Hath No Fury

by Melanie R. Meadors

  “I did hold it. For nearly an hour I held it, while the other children ran for help and the men came to hack it to pieces with scythes and hoes.”

  “But not quite long enough.”

  This I could not deny. “No. Not long enough.”

  He let silence frame my admission for several long moments. “So,” he said briskly, “you trained as a far-seer, you spied for Oksari. You exceeded your mandate. Brilliantly so, he claims.”

  “I would not presume to contradict Lord Oksari.”

  A spark of amusement lit the necromancer’s eyes, then disappeared. “He says you took control of a man whose eyes you were using. You killed him to protect Sultana Zuly.”

  “Strictly speaking, the Sultana’s guard, the man whose eyes I was using, fell to an assassin’s blade.”

  “And you have no qualms about pushing him onto that blade?”

  “He should have seen the dagger. He did not. I merely ensured that he did his duty to the Sultana.”

  Narkahesh nodded, his face thoughtful. I’d seen that look before. The first time I seized control of another human, I’d expected Lord Oksari to be appalled. Instead, he encouraged me to take on harder jobs, using people as weapons as well as windows to distant places.

  “Oksari claims you can influence minds as well as control bodies. Powerful minds. You induced either Cardish or Omani to start a spell battle that killed them both. Which one, I wonder?”

  “You are assuming, my lord, that I can control only one man at a time.”

  The necromancer lifted one eyebrow. “Show me.”

  I turned to the alcove that displayed two matching suits of plate armor and seized the minds of the elite warriors hidden in them.

  In unison, they stepped off the platform and clanked toward the balcony. I raised my hand, and they stopped.

  “What demonstration would you prefer, my lord? Should they fight each other, or shall I have them leap to their deaths?”

  “Either option seems excessive.” He reached for a bell and gave it a shake. Almost immediately, the door opened and a portly man draped in a seneschal’s green robes stepped into the room.

  “Farook will take you to the aerie to meet your crew. You will spend the day in flight and report back at nightfall.” He reached for another parchment and began to read.

  Astonishment rooted me to the chair, despite the obvious dismissal.

  My crew? Flying? Torches commanded from the tower, bound to their dragons with bonds of blood and magic.

  I gestured toward the scrying bowl. “Wouldn’t I be better able to command the battle-beast from here?”

  The necromancer glanced up. “You’re not taking control of a beast. You’ll be controlling a castledrake crew.”

  I stared at him, too stunned for speech.

  “Will that be a problem?”

  “Not for me,” I said slowly. “But extended periods of mind control carry great risk. The crew could go insane.”

  His lips twisted into an unpleasant smile. “Should that occur, I doubt anyone would notice the difference.”

  THE DOOR TO THE AERIE creaked open, and I climbed onto the flat rooftop, shielding my eyes with one hand against the sudden brightness.

  Wind whipped at my skirts and veils. I steadied myself against one of the enormous iron perches that ringed the roof and took stock of my new command.

  On opposite sides of the aerie perched two dragons—castledrakes, to be precise—one with scales of pale silver and the other as blue as rain-washed slate. They glared at each other with hate-filled golden eyes, hissing like giant cats.

  Fearsome beasts, certainly, but much smaller than I’d expected. I couldn’t imagine how four people could fit into the scaly dome that rose like a burl between the wings—the “castle” that gave these magically cultivated beasts their name.

  Six women—the castledrakes’ crews, I assumed—gathered around supply tables, filling flasks from an assortment of small kegs or packing food and sundries into travel bags. All the women were small in stature and lightly clad, which made sense, given the close quarters they were forced to share. With a jolt of something like panic, I realized that I’d have to shed my veils and robes.

  A long shadow fell over the aerie. I looked up to see a black castledrake swooping into a descending spiral.

  Someone shouted an alarm. The women dropped everything where they stood and scrambled into their respective castles.

  The blue and silver dragons swept their leathery wings into high, taut curves. The downbeat lifted them into the sky with a sound like a thunderclap. They winged off together, their earlier differences apparently forgotten in the face of this new foe.

