Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “We thought dragons were myths,” Penda said. “Obviously, we were mistaken.”

  “Dragons are a physical manifestation of evil and hatred. They are the embodiment of the dark, poisonous emotions that Kur purged from himself. A dragon is composed of all those terrible things, made flesh. We can kill the physical manifestation, but its evil remains in the world.”

  “But you said this isn’t Ossus,” Adan said.

  Quo chuckled. “Of course not. Look at the puny thing.”

  The carcass disintegrating into the sand was at least fifty feet long, the head alone the size of a wagon.

  “This one is just a splinter of Ossus,” Voo said. “But it provided great sport, did it not? Now that the real dragon is stirring, there will be more of them. We will enjoy further hunts.”

  She bent to the gaping mouth of the crushed skull and wrenched free one of the pointed teeth. While cupping it in her palm, she strolled along the dragon’s neck to where the thickest, largest scales remained. She yanked loose a triangular scale as large as a man’s head.

  Voo still carried her own, far larger shield fastened to her left arm. She lifted it to show Adan. “This one is a small scale from Ossus.” She rapped knuckles against her shield, then extended the lesser scale to him. “I give this tiny one to you, King Adan Starfall of Suderra, as a trophy to remember your first dragon hunt with us.” She presented the tooth to Penda. “And for you, Penda Orr, queen of Suderra—may your mind always be as sharp as a dragon’s tooth.”

  Penda accepted the fang, which filled the palm of her hand. Adan held the scale, feeling how light and hard it was.

  “You must come with us on another hunt someday,” Quo said. “We will give you proper weapons next time so that you may actually fight beside us.”

  Uneasy, Adan glanced over at Penda. “We may not be able to go on more dragon hunts. Our child will be born soon.”

  Quo chuckled and said in a hard voice, “But your child will be born into a world where humans need to know how to fight dragons.”

  “Then we’ll surely train our child to do so,” Penda said.

  Since the enormous carcass no longer interested her, Queen Voo went back to her auga. Quo jogged beside his sister and sprang into the saddle of his own mount. “I will arrange an escort to return the two of you to Bannriya. This hunt was most instructive. I trust you were entertained.”

  Adan and Penda thanked her and mounted up, still trying to understand exactly what they had witnessed.

  As he rode past them, Quo reached out to clap Adan on the shoulder. “Now we are allies.”

  95

  THE empra’s shouts drew a response faster than Zaha expected, and he had to fight for his life, but he had done that many times before.

  Iluris had struck her head hard on the stone, cracking her skull. Blood stained her ash-blond hair and pooled on the floor. More blood trickled out of her ears. She breathed, although just barely, but he knew she wasn’t likely to survive such a massive impact.

  He was more concerned about the strange power that had manifested in the chamber with such a guided intent. Had that force emanated from the empra? Had she summoned some protection spell? No one else had been in the room. Empra Iluris had never shown any aptitude for magic, but it felt to him as if she had summoned that invisible blow, a roiling, barely seen thing that drove him back.… It was like a godling.

  He would worry about explanations later. Shouting soldiers were coming down the hall. Zaha spun inside the smoke-filled chamber, prepared to kill everyone, if necessary. He could not allow himself to be captured or killed. If he were revealed as an imposter, it would ruin the key priestlord’s plans. That was unacceptable. He needed to be seen wearing the face of Utho, and he had to vanish, even if it meant he had to die … so long as no one found his body.

  * * *

  Though the hour was late, Cemi did not sleep deeply. She rarely did. Growing up on the streets of Prirari, she had lived her life on the wary edge. No matter what sheltered hole or garbage-strewn alley she found, someone was always after her—gangs that wanted to hurt her, street thieves who intended to rob her even though she had nothing to steal, lecherous old men who wanted to grab a scrawny street girl.

  Cemi never let down her guard, even under Empra Iluris’s wing, even with a full belly, clean clothes, and a spacious room of her own. She couldn’t quite believe her new situation, nor did she trust that it would last.

  Now, Cemi came alert behind her closed chamber door. Would she ever learn how to relax? Probably not. Despite the empra’s soldiers and dedicated hawk guards, Cemi had barred her door and made sure she had a knife under her pillow as well as a heavy stone close at hand.

