Fate of Dragons

by Alisha Klapheke

  Did she mean strongest of the Jade territory?

  “If we do not drown them as eggs.” The Queen crushed Ryton’s hand in hers.

  “I’m not a dragon,” he whispered into her ear, going for a teasing tone and wincing at her strength. He was no shrimp, but this Queen was Touched, imbued with water magic he couldn’t dream of. Her power went far beyond muscle and bone.

  She threw his hand and swam to the far end of the Watcher’s bowl. “What else do you see? Anything we actually need to know?”

  Ryton knew Astraea worried that the dragons had learned about the underwater tunnel.

  The Watcher shook her head, her hood sliding away from her straggly white hair. She sat straight up and slammed her hands onto the sides of the bowl. “By the Blackwater.”

  The Queen yanked her away from the bowl and gripped both of the Watcher’s arms. “Tell me. What did you see?”

  The Watcher swallowed, her leathery throat moving in successive swallows. When she finally spoke, the normally deep and confident timbre of her voice went reedy and thin. “The Earth Queen. An Earth Queen. She has washed in the Blackwater of the elves. She begins her journey.”

  Ryton’s heart hung in his chest. It was as the Jade had said. There was a surviving human. And she wasn’t only a regular human. She was an Earth Queen.

  The room went hazy, and Ryton put a hand on Grystark’s chest to steady himself.

  Astraea dropped the Watcher’s arms and swam backward slowly, her eyes widening and the veins at her temples pulsing. “That can’t be. I killed them. I killed them all.”

  “This can’t be true,” Grystark said, allowing Ryton to keep his hand where it was. “We annihilated the last of the things at Tristura. None of our scouts—”

  The Queen flew at Grystark, clawed hands out and spells drumming from her lips. Before Ryton could fully process what was happening, he had flung out an arm and spoken a spell to throw the Queen back.

  Shocked, she stared at Ryton.

  Grystark and Ryton both went to their knees, sand and shell grinding against their flesh.

  “My Queen,” Ryton said. “I was mistaken. My body acted before my mind could catch up.”

  “A warrior’s mistake.” Grystark looked up warily. “Punish me as you see fit. Have mercy on your true servant, Ryton.”

  The Queen huffed and turned away. “You don’t matter. What matters is this new truth the Watcher has brought us.”

  The Watcher stood over her bowl again, her head bobbing like she could see movement. “She did this without the elves to see her,” the Watcher whispered.

  “Interesting,” the Queen spat. “So Mattin may live another day. But how? How did this human live through our flood? And how did she discover how to wake her latent powers? Did the elves instruct her at all? Do you see anything that points to such an event?”

  “No.” The Watcher’s head swiveled like it might come off.

  Ryton and Grystark stood. Ryton’s heart hammered his ribs. He’d almost struck the Queen. If he hadn’t bitten off that spell…

  The army would have been leaderless right before their final war. They would have to wait for another Queen to rise. Their magic would weaken, for hers strengthened all of the sea folk’s power. They were linked through the water. And he nearly ruined everything for which they’d fought.

  Ryton could tell Grystark was bursting to say something to him, but he knew he’d barely escaped one situation with the Queen. He was wise enough to hold his tongue for now.

  “The dragons!” The Watcher whirled and lifted her chin to the Queen. “The Lapis aided the Earth Queen.”

  “The dragons? They hated humans.”

  The Watcher went back to her bowl and began humming a tune that was disturbingly similar to the one Ryton had heard from the window on his way here. She twisted her head toward him like she could read his thoughts, then she smiled, a quick lift of one side of her aged lips. Before he could question her, she turned away and fell quiet.

  Had the grin and her humming only been products of his ravaged nerves?

  “They most likely hate the idea of drowning to death more than they hate humans,” Grystark said.

  Ryton began to cover for him and his attitude, but it seemed the Queen’s entire focus appeared to be on understanding this catastrophe, which was wise. If this was indeed what the Watcher thought it was, the war was about to take a sharp turn in the wrong direction.

  “Forgive me, Watcher, but could you perhaps be wrong?” Ryton eyed the bowl as if he might be able to see what she did. But there were no images, no sounds, nothing.

