The dragon dove, almost eluding the clumsy projectile, but the log clipped it on the back. It lurched, its flight affected, and Yanko sucked in a triumphant breath. He doubted that had hurt the creature, but it was the first thing that had gotten through to touch it.
“Levitate objects and throw them,” Yanko ordered.
“Uh, I don’t know how to do that,” someone said.
A disheartening number of murmurs of assent followed the statement, but a couple of weather mages stepped up beside Yanko and nodded.
“What do we use?” one asked. “The fields don’t have much.”
“Whatever you can find.”
As the dragon hammered another beam attack into their barrier, eliciting groans from those maintaining it, including Yanko, one of the weather mages stirred up a tiny cyclone and lifted a carriage their troops had left behind when they rushed toward the south gate.
It spun through the air toward the dragon, and Yanko thought it would strike, but their enemy whirled in the air and shot more beams from its eyes. They cut into the carriage, and one must have struck the Made energy device that powered it. The artifact ruptured in an explosion that rivaled the ones Dak was setting off in the city. Tiny shards of wood hammered against the barrier; they were all that remained of the carriage.
Yanko eyed the houses outside the city walls, searching for something heavier and sturdier that he could throw, something that wouldn’t be easily blown up. The idea of tearing up people’s homes did not appeal to him, nor did the wooden structures look much more formidable than the carriage.
“We should have brought cannons,” someone groaned, on his knees and resting after the latest assault on their barrier.
Yanko eyed the wrought-iron gate at the city entrance. While the dragon was banking and not attacking them, he summoned a great gust of wind. It tore the gate from its hinges, and he tilted the pointed bars and arrowed them toward the dragon.
Again, the creature sensed the attack coming and shot golden beams of energy toward it. They cut through the metal but only succeeded in breaking it up. The remains of the gate pelted the creature. It shrieked and wheeled away, shaking one wing and flying lopsidedly. A single iron bar had pierced that wing.
Yanko clenched his fist. They’d hurt it. More like that and they could—
An ambitious mage, no doubt seeing they had damaged their enemy, hurled a fireball.
“No!” Yanko cried.
He’d been busy looking for something else to throw and couldn’t stop the attack in time. The fireball reached the dragon, but as before, it was absorbed by their scaled enemy. Yanko sensed it incorporating the fireball and growing in power. The dragon snarled, ripped the bar free from its wing with its teeth, and dropped it into a field below. Its wingbeats grew steady again, and its body rippled with energy.
“No more fireballs,” Yanko called. “No energy attacks at all. We have to find ways to sap it of its energy.”
“How?” someone demanded.
“Keep throwing things at it. Not energy.”
“Do you want me to jab these mages with my daggers if they throw fireballs?” Jhali gripped one of those daggers, looking like she longed to throw it at something. It had to be frustrating not to be able to help.
“No.” Yanko wished he’d fought her harder and urged her to go with the others, where she would have been able to fight mundane human beings and make a difference.
He looked toward the city wall again, thinking of tearing off chunks of stone to hurl. If they succeeded in capturing the capital, Zirabo would order someone to fix the wall later.
His gaze fell upon one of the unoccupied guard towers. Before he could get into a debate with himself about whether he had the power to tear it off the wall, he channeled energy into the brittle mortar seams, breaking the bonds as he willed a great gust of wind to shove the structure into the air.
Rock snapped, and metal rebar he hadn’t detected groaned. He poured more energy into the wind pushing at the structure, and with a cacophonous crack, the tower flew away from the wall, raining broken mortar and stones. Sweat ran down Yanko’s neck as he lifted it into the air, hoping to duplicate what he’d done with the soul construct.
But the dragon continued to dive and attack and fly around. It moved much more quickly than the soul construct had, and it was an erratic target. If he dropped the tower onto the ground, he would look like an idiot. Worse, he would have wasted a lot of his precious energy on this attempt.
