by Forthright
Mikoto stirred. “Trouble?” he asked.
“Sinder’s probably hurt.”
“Need help?”
Ginkgo didn’t stay to answer. Whisking across to Waaseyaa’s house, he hurried the sleeping toddler to the guest room. Kyrie was not only awake, he stood at the window, fingertips touching the screen. “Hey, little bro. Watch Gregor for me?”
Kyrie shook his head and asked, “Sinder?”
“Not sure. Probably injured. We’re going.” He scooted Gregor under the sheet at the center of the bed, right next to Lilya.
“I will come.”
Only then did Ginkgo realize that the boy had already dressed. He’d probably interrupted him in the process of going out the window. “Dad wouldn’t like it.”
“Dad will not scold.” Kyrie turned wide eyes to him and solemnly said, “Sinder is screaming.”
Mikoto had been training for emergencies for more than half his life, so he was in his basics and boots even faster than Timur. But he was a long way from Colt and his arsenal. “Do I need a weapon?” he asked.
Timur spared him a glance. And a second glance. “No. Ever ride?”
“Yes.”
“You’re with us, then.” Timur led the way outside. “Fend is going to be cranky, having to carry two of us.”
“I will run,” offered Mikoto, lengthening his stride to keep up with the battler.
Timur laughed. “No need. He’ll run twice as fast, just to be rid of us. Right, friend?”
Fend slunk out of the darkness and yowled testily.
Mikoto mounted first, but he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Dogs had ruffs, and Merl’s mane was fair game. “Where …?”
Timur crowded him from behind, one arm locked around Mikoto’s chest. “He’s just a big kitten. Scruff him. I’ll be your brace.”
Following his example, Mikoto buried his hands in thick fur and muttered a low, “Apologies, Fend.”
The big feline grumbled and leapt, and Mikoto lowered his body and adjusted his hips.
Bowing over him, Timur said, “Quick learner.”
Mikoto hoped he’d have the chance to show Timur that he could do a whole lot more than ride. But that wasn’t the most important thing here. “Orders?”
“You want some?”
“I am a battler. I run with the guard. I know these mountains.”
Timur hooked his chin over Mikoto’s shoulder, putting his mouth right next to his ear. “Ever face a dragon?”
“No.”
“Then you’re at a disadvantage. Listen well. Dragons in truest form are formidable. Claws and jaws and horns and ridges. Don’t ever lose track of their tail.” Timur’s tone was grave. “Most believe that dragons become even more dangerous in speaking form. Speed becomes a factor. And with a few words, they can ensorcell a whole rank of battlers.”
“Which will we be facing?”
“We’ll be facing Sinder.” Timur’s hold tightened. “Our friend needs us, and we’ll do whatever’s needed. Got it?”
“Yessir.” But Mikoto needed more information. “What happened to him?”
“Something bad if we received a call.” As lights began showing between the trees ahead, Timur’s grip nearly robbed Mikoto of breath. “Faster, Fend. He’s suffering.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Scream
Kyrie had no trouble keeping up with Ginkgo, who lofted a handful of illuminated crystals to zip ahead and light their run through unfamiliar woods. Long before they reached any kind of destination, Kyrie knew something bad was happening.
The wind carried frightening scents. They made him want to run faster, but also to stop.
“Okay, little bro?” Ginkgo asked.
Before Kyrie could answer, he heard his first dragon scream. It made him want to scream back.
Ginkgo scooped him up and ran on. “That bad?”
“He is trying to say, ‘Stay back. Go away. Leave me.’” The words hurt because they offered a terrible kindness. “Sinder does not mean it, though.”
Ears askance, eyes worry-wide, Ginkgo asked, “How can you tell?”
Tapping his fingers over his heart, Kyrie admitted, “I might only half understand. But that is the truth of his call. He wants a rescuer.”
“That’d be us, yeah?” Ginkgo kissed the top of his head. “Timur’s just ahead, and I’m catching Torloo’s scent. They’ll need our support.”
Kyrie simply nodded.