  “I see what is, what was, what will be.”

  Ryton rubbed the back of his neck. “What exactly will we be dealing with if this human worms her way through the power ritual’s steps? How many steps are there anyway? Who is our expert on this subject?”

  The Queen was swimming back and forth and back again, behind the Watcher. Everyone stepped away to give her space. She stopped, crossed her arms over her pearl and salt tulip tunic. “The Jades would never consider the possibility that after all this time an Earth Queen of any repute could rise. But the Lapis are different. Well, even if this human does have power, who is to say how strong she will be? No one knows. Unless you see more, Watcher? Do you see her rising against us in a way that does more than inconvenience me?”

  “I only see the woman. I see her washing in the Blackwater, in the Forest of Illumahrah.” The Watcher glanced at Ryton and he nodded politely, not sure why she was looking at him. “There is a shadow in her life,” the Watcher added, “but I cannot see it clearly. I do not know what it means.”

  “So this Earth Queen might not even be a threat?” Venu finally spoke up, violet eyes hopeful in the dim light.

  Astraea shrugged. “She still must find her familiar, speak the spell at the place of her birth, and visit the Sacred Oak before she will be capable of doing much of anything. This human only completed the first step. By the time she begins the next, she will be dead, along with the rest of them.”

  “Her familiar?” Ryton hadn’t heard much about human power rituals.

  Humans had guarded their ceremonies and kept them secret, holy. And in the passage of time, during their diminishing strength, those secrets had become mostly forgotten. Only a few living today knew of them. Ryton had heard Grystark mention them once.

  “She will need to follow her magic to a simplebeast who will aid her in her journey,” the Queen said, looking distracted. “That is the next step after washing in the Blackwater.”

  “Will the elves and dragons help her find this familiar?”

  “I doubt they even know she needs to do this. She most likely doesn’t know. How would she? She was probably hiding in some rotten cave when we finished off her kynd. She is most likely ignorant of her own capabilities.”

  “But she made her way to the elves and their Source spring.” Grystark kept his voice respectful.

  “She did.” Astraea eyed Grystark. Her gaze held a warning. “But King Mattin promised me. She must have acted without his knowledge. He will find out about this and strike her down.” The Queen’s face broke into a wide grin. She tapped Grystark on the chest. “Indeed. I don’t think we have much to worry about. But to be sure, we will send our spy to our contact within the ranks of the elves. We will find out everything and we will be ready if this Earth Queen does indeed prove to be worth our time.”

  “Our inside contact is alive still?” Ryton knew of the gray-haired elf who had turned on his own kynd in exchange for a rare sea tuber that gave elves an exhilarating high. The elf had an illness that would take him before Astraea flooded the land so the elf saw no problem with the deal.

  “I believe so. We shall see.”

  The Queen began to throw orders. Ryton was to organize the meeting with the spy and gather any further intel possible. Grystark and Venu would develop additional training drills to combat an Earth Queen’s ability to shape earth, call up creatures of leaf and sto
ne, and all manner of horrors. Astraea sent the Watcher away with a guard holding the great bowl. The Queen commanded her to continue Watching with only a few hours of rest at night.

  Everyone swam away to their duties, leaving Ryton alone with the Queen. He paused at her door, drumming fingers on the archway. He had to ask about the strategy she had suggested, the one where Grystark’s units took the brunt of the dragonfire in a reckless, full front attack.

  “I know what you’re going to ask me, Ryton,” the Queen purred from across the room. She turned her back to him, her skin showing, smooth between the two flaps of her elaborately designed tunic. “Don’t bother. I will either use that strategy or I won’t. You know we must not put our hearts in the way of a win. You know better than to think for even one moment that I care whether Grystark lives or dies. I don’t want him wasted though. He is valuable. At least take comfort in that.”

  Grystark was valuable. She could never understand exactly how valuable he was to Ryton. Astraea knew nothing of friendship. Ryton’s heart pinched and for a fleeting moment he frowned, pitying her.

  “Yes, my Queen.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Now!” Vahly yelled to Nix.