As the dragon sailed past their barrier again, Yanko spotted the bar it had torn out of its wing. It lay on the highway pavement. While keeping most of his concentration on the tower now hovering high above the ground, Yanko flicked a little charge of power at the bar. It hurtled through the air like an arrow loosed from a bow, too fast for the dragon to dodge. The bar pierced its wing once more, eliciting a new screech.
The dragon spun in the air, alternating between flying and trying to reach the bar to pull it out with its teeth. In that moment, it stayed in one place.
Yanko maneuvered the tower to hover over the dragon, then dropped it.
The creature tore the bar free, and he thought it would have time to react. But gravity was as effective as the unleashed energy of a bow. The tower slammed down onto the dragon’s back. It was heavy enough to knock the creature to the ground, and the force of the dragon and tower landing as one reverberated through the highway under Yanko’s feet.
Pain pounded the backs of Yanko’s eyes, letting him know he was drawing on too much of his energy. He dashed sweat from his eyes with a shaky arm, hoping his last effort would be enough to defeat the dragon but doubting they would be that lucky.
A hand gripped his arm. Jhali. She stood next to him, supporting him.
He patted her hand, glad someone was around to keep him from pitching to the ground.
“Throw more things at it!” he yelled to the mages as the dragon staggered to its feet, sloughing off the broken walls and roof tiles of the tower. “Not fireballs.”
He hated to repeat himself but feared it was necessary, that the other mages hadn’t grasped what happened when they used magic on the dragon. That their energy fed the dragon and made it stronger.
Yanko, exhausted from his efforts so far, wished he could absorb their enemy’s power and replenish his own reserves. But people didn’t work like that. Only magical creations. At least, he assumed so.
Uhm, Mother? He reached out telepathically to her, sharing images of the fight and what he’d seen so far. Is it possible to siphon energy from a magical creation into… yourself?
Judging from the pause that came after the question, she didn’t know.
I think you might blow yourself up if you tried to do that. If it’s even possible. I haven’t ever tried.
But magical energy from people had to create this, right? Sun Dragon said as much. If energy could go into it, energy must be able to be removed.
Probably. But removed and put where? Human bodies aren’t containers for magical energy. You might burn your organs to crisps if you tried to store it inside of you.
Yanko frowned. That wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“Yanko?” one of the weather mages asked, weariness slumping her shoulders. “I don’t think I can throw anything else.”
She and another weather mage had been lifting scraps from the destroyed tower and hurling them at the dragon. Their scaled foe hadn’t taken to the air again, but it was back on its feet and plodding inexorably toward them. It had lost some of its power, Yanko was sure of it. But those fangs still gleamed, and its eyes glowed yellow. He expected beams to lance toward them any second, and their barrier had grown far weaker as his cadre of mages grew more and more fatigued. As did he.
“Keep trying to impede it,” Yanko said. “However you can. I’ll think of something else.”
“There’s another tower.” She smiled wanly.
Yanko’s stomach lurched queasily as he looked toward the wall. Little but crumbled rub
ble remained of the first tower—the wall underneath it had collapsed when he ripped it free. If he replicated the attack with another tower, it might finish off the dragon, but he feared he would also finish off himself.
“Don’t kill yourself by trying to do too much,” Jhali warned.
“I’ll try not to.” But Yanko didn’t know what other choice he had. If they failed here, that dragon would go after the rest of their troops.
He wiped his face again, bumping his elbow against the hilt of his scimitar when he lowered his hand. He tapped the hilt thoughtfully. It seemed odd that he hadn’t drawn the blade to use in battle, but he feared its magical energy would grant the dragon power even as the steel pierced its scales. Who knew how much energy was locked up in the ancient scimitar? It might be enough to return the dragon to its full power. He couldn’t risk that.
“Locked up,” he whispered.
“What?” someone asked.
“Brace yourselves,” another mage cried.
The dragon had reached the edge of their barrier. Instead of firing beams from its eyes, it reared up on its hind legs, then drove its fanged maw down toward them.