  The newcomer dropped onto one of the vacated perches with a loud whuff, a sound that, adjusted for size, brought to mind my grandmother’s groan as she sank into her chair after a day’s work. The black dragon settled back on its haunches and raised one massive clawed fist, tossing an obscene gesture in the direction of the departing castledrakes.

  That, too, was familiar.

  The castle’s hatch—a massive domed scale the approximate size and shape of a giant’s battle shield—creaked slowly open…

  And then fell off.

  The scale clattered onto the aerie’s stone floor and traced a rumbling arc as it rolled toward me. I leaped aside before it teetered and fell, rocking like an upended turtle.

  A small, gray-haired woman nimbly climbed out of the castle and down the dragon’s side. She moved like a woman half her age, and her sleeveless vest bared arms that were lean and muscled. She strode over to the still-rocking hatch and regarded it for a moment, hands on narrow hips.

  “That’s not ideal,” she observed.

  “Not ideal?” demanded an incredulous voice from the castle. “Captain, we’re buggered sideways! One good rainstorm, and we’ll be floating tits-up like fish in a bowl.”

  Lilting bubbles of laughter, also from the castle, greeted this observation. “Fish don’t have tits. Honestly, Gelanna, that’s the sort of thing I’d expect a druid to know.”

  I looked up, and my jaw dropped. Two women peered over the edge of the open castle. One was a matronly woman with gray-streaked hair plaited into druid’s braids. The other was a creature of legend.

  I knew elves still existed, of course, but an actual encounter had never entered my realm of possibility.

  The druid scowled at her fey crewmate. “Mermaids, then. You like mermaids better?”

  “They’re lovely,” the elf said wistfully. “Especially with butter and lemon.”

  “She couldn’t mean that literally,” I murmured.

  The captain glanced up. “If it makes you feel better to think that, go right ahead. Who the hell are you?”

  “Your new Torch.”

  One eyebrow rose. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere out of the wind, eating dates and sipping sugared wine?”

  “Probably, but I’ll be flying with you today.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to get to know the crew and the dragon.”

  By now, the other women had scrambled down from the castle. At close quarters, the elf ’s appearance was decidedly feline. Green and brown stripes swirled across her angular face. Golden eyes slashed with vertical pupils regarded me with curiosity. Her pointed ears rose nearly to the top of her close-cropped head. I found myself wishing she’d turn around so I could see if she had—

  “No tail,” the elf said. The druid elbowed her sharply. “What? Everyone asks.”

  The captain looked me up and down. “Why aren’t you wearing dragonscale?”

  “I haven’t earned it yet.”

  Elf and druid exchanged a glance. “She hasn’t earned it,” the older woman said. She turned a cold gaze my way. “No offense, Torch, but we’d just as soon you didn’t start ‘earning it’ here.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  “You’re no use to us,” she continued. “This dragon’s the oldest in the fleet. Her fires burned out a few years back,
and no Torch has ever been able to kindle her magic.”

  “After today’s flight, feel free to take the matter up with Lord Narkahesh.”

  The captain huffed. “That’d go well. All right, let’s get this over with. I’m Zim. That’s Gelanna. No one can pronoun the elf ’s name, but we call her Anook. And the dragon’s name is her own damn business.”

  I let that pass. “Rue.”

  “You’ll need to shed the draperies, Rue. We’ll be tripping over each other enough without all that.”

  This was the moment I’d been dreading. I reached under my veils, fingers sliding over ridges of ruined skin, and released the clasps that held the various straps in place. The wind did the rest. I unclasped my belt and shrugged off the robes. My shift bared my arms and legs, revealing deep whorls where flame had melted flesh. By the end of the day, my scalp would be burned anew, this time by the sun’s fire. My hair, which once had been as black and glossy as raven’s wing, had never grown back.

  Zim’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a survivor, I’ll say that much for you. Salamander?”

  I nodded.

  “Nasty buggers. Happened a while back, looks like.”

  “Nearly fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen—” She shook her head in amazement. “You were… what? Ten years old?”