  Nix blasted Mattin with dragonfire. The elf stumbled backward, his shadows reeling around him, protecting him. But then the shadows faltered under the onslaught of the orange-red flame and his face streamed with sweat as he fell to his knees.

  Nix couldn’t strike out at Canopus because he held Cassiopeia close.

  Cassiopeia’s rage showed in her eyes as she struggled against the shadow’s hold, floating just above his shoulder, her hands gripping a bow and a nocked arrow.

  The barrier holding back the crowd wavered and thinned. The elves called up blazing flares of sunlight and spinning lengths of purple shadow, but it was nothing compared to the strength of Mattin’s darkness.

  Rigel broke through and ran at Mattin before the wall reformed.

  Vahly joined him. “Hold, Nix!”

  Nix ceased the stream of fire aimed at Mattin, then lashed out at Canopus with her spiked tail. The elf leaped to avoid a hit, but landed hard on his side.

  The spell holding Cassiopeia broke, and the sun-haired elf immediately fired at Canopus, nailing him to the ground with a shot to the heart. Dark red seeped into the ground around his body.

  Vahly feinted a horizontal slash with her sword, then flipped her wrist at the last second, slicing the blade diagonally at Mattin. The steel edge fought through the shadow, the weapon trembling against the magic, and managed to cut across Mattin’s chest. His surcoat fell open. Blood spooled from his pale skin.

  From behind, Rigel hit Mattin between neck and shoulder, but the wound was shallow.

  The king raised his shadow shield again and there was no getting through. He looked to Canopus, eyes wild, and threw darkness toward the vial at Canopus’s neck. Tendrils of dark magic curled around the vial, quick as a breath, and brought the container to Mattin’s lips. He drank, shuddered, and bent double.

  Arc rose. His voice broke through the chaos. A stream of ruby blood streamed from his head, but he held his daggers ready. “Cousin!” His face twisted like he was in pain as he watched Mattin finish the contents of the vial. “That’s Blackwater. Why?” It was obvious Arc thought the act an abomination.

  “It should kill him. Shouldn’t it?” Vahly looked to Arc, then Cassiopeia, then Rigel. They only stared, mouths agape and faces pale.

  Nix roared, and Vahly backed up, motioning for the others to do the same.

  Dragonfire skirted over Mattin’s darkening shield, not injuring him, but igniting the wildflowers, trees, and vines.

  Vahly raised her hands, the urge to use this new sensation rushing through her body. She could feel the earth, the very dirt, waiting for her command, longing to smother the fire eating at its growth. But nothing happened. She had no power to do such a thing.

  Eyes fierce, Arc raised two blinding orbs of light and flung them at Mattin’s shield. The shadow blinked on contact, but held its shape. Mattin straightened, his face slack with the nausea that came with drinking the Blackwater, and shoved a churning cloud of inky darkness toward Arc. At the same time, Mattin drew up a wind.

  The gust threw Vahly, Arc, and Cassiopeia down, then knocked Nix backward into one of the guard stones near the spring.

  Tail slashing, Nix exploded with rage. Her dragonfire blazed toward the canopy.

  On the ground, Vahly stared, unable to pry her head away from the earth, as Nix struggled to aim, fighting the elemental force, the muscles in her neck straining.

  All of them fought against the wind, but Arc was the only one making any headway. His lights shone on, even as he lay on the ground, hitched up against a boulder. The shadows that slipped around his light only caressed him like fingers, their movement unwavering despite the wind.

  I didn’t drink Blackwater and Mattin is strong. I will not last more than a few more seconds, Arc said into Vahly’s mind. You are changed. I feel it. I smell it. Throw your will toward my light and let us see what might happen. Trust your friend the alchemist.

  But I can’t do anything. It didn’t work.

  It will. Just try it.

  Tears pricked Vahly’s eyes. She looked to Nix, who broke away from her pinned position to breathe fire over Mattin once more. He trembled as if he might feel the heat of it, but still his shadows and his elemental wind crushed her and the rest. Arc’s nose began to bleed and his eyes rolled like he was about to lose consciousness. Mattin’s gusts blew Nix back. Her head slammed against the tree where she was pinned. She roared in pain, throat trembling.