Yanko channeled some of his waning power into the barrier and sensed the other mages doing the same. Fear made them strong. When those fangs came down, sparks flew from the barrier, but they halted in midair.
When their foe reared back to screech—to complain, it sounded like—Yanko risked taking his concentration from the barrier. He focused on the dragon, trying to sense where exactly its magic stemmed from. Some inner core? Like a Made device powering a carrier? No, the whole creature oozed magic. With his mind’s eye, he could see bands of it snaking all around the dragon and its body radiating golden power.
“You better back up,” Yanko whispered to Jhali. “I’m going to try something.”
She didn’t move, and he sensed her determination to help him. He looked into her eyes, willing her to understand that this would be dangerous for him—and for anyone standing next to him.
“I promise you can carry me off the field if I collapse,” Yanko whispered to her.
“What rewards I receive in your service.”
He grinned.
Shaking her head, Jhali backed away from him.
Yanko focused on the dragon again. He bit his lip and willed its power to flow toward his scimitar, as if the sword was magnetic when it came to magic. It had stored energy for centuries and was designed to do so. Maybe it could store the dragon’s power—if Yanko could draw it out.
One of those bands shifted, a tendril heading in his direction. It bumped against the barrier. He willed a tiny opening in it, just enough for the energy to snake through.
“We’ve been breached!” someone cried.
“Hold.” Yanko flung up his hand.
He couldn’t spare the concentration to explain or even speak further. As the tendril of energy reached him, he drew the scimitar, willing the power to enter the blade.
Outside the barrier, the dragon stopped attacking. It lowered to all fours and stopped moving at all. Its eyes locked onto Yanko.
Energy flowed into the scimitar. At first, nothing perceptible happened. Yanko hoped that meant the magical blade could store more without trouble. He pulled harder at the band and tried to draw more energy from the dragon. With his mind’s eye, he could see the pulsing power flowing through the hole in the barrier and into the scimitar. He didn’t see a thing with his actual eyes and was aware of the mages watching and muttering uncertainly among themselves.
“I see what he’s doing,” one of the fire mages said.
Yanko didn’t speak. The dragon started fighting back. Yanko had to pull harder with his mind to drag the energy away from it. Sweat dampened his robe now, his entire body. His muscles shook, and his knees weakened as he threw all of his mental energy into extracting the magic from the dragon.
He wished he could siphon some of that energy into himself, but his mother’s warning rode high in his mind. He didn’t want to blow himself up or burn out his organs.
The hilt of the scimitar grew warm in his hand. How much more could it take? The dragon was still standing.
Its eyes glowed bright, and twin gold beams shot out, straight toward Yanko.
He forgot about the barrier, and his heart almost stopped in fear. But the other mages fed power into their defense, and the beams bounced away.
The dragon snarled and didn’t give up. It poured more of its energy into its attack, and the barrier fluctuated, threatening to give.
“Keep that shield up,” the fire mage yelled. “He’s draining the monster of its power, but he needs time.”
“Draining it? How?”
“Just keep the shield up!”
Fortunately, the dragon was draining its own energy with its attack. And when focused on shooting those beams, it grew less focused on keeping Yanko from siphoning off its power. He pulled more of it into the scimitar. The hilt grew warmer and warmer until he couldn’t hold it any longer lest it scorch his hand. He feared it would explode if he channeled more power into it.
But the dragon still stood. It still had power.
Yanko bit his lip, wondering if someone else had a magical weapon he could use. But there wasn’t time to ask. The fire mage had helped bolster their barrier, but Yanko could sense it wavering again under the dragon’s unrelenting attack.
He started pulling the power into his own body. There was no other choice. He didn’t think he could simply will it off into the ether. It might blast out and hurt someone. Or worse.
Energy flooded into Yanko, strengthening his weakening limbs and giving him vigor. Mindful of his mother’s warning, he tried to spread it out, sending some to his hands, to his toes, and even to his butt. His skin tingled, and he was aware of a nimbus of light around him. Was he glowing now?
