The beat of numerous drums interrupted the monotony of sword against sword and the cries of the dying. Screams of women and children meshed with the sounds. Like fog that meets the sun, the ebony-clad killers and their lumbering war companions dispersed and faded into the night. King Zeadren and a few guardsmen remained standing in the dusty, blood-spattered courtyard. They looked curiously around the area.
The tempo of the beats grew faster and louder.
“Hide!” the king shouted, whirling. “Run! Find places of brick and stone to barricade yourselves.”
A few of the men raced off, shouting the order throughout the village. The same chant began echoing in neighboring streets.
Ember took a few steps out into the courtyard, drawing Sarenkesh and Sir Hestbone out with her. “What is wrong?” she called.
King Zeadren faced her, his robes swirling around his feet. “The mysterious fire comes! We must flee now and seek shelter of brick and stone.”
The odor of brimstone and smoke swirled through the courtyard. Sparks danced upon the breeze, their brightness brief yet dazzling.
In the dim torchlight behind the king, Ember recognized a body lying in the dirt. Cal, the king’s advisor. She glanced around.
“Has anyone seen my brother or Kaedric?”
The king and Sarenkesh shook their heads.
Sir Hestbone. “Ach, that one makes my skin itch.”
Dread settled in the depths of her belly. Losing Dikartha had devastated her, but what if Beron—No, she couldn’t think on that right now. She had to believe her brother was alive.
A bright flash erupted in the night. At first, Ember thought lightning had rent the sky, but the color was wrong. Again, bright orange and yellow flared in the darkness above the city.
“Hurry,” urged the king. He wore a worried expression, his eyes aglitter with fear. “We must take cover. We shall be safe in the fort’s cellar.”
“I will stay,” said Ember.
“What?” Sarenkesh seized her tunic and drew her around to look at him. “No!”
“Ach, you speak insanity, Princess,” the dwarf added. He quickly sheathed his dagger and grabbed her arm.
“You forget that fire does not harm me.” She fixed her gaze on the city’s western skies where odd glows and glimmers of sudden orange light illuminated it. “Flee and hide, good king. You must stay safe so that you live another day to lead your people.”
“I will remain here.” Zeadron used the hem of his robes to wipe the blood and ogre skin from his long, curved sword. “I am not a king who allows a princess to face a strange magic alone.”
She nodded. “It is your choice.” She returned to the staircase that she and Sir Hestbone had used earlier. As she ascended the first few steps, she called over her shoulder, “How do I get to the roof?”
The king reached her side. “Follow me.”
As she turned to follow him, a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up to find Sarenkesh.
“No, Ember,” he said with force. “I cannot allow you to do this.”
“You forget I am the favored daughter. I have no choice. It is why I was given the power of fire. If you interfere with Raya’s will, she shall smite you.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I could not bear it if you were killed.”
Gently, she cupped the side of his face. “I shall be fine.”
“I will come with you.”
She nodded, knowing it was futile to tell him to stay behind in the cellar.
“Ach! You will not leave me behind, either, Princess,” the dwarf bellowed and hurried up the steps behind her.
On the fort’s roof, Ember stood at the edge of a buttress and looked out over the city sprawling below her. Torches flickered in the gloaming, each one a large, frantic firefly speeding through the narrow streets. Light glowed in various windows. At Galen’s outer perimeter, fires leaped and frolicked brightly in the night. The odor of smoke, burning meat, brimstone, and hot wood and brick assaulted her nose. The wind blew harder, bearing more airborne sparks and embers.
Sarenkesh approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “What sort of magic wreaks such destruction?” he asked.
“I fear a magic much like mine,” she replied.
Zeadren and Sir Hestbone stood at the roof’s edge. The king’s gaze settled upon Sarenkesh’s possessive touch. Finally, he looked at Ember.
“Is he the true reason you turned down my offer?” he asked slowly, a hint of envy in his voice.
Looking out across the city again, she replied, “I did not lie. I am a prisoner of my power and the bane of any man’s love.”
