Black Harvest

by M. C. Planck

  “Oh!” Lucien said, shocked.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenny said, and Christopher realized she had been waiting for the dragon, not for him.

  “Do not be,” Lucien answered. “I know who to blame.” He strode after Cannan with grim purpose.

  “They are not really dragon-kin,” Alaine explained softly. “Just an affectation. Yet they are innocent enough in their own way, unlike those horrid goblins. However, for our purposes today, the distinction is nonexistent. They will attempt to kill and eat us just as vigorously.” She hustled after Lucien.

  “Why are we in an alley?” Lalania asked. “Did we go through another gate?”

  “No,” Jenny said, “although close enough. Look up.”

  Christopher did so and flinched at what he saw. Above him was a dull metallic purple dome that peaked at five hundred yards high and stretched two miles wide, covering an entire city. It curved down behind them; they had crawled under the lip. The buildings on either side of the alley were ordinary enough, stone and slate slapped together without an eye for tight joins. The road underfoot was cobbled in brick and marginally smoother. Over the tops of the ramshackle buildings, the farthest part of the artificial purple sky was at least a mile away. In the distance, he could see taller buildings as grand as Greek temples. Flying over the nearest was a long golden-hued dragon. The dragon raked the temple with fire and the marble cracked, flame washing blackened bodies out from between the columns.

  “A demi-plane,” Jenny said. “Left over from the first age of the gods. Light knows the hjerne-spica would never pay for so much adamantium even if they could afford it. Only the gods would be so profligate.” Her face was wreathed with disgust. “Who knows how long they have sheltered here, protected from divination and direct assault by that indestructible membrane. We may yet have a sharp contest.”

  There was a series of explosions in the distance.

  “Just to be clear,” Christopher said, because no one had made it explicit. “That dragon is on our side, right?”

  Jenny laughed at his ignorance. “Yes, of course. Today all dragons are your friends, although Oribus would gladly eat you any other day of the week.”

  “Incoming!” Cannan called from the mouth of the alleyway. He ducked back behind the wall and held his sword in both hands. “Trolls.” Lucien stood on the opposite side of the alley and flexed his hands like claws. Alaine drew her long, thin sword.

  Jenny gave Christopher one last inexplicable look. It might have been warning, or compassion, or something else entirely. Then she turned to face the incoming threat and began to stretch.

  The front half of the girl rushed down the alley while the back half stayed in place. The stuff in between was made of snow-colored dragon. When her wings unfurled and beat down, they reached over the tops of the buildings and drove a wind screaming through the alleyway, collapsing one of the buildings under the pressure. With a second beat she was airborne, a dozen yards above the ground, and the last bit of little girl flowed into the tip of a long white tail. He had thought Lucien was huge in his true form; Jenny dwarfed the green dragon. She was white all over, but the edges of her scales caught the light and sparkled in muted rainbows. This was an effect all the more astonishing because there was hardly any light to speak of, only the illumination of the distant burning buildings. Without the elven potion, Christopher would have seen none of this.

  He discovered the limits of the potion when she breathed down on the street beyond. The world flared, the light too bright to tolerate, and he had to turn his head aside. When he could see again, Cannan was alone at the end of the alley.

  “Come,” the big man ordered, waving in impatience. Christopher and Lalania obeyed.

  They moved out into the street, stepping over a dozen charred corpses of trolls. Cannan stabbed at some as he ran by, draining their tael into his sword, but he left more than he harvested, moving quickly.

  “Incredible,” Lalania muttered. “We are literally jumping over my fifth rank in our rush to be killed by something else.”

  A hundred trolls would not buy Christopher his next rank. If they won, there would be plenty of time to harvest later; if they did not, it wouldn’t matter.

  The sky was full of dragons now, a dozen of them wheeling up and down across the underground city. Most were blue or green, with only one white and two yellow.

  “We need to find cover,” Cannan growled. “They will send a task force to seal the breach against reinforcements. We do not want to be here when that happens.”

  “Turn left,” Lalania said, pointing ahead. “At the next street.”