“ … the next trial,” Torloo was saying. “An experimental technique combining sigilcraft and crystal-tipped bolts. Crossbow delivery.”
“But why red crystals?” Timur was pulling at his hair.
“We must test all hues, and the samples provided were arranged in a spectrum.” Although his tail was puffed double, Torloo’s voice was steady, his answers succinct. “Red was first.”
Ginkgo let Kyrie down and shouldered his way between Timur and Mikoto.
Torloo continued. “He reacted poorly. He is contained, largely thanks to Salali, but he has not calmed. There is some concern with regards to the damage a rampaging dragon can cause.”
“To the village, or to himself?” growled Timur. Kyrie thought Lilya’s big brother looked dangerous right then. Like he was daring the assemblage of battlers to say the wrong thing.
“He knows us. Trusts us,” said Ginkgo. “What I want to know is who cut him?”
“No! Well, yes, a dart pierced him. But after that, Sinder hurt himself.” Torloo pointed to the sigils that danced in midair, forming a roughly hexagonal barrier. “Once we had him penned, he began thrashing. Trees shattered, and he threw himself against the resulting splinters.”
Kyrie felt bad for Torloo, whose misery was palpable.
Timur growled something, but Kyrie slipped away. He saw no reason to worry about the village. Sinder should be everyone’s first concern. Saving him would keep everyone safe.
Bent branches and bare roots made it obvious that the area was freshly cleared. Little breezes stank of bare earth, bruised leaves, tree sap, and blood. And in the center of the wreckage huddled Sinder, head low, sides heaving. Glittering green eyes roved along the line of battlers, who ranged around the boundaries.
Sinder could not escape.
Not because Salali’s barrier was strong. Only because Sinder was holding himself back. Keeping to a form that posed less of a threat, should he falter. Kyrie was impressed by Sinder’s resolve—to accept pain rather than deal it.
Behind him, Timur was saying, “I’m glad you learned something of value from this, because you aren’t going to have another chance. This cannot continue.”
Ginkgo said, “Dad’ll bust chops if anyone gets stubborn.”
Mikoto spoke up. “I will file a formal protest. Allow us to find other means of training while Sinder recovers.”
“This can’t continue!” Timur repeated.
Kyrie glanced back, still intrigued. Lilya’s brother always laughed and smiled at home. But that was far away and full of children. This was a face Timur didn’t usually show. But Kyrie approved of his fury. If he was entirely honest, he shared it.
Sinder’s claws raked the ground. Blood matted his mane, and there were splinters the size of pikes in uncomfortable places. Kyrie’s patience for the adult’s conversation faded entirely. Talking things through could be important. Mother liked to say that patience was a virtue. But so was mercy.
He trotted along the line, paying more heed to the barrier than the battlers. It was good and strong, but one of the anchors had a lovely lavender hue. Just what he needed.
Kyrie could have dismantled the whole assemblage with a touch, but that wouldn’t be safe for the humans. Instead, he found a little ripple and pressed his fingers through. Nudging and leaning, he whispered encouragement. Potent words. He didn’t often need them, but this was a very good barrier. Its clashing layers scraped, but he whispered and teased and wiggled past the first layer … only to find no further impediments.
Disappointing, real
ly. If Dad had been in charge, there would have been a series of failsafes and fallbacks. That’s the way foxes were, always making certain they accounted for the unexpected. Then again, this was a rush job, and it worked to keep Sinder in. But whoever made this barrier hadn’t known about Kyrie.
They’d know better next time.
Fiddling with a sigil, Kyrie worked his way across battered ground. Unseen. Ginkgo had taught him this one for sneaking into the pantry, which wasn’t exactly against the rules since Aunt Sansa was generous with everything, even snacks. Sharing cookies at midnight was one of the best ways to help skittish new orphans feel like part of the family. And sometimes … well, sometimes little kids were afraid of Kyrie.
Mother asked him to be gentle and kind and patient. Give newcomers a chance to see past the red eyes and horns and scales, to see how much his other denmates liked and trusted him. And mother was wise, because that’s how it always worked out. Even the worst crybaby—which was Be’el-garva, a little half-cobra—would trail after Kyrie, wanting to hold hands.
