Age of Valor: Dragon Song

by D. E. Morris

  The throne room was a constant flurry of motion as more and more riders in black were flown in, dragons all leaving but for the two Jaryn and Elas fought. Some who had fled the throne room before had come back to help fight and defend. Still, they were slowly being overtaken. Ashlynn and Kenayde were backed into a corner with no way of escape. Though both sisters tried to fight their attackers, they were too quick in their movements and fought like wild animals. They separated the two women and Kenayde was quickly bested, the hilt of a sword being driven into her face and knocking her unconscious. Ashlynn screamed her sister's name, trying to rouse her in a desperate hope to save her from the deathblow that would surely come. As Ashlynn fought back her own attacker, however, Kenayde's assailant turned on his heel and ran away, disappearing into the fray.

  Driven by the tenuous safety of her sister, Ashlynn surged forward with her blade, parrying the downswing of her opponent's sword with a vertical slice downward. She spun around him, bringing her sword up and driving the blade into his back before he could recover. With a careless tug, she pulled her sword free, knowing the man was dead, and rushed to Kenayde. “Nadie, can you hear me?” Kenayde was unresponsive, but Ashlynn found comfort in seeing her chest move up and down as she breathed. Looking up, Ashlynn saw one of the riders simply watching her as chaos went on all around them. With all of his features cloaked in cloth it was hard to be certain, but the way his eyes creased for the briefest moment, it seemed as if he smiled at her before turning and running through an open doorway.

  Incensed, Ashlynn gripped her sword tightly and hurried after him, pulling her mask off as she ran. It was not a clear path he took, though she followed him as best as she could, fighting her way through when she had to. She nearly caught him on the stairs heading up the east wing when a bloodcurdling scream of “MAMAN!” tore through the sounds of battle. Ashlynn froze for the quickest second, her target speeding out of sight. Though the scream most certainly had not come from her own son, Lucien's terrified cry spurred her on up the stairs and down the familiar path to the nursery. He screamed again, his voice raw enough to tell her he'd been screaming for some time.

  She could see the open doorway at the end of the hall, right before another set of stairs led downward, shapes dancing in the light from within, the sound of glass being broken and furniture being turned over only slightly quieter than the sounds of more than one screaming child. Ashlynn threw herself into the room without a thought, giving a feral cry as she laid eyes on the three disguised men already in the nursery. She only had a fraction of a moment to attack before one of them came at her with full force. While she was distracted, one of the men picked up a bundle of white silk and unruly red hair that could only have been Rowan, limp as though unconscious. He climbed up onto the sill of the open window and gave a short whistle of two notes. Before Ashlynn could stop him, he tossed Rowan out the window, then jumped back to the nursery floor.

  Her opponent was just as ferocious and strong as those below had been, coming at her with a never-ending barrage of blows and hits. Lucien and Lochlainn were in the same crib as one another, standing with red faces, screaming and crying as they reached for Ashlynn. She knew somewhere in her mind that Tiyal was supposed to be in there as well, but there were two nannies piled into the corner of the nursery, too much blood pooled below them to indicate anything more than death. The infant could have been anywhere if they were not able to protect him.

  The other two men spoke to each other in sharp, quick words and each grabbed a child. “No!” Ashlynn snarled. “Lochlainn!” She ducked under the raised sword of her attacker, reaching for her son as he squirmed in the grip of his kidnapper and tried to get to her. The man turned in time to keep Lochlainn out of her reach, simultaneously driving a fist into her stomach. Ashlynn stumbled back, the air forced from her lungs and the pain doubling her over. She hit the wall hard and fell, unable to do anything for a moment but retch. As the men disappeared, one by one out the window with the two boys, Ashlynn struggled to get to her feet. Pain ripped through her abdomen and lower body like a visible wound. She screamed her son's name, reaching for the window as though she could find him. The exertion made her vision swim, and all too soon, everything went black.

  Chapter Twelve

  Outside, it was all but impossible to tell which dragons were enemies and which ones were Gaels who had been in attendance at the wedding. As with their riders, the attacks of the aggressive dragons were sharp and precise, designed as though they knew each and every opponent personally and where they were most vulnerable. When it seemed as though they were losing stamina, a tune from some unseen instrument, reedy and multi-tonal, would send them into a frenzy, giving them new vigor against rapidly tiring opponents.