  “How can you possibly know which way to go?” Christopher huffed as they ran.

  “A city is a city. We want to be away from the edge but not in the center.”

  Cannan ran around the corner and into a dozen of the small lizard warriors. There was a furious battle as they stabbed at him with their forked spears, and he mowed them down like grass. Christopher moved to join, but Lalania held him back.

  “Spell up,” she said.

  He started casting. After a while, Cannan finished and came over to receive a few spells as well. Christopher felt that everyone in his party should enjoy the energy protection field today. The chance of suffering friendly fire seemed enormous.

  Only one small spell was necessary to replenish Cannan’s tael from the battle. Lalania frowned at the expense anyway.

  “We cannot all wear mithiril,” Cannan said, sounding defensive.

  “Let us not spend ourselves against petty targets,” she answered. “The elves can weed what the dragons miss. Somewhere out here there should be a target worthy of your sword.”

  They turned at the sound of large feet, running in panic. Half a dozen trolls swept down the street, passing Christopher and his party without a glance. Behind them ran a pair of armored elves, one firing a bow as she ran. An arrow to the leg would cause a troll to stumble and fall, whereupon the other elf would decapitate it with a sword that flashed with searing light as it cut. The battle turned the corner and moved out of sight. When Christopher went to look, the trolls were lying headless on the ground, and the elves were nowhere to be seen.

  “You know all of those elves outrank me, right?” Cannan asked Lalania.

  “Show-offs,” the bard muttered. She shook her head. “I’m still right. Between Christopher’s spells and that sword, you are a dagger poised to strike. It should not be wasted on small game”.

  “You want to find a squid?” Christopher asked.

  “Erm. Perhaps we should not aim quite so high. How about a bishop? The dragon-kin must have priests who will heal the same as any other. Let us disrupt their supply.”

  They moved from street to street, putting distance between themselves and the tunnel entrance. Cannan kept a dozen feet ahead, in case there were traps. He peeked around a corner and immediately sprinted back, waving for them to run.

  “Here,” Lalania said, her hands jiggling the door of a brown stone building. It opened, and Cannan dashed inside. Christopher followed, ducking his head to fit through the low door. Lalania slipped in and pulled the door shut.

  Christopher found a peep-hole in the door. He had to kneel to look through it. Outside a swarm of several hundred dragon-kin rushed down the street. Behind them came a regiment of much larger lizardlike humanoids. These were at least seven feet tall and covered in metal scaled armor that looked surprisingly similar to what Christopher and Cannan wore, and they carried massive halberds, small tree trunks with a sharpened anvil on the end.

  He turned around to tell his friends that the defensive task force had arrived. Cannan stood with his sword held high, ready to strike, staring at a dozen of the small dragon-kin on the other side of the room.

  These dragon-kin were not armored. They were barely armed, with a mixture of weapons like long knives and a rolling pin, and shuffled in an aimless mob, pushing each other forward.

  “Lower your blade,” Lalania whispered.

&
nbsp; Cannan let his arms drop to his waist. The dragon-kin stopped advancing. Lalania raised a finger to her lips. All of them stood in silence until the heavy sound of marching passed down the street.

  Christopher pushed the door open and ducked outside. Lalania and Cannan came out after him, and together they all ran around the corner. Just when he thought it was safe to say something, it started raining crossbow quarrels.

  Cannan ducked, trying to hide his head behind his huge sword. Half a dozen bolts rattled on his armor. Lalania was struck square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her. The bolt bounced off and landed at her feet. Another bolt clipped her hair, and Christopher distinctly saw a blonde lock fall to the ground.

  Up the street there were at least a hundred dragon-kin. The second rank was already stepping forward to fire.

  “Behind me,” Christopher said, and stepped forward, standing up straight and tall. Cannan sheltered in his wake, struggling to make himself small. Lalania hid behind the big knight.

  It was quite unnerving watching the cloud of sharp, short bolts flying directly at him. Every single one missed, thanks to the cloak. They landed to either side, sparked against the cobblestones in front of him, or sailed over his head. He did not thank Master Sigrath, not even silently.