The dragon screeched one more time, then backed away.
Its eyes went dark. It stumbled and pitched to the side. All of its physical substance melted together into a tarry puddle on the ground, and its magical aura disappeared from Yanko’s awareness.
After all that, Yanko should have collapsed, but he felt invigorated by the power he’d taken from the creature. He felt like he could go on a fifty-mile sprint and have energy leftover.
“Honored Mage?” one of his comrades asked tentatively. “Did you know you’re glowing?”
Yanko looked at his arm. The nimbus he’d sensed was real. He radiated gold light, as the dragon had, and the scimitar was like a sun. Looking at it hurt his eyes, so he sheathed it.
“I think it’ll fade.” Yanko hoped it would.
“That was amazing,” the fire mage said, the only one who’d seemed to see the energy and grasp what Yanko was doing.
He stared at Yanko with a reverent expression on his face. They were all staring at him that way. It reminded Yanko of the prisoners who’d wanted to touch him after he rescued them. He’d been uncomfortable then, and he was uncomfortable now. Unfortunately, there weren’t any nearby rooms he could duck into.
Yanko? Tynlee spoke into his mind.
Yes? Yanko was relieved by the distraction but also afraid she would report that the troops had run into a massive blockade and were being routed.
We’ve cleared the way to the palace, and the generals are sending squadrons in to secure it for our use. Sun Dragon’s people still claim the majority of the city, but if you’re done playing with that dragon, you could come in and choose a room. This will be our base of operations now.
Oh. That’s good news. And we weren’t playing with the dragon.
Of course not. Come along, now. We need someone to find Dak and make sure he stops blowing up the city. The palace is ours.
18
The palace was in better shape than Yanko expected, the majority of the evidence that it had been neglected lying in the dust gathering on the furnishings, the occasional bit of trash left by transient occupants, and the overgrown grass in the various courtyards.
; In a few spots near exterior doors, scorch marks and gouges in the gilded wallpaper attested to battles that had been fought. One door was full of arrows. Fortunately, most of the friezes and statues, all crafted over the centuries by talented artists working with the rarest marble, were intact. The air smelled faintly of smoke in places, but overall, the palace still seemed a prize that had been worth taking.
Yanko and Jhali walked through the cavernous hallways, half looking for rooms they could claim for themselves and half taking the tour. They had already passed the kitchens—four of them—and though they weren’t as well-supplied as would be typical, Yanko had found a huge burlap bag of sunflower seeds left behind because they were leaking through a slit. He’d pocketed a couple of handfuls, hoping Kei hadn’t gotten lost in the city and would find him again soon.
He hadn’t attempted to convey to the bird where he would go after the dragon battle because he hadn’t expected their forces to get into the city so easily. According to Zirabo, Tynlee had used her mind powers to convince a lot of the Swift Wolves blocking the route to flee because vile Turgonians were taking advantage of the turmoil and invading Nuria. Never mind that there’d only been one vile Turgonian setting off explosives in the city. Apparently, the rumors about the dragon’s death and the approach of the powerful mage who’d been responsible had also sent people running.
Fortunately, Yanko was no longer glowing. His skin continued to tingle and feel tight, as if he’d used one of his grandmother’s fancy callus-annihilating pumice stones all over his body, but even that feeling was fading.
The scimitar still illuminated a room with the power of a sun when he drew it, but only a little light seeped out if he kept it sheathed. It was a magic sword, at least, so nobody would think that glow was odd. Glowing people, on the other hand, were strange.
As they walked and walked, Yanko realized how large the palace was. He wondered if it would be hard to guard it, as it sprawled over ten city blocks. He had never been to the Great City in his youth, but he had no trouble imagining hundreds of guards patrolling the palace and even more maids and butlers and other servants working on the inside. Had Zirabo grown up here? Yanko would have to ask.
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