Sonata Form

by Carole Cummings

  Ellis merely stood there. Stone in his outstretched hand. Sweating in the heat the wings kept beating at him. Watching the dragon watching him. It was far enough back he could see both its eyes now. And yes, Ellis was sure there was something unutterably remorseful in there.

  Whatever it was, it flickered, flared, when silver-white light skewed in from the ridge on the other side of the gorge on his flank, and slapped against the right side of Ellis’s chest so fast and bright he thought it should’ve rocked him sideways. It didn’t. It hit without force, without sound, swathing him from tip to toe. A shout in what Ellis was pretty sure was Verdish followed it from the southern end of the ridge opposite.

  Ellis held his breath. Because he knew what this was. He’d seen it. Dreamed it. And he didn’t have the ability to peel it off and throw it back like Milo had done. And while Ellis was glad he’d been the only one targeted, that the others were already well away and getting farther every second, he was also bloody tamping that it was going to end like this.

  “Milo…” Ellis swallowed, throat raw, eyes burning. “My dragonkin would’ve helped you.” Little more than a croak when it should’ve been a shout, a roar, because it was true and so real it had taken hold of Ellis’s life and shaken it into this unrecognizable misshapen thing that was going to end here, like this.

  Once Upon a Time there was a man who stood alone on a muddy ridge in the middle of the night and stared down the fiery throat of a creature the love of his life had left him to save.

  “I only… Oh, blood and rot. Milo.” Too small. Too… something.

  Though fitting, Ellis decided, that his last thought, standing in front of a dragon and waiting for the fire to move up its throat, would be of Milo. Run off to rescue dragons in a foreign land while at least one he couldn’t save, maybe didn’t get a chance to, was manipulated into, forced into, roasting his cariad.

  The perverse irony would almost be funny, if it weren’t so terrifying.

  Once Upon a Time there was a man who would’ve died laughing, if only he could breathe.

  Except.

  Except.

  It didn’t happen.

  The dragon bellowed again—full of rage this time, and hot, so hot, all but shrouding Ellis where he stood in superheated air that made it impossible to breathe—then whipped its head to the side. The man kept yelling at it, clearly ordering it. It snarled, shot Ellis a look that Milo would probably be able to interpret but Ellis certainly couldn’t, then it turned away. With a great, forceful shove of its wings, it lifted up then reeled, arcing away from the ridge with a cry that sounded less like a roar and more like a song. A sad one. A dirge.

  Ellis only stood there. Frozen. Not quite believing.

  He should be dead.

  …Shouldn’t he be dead?

  His brain wasn’t quite working. He was still muddling through the question when, halfway across the gorge, the dragon warbled something from high in its throat, wounded almost, and backwinged to an abrupt stop in midair. Hovering again, it twisted its head to one side then the other, searching, as though it heard something. It called again, that same unhappy song, and sailed upward, wings spread wide, circling slowly, until its head jerked, as though something only it could hear had answered.

  The man kept yelling. Kept commanding. Kept pointing at Ellis.

  With a cry that sounded anguished, the dragon whirled in a wide loop, plunged like an arrow to swoop just over the head of the man atop the ridge on the other side of the gorge, low enough the air thrashed into wind by its wings knocked him over. Still it didn’t stop, it didn’t turn, and it didn’t attack Ellis like it was clearly being commanded to do. It circled back around and swept down yet deeper, spewing a jet of flame along the floor of the gorge.

  Instant illumination. At least a dozen enemy soldiers were abruptly taken off guard, exposed, caught calf-deep in mud halfway across the bottom of the gorge. They yelled. Dodged back from the long line of fire the dragon laid down at their flank.

  The dragon curled up and over, trilled out another song, or maybe it was the same, as it set its nose up and… away. Wings like sails unfurled, the great, steady whoosh whoosh of them coiling somehow louder than the sirens and the whistles and the shouting and the braces on bridges still collapsing as the fires raged on.

  “Did… did that just…?” Ellis watched the huge bulk of the dragon become nothing more than a dark blot high up in a darker sky.

  The man kept yelling. The dragon kept going.

  And. What?

  What?

  Had Ellis just witnessed a dragon escaping its captor?