  “Almost twelve. Even so, I held it for nearly an hour.”

  “Huh.” Zim looked to her crew, one eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.

  I left the crew to make up their minds about me and walked over to the dragon. I’d come to Bluestone Castle to command a battle-beast, and that was what I intended to do. Narkahesh, as far as I was concerned, was welcome to befriend an amorous camel.

  I pulled a dagger from my boot and slid the blade across my forearm. When the blood began to flow, I offered it to the dragon.

  The crew’s collective shock hit me like a sudden gust. No Torch fed a dragon directly, not even a hatchling, but the accepted method of blood-bonding took time. I didn’t have that luxury. Either I would die, or I would command.

  A low rumble of sound came from the dragon. After a moment, I recognized it as laughter.

  The dragon bared fangs that shamed my dagger and raised a paw to its jaws. It hooked one tooth under a loose scale and tugged. The scale lifted, and a drop of blood fell to hiss and bubble on the stone floor. The dragon leaned down from its perch and presented its massive wrist, mirroring my own offering.

  Or perhaps calling my bluff.

  For a long moment, I held the dragon’s gaze, which was an act of insanity rivaling the blood offering. Slowly, carefully, I slid into the creature’s mind. It perceived me, not as an intruder but an intriguing guest. She welcomed me with a tapestry of emotions: delight, curiosity, understanding, amusement. Our minds opened to each other, sharing and discovering in something very much like a swiftly unfolding friendship.

  This, I had not expected.

  The dragon’s forked tongue flicked out and lightly touched my wrist. Before I could decide how to respond to Ysindre—for that was her name—Zim’s slap spun me around and knocked me to my knees.

  “Don’t even think about reciprocating. Dragon blood would burn right through you and then melt the chamber pot. And it’s a new chamber pot.”

  “Reckless,” muttered Gelanna as she helped me to my feet. “Crazy as a shithouse rat.”

  The elf nodded happily. “She’ll fit right in. Let’s fly!”

  I FOUND DRAGONFLIGHT BOTH TERRIFYING and exhilarating. Each downbeat of Ysindre’s wings sent us lurching into the sky, followed but an equally sudden drop as her wings lifted for another stroke. Flight no longer came easily to the dragon. I could feel her bone-deep weariness.

  But Ysindre’s flight-joy remained undimmed, and so did her vast curiosity. Her gaze roved the landscape below, and through her eyes I saw details that redefined realism, heat patterns expressed as colors my human eyes had never perceived.

  The castle was as crowded as I’d expected, but some sort of magic kept the noise level low enough to permit conversation. Zim stood at the front, peering through a small opening in the dragonscale wall. She directed orders to Gelanna who, I assumed, communicated them to Ysindre. The elf busied herself with arranging the bags and vials hanging from a net fastened top and bottom to a section of the castle wall.

  “Food and weapons,” she said, noticing my scrutiny. “Pretty much the same thing, really. Our dragon’s fire might have gone out, but it’s amazing how much damage we can do with elven alchemy and good case of indigestion.”

  “Funeral feast ahead,” Zim called. “Fifteen degrees north of moonrise.”

  Ysindra banked and adjusted her course in response to the druid’s silent command. Through the dragon’s eyes, I saw in the distance a circle of stones around a raised platform. The man lying upon it was as only as warm as the stone beneath him. Sunlight glinted off the tool or weapon at his side, and also on the silvery scales of another dragon winging in from the south.

  “Got some competition,” Zim said. “That’s Mirianda’s dragon. It’ll be close race.”

  “No, it won’t,” the druid grumbled. “Sylvani is the fastest castledrake in the fleet. The deceased will be dragonshit before we even clear the circle.”

  Her words puzzled me, but at the moment the stone circle claimed my full attention. Through Ysindre’s eyes, the huge, rounded stones were no difference in color, shape, or heat than other boulders littering the rough terrain, but something about them bothered me. I reached out with my thoughts and slammed into a wall of malevolent cunning.

  I lunged forward to grab the captain’s arm. “Those are rockwains! They must have scattered the stone circle. They’re laying ambush.”

