by JD Monroe
“They’re all safe,” Kaldir replied, kneeling in front of him to remove the wicked collar.
Zayir groaned with relief as he removed the spiked device and flung it aside. “Ohrena too?”
“Yes,” Kaldir said. “She’s very upset about you, but she’s safe. She would have come with me if I’d let her, but I told her—”
“I’d have fucking killed you if you brought her here.”
“Which is exactly what I told her,” he replied. He swept his eyes over the prince. His chest was bruised badly, with a partially healed puncture over one hip. “Ironhold is under Tarim’s control again. We’ll speak of it later, as I’m sure you have quite a story to tell.”
Zayir shook his head. “Not much of one,” he said. “These assholes showed up in Ironhold. I told them they’d have to go through me to get to my sister. They called my bluff, as you can see.” Kaldir hauled Zayir to his feet. To his surprise, Zayir embraced him tightly. He clapped Kaldir on the back, averting his eyes as he pulled away. Then, the cocky, unflappable mask was back as a rakish smile spread on his face. “Kaldir, I know I’ve said this before, but once we leave here, we are never coming back to this fucking city. I will spit on Farath and never return, and Halmerah can kiss my badly bruised ass if she takes offense.”
“I agree,” he replied. “But I want you to stay here while we continue.”
Zayir scoffed. “And let you have all the fun? Hardly. Find me a sword, and I’ll find someone to stick it in.”
“Would your wife approve?”
“If we survive, I will gladly let her punish me for it,” Zayir said, raising an eyebrow. “It will be much more fun than my time here.”
Kaldir shook his head. “I should lock you in again.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“All right. It’s your hide,” Kaldir said, gesturing toward his belt like he was going to offer Zayir his sword. The prince smiled, striding forward. Kaldir shoved his chest. In his state, a light blow was enough to make him stumble backward. With a grunt of protest, Zayir fumbled to catch himself on the wall.
The prince’s jaw dropped as he realized what was happening. “Oh, you son of a bitch, don’t you dare…” His voice was muffled as Kaldir pushed Azeria backward and slammed the door. Without being told, Azeria locked the door behind him, sealing the prince in. He was glad there was no window, because he couldn’t stand the look of anger in Zayir’s eyes. The door shook in its frame as the prince pounded his fists against it. “Kaldir! This is an order! Open the door!”
He leaned against the door, wincing at the impact jolting him. “Sorry, my friend. I take orders from your sister, and I’d rather bear your anger than hers,” he replied. Zayir was a shrewd, intelligent man, but he would also happily fling himself into a losing battle just because he could. He’d rather lose his friend’s trust and preserve his life.
“Fuck you,” Zayir replied. There was a firm kick against the door, then a muttered curse of pain.
“That’s fair,” Kaldir replied. He left Zayir cursing, still pounding on the door.
Halfway down the hall, Azeria glanced up at him. “Are you sure? We could use as many wings as we can find.”
“I’m sure,” he replied. “One bad hit and he’s dead. I’m not taking that chance.”
“I can still hear you!” Zayir bellowed.
“Good,” Kaldir replied as he retreated down the hall. By the time they finished clearing the cells, they’d freed nearly two dozen dragons, but none of them were Viraszel. Though he wouldn’t wish to offend her by thinking of her as weak or helpless, he worried about her. Maybe she was already gone. A wave of grief surged through him, but he shoved it down.
Not now.
If he lived, there would be time to grieve what was taken. But now was the time to stop Sidran, so he could not destroy anything else.
With the freed prisoners in tow, he hurried back up to the ground level of the citadel, then paused. It sounded like a storm was raging outside, with a never-ending chorus of roars, crackling lightning and bodies slamming into stone. Dressed in dirty, blood-stained clothes, the prisoners were a rough-looking assembly.
“Whoever can fight, I need you,” Kaldir said. “If you’re not well enough, then don’t throw yourself to be killed on principle. I don’t need you to die to prove yourselves.” A man and woman near the back of the crowd glanced at each other. Both were corpse-pale, their lips nearly blue. “Hide somewhere, catch your breath, and join when you can. When we win, there will be a great deal of work to be done in helping the injured in the city. You’ll serve no matter what. Am I understood?”