  This was it. Mattin would kill them all. The Sea Queen would flood the land and every hawk, sparrow, stag, fawn, steed, and dragon—all the creatures, simple and high—would perish in the crashing waves, burned by spellwork or ripped to pieces by the sea folk’s teeth.

  Only Mattin and the elves he chose would live on. An abomination, their magic twisting the way the world was meant to be. This beautiful place, the Forest of Illumahrah, would crack and decay would seep into its emerald glens and lofty towers of oak. All would be ruined.

  Pull yourself together, Vahly, she told herself. You will not go down like this. Fight for Kemen. For Ibai. For Dramour. For the innocent elves, Vega, Leporis, and Pegasi, who died by the hand of someone they trusted. Fight. Fight. Fight.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her senses to the earth, to the tree roots, to the vines and to the rocks. The ground cooled her cheek, its touch like a friend’s hand. Not at all sure what in the world she was attempting, she poured her will toward Arc’s light.

  Bind, she thought. Join and grow.

  The ground between Arc and Mattin churned. Then the earth rose into a mound as if a wild, crazed animal crawled under the surface. The earth burrowed straight toward the King.

  Vahly’s lungs squeezed and she sucked a breath, already exhausted. Her temples pounded with the effort. Sweat rolled down her face, her limbs shaking with the effort. Her control began to slip.

  The earth reared under Mattin’s feet and threw him to the ground.

  His concentration broke just as the sound of a hundred dragon wings filled the air.

  I am here, Amona said into Vahly’s mind.

  Vahly’s concentration broke. She lost her ability to move the earth, but happiness soared inside her, regardless.

  Amona! she shouted through the bond. Only torch King Mattin. Trust me. Please!

  The Lapis’ great bodies appeared above the canopy, their scales like glittering water in the dawn light and their talons long and fearsome. The elves cloaked in the shadow barrier shrieked in anger and terror both, their hands drawn up to cast light and dark.

  “No!” Vahly ran toward them and Cassiopeia joined her. “The dragons will save us. Do not hurt them and they will not hurt you!”

  Cassiopeia bent her head, and Vahly guessed she spoke to her kynd telepathically.

  The dragons circled but only on
e breached the forest ceiling to blow fury down. The massive stream of dragonfire roared with the strength that could only come from a matriarch, enveloping Mattin entirely. Nothing of him or his shadow work remained visible. The ground bubbled under the heat of Amona’s flames.

  Vahly, instinctively knowing what to do, whispered to the ground. The earth rolled up and over the fire that reached beyond Mattin, suffocating the errant blaze.

  Arc was standing now, beside Nix and Cassiopeia, and the Lapis landed one by one in a clearing beyond the spring.

  Amona ceased her dragonfire and eased her way to stand beside Vahly.

  A pile of ash was all that remained of Mattin’s body. Vahly blinked, realizing Amona had also obliterated Canopus’s body.

  Arc’s gaze latched onto Vahly’s. A sad smile lifted one side of his mouth, and he bowed his head to her. Our friends did not die in vain, he murmured gently inside her head, his deep voice soothing and genuine.

  Vahly wished she could speak alone with him right away. What had they done, combining their magic like that?

  The wall Mattin created shivered and fell away, a sign that his soul had fled the remains of his body. A few elves raised their weapons at Amona and the Lapis approaching from behind her.

  Vahly sheathed her sword and put a hand on a hip. “Truly, elves? They fly in here and save you all from your own problem and you’re going to fire at them?”

  Most had the grace to look ashamed as they tucked their knives and bows away. Some muttered and disappeared the way they’d come.

  Vahly turned to Amona. Thank you. Once again, you saved my life.

  I don’t know. You seemed to have things under control. But I didn’t want to miss a chance to roast an elf. What was wrong with him?

  He drank Blackwater.

  From the Source spring? How did it not kill him? All the stories claim that would end him.

  He diluted and spelled it. It turns out, he had been diluting the Blackwater my kynd washed in as part of their ritual for generations. That’s why the last few Earth Queens were so weak and why so few had even been born.