  It quickly began to feel as though those from Altaine would be taken over, but the instrument was played again in a new melody, one that had the attention of every dragon and rider that had invaded. The dragons dove with reckless abandon, wrapping talons around outstretched arms and pulling the men in black into the sky before soaring away. Very few Gaels followed, most of them exhausted and too eager to land and shift back to their human forms.

  The attacks had bled into every open area of Altaine and some within the greater rooms of the castle. Friends and family were so widespread that it was impossible to know who had survived and who hadn't. As the dust began to settle, it soon became apparent that casualties on both sides of the attack had been few and far between. Wessely, out of breath as he surveyed the damage in the bailey, tossed his sword down in frustration. Though it was not his castle, nor were any of the men under his command, he ordered a few of the guards to spread out and go through the castle to look for any that may be injured and in need of help. They hardly hesitated in carrying out the given command, leaving him to search outside on his own. He wasn't alone long before being joined by Luella, who walked beside him looking harried and anxious.

  “Those dragons,” she told Wessely, “fought like nothing I have ever seen before.”

  Wessely nodded in grim agreement, bending to check the pulse of a fallen woman. He called for help, feeling signs of life just below the thin skin of her neck, then stood back to let others take her away. “The men, possibly women as well, came at us like dancers, as though they had done this all before and it was some sort of performance.” He looked around the bailey with a wrinkled brow. “Look at this. How many of us fought and how many fought against us? Yet there are barely a dozen here who have breathed their last and most of them are those who came against us.” He shook his head. “I am baffled, to say the least. Who attacks without truly attacking? What is the point in a melee such as this if not to conquer?”

  “The dragons were definitely under the control of the riders,” Cavalon announced, jogging up behind the pair. “On top of that strange instrument we kept hearing, the riders communicated with the dragons through whistles and sounds, almost like wild animals.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Luella. “Were they under a spell, perhaps, of the demons riding them?”

  Wessely crouched over the prone body of one of the attackers and reached for the dark covering around his face. Pulling it back revealed a head of dark blonde hair and skin quickly growing cold. Dark brown eyes started up at him, lifeless. “They were not demons,” he informed. “Mortal men as many of us, it would seem.”

  Cavalon looked around for another fallen assailant; he was quick to find one nearby and pulled the disguise from her face as well. “Human,” he muttered. Looking back at Wessely, he narrowed his eyes. “Humans can't control Gaels like that.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Luella. “With all of the magic we have seen, good and bad, these past few years?” She shook her head. “What does this mean? Who would attack Altaine like this?”

  “There's no way Connor would have an army like this at his disposal,” Cavalon stated with confidence. The statement made Luella tilt her head.

  “The new high king of Ibays?”

 
Wessely nodded, a frown on his lips. “Ashlynn has feared an attack from him for some time. I agree with Cavalon, however. From the stories we have heard, the country itself is far too poor to fund anything so grand.”

  Cavalon inclined his head, his attention going over Wessely's shoulder. “And I don't see him having purebred dragons in his arsenal, either.” A small crowd had gathered around a pearly blue dragon, no bigger than a full grown mare, its belly cut open and oozing blood but no breath giving it movement. Cavalon crossed his arms, regret on his face. “Even feral Gaels return to their human form when they die.”

  “Someone help me!”

  Lilia's cry came from the other side of the large open bailey. All three turned at the sound of her call and broke into a sprint. Another small crowd had gathered where Lilia was, but it broke apart and drifted back as the others approached. She was crouched over someone, her dress torn and her wings ruffled, tears on her face. Mairead, her mask gone, was on the other side of her. “Help her! Please!”

  She gripped a hand tightly, the brown skin dark against her pale complexion. Zarra lay flat on her back, her eyes open but her expression pinched. Her red dress had been slashed open at her stomach, leaving a stain much darker than the fabric surrounding it. She was breathing shallowly as though each breath hurt more than the last.