  He didn’t have time to ponder it. Not yet. The soldiers had only been diverted for a moment. They were once again making their way toward Ellis. Obviously set on pursuing the saboteurs. And Ellis hadn’t even noticed them. Not until the dragon had called them to his attention.

  And, seriously. What?

  He was still lit up, it wasn’t going away, and though he’d somehow just escaped certain death by dragon, that wasn’t going to mean much once he was in range of those soldiers’ guns. He might as well have a sign over his head.

  There was still paralyzing disbelief sitting at the bottom of his veins. He was still heavy with shock. Sick with adrenaline gone stale and sour. His brain still wouldn’t work. He couldn’t think of anything to do.

  So he turned and ran.

  IT TOOK him hours to lose them. And he couldn’t go anywhere near the rendezvous point until he did. The fact that he was bloody glowing didn’t help. At all.

  It went away gradually. Ellis didn’t know if it was the magic wearing off or just that he’d finally put the proper amount of distance between himself and the one who’d cast it. But when dawn started to lighten the sky into a swirling murk of roseate sapphire, he was finally able to turn himself toward the hills southwest of Granstaf where the others were waiting for him.

  They chattered at him. Glad he’d made it. Relieved he was safe. He didn’t hear them. Someone pointed him at a bedroll, and he fell on it without a word. He was asleep with his face mashed against damp wool the second he hit it.

  He Dreamed.

  He wished he hadn’t.

  Chapter 23—Rubato

  : a fluctuation of tempo within a musical phrase often against a rhythmically steady accompaniment

  “We’re losing here, Wildfire.” Ellis jammed his hands between his knees so he wouldn’t break another radio. Bethan had almost beat him about the head with the last one he’d mangled. “D’you understand what I’m saying? Tirryderch is running out of time to stop this before it gets to your borders.”

  “It’s been at our borders, or have you forgot Ynys Dawel already?”

  “I’ll see your Ynys Dawel and raise you a Hollywell, a Granstaf, and everything on our southern tip. You don’t want to play this game with me.”

  The Confederation hadn’t gained more ground but they’d got more troops through, though they’d yet to land any cannons or large artillery. Still. No one was pretending anymore that Hollywell wasn’t lost, and the lines holding Torcalon were suffering casualties every day. And Wellech hadn’t been prepared for gas warfare. Anyone with even the slightest magical ability had been called in from every corner of Wellech—cadet or citizen; young or old—and formed into their own company to reinforce the Royal Forces’ defenses against it. Still, the horrible deaths and debilitating injuries of those exposed were taking an alarming toll. Nonetheless, every able-bodied person in Wellech had taken up a weapon and joined a line somewhere by now.

  But that marauder was still out there, and Desgaul had reported sightings of two bellwings over a Confederation flotilla massing on Blackfish Bay. Desgaul’s navy had wasted no time engaging, rushing into service a small fleet of maiden dreadnoughts just launched from their cradles. Western Unified cruisers and gunships were so tight across the South Blackson there would be no breaking through by sea without using the bellwings. Thing was, from the sky it was almost a straight line from Blac
kfish Bay to Kymbrygh. And while enemy ships would have to make it around or through Preidyn’s Lauxauhn Peninsula to engage, dragons wouldn’t. If enemy dragonkin found a way through…

  With the end of Sowing came an offer to the Western Unified Alliance direct from Taraverde’s Premier: Give up Preidyn, and you’ll have your peace. It told the world in no uncertain terms that this was definitely personal. And it no doubt made the other Alliance governments, those boffins Walsh had so little regard for, wonder if sacrificing the ally that had pushed hardest for this war against Taraverde might possibly be worth it. The fact that Taraverde had been pulling back from other theaters, ceding ground across the continent while focusing even harder on the Preidynīg Isles, only drove the point deeper.

  Either way, a surge from the south was coming. Massive, Ellis could feel it. It was only a matter of time. And if the Confederation got hold of Kymbrygh, Western Unified would likely take it as their cue to accept Taraverde’s offer. The Royal Forces had been fighting on too many foreign fronts, they were spread too thin across the continent, and the troops defending the islands weren’t enough. There was no way Preidyn would survive long against the whole of the Confederation’s war machine if she had no allies.