The youngsters were cute. Kyrie liked being a big brother.
For now, at least, he was the only half-dragon at Stately House, but Kyrie often wondered if Dad might someday bring home a little cousin. Maybe they would be like Sinder, who looked like new shoots in springtime. Or they might be like Lapis, whose blues shimmered like deep water. And he could be their big brother. But right now, he needed to be a good little brother. Or a good cousin, at least.
With a series of trills, he let Sinder know he was coming. That was only polite.
When the injured dragon’s near eye rolled his way, Kyrie offered a small wave, but he wasn’t sure Sinder recognized him.
Foam dripped from his jaws, flecked with blood, and there was an unhealthy slick upon his scales. With each blink of his eyes, they rolled a little, and their pupils wavered between thin slits and black pits. Could he even see?
Kyrie said, “Hold on, Sinder. I am here.”
Scales shifted, and the dragon dragged his chin, trying to see.
“I am not alone. You are not alone.”
Sinder’s wail made Kyrie’s stomach plunge, but he didn’t stop.
“Let me see.” He used a bossy tone that would have suited Lilya just fine. Words that could compel. “Show me where.”
The answering whine ended in a sob.
Kyrie wrapped his arms around Sinder’s muzzle as far as they would go. He warbled a lullaby that Lapis had taught him, a silly rhyme about the winds in each season. All lovely. All loving.
With a creaky warble, Sinder tried to sing along. But he was still suffering.
“Let me take it from you.” And when Sinder widened his eyes and squeaked alarm, Kyrie said, “I know, but I am only half. And sometimes, that is a very useful thing to be.”
Sinder gave him a direction with a small jerk of his head.
Kyrie had to paw through fur, but it was there, buried. “Take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.” And wrapping his hand around the offending bolt, he jerked it free.
Sinder yelped and shuddered.
All of the sudden, the barrier was gone, and voices were shouting. Ginkgo reached them first. “Hold still, Damsel. Let us pull a few of these slivers before you try to move.”
Timur crashed to the ground beside Sinder and spoke right into his ear. “Do not transform. Hear me? Not until I say it’s safe.” And to Kyrie, “Keep him calm. This will hurt.”
So Kyrie stroked the angles of Sinder’s face and made sounds low in his throat. Ones he knew meant peace and home and brotherhood. Because they were the very things Lapis knew he craved.
Timur was talking, too. A growly harangue that sounded more like vows. “No more battle games. No more night maneuvers. No more experimental weapons. No. More.”
Kyrie babbled on, telling Sinder about the garden at home and about nearly falling from Zisa’s branches. About Lilya making him sneeze and the mysterious scent of flowers that the winds brought to tease him.
Then Ginkgo was back. “Their healer’s here with supplies, and Timur’s ready. Nice and easy, Damsel. We’ve got you.”
In a whirlwind that only partially hid a groan, Sinder shifted. On his knees before Kyrie, he reached for him, pulling him against skin that must have hurt—battered and bloodied and bruised.
Kyrie crooned and kissed his cheek, then used his sleeve to blot tears.
“Let me through,” grumbled Timur. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
Once he was sure Lilya’s big brother was close enough to catch him, Kyrie let go of Sinder. Next to Timur, caught in the light of Ginkgo’s crystals, the dragon looked pale and frail.
Sinder tugged at Timur’s vest, his voice was cracked and hoarse from screaming. “Tell them I’m sorry.”
“Zolottse,” Timur murmured, gathering Sinder close. “That’s exactly what they asked me to tell you.”
TWENTY-SIX
Free Day
Lilya woke to find Gregor in Kyrie’s usual spot, which was nice in its way. She enjoyed having her nephew all to herself. At first. But breakfast was a spare affair, with only Waaseyaa—who gently suggested she call him Uncle—for company. And his attention was mostly taken up with Gregor, who was content to be spoon-fed his portion of porridge with berries.
“Are you missing your brother?” Waaseyaa asked.