  The dragon-kin went through three complete rotations, each bowman firing and moving to the rear of the line to reload. By the time they gave up and retreated, the street was carpeted in quarrels. The dragon-kin suddenly broke and ran, disappearing down a side street. Looking for something they could kill, no doubt.

  “Should we chase them?” Christopher asked. As he moved forward his foot rolled on quarrel and he almost fell.

  Lalania had recovered enough to complain. “A regiment of commoners? There must be hundreds of them here. What difference would one more or less make?”

  “They’re archers,” Christopher said. When she continued to frown, he explained. “They might be able to hurt the dragons.”

  “Let us hope not,” she said with a shudder. “Otherwise we are completely lost.”

  “Ballistae,” he said. “Siege engines. Maybe there.” He pointed toward the city center, where stone structures stood commandingly over the lesser buildings.

  “They are not you,” Cannan said. “And even you never successfully brought a cannon to bear on a dragon.”

  “Not guns,” Lalania hissed, peering forward. “Magic.”

  Sparkling rockets blazed from the top of a stone tower, lancing out and stabbing a golden dragon in the sky. The creature banked and turned, swooping toward its attackers. It must have cast a spell because the next wave of arcane missiles splashed harmlessly off. Just before the dragon came into range to breathe, a vast storm of missiles shot up from the ground around the tower. They overwhelmed the shield, and the beast was pierced a hundred times.

  It broke off its attack, howling like a freight train, diving for cover, and wheeling away from the deadly bolts. More came; the dragon sagged as it fled, and Christopher realized it would not make it to safety.

  From above fell the white dragon, its terrifying roar rumbling across the city and reflecting off the dome above. Despite the noise of battle and the distance, Christopher could hear a furious ringing, chimes and gongs being beaten to within an inch of their life. Obviously the countermeasure worked; arcane missiles continued to streak up from the ground. The white dragon’s shield also failed, and the bolts began striking home. Again the creature could not close the distance; it breathed out a vast white cloud and used the cover to change direction, diving back to where the gold was now far enough away to escape the bolts.

  “Why didn’t we think of that?” Christopher asked.

  “It’s not music,” Lalania snapped. “It’s magic.”

  “Look,” Cannan ordered. He pointed with his sword.

  The cloud had not worked. Somehow the bolts kept coming through the distraction, hammering the white dragon. It sank lower and lower, seeking cover, and finally fell to the ground, only a hundred yards from the tower.

  Cannan was already running forward. Christopher ran after him. If Lalania wanted a useful target, this was it. The large lizard warriors would not need crossbows to kill a dragon on the ground. They could use their massive halberds.

  Lalania ran past him. Christopher realized Cannan was slowing down, waiting for him to keep pace. The bard did not. Soon she was fifty, then a hundred yards ahead. Christopher ran as fast as he could.

  “Go after her,” he panted.

  Cannan shook his head in denial.

  Up ahead a wall began crawling out of the rubble. Lalania was putting the lyre to work. Christopher could see her standing in the middle of the street, playing. Dragon-kin began to rush at her from the surrounding buildings.

  All of them died in a hail of arrows. Elves appeared from the shadows, covering Lalania, screening her. They fell back to the wall she had built just as Christopher and Cannan reached it.

  “Priest,” one of the elves said, “Come.” He turned and ran behind a huge stone warehouse. It didn’t sound like a request, so Christopher and his party followed.

  The white dragon was lying the middle of a pile of stone and timber that had once been several two-story buildings, a jetliner after a crash landing. Christopher could hear battles raging all around the perimeter, held at bay by Lalania’s wall and elven swords.

  Argeous stood at the dragon’s head, arguing with it. “You must be away, my lady. Our position will be overrun soon. Lizardvolk halberdiers approach from behind to crush us against the anvil ahead.”

  “I cannot,” came the answer in a deep bass that Christopher nonetheless recognized as having the same essential quality as the child Jenny’s speech. “The darts will pierce me if I rise.”

  “Then transform, and I will transport you to safety,” Argeous implored.