  “I can’t say… anything, really.” Dilys had lowered her voice, just short of a whisper. “I can’t say, Prince. D’you understand? Except Hammer’s on the job, and daylight isn’t far off.”

  Hammer. Walsh. Thank every goddess. Walsh and Dilys versus Nia, who would’ve had her own backup in Terrwyn and Steffan. And wouldn’t Ellis have loved to be a fly on that wall.

  “How far off?”

  “Stop asking. Please, just trust me and stop asking or I’m going to have to cut you off.”

  Stop asking. Because even coded channels sometimes got broken. Which meant something was going on, Walsh had a plan, and Dilys knew about it. Was clearly taking heart from it.

  Except.

  “Except we need you now.” It shot out like gunfire, far too wrathful for someone who’d just got at least a tiny smidge of hope. “We can’t lose, Wildfire, we can’t, and we’re running out of time—I’m running out of time. I have to get to him, and I can’t do that ’til this is over, all right? So I need it to be over, I need—”

  Ellis cut himself off, gripping his knees so he wouldn’t crush any of the sensitive components of the radio. He shut his eyes, sucked in one long breath after another, while the radio squawked out Dilys’s voice wanting to know “Running out of time for what? …Who d’you have to get to? …Prince? …Ellis?”

  When Ellis had gathered himself enough that he could breathe again, he toggled down, and said, “I think he was captured, Dillie. I think… I think they shot him full of holes and took him.”

  The silence this time was thick and choking, before Dilys said, “How would you know that?”

  “Because I Dreamed it.” Ellis shook his head. “He’d been shot before, I watched it happen, but this time it was—”

  Horrible. Ruinous.

  There’d been no sound. Only vision, sharp and clear. Like a picture show.

  Milo at the feet of three dragons. Milo setting hands to chains and shattering them. Milo jerking back and clutching at a spot on the side of his neck, blood oozing from between his fingers. Milo stumbling back then shoving in again, determined, breaking another chain, and then the sickening jolt-lurch of another bullet hitting him, the chest this time, and then another, left arm, and then yet more, shooting his leg out from under him.

  He’d flown back. Rolled ragdoll-limp. Stayed there. Unmoving. Facedown on the ground. Broken.

  Ellis, helpless as ever, could only watch it happen and think Your shield. Where was your bloody shield?!

  The dragons swooped back down into view, wheeling low over Milo. Slow, weak, he rolled until he was on his back, looking up, blood all over him. A small smile curved his mouth. He said something—Go—and a spray of blood shot out with it. He tried again, shouted, maybe—Go!—or tried to, and the dragons circled one more time before arcing back up and away. They were gone, escaped, by the time Milo let his eyes fall shut again. Everything was getting murky for Ellis, lines going blurred and dark ,when the toe of a boot came into view, shoved at Milo’s shoulder, kicked and pushed as though checking if he were alive.

  Was he?

  Because the worst part was that Ellis couldn’t control what he was seeing. Couldn’t somehow get closer to see if Milo’s chest was still rising and falling. Couldn’t hear what the people with the boots were saying. Had no idea what they might have in mind when someone snagged hold of one of Milo’s arms and started dragging him away through the dirt like a sack of refuse. Could only see fine red threads snaking around Milo, shuddering, winding all over him, then unraveling, then winding again.

  “He’s too powerful for them to hold him for long,” Dilys said when Ellis managed to shove the story out from between his teeth. “They wouldn’t be able to hold me, and he’s ten times stronger.”

  And save him, Ellis wanted to believe it so badly, but—“And how easy is it to use that power when you’ve been hurt?”

  “He threw a shield at you from yards away with a hex burning through his back, and then he put out a swath of raging dragonfire while he was this close to being unconscious. He’s that strong.”

  “Shot. He was shot. I saw at least three hit him before he went down. There was no shield. No shield. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. And if he is, how likely is it that he’d be able to magic his way out of anything if he was hurt enough he let them take him?”

  And what if they found out he was Dewin? A Dewin, prisoner of people who’d gone to war over killing Dewin.