  “Don't just stand there looking at her!” Lilia sputtered. “Do something!”

  “Go find Nuala or Tasarin,” Cavalon told Luella. She rushed off with a nod, and Cavalon got to his knees on the ground beside Zarra. He looked the wound over with reservation, but his expression quickly fell. Lilia, watching him carefully from the other side of Zarra, choked on a sob and pressed Zarra's hand to her cheek. Cavalon only glanced at her before giving Zarra his attention. “What were you doing out here?”

  Zarra managed a small smile that turned into a wince. “I wanted to help. So many were...” She paused, sucking in a sharp breath. “...they were running away. I didn't want...to do that.”

  Lilia's laughter was forced and thick as she looked down at her friend. “You silly girl. You could have been seriously hurt.” She glanced at Zarra's bleeding abdomen. “You're lucky we have such skilled healers here for the wedding.”

  Cavalon's eyes slid to Lilia and she returned his gaze. Both of them knew the healing needed to happen quickly or Zarra would die.

  “You were very brave,” Mairead sniffled. “I saw you as I flew above, trying to fight. You saved someone's life tonight.”

  Zarra tried to answer but coughed, splattering blood all over Cavalon's tunic. She tried to apologize, but Cavalon shook his head and offered her a compassionate smile. “Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I've had a lot worse on me.” He lifted his eyes as Jaryn approached. “Where's Ashlynn?”

  Jaryn was looking down at Zarra, his eyes full of sadness. “I'm not sure. She followed one of the attackers out of the throne room while I was still battling a dragon.” He tore his gaze away from Zarra to look at Cavalon. “Should I find her?” The Badarian's nod was grim, causing Jaryn to hasten away.

  “You called me...sweetheart.”

  The choked statement drew all attention back to Zarra. She was looking up at Cavalon with a glazed expression, but the corners of her lips were curved up into a very small smile. “I only wanted you...to notice me.”

  Cavalon chuckled quietly. “Well, you've got my attention now.”

  “Too little...too late.”

  Zarra's grip on Lilia's hand was weakening, making the winged girl look about with urgency. “Where are Tasarin and Nuala? She'll die without them!”

  “Lilia,” Mairead said quietly. Tears ran down her face, her scars catching them and making them run in odd little currents. She knew there was no time, but Lilia raged against it, gripping Zarra's hand all the more tightly.

  “No! No, I will not let this happen! Where is Ashlynn?!”

  “Don't be angry,” Zarra wheezed. “Don't be angry with her...anymore.”

  “I will go look for her as well,” offered Mairead, but when she tried to get up, Zarra found her strength and held tightly to Mairead's hand. “Please stay.” She took both Mairead and Lilia in turn, slow in looking away from one to the other. “I always wanted sisters.”

  “You've always had them,” Lilia cried. “Only sisters can pick on each other as we do.”

  Mairead nodded in agreement. “And only sisters can love each other as we do.”

  “Take care of each other,” Zarra breathed, “and take care...of Ashlynn.” She gripped their hands as tight as her waning strength would allow and let her eyes slide closed. Her breathing kept hitching as though the breath was getting stuck somewhere inside of her. She was tired, but she was fighting, holding onto the life that was slipping away.

  Luella came rushing back across the bailey, her eyes wide in panic. No words needed to be said; it was clear she hadn't been able to find either Tasarin or Nuala. With Altaine as big as it was and the attack so widespread, finding them quickly had been a long shot to begin with. Her singular appearance, however, only made the two young girls cry harder. There was no one coming to help.

  Cavalon, watching the way Zarra breathed, ran a hand over her head, pushing hair clotted with blood from her face. She opened her eyes and he gave her a small, kind smile. “It's all right, Zarra. Let it go.”

  “Take care...of them...all.”

  “You know I will.”

  Her head moved in a minuscule nod. For the briefest moment her eyes cleared and her lips curved upward in a slight smile. “It's all right. It doesn't hurt....” Her chest gave one final shuddering heave, then her face relaxed and Zarra was gone. Lilia's sobs grew louder and she folded herself over Zarra's body, her face against the younger woman's chest. Mairead covered Lilia's head with her free hand, caressing her like a child while she cried herself.