Sarenkesh hugged her tighter to his body. She relished the contact, drawing strength from him.
The fire steadily burned closer, and time passed as they watched silently. The Ebon Weapon laid waste to the city as it made its way to the king’s abode in the center of Galen. The hot, dry winds that blew down from Flame Mountain snatched the screams and cries of the maimed and dying and carried it to the fortress as if to taunt King Zeadren and whisper that his life was next.
“Go to the stairs and sit halfway between the top and the bottom,” Ember told her companions. “Remove the shields from the walls. Put your backs to one another and hide behind the shields should the Ebon Weapon blast the door down and pour flames in upon you,”
“Please, Ember,” said Sarenkesh. His grip tightened around her. “Do not do this.”
“Do not do what?” she replied without looking at him or the others.
“Whatever is brewing in thy head,” the dwarf answered, his tone subdued. “There have been enough deaths this night.”
“I do not intend to die.” She studied the fire pouring from the sky, the bursts erratic, some long, some short. “But I do intend to kill.” She closed her eyes and drew from the power dwelling deep within her. “Go now. It is not the Ebon Weapon you must fear.”
Sarenkesh uttered many curses under his breath. Dimly, Ember heard the dwarf coaxing him away from her.
The men’s footsteps withdrew, and the door to the stairwell screeched open and then shut with a resounding thud.
Without opening her eyes, Ember held her arms up, palms flat to the sky. The heat built within her gut and surged throughout her torso, her limbs, and up into her throat. She screamed her fury to the universe. She howled her grief for her aunt, for leaving her family behind, and for not knowing Beron’s whereabouts. She cried out her remorse for all in Galen who had died that night. The emotion burst from her mouth, nose, and eyes in a fountain of white and blue flames. Sulfur permeated her senses and whirled around her body. Serpentine flames licked over her body and caressed her hair.
She silenced her power, her fury, her need to set all things right again, and waited.
With stinging, watering eyes, she looked out over the city. The fire from the sky had stopped. Ember scanned the rooftops sprawling out before her. Flames consumed the wooden structures and fed upon things inside the brick buildings. Some of the buildings began to crumble and fall in upon themselves, their baked-mud foundations frail now from the constant heat.
Where has the Ebon Weapon gone? How could it not have seen my invitation?
A sound burst from the sky above, and strong winds accompanied it. The force of a gale nearly knocked Ember off her feet. She grabbed the balustrade to steady herself.
“Princess!” Sarenkesh shouted.
“Go back down the stairs,” she yelled back, fearing for his safety. “I will not have your life staining my conscience!”
She regained her balance and stepped away from the edge of the roof. The sound of roaring wind wrapped around the buttress.
“What are you?” she called out to the dark sky, her hair whipping over her face. “Show yourself, coward!”
She barely had time to drop to the roof and roll against the balustrade.
A dragon materialized as it skimmed over the roof and exhaled a plume of red flames that licked everything in its path,
wrapping Ember in its heated embrace.
Chapter Thirteen
“By the gods!” Sarenkesh screamed into the wind. “A dragon!”
Ember jumped to her feet. “Hide! Now!”
Above her, the dragon circled in the sky, its body an ebony blot against the midnight backdrop speckled with diamonds. The creature tucked its wings and plummeted toward the castle again.
“I cannot leave you to fight that thing alone!”
“I will be fine! I breathe the same fire it does. Now go!”
Reluctantly, Sarenkesh disappeared into the dark doorway.
Relieved he’d listened to her, Ember focused on the night sky.
The creature roared. The sound penetrated Ember’s body and vibrated her bones. The dragon spewed flames that greedily sucked the air away from the rooftop. It flew into the darkness, its angry screams reverberating in the night. The heavy wing flaps grew louder again as it made its way back to the fortress for another attack. The dragon passed overhead, its long, spaded tail trailing in its wake.