  Zim darted a quick look back at me. “You’re sure?”

  “Very. I saw a dozen of them run down and rip apart a battalion of armored knights and horses in about as much time as this telling just took. A dragon the size of that silver hasn’t a chance.”

  “Bugger. Can you warn off the crew?”

  I reached out to the women in the silver castle, but a solid wall of magic held me back. No wonder Narkahesh had wanted me to fly with my crew—the castles were warded against intrusions of mind and magic.

  “No,” I admitted, “but I think Ysindre can.”

  The crew turned and stared. Judging from their stunned expressions, I gathered that dragons weren’t quick to share their names.

  One corner of Gelanna’s mouth lifted. “Sylvani might see moonrise, after all.”

  I formed a mental image and sent it to Ysindre. Not control, not command, not even permission, but a vision of what we might do together. My domain encompassed the minds and will of the living, but she was a creature of necromancy. I saw no choice but to unlock her will, and trust her to do the rest.

  Ysindre’s surprise jolted through me, followed by a flood of grim joy and the sudden release of cold, dark magic—more power than I’d ever glimpsed in the mind of any human necromancer.

  On the distant platform, the corpse jerked up into sitting position, then lurched to its feet, weapon in hand. I’d never seen a more awkward throw, but the dead man’s aim was true. Sparks darted skyward when metal stuck living rock.

  No metal weapon can hurt a rockwain, but the creatures are as skittish as sand squirrels. The startled monster leaped to its feet, revealing the “boulder” as the massive homunculus it was.

  Even from this distance, we could hear the silver dragon’s scream of fear and outrage. Her pale wings spread wide as she pulled out of her descent and skimmed over the funeral platform, then beat steadily as she winged back toward the castle.

  Zim whooped in triumph and punched one fist into the air. “Message received! Light ‘em up, Nook.”

  Anook cut the cord holding a large glass. She pulled the cork with her teeth, spat it out, and looked to me.

  “Hold tight, sister.”

  With one swift movement, she surged to her feet and lobbed the vial high and hard.


  I seized a handful of net as Ysindre rolled sharply. Through the connection we shared, I felt her snap the bottle out of the air and swallow.

  The “indigestion” took less than a heartbeat to catch fire. Roiling, grumbling pain rolled through the dragon and thrust me out of our connection.

  “The buggers are back in formation,” Zim called. “Probably haven’t seen us yet. We’re going in.”

  As Ysindre labored steadily toward ambush, Gelanna leaned toward me. “Was that puppet show down there really Ysindre’s doing?”

  “It was.”

  “Necromancy?”

  “Yes.”

  The druid let out a long, low whistle. “Ysindre and I are bonded. How could I not know?”

  “For the same reason that Torches focus all their magic on controlling battle-beasts. Ysindre and her kind are more powerful than the necromancers who created them. The blood-bond turns our dragons into locked crossbows, unable to release an attack unless someone pulls the trigger.”

  “Which keeps the necromancers in control.”

  “Exactly. If dragons could use their fire and their magic as they wished, who knows what they might do?”

  A slow, grim smile spread across the druid’s face. “Looks like we’re about to find out.”

  Anook thrust a handful of small vials at us. “Get these ready to throw. Don’t spill anything on a body part you’d like to keep.”

  By now I could see the funeral platform with my own eyes. The dead man was back in position, and so were the rockwains.

  “Get ready,” Gelanna said. “Deep breath and hold it in three, two….”

  Loud, rumbling thunder rolled behind the dragon. I slid into Ysindre’s mind and felt her sudden relief. As she banked hard to the west, I saw the dense, gray-green cloud in our wake, sinking toward the stone circle like morning fog.

  Ysindre began a swift climb.

  “Now!” shouted Anook.

  We hurled vials over the side.

  “Brace!”

  The explosion shook the sky. I felt Ysindre’s satisfaction, as well as her mental wince as rock bounced off her belly armor.

  Gelanna rose to her feet and gestured for me to join her. We peered over the edge of the castle to the shattered landscape below.