  ~*~*~*~

  It was hard for Jaryn to move as quickly as he would have liked through the castle. Every time he came upon a group of people, he knew it was his duty to at least pause and see if anyone needed help. It seemed, for the most part, that there were very few injuries, and the ones that had suffered from the attack did not suffer long. Each blow was accurate, though casualties were sparse. No one really had any idea of where Ashlynn had gone, even Kenayde, who was nursing a blow to the head and wondering where her own spouse was.

  Jaryn received little to no help as to the whereabouts of his wife, but inevitably found himself on the route to the nursery. He could have kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. Of course that would be the first place she would go. Hurrying along, he only hoped she would be able to reach Zarra in time to say her goodbyes.

  He saw the open door and one of his guards laying in a pool of blood just outside of the nursery. “Ashlynn?” Breaking into a sprint, he reached the nursery and entered, then immediately froze. Furniture was overturned and broken, toys were thrown about carelessly, blankets were tossed on the floor, and glass and oil from a broken lantern were scattered across the stone. Yet it wasn't any of this that made Jaryn feel like the breath had been sucked out of him or that time had suddenly stopped. It was the sight of his wife, crumpled to the floor against the far wall with the bottom of her gown stained in blood, that shook him to his very core.

  “Ashlynn!” It felt like he was moving in slow motion across the room. He slid an arm behind her neck as he fell to his knees beside her, checking her over for injury and the source of the bleeding. “Ashlynn, answer me!”

  She groaned as her head rolled to the side, trying to fight against the grip she didn't realize was her husband's and immediately crying out in pain because of it. She opened her eyes, her breathing growing more rapid by the moment, and looked at Jaryn wildly. “You're all right,” he promised. “You're all right.”

  Ashlynn, however, knew better. Hot tears formed behind her eyes and spilled down her face. She fought his arms and doubled over, uncaring of the vomit and blood around her legs and feet. “The baby,” she wept, unable to s
ay anything more but to repeat the two words over and over until it sunk in with Jaryn. He looked helplessly at Ashlynn, then at the blood, and sank back against the wall.

  The dead nannies stared at him from across the room.

  “Ashlynn, where are the children?”

  His voice was unreasonably calm, though it only made Ashlynn weep all the louder.

  “Where are the children?”

  “They took them. All of them. Jaryn...I can't...I don't know what to do.”

  Jaryn didn't know what to do for a moment, either, as was evident by the shock on his face. He simply sat and watched Ashlynn fall apart before him. “My babies,” she wept. “Why?”

  The question sparked something in Jaryn, getting him to his feet. He rushed to the door and yelled for a guard at the top of his lungs. His bellow was met with armored footfalls coming up both sets of stairs, rushing to come at their king's calling.

  “The children have been taken,” he reported, his voice riddled with anger and anxiety. “Take as many men as you can and fan out across the country. Find Gaels who will cover the sky. Take the fastest horses. Find my son and do not return until you have or I will have your heads!” Little else was needed to spur the men into action. Each of them turned to retreat back in the directions from which they'd come, but before they were all gone, Jaryn grabbed one of them and spoke in a somewhat calmer tone. “Let Killian know. Rowan was with them and she is not here. I will tell Prince Lucien and Prince Tiyal's parents myself.” The guard nodded and hurried after the others.

  Jaryn stood in the empty doorway for a moment, feeling bile rise in his throat. He wanted to scream and rage, to cry as he could hear Ashlynn doing behind him. Mostly, he wanted to find the children and run his sword through each and every man, woman, and dragon who had invaded his home. Instead, he turned to look at his wife and felt as helpless as he had the night he thought he had lost her. He scrubbed a hand over his beard, feeling the pressure building behind his own eyes and tears blur his vision. He returned to Ashlynn and got down on the floor beside her. She fought against his arms, but he was much stronger than she was and refused to be pushed away. After a moment of fighting she gave in and clung to him instead, as though he were the very thing keeping her alive. Jaryn held her as tightly as he could, giving into his own despair and mourning the loss of his unborn child, and the uncertainty as to whether or not he would ever see his son again.