Ember called upon her power and shot flames into the sky that bathed the creature’s underbelly and licked its neck and head. Caught off guard, the dragon spiraled toward the roof. Ember turned and raced over to the staircase, her boots pounding out a frenzied pace as she ran, breath loud in her ears. She dove through the door, tumbling down the stairs, the walls and steps bouncing her head over heels. A sudden stop into someone startled her, and a loud “Oh!” escaped her. Strong arms snaked around her and drew her close to a warm body.
A thunderous impact and sound shook the buttresses. The roar of crashing stone and brick bombarded Ember’s senses as if striving to become one with her body. The steps vibrated beneath them, and a great, gaping hole emerged where the upper half of the staircase had resided. Cool air moaned over the damage, and below the landing where they huddled, glimpses of the city faded in and out of the billowing clouds. Pieces of dried brick and dust rained down upon Ember. She coughed and pulled her tunic over her nose and mouth. Blinking, she peered through the wafting soot and dust.
“By Raya’s power,” the dwarf muttered in the darkness. “What just happened?”
“Are you all right, Ember?” Sarenkesh asked, his breath hot against her ear.
“Bruised and battered,” she replied out of breath, “but whole and alive.”
“The Ebon Weapon is a dragon?” asked the king.
Getting to her feet, Ember swayed slightly and allowed Sarenkesh to steady her. “Aye,” she said. “My power knocked it from the sky, and it just spiraled into your buttress.”
Slowly, she ascended the last remaining steps, careful not to stand on the last two for fear of them crumbling. Looking over the edge, Ember scanned the destruction. There, sprawled across the bowels of the fort, its head hanging over parts of a wall on one end and its tail drooping over the other, lay a dragon as black as Hell itself. The torch light and city fires danced over the creature’s large ebony scales, its underbelly a shade lighter. A stout breeze blew into the building’s remains and cleared most of the smoke and dust from the scene. Debris skittered down from the walls and partially remaining ceilings to bounce off the creature’s inky armor.
The dwarf whistled appreciatively. “That is one huge beastie.” He studied it quietly for a long moment. “Dragons are big, but this one is…”
“Something the gods would create,” Ember supplied. “I need to get down there. If it survived the fall, I must finish the creature off.”
“In the name of Torr’s hammer,” cursed Sarenkesh. “Be you a glutton for punishment?”
Cynical laughter burst from her. “Because of Raya, Lochri, and Hyrrokkin, I have no choice.”
“Come,” said the king. “Let us go down and enter through the south side of the feasting chamber—if we can access it through the destruction.”
Downstairs, both the southern and eastern doors were blocked from the other side. Zeadren led the way out to the side courtyard and around to the front entrance. The chaotic sounds from the city had settled into a dull roar. Smoke wafted through the streets and clouded the center courtyard, partially obscuring the fountain.
“King Zeadren!” a voice called.
Ember paused with Sarenkesh as the king turned in the direction of the man’s shout. Sir Hestbone held his short sword out in preparation for the worst. A horse emerged from the smoke. Fazohn, the captain of war, rode into the courtyard.
“Fazohn, report!” said Zeadren.
A disturbed look settled over the captain’s face. “Except for a few supporters, the citizens are packing up and traveling to join with Hellembr. They fear what little they have left will go up in flames should they stay here, and most are not willing to sacrifice their loved ones to another attack from the Ebon Weapon.”
“It is a dragon,” said the king, sounding as if he’d given up all hope.
“What say you?” the shocked tone of Fazohn’s voice echoed across the courtyard.
The king nodded. “The Ebon Weapon is a massive black dragon. Princess Ember knocked it from the sky with her power.” He gestured at the remains of the fort. “It fell into the buttress and destroyed what the fires have not yet reached.
“We need to make sure it is dead,” Ember said.
“I shall go with you,” the captain of war replied. “I am trained in this sort of thing.”
“No, you cannot help in this.” She stepped away from her companions. “My fiery power is a gift from the gods. I will not have you or anyone else fall into its path.”