  She heard sounds of a fight nearby and a muffled scream. That was what must have awakened her. Instantly alert, she grabbed the knife from under her pillow and raced on silent, bare feet to the door, but kept the bar in place as she pressed her ear against the wood. She heard running boots, the sounds of battle, an alarm being raised.

  Then another scream—the empra’s scream!

  Only a month ago, Cemi would have dragged the bed against the door and huddled in a defensible corner with her knife raised. But fearing that Empra Iluris—her mentor, her friend—needed help, Cemi knocked the crossbar out of place, pulled the door open, and ran down the torchlit corridor.

  Shouts of alarm reverberated through the keep. Another scream. Booted feet charged across the tile floors. A hawk guard lay dead on the floor outside the empra’s chambers, and the door itself had been smashed apart. Cemi smelled smoke.

  Inside the room, an attacker fought several guards in a whirlwind of blows and blades, and when he dashed out of the empra’s quarters, she saw him—a tall man with strange features, not an Isharan, much less a hawk guard. She recognized the wide face, the almond eyes, the steel-gray hair: Utho, the Brava who attended Konag Conndur, but now he was dressed in the armor of a common Isharan soldier. He held fire in one hand as he clashed with the soldiers who had rushed to the empra’s defense.

  Cemi knew that Bravas used some sort of wreth flame magic to burn their victims. Utho flicked a glance at her—just long enough for her to lock his features into her mind—and then broke from the soldiers and bounded toward the stairs on the far end of the corridor.

  Without a flicker of hesitation, she raised her knife, ready to follow the soldiers charging after him, but the dead hawk guard on the floor stopped her. Her highest priority was to find and protect Iluris. “Empra!”

  The smoke was thick inside the chamber, and she found the bed on fire. The writing desk was overturned, and ash from burning papers fluttered in the air.

  Then she smelled blood, rich and heavy.

  * * *

  Hawk guards stormed after Zaha, urgent with vengeance. The closest guard slashed at him with his sword, but the Black Eel unleashed another burst of fire from his hand. He was nearly spent, his magic waning because Fulcor Island was so far from Ishara, but the fire scorched the guard nevertheless and drove him backward.

  Disoriented by the flame in his face, the man let down his guard, and Zaha thrust his sword through his chest. Yanking the blade back out, he kicked his victim backward into two oncoming soldiers. That bought him a few seconds, but he could not fight here in the confined corridors. More soldiers would come, and if Zaha failed his mission, Key Priestlord Klovus would be displeased, which would also displease the godlings.

  He raced up the stone stairs, climbing past two landings, and then burst out onto the flat open rooftop above the perimeter wall. When he rushed into the night, the Black Eel saw Watchman Osler and ten Commonwealth soldiers charging from the opposite side of the joined rooftop.

  The alarm bell continued to clamor against the thunder, calling the garrison to arms. From the rooftop Zaha could see more than a hundred Commonwealth soldiers racing across the rain-slashed courtyard, splashing through puddles. Why were they responding? Isharan soldiers were also rallying to defend the empra. Everyone on
the island had been poised for treachery, but no one was prepared for him.

  He held up his sword and let the flame spell die. Zaha feared that the real Utho might arrive and ruin his perfect deception. He had to get away. Now.

  While Watchman Osler and his garrison soldiers approached from across the keep’s roof, hawk guards and regular Isharan soldiers raced up the stairs just behind him. Zaha whirled and hacked at them with a blur of his sword.

  “Godless bastard!” A hawk guard threw himself upon Zaha with a surprisingly competent attack. Zaha slashed his sword point across the man’s neck, and he collapsed, gushing blood between his fingers.

  Watchman Osler, the grizzled veteran who had spent decades on Fulcor Island, strode forward with armed soldiers close behind him. He stuttered to a halt as he saw Zaha’s face. “Utho of the Reef? Ancestors’ blood, what are you doing?”

  “He killed the empra!” a hawk guard shouted as more Isharan soldiers rushed onto the rooftop.