  “I am out of shapes for the day. In any case, as a human child, I can offer this battle no more assistance. As a dragon, even on the ground, I can still contribute.”

  “Or flee, and live to fight another day.”

  The dragon rumbled in what could only be a chuckle. “I do not have so many days left. This may be my last fight regardless.”

  Argeous was beside himself with grief. “The Stone Legion waits for you. The world cannot lose you forever. It is unthinkable.”

  While Christopher lacked the healing power of the priests of the Bright Lady, he made up for it in rank. He now had a very high-level spell that he had never really considered casting before. It seemed ineffective in terms of cost. A single casting of it would heal anyone completely, but he could use a spell of that rank to inflict an awful lot of damage, and even the hardiest person he knew—which was to say himself—could be healed with a handful of lesser spells. However, it looked like he had just discovered a cosmic loophole. It was time to see if “anyone” meant what it said.

  He pulled off his gauntlet and touched one of the dragon’s huge scales. The size of a car door, it was smooth and warm, like heated glass. He chanted the syllables of his spell. White magic gushed from his hand, splashing against the dragon before being absorbed. The release of so much energy made him dizzy.

  The dragon turned its head to look at him, the vitality in its eyes testifying to the effect of his healing. “Thank you, Christopher. I will see that your magic is put to good use.”

  “It changes nothing,” Argeous shouted. “You must still flee.”

  “I still cannot. The arcanists wait on the other side of that wall. They will slay me before I can climb out of reach.”

  “Dragon-kin casters?” Cannan asked, a calculating look in his eye. “You cannot go where I cannot,” the dragon said gently. “They will riddle you with half a thought.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Cannan said. “Captain, give me six good men.” He held his hand out to Lalania while he spoke.

  “Oh Cannan,” she said, wincing. “There will be other foes than magic.”

  “And once the dragon is in the
air, she can deal with them.”

  Argeous snapped his fingers. Six elves detached themselves from the wall and stood around Cannan, eyeing him critically. They had dropped their shields and carried a sword in each hand, although not all of them were male.

  Lalania took the null-stone off and draped it over Cannan’s neck. She kissed him and stepped back, biting her tongue.

  He laughed at her. “Make me famous.” He turned to the elves. “Stay within twenty feet of me or die.” Then he charged around the wall, followed by the silver-clad elves.

  Nobody else dared follow him. They stood in tense silence until Aregous grinned, his gaze on the ground, although Christopher understood he was using magic to see on the other side of the wall.

  “A fine and proper distraction,” Argeous said, and the white dragon sprung into the air. The downbeat of her wings drove them all to the ground. As her head cleared the wall, she spat fire on the other side. Some arcane bolts still lanced her, but not enough, and by the time Christopher gained his feet, she was gone.

  “We must move,” Argeous said. “The lizardvolk still come.”

  Eight elves were carrying huge shields, constructed on the spot out of ordinary shields and magic. They used them to create a portable wall for the others to hide behind. Christopher, Lalania, and Argeous were in the center, flanked by the score of elves who had surrendered their shields. Together the crowd moved out from behind the wall and pushed into an open field.

  The field had once held crops, although Christopher did not recognize them and could not imagine what kind of plant grew in complete darkness. Now it held a battlefield. The crops were burning, their light reflecting off mud slick with blood. Corpses lay everywhere in various stages of dismemberment or cremation. Small dragon-kin dashed about in confusion, occasionally emitting sparkling bolts that failed to pierce the shield-wall. The elves would dart out and skewer anything that got within a dozen feet. Slowly the wall moved forward, picking its way over the broken ground.

  Through gaps in the shields, Christopher could see their destination. A thick knot of figures battled in the middle of the field, more continuously rushing to join the scrum. He could see the large halberdiers mixed in with the dragon-kin, and here and there trolls loping eagerly to the smell of battle. At the center was a black hemisphere, twenty feet high and across. The null-stone activated, its magic blocking his potion-derived night vision. The men inside could not hold out against this flood of bodies. Christopher desperately wished for an artillery section or at least a rocket launcher.