Prodding at her breakfast, Lilya only shrugged.
He wasn’t offended. “My brother has always been as near as he can be. I would be lonesome without him.”
Lilya stole an envious peek. “So you’re never lonely?”
He smiled a little. “Do you understand the difference between us? It is similar to the difference between you and Kyrie.”
She shrugged again. “Lifespan.”
“A tree’s years are many. And so are mine.” Waaseyaa focused on Gregor, as if not wanting to meet her gaze. “I am sometimes lonesome for those who have gone away. And for those who have … gone before.”
Lilya pushed her bowl away and let her chin drop onto folded arms. “Like who?”
“My children. Their mothers. My grandchildren. And their children in turn.” His dark eyes were soft and sad. “And friends. Like you and your brother. I am glad you came to us, Lilya.”
“Do we make you less lonely? Or more lonely because we’ll go away later?”
Waaseyaa’s smile was nice. “Both.”
Lilya indicated Gregor. “You like children.”
“I have raised many.” With an impish smile he confessed, “I pretend to lose count, but it is a little joke between me and Zisa. He likes to remind me of their names.”
“Are you all out of children?”
“Not entirely.” Waaseyaa offered a cup of milk to Gregor. “But my youngest grew up and left Wardenclave several years ago.”
“Ask Uncle Argent.”
He searched her face. “Pardon?”
“For a crosser. Or a bunch of them, if you want a big family. This is a safe place, and you’re nice. They’d like you for their papka.”
Waaseyaa stared at her for so long, Lilya thought he didn’t understand. But then his chin trembled. And he looked like he wanted to say yes, except he’d lost his voice. And Lilya knew she was right. Some of their crossers were going to be so happy here.
She asked, “Do you know where Kyrie went?”
“Yes.” When she stared pointedly, he bowed his head. “Your friend Sinder was injured last night, and your brother is the only other dragon in Wardenclave. Timur seemed to think having Kyrie close would be a comfort.”
Lilya couldn’t believe it. This was their first free day, and she and Kyrie had planned to chase the scent of strange flowers into the mountains. She opened her mouth to offer her help, but closed it. Mum and Timur were both healers, but Lilya’s usefulness in that arena ended in the herb garden. She could weed and water. Stuff anyone could do.
“So they’ll be busy all day.” L
ilya had no idea what to do instead.
Waaseyaa scooped up Gregor and beckoned for Lilya to follow. At the front door, she stepped into her boots and followed him outside. He circled to the back of his house, which was tucked close against a steep hill, and paused at the foot of a stairway. Every step was a slab, touched by lichen and moss, weathered by enough seasons to give the stairs a magical feel.
“Go to the top,” he directed. “There is a door, and it is unlocked. Pay a visit.”
“Whose house is up there?”
“Glint and Radiance are my closest neighbors.” Waaseyaa propped Gregor on his hip. “She told me you found the Kith shelter and asked me to teach you the way to her door.”
Lilya hesitated. Was it really all right to do something fun without Kyrie?
“Am I correct in assuming that Kyrie is capable of tracking you, should he return earlier than anticipated?”
She nodded sheepishly.
“Go on, then. And enjoy your visit.” He lowered himself to the bottom step and turned loose a squirming Gregor. “We cannot anticipate your return until you find the courage to go.”
Lilya bent to kiss Waaseyaa’s cheek. “Thank you, Uncle,” she whispered.
He laughed a little and waved her off.
With a spring in her step, Lilya hurried toward the unknown … and felt quite daring on her own. Not at all like her usual self.
When Lilya arrived in a wide, sunny room at the back of the large house atop the hill, she was immediately surrounded by three floppy-eared Kith pups with curling golden fur. They were hardly more than babies and innocent in their curiosity. Lilya knelt and accepted their interest and adoration, giggling when their little tails whipped the way Ever’s did when he was at his happiest.
“What a lovely surprise! I’ve been wanting to see you again!” Radiance sauntered over and joined the muddle on the floor. Hauling one of the big pups into her lap, she remarked, “You’re used to Kith, I take it?”