  Osler was wary but curious. “Did the konag order you to do this? Why are you wearing an Isharan uniform?” His lips quirked, showing his crooked teeth. “Did you really kill the bitch empra?”

  “It’s Utho!” cried the other Commonwealth soldiers, as Isharan guards closed in behind him.

  Zaha stood near the edge of the rooftop. It was a ten-foot drop to the wide defensive wall below, and beyond that was the long plunge down the cliffs to the churning reefs.

  Flushed and puffing, Priestlord Klovus charged up onto the roof behind the Isharan guards. “The empra’s been attacked, her quarters set afire by…” Zaha thought his manufactured alarm was quite convincing. “It’s the Brava, the konag’s henchman! He commanded this attack.”

  Zaha’s eyes met the priestlord’s, and Klovus gave a quick nod.

  He made the flame reappear in his hand, flaring bright. Watchman Osler raised his sword defensively, his face contorted in strange confusion. “That’s not your ramer, and why would Utho…? You’re not—”

  With a vicious sidestroke, he decapitated Watchman Osler. The grizzled man was still shouting as his head tumbled aside. Zaha let out a flash of fire, throwing it from his hand in hopes of dazzling the people in the pelting rain.

  Then he jumped.

  * * *

  The uproar from the attack was precisely what Klovus had hoped for, and enough people had seen the Brava’s face. The plan was set, and inevitable. Surely the real Utho would claim to have an alibi, and Conndur would vouch for his man—which wouldn’t matter. There were too many witnesses. With so much violence and confusion, no one would ask subtle questions, and details would be lost in the fog. Once a handful of Isharans were convinced, they would spread the tale after leaving Fulcor Island. Long-ingrained hatreds would come into play.

  Before the Commonwealth soldiers and the Isharan guards could close in on him, Zaha leaped from the rooftop, dropping ten feet down to the wide perimeter wall. Lightning flashed again, and Klovus saw Zaha land on his feet and brace himself. More garrison soldiers came running along the top of the wall with their swords drawn, boxing him in. Klovus saw the Black Eel’s skin turn white and hard just before he sprang sideways over the edge. He plunged down the side of the cliff.

  The garrison soldiers ran together, staring into the dark waters below.

  On the rooftop of the keep, the infuriated groups let out a groan of dismay. One of the garrison soldiers knelt beside the decapitated body of Watchman Osler, then looked up with hatred at the Isharan soldiers and hawk guards. Howling for blood, the Commonwealth fighters charged toward their natural enemies. The Isharans prepared to defend themselves.

  Klovus flinched. This was exactly what he had intended. Now he just had to get off this rooftop alive.

  * * *

  Down in the water, storm waves foamed over the jagged reefs around the base of the island. Another whitecap slammed against the cliff.

  Zaha surfaced and swam against the current. He could no longer maintain the stone spell that had briefly turned his soft skin into armor. After surviving the impact, he had dropped his weapons and shed his heavy armor. A wave hurled him against an outcrop of sharp coral, and he felt his now-soft skin tear.

  Swimming with powerful strokes at an angle to escape the rip currents and smashing surf, he escaped the roughest waves, and then stroked across the stormy water. He summoned all the energy he might need, because a Black Eel never gave up. He swam toward the distant, anchored Isharan ships.

  He had completed his task. Key Priestlord Klovus would be satisfied.

  96

  A RED dawn rose over Lake Bakal. King Kollanan and his surviving fighters gathered at the rocky shore, exhausted. The riders slid down from their weary horses to stand unsteadily on the snowy banks, heaving great breaths. One man collapsed to his knees and retched.

  Lord Ogno let out a roar across the refrozen lake; then, with a gauntleted fist, he slammed the bark of a nearby silver pine in a gesture of victory and release.

  Koll dismounted from Storm, standing with one foot on the solid ice of the lake, the other on the shore. Accompanying Ogno, he also shouted aloud, and his wordless yell transformed into loud, uncontrolled laughter. The wasp had stung! They had hurt the frostwreth warriors, and he hoped their attack had given Lasis and Elliel the time they needed to find and rescue Birch.

