by N M Zoltack
A whimper and a whine had Vivian jerking back. It sounded animalistic rather than human, but she followed the soft sound barely audible over the harsh, loud crackling of the flames all around her. Buildings groaned in protests, bits of wood and stone falling and cracking apart.
Not far from the shack, she noticed a bush was trembling. Sure enough, the whimpering came from it, and she shifted the bush aside when sharp teeth clamped onto her arm. Thankfully, she still wore the armor she put on before the battle, but the crazed dog dented her vambrace, thankfully not her gauntlet. She yanked back her arm, the dog still attached, dangling from her.
Vivian murmured to him, trying to get him to stop biting, to stop being so afraid, but he continued to cling to her, snarling, shaking his head, trying to get through the metal.
She had to ease a gauntleted finger from her other hand into his mouth to pry his teeth from her arm. He fell to the ground hard. His mouth foamed a bit, and he snapped at her a few times before racing away, limping. He was hurt and most likely hungry.
She tried to hurry after him, but she became lost in a fiery sea of destruction. Even though it pained her greatly, Vivian forced herself to comb every inch of the place, to enter as many buildings as she dared, but she found only a few animals who had been spared.
Every human had been killed.
As for that dog who bit her? She found him shortly before she finished her sweep of the town. He was lying on his side, his chest heaving too swiftly. The princess went to touch him to try to comfort him and then removed a gauntlet before doing just that. His mouth worked as if he wanted to snap her, but he couldn't lift himself up to be threatening. In less than a minute, his speedily pounding heart beat no more.
Vivian had no tears to offer. It was as if the flames all around her had stripped every drop of moisture from her body. All she felt was numb.
Was this war? Did it strip away every bit of a person until they were nothing more than a shell of their former selves?
But this had not been the work of one from Tenoch or Vincana. This had been the handiwork of one of the dragons three. Just what did that mean for the state of Dragoona? Had the dragons decided that humans no longer deserved to live? Given everything she had seen in her almost sixteen years, honestly, Vivian could not blame them if they sought to seek and destroy every last human from the face of the earth.
16
Sir Edmund Hill
The battle against the small Vincanan force hadn’t been much of a fight at all. There hadn’t been a single female warrior among the invaders from the south, and honestly, the troop did not seem to have a conceived plan for the attack. They merely fought them to the last man, opting to die rather than be captured.
It sickened Edmund, truth be told. This carnage seemed so utterly pointless, but he was a sworn knight of Tenoch, and he would not allow any of the interlopers entrance to Atlan Castle. These men were desperate, clearly, but they did not act as the Vincanans typically did, a fact that struck Edmund as strange. The Prince of Vincana—as much as Edmund hated to think of Marcellus Gallus as such—had shown to have a level head and a keen sense of battle instincts. Was it possible some of the Vincanans had acted on their own?
The hours passed by, and the moon shone down on them whenever clouds would allow her to. Edmund refused to bob his head and continually patrolled the entire length of the castle no matter how long each revolution took him. None of the dragons returned that night, and neither had any of the Vincanans.
Neither had any of the other warriors from Tenoch, though.
A few of the other guards were relieved of their duties to rest, but Edmund stayed on.
Around midday, he could hear footsteps above him. Someone had walked out onto the balcony, and he stepped forward enough so that he might look up and see who might be there.
Queen Rosalynne Rivera stood there, her small hands on the railing as she gazed skyward. Her dress was a deep royal blue, but he was drawn to her dark eyes and the dark circles beneath them. Her chestnut-colored hair hung down over her shoulders, not pinned up in the slightest.
Her gaze dropped down to him, and her lips barely curled at the corners as she recognized him. “Sir Edmund, how are you?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but to his horror, he yawned loudly.
Her chuckle seemed a bit forced. “When have you last slept, Sir Edmund?”
“I do not need—”
“Go,” she ordered.
“But—”
“You are relieved of duty.”
“My Queen, I—”
“If you continue to refute me, I will add more days off,” she warned. “You are not to come back for two days.”
“But—”
“Have you even seen a castle healer?” she interrupted.
"No. Why would I?"
“All of that blood is not yours?” she asked doubtfully.
“I…” He glanced down. Some of the blood might be his. “Very well, My Queen.”
“Very well,” she returned. “Oh, and Sir Edmund? Thank you kindly.”
He nodded and then bowed before staggering off.
Although he might have removed his armor to allow one of the servants to dust it with sand to clean it, he opted to wear it. He did, however, opt to head to the stable and procure one of the horses there. Maybe he shouldn’t, and he was surprised to see the royal stable half-filled, but he was already riding away before he could reconsider.
It wasn’t long before he found himself guiding the horse along familiar streets to a place he had come many times before—Mermaid’s Tears. It was just as well that he had the route so well-rehearsed as he could barely see straight.
He wasn’t coming to the alchemist’s shop because he might be injured.
No, he merely missed Tatum.
Tatum Hill.
The woman who had married his brother Dudley.
The woman Edmund had fallen for despite himself.
