Over the next hour, Kaldir and Iceborne developed a tactical plan. They would not send the full army, but a sizable force that could overwhelm Sidran’s small retinue while keeping Greenspire protected. The Scalebreakers would focus on the Aesdar while the Broodguard stormed the temple to capture Sidran.

  “We leave at sunset tomorrow. Please forgive me, but I need to rest after relaying orders to my men. If we receive any further news, wake me,” Iceborne said. She rose, wincing as her joints popped. The woman had stayed awake for days to direct her troops, barely sleeping until Greenspire was free.

  As she departed, the small sitting room began to clear. When the other had gone, Mother Akshas approached Kaldir. “Please bring our lost sisters home,” she said quietly. “I thought Sohaila and Veraxa were dead. It is a blessing to know they live, but now I fear for them anew.”

  He bowed deeply. “I will do my best.” He drew a breath, prepared to ask about Falmina. “Mother Akshas?”

  ‘Yes?”

  How much of a fool would he appear? Kaldir Dawnblaze, liberator of Greenspire, only son of the legendary Firestorm, asking after an old lover like a lovesick teenager. “Thank you for your work in healing my men.”