  Lord Bahlen and his Brava were shaken but satisfied as they counted and organized the surviving fighters. Urok made his inflectionless report. “We lost only two raiders, Sire. That’s acceptable, considering the damage we did.”

  Koll watched the rest of his soldiers gather on the rocky, snow-encrusted beach. Red-gold light spilled across the lake, illuminating the frozen surface made choppy by the turbulence that Thon had created. The jumbled ice had cemented in place a macabre sculpture, a frostwreth spear protruding from an uneven block, the shaggy white back of a wolf horse poking through the surface, a glint of wreth armor, a gloved hand reaching into the air. All frozen solid … just like the innocent people of Lake Bakal. Koll drew a grim satisfaction from that.

  Lord Alcock laughed. “I wish I’d been able to see the frostwreth faces when the lake thawed right beneath them.”

  “Any closer and you would have fallen into the water with them,” Koll pointed out.

  Ogno chuffed. “It was enough just to hear them screaming. Did you hear it? The cracking of the ice was so loud, but still … they sounded like cats and little girls!”

  Some soldiers chuckled, although they were weak and shivering with relief at what they had seen and done.

  Koll’s heart hardened. Although he felt pleased to see Rokk and the frostwreth warriors wiped out, none of it was enough to make up for one little boy’s frozen hand, clutching a wooden pig. Tomko’s? No victory over the wreths would bring back his daughter and her family.

  But maybe Birch—

  Two black-clad figures emerged from the shadows of the silver pines, coming from around the lake. Their armor and cloaks were scuffed with dirt and dusted with snow.

  “Elliel!” Thon hurried forward, his face a sunrise of joy. “I did what I promised. It was marvelous.”

  For a moment Koll’s heart surged, then sank when he realized they were alone. He had hoped to see his grandson with them, bounding ahead, running into his grandfather’s arms.

  Lasis came forward to face his king, and Elliel joined him, putting aside her reunion with Thon for the moment. Kollanan asked, because he could bear it no longer, “The boy is dead then?”

  “Not dead, Sire,” Lasis said. “He is still alive, according to a wreth mage we slew.”

  Elliel broke in, “Queen Onn brought him to another wreth fortress, far to the north. We will have to rescue him some other way.”

  “And we will,” Lasis insisted. “But he lives, Sire. That is one victory for tonight.”

  “One victory,” Koll said, his voice quiet as he imagined the ordeal Birch must be going through. He tried to view this as merely a delay, not a defeat.

 
Thon looked elated. Grinning, he held out his hand to Elliel, flexing his long fingers. “I do not need my full memories to use my full magic. I was able to call it and do exactly as I wanted.”

  “I knew you could,” Elliel said. “I could feel the power inside you.”

  The wreth man touched his cheek, unconsciously traced the complex lines of the tattooed rune. He turned to Elliel with a curious expression. “Did I just declare war on the wreths, I wonder? Do you think I was supposed to do this?”

  “They don’t even know who you are,” Elliel assured him.

  “Nobody does,” Thon said.

  Koll strode out onto the ice where the view was unobscured by the pines. The wreth fortress sat like an unnatural growth on the other side of the lake. Smears of smoke rose into the clear, cold sky above some of the outbuildings and drone structures that continued to burn.

  The fortress was neither empty, nor safe. Though Rokk and his warriors were dead, the frostwreths would surely come after them eventually. Koll had no idea how many lived inside that grim structure, but he had certainly riled them.

  Urok said, “Queen Onn will no longer take us for granted, and she won’t assume the Norterran armies are insignificant. Our sting hurt her.” He paused. “And now she will be angry.”

  “Good,” Kollanan said, then added with grim resignation as he tapped the head of his war hammer in his palm, “We have to be ready for when the wreths try to swat us back.”

  The other lords grumbled their agreement as they mounted again. The soldiers hurled echoing insults across the uneven ice, taunting the ominous fortress in the distance.

  He hated the fact that the wreths treated humans so lightly, stepped on them when they got in the way. Now, though, Koll had shown their queen that the human race was dangerous. Maybe it would be enough to convince the wreths to leave them alone … but he knew that wasn’t so.