  Silence. Because they both knew the answer. Until Dilys asked, “And what does Mastermind say?”

  “Very little.” Angry. Still furious, even though it had been weeks since Ellis’d had that conversation.

  He’d wanted Alton to send him out Now, I need to be on a ship tomorrow, I know where he was, I can find him, I can—

  Alton, of course, was having none of it. We can barely get highly trained agents who know what they’re doing across those lines. What exactly d’you think you could do? and Let the RIC handle it, Rhywun Ellis. It’s what we do, after all. And the worst, the lowest—He wanted you in Wellech for a reason. Are you really going to invalidate everything he’s fighting for?

  If he thought he might get through the heavily patrolled ports in Caeryngryf, Ellis still might’ve tried it.

  “I haven’t Dreamed of him since. Snatches here and there, and they have the same… feel to them, like I should be seeing him, but I never do. It’s like I’m seeing where he is, but not him.” It was windless by the end, too thin. Because it was always dark, always bleak, and with a feeling of cold that was impossible, Ellis didn’t feel in Dreams, and he kept looking for the strands of red possibility, but they were never there. “I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if… I don’t know.” And he couldn’t ask Lilibet. He couldn’t ask anyone.

  “He’s alive.” Dilys said it with steady conviction, as though no other conclusion were possible. “He’s alive, and don’t forget who else is out there. Mastermind might be a bit of a minger, but don’t doubt for a second that he got a message out to the Bl—to her five seconds after he signed off with you.”

  It was the one hope Ellis had been hanging onto by fingernails already rough and ragged while he’d taken out his fears and anger on every single enemy Walsh had pointed him at. For Milo, Ellis thought as he set his bombs. For Milo, he snarled as he made himself a sniper’s nest and started shooting. For Milo, he told himself as he fisted the dragonstone and shut his eyes, hoping, and tried to—

  Ellis sat up straight, eyes popped wide. Blinked. Sucked in a sharp breath. Said, “Wildfire, I just thought of something, I have to go,” and yanked the headset off hard enough he thought maybe he’d taken an earlobe with it. Didn’t matter, wasn’t important, wasn’t anything, because he was bloody asinine, h
e was bloody brilliant, and he snapped, “Bethan! Get over here and get me Walsh on this thing!” so forcefully Bethan nearly fell on her face in the mud trying to comply.

  It took seconds. I felt like hours. And when Bethan finally handed Ellis back the headset, he hadn’t even got it on all the way before he was asking Walsh, “Have you ever heard of a dragonstone?”

  ALTON WAS interested. Aleks was more than willing.

  After Walsh got done shouting at Ellis for not telling her—

  “I didn’t know! I only made the connection when the one at Tair Afon didn’t roast me!”

  “Nearly two bloody months ago! No bloody wonder the codebreakers kept telling me the chatter on the Confederation end was insisting we had dragonkin!”

  —and, well, she had a point there. But after she’d got done with that bit, she’d ordered Ellis “and the rest of your miscreants” to come out of the wilderness, find the 133rd at the Granstaf encampment, and report to Colonel Everleigh.

  “She’ll have your orders for you,” Walsh had growled then gone off-channel.

  By the time Ellis managed to slip M Company back through the lines, the weather had turned to high summer even if the calendar insisted spring was only a week gone. Ellis hadn’t really realized exactly how unkempt they were all looking until he registered the stares they were getting from the soldiers once they’d exchanged passwords and been allowed in. They were given tents near the Home Guard units, provided with changes of clothes, and unsubtle directions to the showers. They fell upon the mess tent first.

  Once Ellis gorged on food not much better than what they’d been hunting and scrounging themselves, and then made himself more presentable—with hot water, bless every goddess—he went to report to Everleigh. She did have orders. And quite a lot to say about Wardens playing at soldier, though she said it with a friendly smirk and an approving nod when Ellis briefed her on his last four months. She also had a message from Walsh.

  Aleks only managed two more stones, because, and I quote: “Dragons is sometimes not nice.” Also, it seems dragonkin themselves only ever get one, so he says we ought to be grateful we got any. Unless we can come up with more actual dragonkin, we’ll have to make do.