She turned and strode across the cobblestones to the fort’s grand front entrance. Small rocks tumbled from the edge of the crumbling wall. She paused, frowning. Naked and smeared with soot and dirt, a raven-haired man stood on the ledge. His tangled hair whipped in the wind, and blood smeared various parts of his body. He glanced down at her. Even from a distance, his flaming blue eyes stood out. Their gazes met, and a sensation Ember could not identify wriggled through her guts, leaving her frightened and breathless. He bowed to her, then leaped from the wall’s precipice.
A scream rose in Ember’s throat. She swallowed it down and gaped in awe at the image above her. Instead of barreling to the ground and certain death, the man’s body hovered in midair. His form elongated and grew larger, wider. Thousands of onyx-like stones covered his misshapen body, the sparkles lighting up the dawn spreading across the ruined city. Quickly, the glimmers transformed into scales, and wings sprouted from the body. A spaded tail and a head upon a long serpentine neck grew from opposite ends of his form.
With a mighty flap of its sail-size wings, the dragon released an ear-splitting shriek. Rising into the pink-smudged sky, the beast winged its way back to Flame Mountain.
Ember gaped at the retreating dragon.
Behind her, she vaguely heard the exclamations of her companions.
Perhaps he was a man cursed or a powerful wizard, but whatever the case, Ember had no choice but to follow him.
Ember waited for Fazohn to check if the royal stable had escaped the fires while King Zeadren sought a change of clothing, his good armor, and some provisions. Worry brewed in her heart. Worry for both Beron and Hoggr. She loved her brother and had become quite fond of her war horse too.
“Ember! Thank Raya you are all right!”
Sitting on the edge of the fountain with Sarenkesh and Sir Hestbone, Ember twisted around nearly upsetting herself into the water. “Beron!” She leaped to her feet and met him as he staggered alongside Kaedric. “Where have you been? What happened?”
“Kaedric ran down to the great chamber to warn everyone, but the assassins and ogres had already infiltrated the fortress. We kept our backs to one another and fought until we realized we had made our way outside and onto a side street.”
Nodding, Kaedric added, “Assassins and ogres were everywhere. I don’t know how we managed to survive, but I will say that your li’l brother is an excellent swordsman.”
She threw her arms around her br
other and kissed his sooty cheek. “Thank Raya you are whole. I was so worried.” Stepping back, she looked at Kaedric and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek too. “Thank you for staying with my brother, Kaedric.”
He shrugged. “I’ve grown to respect you, good princess. It is the least I could do to repay your mother for the upset I caused her.”
Loud hoof beats rang out on the cobblestone, and a happy whinny followed.
“Hoggr!” She whirled and ran over to her steed. The beast halted in front of her and nuzzled her head, blowing his hot breath into her hair. She wrapped her arms around his bowed head and relished the feeling of his satiny horsehair. “I am so happy you are still with me!”
“Your unicorn steed refused to let me saddle him,” said Fazohn as he rode his horse into the courtyard. He patted the saddle thrown across his lap. “But I brought your gear.”
Sarenkesh used his magic to place Hoggr’s saddle upon his broad back. The rest of Ember’s traveling companions soon had their horses saddled and fastened with gear too.
Zeadren hoisted himself into a heavily tooled leather saddle and gathered his steed’s reins.
“King Zeadren,” said Ember. “You need not go to Flame Mountain with us. Stay with your people. They need their king.”
“Nay, Princess.” His voice rumbled in the sunshine. “The Galenites have forsaken their king. Most have fled to Hellembr, and others have scattered to neighboring settlements and towns. The Fae are my people now.”
She smiled and nodded. “Very well.” Standing on the fountain’s stone wall, Ember threw herself up on Hoggr’s back and struggled into the saddle. “Let us head out.”
Beron urged his new sorrel abreast of Hoggr and looked up at his sister. “Where is Aunt Dikartha?”
For a moment, Ember could have sworn the bottom had fallen out of her stomach. She’d been so caught up in the dragon and finding her brother and steed that it never occurred to her to tell him about their aunt’s death.
“Ember?”
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