“Sir,” a few of them murmured. He wasn’t surprised when none of them broke away. Maybe it was unfair that he’d spared Zayir while these people were in equally dire condition, but he was entitled to occasionally be selfish.
“We’re headed to the healing gardens,” Kaldir said. “Take out the Chosen. If you see Sidran, the man in charge, disable him but leave him alive. Otherwise, show no mercy.” He eyed the crowd, picking out the three that looked healthiest. “You three go straight to the healing pavilion. Do you know where it is?” They nodded. “Make sure the Marashti are safe.”
The beauty of the healing gardens was tainted by smoke and the thick smell of blood. The graceful lace of vines was torn asunder, broken branches strewn across the ground like fallen soldiers. Shadows passed over the large stone skylight. The last time he’d been here, Halmerah had ordered it covered with the huge chain net that kept intruders from entering. It was wide open now.
As they proceeded through the gardens, the soldiers he’d rescued split along the winding paths. He soon heard shouts and clashing metal. He headed for the center of the garden, the farhenh, or the Heart of the Skymother. Before they turned the corner, two greenish-gray dragons sprang from the foliage, splitting to follow the sound of the fighting.
Azeria grabbed his wrist and yanked him back before he turned the corner. “Are we just going in hot?”
“We have to,” Kaldir said. He grasped her arm, squeezing it tightly. “I’m with you.”
“And I am with you,” she said solemnly.
The smell of blood thickened as they approached the center of the garden. The open stone clearing was lit by pale blue everlight, illuminating the thick haze. Miko nodded to Shanti, and raised his shield once more to conceal them as he crept around the side path.
Standing at the center of the farhenh was a handsome older man. Kaldir froze. He’d never met the man, but there was no doubt that this was Master Sidran, the architect of all the bloodshed and misery plaguing his people.
Like a self-made king, Sidran wore an ornate crimson robe with gems and embroidery sparkling in its voluminous folds. A heavy silver collar hung around his neck, set with a deep purple stone that pulsed with a faint light, like a heartbeat. His brown eyes were deep and soulless. Kneeling at the edge of the clearing, wrists secured in heavy shackles, was a familiar figure. He’d never seen the dark-haired woman, but he knew the pale blue robes of the Marashti. Her face was gaunt, one cheek marred by a dark bruise. Several empty glass flasks were strewn around her.
But of more concern to Kaldir were Sidran’s companions. On either side of him were two huge dragons. One was scaled in rich amethyst, eyes violet. He’d only seen her partially transformed, but this was Halmerah. The other was far bigger than Kaldir, with scales the deep red of polished ruby. She smelled so familiar that she almost didn’t register to him.
It was his mother. Her head turned toward him, sharp horns glinting in the light. She growled, low and ominous.
He bristled. The Firestorm would never surrender. What had he done to her?
“Quiet,” Sidran said calmly. A broad-shouldered male circled behind him. His exposed chest and arms were lined in the same crimson tattoos that marked Marlena’s skin.
“You must be Sidran,” Kaldir said. On the opposite side of the clearing, there was the faint shimmer of Miko’s shield. He kept his gaze on Sidran.
After everything he had done, it was tempting to burn him where he stood.
“That I am,” he said, giving a shallow bow. “If you’d like to live, I’ll accept your surrender. Your kind still have their use.”
“Did these two surrender to you?” he asked.
He smiled, but it was the hungry grin of an apex predator circling fallen prey. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. He tilted his head. “You have lost. Your great cities have fallen to me.”
“Your confidence is misplaced. Ironhold is ours,” Kaldir said. The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued to smile. “Further more, Farath has not yet fallen. And all of your Aesdar are dead.”
Sidran’s toothy smile broadened. “Are they, now?”
“Ayla Mara?” Kaldir asked gently. The woman’s head snapped up. “We’re going to make sure you get somewhere safe.” She glanced at Sidran, then bowed her head. “After I deal with this bastard.” He hoped Miko and Shanti would pick up the hint. He returned his gaze to Sidran. “What foul magic do you have planned here?”