Tatum was a wonder, utterly brilliant, willing to do anything and everything for Tenoch. He shouldn't think of her this way, but honestly, Edmund had to wonder why on earth she would marry someone like Dudley. Dudley just wasn't like her. He didn't share her love of Tenoch, and Dudley was driven by greed. For so long, he had been content to live with their parents, to work with them, but now, he had gotten into his head that he wanted a hotel even though Tatum's business was thriving, especially because she had caught the attention of the queens and was making potions for Tenoch's military.
He had no idea if she would even be at the shop, and he wasn't surprised to see that the shop was closed for the day. With a heavy heart, he turned the horse aside when the door opened, and Tatum popped her head out.
“Edmund,” she said with a wide, easy smile. “Come on in.”
Grinning back at her, he slid down from the horse and tethered it to the post out front before following her inside.
“I’ve been making as many healing potions and salving emollients as I can,” she said, and it was only now that he saw how fatigued she seemed, how slow her movements were as she sat down in the middle of her work. There were hundreds of bottles spread out around her with huge jugs filled with, he assumed, ingredients.
“Can I help?” he almost begged. Her stomach was no longer flat now, as she carried a child within her, and he feared she was not doing the babe any favors by working so hard.
“Give me company,” she murmured before lifting her gaze from the vial she held.
His armor creaking, he sat down near her, careful not to touch anything she had carefully laid out.
Her dainty nose wrinkled, and her steely blue eyes locked onto his shoulder. “You’re injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“Remove your pauldron,” she insisted, her voice firm and broaching no argument.
She rose to her feet with more grace than he would have thought her capable of possessing while pregnant, and she went to remove the armor piece covering his shoulder before he could. Togethe
r, they undid the fastens.
Tatum clucked her tongue. “Do you not feel pain?”
“No,” he answered honestly.
“That might not be a good thing,” she said worriedly. She attempted to have him lift his arm, and that was when the pain started. He grinned through it, though, and lifted his arm through all of the various angles she desired.
She straightened from having crouched over to move his arm while she stood and he sat, and she walked a bit to find a particular potion. Instead of having him drink it, she poured it onto his shoulder. He hadn’t the time to even look at how badly injured he was before the skin started to nit itself back together, healing before his eyes.
“That’s incredible!” he exclaimed.
“I don’t have many like that,” she says, nodding to the now-empty bottle. “It’s very potent.”
“You shouldn’t have wasted it on me.”
“No?” she murmured, brushing her brown locks away from her face. “Why not, Edmund? You are… You are a… brother to me.”
“A friend,” he begged, not wishing her to think of him as a brother, hating himself for feeling for her as he did.
“A friend then,” she agreed with a brilliant smile, and Edmund felt as if he had drunk another potion altogether.
17
Queen Rosalynne Rivera
The sky was a bright red slashed across the blue even as the sun nearly reached its pinnacle. It seemed as if red was all around the queen, blood and fire and burns and all.
Rosalynne had already diverted many rooms of the keep to serve as overflow, for the healing hall that served as an infirmary had been filled within minutes after the dragon started his assault. The castle healers were doing all they could to help the people, and Rosalynne had learned from a messenger that Queen Sabine had sent word to a Tatum Hill to provide as many healing potions as she could to the castle as swiftly as possible.
All in all, there wasn’t anything else Rosalynne could do for the persons within the castle, and there were plenty of others outside of these walls who needed her guidance and protection as well.
As such, she summoned Wymond Ward, her master-at-sea, for a meeting.
The man had the look of one who spent a great deal more time on a rocking deck of a ship rather than on land. His face was grizzled, hard lines from too many long hours under the heat of the unforgiving sun without the protection afforded by a hat. His eyes were a sharp gray that told her he missed little, and his hair had far more white than black.
She bade him sit but opted to remain standing herself and even paced a bit beside the tea table he sat at. “I know the sea is your domain, but I thought I might ask you if you have any ideas about how we might handle the dragons.”
“I thought well you might ask me that,” he said, sounding almost gleeful.
“I take it then you have something to suggest then?” she asked cautiously, daring not to get her hopes lifted.
“Indeed I do. Back in the olden days, there were these terrible creatures that used to threaten the Vast Waters. Between the krakens and the sea lizards, the massive morgawrs and the gritros, those on the seas had to have powerful weapons to ensure the ships reached their destinations.”
“What did they use?” Rosalynne asked, fascinated. She had seen pictures of the various sea creatures long ago. The krakens with their huge tentacled arms; the sea lizards that were essentially lizards who lived in the sea and were the size of small houses; the morgawrs, vicious sea serpents who were rumored to flip over ships and swallow sailors whole, and the gritros, whale-like creatures with massive heads and even larger mouths that could swallow entire ships, sailors and all.
“I would have to check in the library, but I have no reason to believe that we don’t still have the manuals to know how to construct them.”
“Them meaning what precisely?” Rosalynne asked patiently.
“Ah, forgive me,” Wymond muttered. He chuckled at himself.
“Wymond.”
“Oh, yes. Harpoons.”