He shrugged. “No magic. Just a bit of science from the human world.” He tilted his head. As if his words had carried across the city, there was a resounding boom, then another. “You fight in vain. By midday there will be nothing left of this city.” He sighed. “Last chance. Will you kneel?”
“Fuck you,” Azeria said.
Sidran’s lips curved up. “Take care of this, my faithful son.” The Aesdar behind him turned, eyes flaring bright blue as he strode toward Kaldir.
In a blur, Azeria threw her left hand out, drawing the knife from her belt at the same time. A gout of flame streaked past Sidran, toward the tattooed man. He dodged the flame, lunging directly into the path of Azeria’s well-aimed blade. The knife pierced his throat, and the man went down on his knees in a pool of blood.
Sidran’s cocky expression faltered. In the scuffle, Ayla Mara simply disappeared behind a shimmering barrier. Behind them, he saw the faint flicker of light of Miko taking his dragon form, then the disturbance of the trees above.
“I think that was all of them,” Azeria said. Her fingers danced with flame. “Unless you have another for me to play with. I have more knives.”
Kaldir stared at the red scaled dragon. “Viraszel,” he said sharply. Her head tilted toward him. “End him. Whatever he did, you’re stronger.”
“Her blood is bonded to me. She serves me now,” Sidran said. He tilted his head toward the red dragon, then the purple in turn. The purple stone on his collar flashed as he said, “Kill them.”
Horror sank into him as the red dragon lunged forward, searing heat gathering around them. He grabbed Azeria and dove into the nearby bushes, covering her as he shifted rapidly. Flames licked off his back as his wings formed. Pain overwhelmed his mind, but he surged to his feet and spread his wings wide. Azeria climbed onto his back, fingers digging under his scales.
Sharp claws raked down his flank. He snapped his tail at Viraszel and popped the side of her face. She recoiled and backed away, drawing a deep breath. He leapt straight up with Azeria, barely dodging a massive burst of flame. The cluster of bushes crumbled to ash.
The air ahead of him shimmered, and he just glimpsed the shape of another dragon before something sliced down his belly. He roared, breathing fire into the air. It glinted harmlessly off a sphere, like water over glass. Through the translucent barrier, he glimpsed Halmerah’s amethyst scales.
Below him, Sidran roared in frustration. Thunder cracked overhead as lightning burst from his hands. Miko, now shifted into his dragon form, recoiled behind his shield. From beneath his robe, Sidran pulled out a silver globe and lobbed it at Miko and Shanti.
Halmerah lunged at him, jaws snapping. Kaldir dodged quickly, then planted one foot on her head to shove her away as he flew upward. He flew over the trees in the enclosed garden. Branches scraped at his belly as he skimmed low, trying to get beyond Viraszel’s range. There was a damned good reason they called her the Firestorm. His heart skipped a beat as she snarled behind him and inhaled.
“Up!” Azeria bellowed. He surged up, but Viraszel still caught him, angling so the cone of flame went right up his tail and skated over his back. The scorching heat rolled over his scales, crawling under them like tiny insects. Azeria screamed, but held on tight. He flew up to the skylight, catching the edge with his back feet and turning around. Below them, the trees were catching fire, filling the air with oily smoke.
As Viraszel flew up at him, he dove onto her back and dug his claws deep under her scales. Roaring, she writhed away from him. He went to slash at her wings, but stopped short. He couldn’t inflict that kind of pain on his own mother. As he debated how to take her down without killing her, an invisible force slammed into his side.
Halmerah materialized from beyond her shield and growled at him, violet eyes flashing bright. He slammed into a tree with a bone-crunching thud. Azeria gasped in pain, but kicked his side hard. “We’re fine,” she said. “Up! Firestorm!”
Without looking back, he launched himself into the air again and felt the searing heat of another burst of flame under him. He flew up and out, trying to give himself a wide path. Halmerah and Viraszel followed, then split suddenly. Dread prickled through him. They were going to corner him.
“He’s controlling them,” Azeria said. “Is it the necklace? It lit up when he told them to kill you.”
It was worth a try. As he turned back toward the garden’s center, Halmerah intercepted him and landed on his back. Azeria threw herself against his neck, pulling so hard on his scales it felt like she’d skin him alive. “Bitch!” she screamed. Blood rained on his back as Halmerah screamed in pain. Suddenly the weight was gone.
Kaldir dove for the garden floor again, but Sidran was no longer in the farhenh. Amidst the burning garden, a glimpse of red caught his eye, running for the citadel. Kaldir dove, wings catching on the branches. He grabbed Sidran’s shoulders with his front claws and lifted him easily. The man actually bellowed in surprise, then reached up to grab his claws. A brutal shock coursed through him, but he gripped even tighter. Behind him, Viraszel and Halmerah were converging on him.
Kaldir flew him back to the center of the garden and and dropped him roughly. As Sidran tried to scramble to his feet, he pounced and pinned him with one heavy foot. Sidran reached into his robe, drawing out a small silver globe.
Azeria slid off his back, but she was too slow to catch the globe. Kaldir braced himself, throwing his head back to protect his face. The globe slammed into his chest, splattering him with liquid metal. Agony swept over him, overwhelming his senses.
Before he could recover, a heavy weight crushed him to the ground. Vicious teeth sank into his neck from behind. He roared, trying to shake off the Firestorm. Her claws dug in deep, prying under his scales like she was trying to flay him.
Below him, Azeria kicked Sidran viciously in the head and yanked the collar off of him. “Stop!” she screamed. “Viraszel!” The purple stone pulsed bright again. “Halmerah!” Her voice echoed throughout the garden, far louder than it should have been. “Leave him alone!”
The teeth in Kaldir’s neck released, and the weight lifted from his back. He groaned as Viraszel landed next to him. Her big red form crept closer to Sidran, snarling quietly.
Sidran’s eyes were wide and frantic. “Kill me, you vile beast,” he said. “This fire I have started will never be extinguished.”
“Oh, we’re not going to kill you,” Azeria said. “Not quickly, at least. Your Aesdar are dead. You’re ours. This is over.”
“It’s not over,” Sidran said. His eyes drifted up. “You never put all your cards down at once.” Kaldir followed his gaze. “Whether I live or die, this city will fall.”
For a moment, he thought the battle was over. It was dark and still. Then the darkness shifted, and he realized the entire skylight was blocked by a body. With a thunderous roar, massive black talons curled over the stone portal. Like a bird breaking through an egg shell, it r
ipped away a chunk of thick stone like it was nothing.
Behind them, Halmerah was already shifting back, falling to her knees with a cry of anguish. Peering through sweat-soaked hair, she shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you,” she seethed, headed for Sidran.
“No,” Azeria said. She stepped into Halmerah’s way, glaring up at the imposing queen. “He lives. He has much to answer for.”
Viraszel growled. “Agree. Live.”
Another huge chunk of the roof was ripped away, and the Aesdar clung to the edge, its head filling the space. “Move!” Kaldir bellowed. Azeria leaped onto his back, and he jumped out of the way as a wide white beam slammed into the stone. Energy crackled from the blast, scorching the nearby trees. In the wake of the blast, three green-scaled Talons descended into the garden.
She patted his back. “One more?”
“Yes,” he growled. His body was a patchwork of pain, torn open by claws and molten metal. He was fairly sure his mother had scorched all the scales off his back and roasted his wings. But this was it. They were so close. Then he could go home to her. He turned long enough to bump his head against Viraszel’s. “Fight.”
“Go. These are mine,” she replied, nudging him forward. He launched into the air, hurling flame as he went. Behind him, Viraszel let out a deafening roar and followed. One of the Talons broke toward her, and he watched it disappear in a massive sphere of flame. A burning skeleton plummeted from the sky and into the smoldering gardens.
Azeria’s warm presence enveloped him. Darting past the other Talons, Kaldir squeezed out through the broken roof and barreled for the Aesdar. As he flew past it, he breathed fire into its face, prompting a roar of rage.