“Harpoons,” she repeated.
“Yes, long, strong—”
“I know what harpoons are,” she interrupted. “Would it be possible to shoot high into the sky?”
“I believe most of the time, the harpoons could only be used when the sea monsters were close to the surface, but we might be able to make some modifications so that we can have more angles to fight against a flying foe.”
“And we would need the harpoons to be stationed near the castle, near any major city,” Rosalynne mused.
“Any major city?” he repeated.
“Oh, yes. The dragons haven’t been seen near Atlan. The castle is fine. We put out the fires, and the castle is almost entirely made from stone. But the dragons would not have just stopped their assault on Dragoona, I don’t think, or at the very least, we have to assume they will come at our people again and again. Locate the manuals. Have copies of them made and sent out to Etian, Olac, Cilla, and Maloyan, bare minimum. We should have more sent up. Oh, maybe we could have some constructed in the Olacic Mountains!”
Wymond’s tan face grew grayer and grayer the more she spoke, but he did not refute her wishes, and he bowed and almost fled from the room.
Only now did Rosalynne sit, and she drank some of the now-cold tea. Harpoons were a start, yes, but she wished she did not have to first think of attack. How else, though, could she defend her people? It wasn’t as if the dragons had taken the time to tell anyone why they were attacking them.
Until and unless the dragons spoke, if they ever did, there was simply no way to know how there might be a peaceful resolution.
Perhaps if she sought out the dragons herself…
Rosalynne shuddered as the mental image of a dragon feigning wanting a meeting only to burn her to a crisp or, perhaps worse, swallowing her whole sprang to mind.
But even as she felt relief to have some semblance of a plan, she knew all was not well. The dragons could kill the messengers, could kill those constructing the harpoons, could destroy the weapons before they were used.
No, this wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
War against Vincana had seemed almost impossible. War against dragons was, simply put, inconceivable.
18
Rase Ainsley
The thirteen-year-old had been searching for his sister for hours now with no luck, and he was ready to throw his hands up and leave her be. If she didn’t want his help, then maybe they should go their separate ways.
But then he heard sniffing from within the forest. His hand reached for the knife he always had on his person, and he slipped from behind a tree to another tree, moving silently, creeping along beside hares and other game that did not react to his presence.
When he came upon a young woman weeping into her hands, sitting on a trunk of a chopped-down tree, he released his grip on the handle.
“Leanne,” he said softly.
She jerked, her hands dropping. Her face was blotchy, her eyes bloodshot.
“Dragon,” she sputtered. “D-Dragons! D-Dragons flew… Did you see… D-Dragons…”
“I saw,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Come here.”
“Fire everywhere. So much fire. Fighting… fighting…”
“There’s no fighting now,” he said encouragingly, taking a few steps toward her, not wishing to frighten her.
“Dragons real,” she muttered, her gaze falling from him to the ground. She slowly shook her head, the movement stiff and unnatural. “Dragons. Dragons!”
“Yes, I saw one.”
“Three,” she murmured. “Three of them.”
Rase’s stomach flipped and twisted. Who cared if the dragons had returned? They had been gone for so very long. Honestly, Rase wasn’t sure if he believed in dragons until he saw one. He did recall being told stories about them. Something about how they tried to get humans to act a certain way. How had that worked out? Not well. Humans had killed them, hadn’t they?
“T
hree dragons, huh? Well, we better get to our house, then, don’t you think?”
Leanne began to rock back and forth on the tree trunk. “Dragons,” she murmured over and over again. “Dragons.”
There was something very wrong with her, and Rase was afraid she would run off again if he was too firm. He slowly made his way over to her and then hesitated before putting a hand on her shoulder.
She jerked as if he had struck her.
“Dragons,” he said.
“Dragons,” she repeated, hunching over, accepting his touch.
Slowly, he reached down for her hand. She didn’t hold his, but she didn’t pull her hand away either. He eased her to her feet, and he directed her out of the forest.
Whenever she slowed down, he just had to say, “Dragon,” and she would start to walk again. Her light brown hair looked knotty, and she was looking too thin again. If she didn’t start to eat again more consistently, her hair was liable to start to fall out again.
It took almost two hours for their slow crawling pace to bring them to the house. Rase ushered her inside, and he even drew up a bath. He wasn’t about to help her with that, and he risked leaving the house to hire a young woman to act as a maid for his sister. He left her to wash Leanne, but only five minutes later, the maid returned to the kitchen, where he was chopping up some vegetables.
“She won’t get in the water,” the maid said, wringing her hands.
Rase muttered a curse under his breath, words he overheard at one of the bars his pa used to frequent.
He followed the maid back to the bathroom, and he managed to coax Leanne into the water while still wearing her clothes. Maybe they could get washed at the same time.
The young teen moved to stand by the door, his back to her. “Leanne, I’m here, don’t you worry, you hear? Let her wash you. You need to be washed.”
“The…”
“The dragons want you to be washed,” he said.
He could hear water splashing now, and he risked a peek over his shoulder. Leanne was allowing the maid to wash her arm.