by Devin Hanson
Tiny gods. He couldn’t even imagine what it was going to be like out in the courtyard a minute from now. “My allies still fight!” he shouted, “They fight for the dragons, to cleanse the corruption. Miranikossi can’t want to kill everyone!”
“She does not.” There was a pause then Ava said, “Provide a description of your allies and Miranikossi will pass it along. The younger males are lost in bloodlust, but the elder among them may yet listen.”
“Okay. I can do that.” Andrew concentrated, picturing the dun-colored robes of the balai with and without the sand mask. “There are others, but they are in disguise. How long do I have before they arrive?”
“Two minutes,” Avandakossi said. “I am coming to the ledge. Meet me there.”
“I can’t just leave everyone,” Andrew protested.
“You are kossirith, Avandir.”
Andrew cursed. The message was clear. Come, or Ava would come for him. “I will be there.”
“Make haste. The dragons come quickly.”
Andrew nodded and turned his attention to the Captain. “Adnan, things have changed. The desert dragons come.”
The Captain’s eyes tightened and his lips paled slightly, but he simply nodded. “What is your will?”
“They know what the balai look like, and may not attack, but there are undisciplined, younger dragons among them lost in a killing rage. They will be unpredictable.”
“The young are that way,” Adnan nodded, referring, Andrew assumed, to training young balai.
“Spread the word. Anyone not dressed as balai are in very real danger. Get your fellows who were disguised into uniform immediately.”
“How many come, Speaker? We are not afraid of a handful of dragons.”
“All of them, Captain Hakhim. All of them.”
The Captain’s mouth fell open in surprise, but he recovered quickly and turned to the balai standing in the doorway. “You heard the Speaker. Spread the word!”’
The balai darted off, shouting in Maari.
“I need one more thing from you, Captain.”
“I am yours to command, Lord.”
“Get me to the northern cliff face.”
“It will be done.”
Andrew ran as fast as he could, his head tucked down, his view blocked by the press of balai all about him. The bulk of Adnan loomed over his shoulder, one of the Captain’s burly hands rested against the back of Andrew’s head, ready to push him down should they run into trouble. About them, the balai formed a flying wedge that battered through the battlefield. Knots of combating forces were brushed aside. Andrew glimpsed what could only be an Incantor, a black-robed balai with fire trailing from his finger tips, get overwhelmed by a surge of balai that broke formation long enough to kill him before returning. A shout was being carried by the balai, and Andrew heard it being repeated, the Maari words meaningless to him.
The wedge was slowing down and the space in front of Andrew opened up revealing the railing and the promontory cliff face. Below him, the rolling hills of the desert stretched away to eventually rise up into the ragged rock of the real land. The city had spread to the east along the coast of the Silent Sea rather than inland so there were no human structures cluttering the landscape.
As Andrew watched, Maeis rose and the red light of the moon poured out over the land, casting stark shadows among the hills and setting ablaze the Palace of a Thousand Arches. Approaching the base of the promontory and spreading back through the hills as far as he could see, the landscape teamed with dragons. Distance made them small, but there were hundreds of them, thousands, even, more than he could count. Not all were massive ancient beasts like Nerivakosso, but he could make out the hulking mass of scores of dragons approaching the old kosso’s size.
“Empty night,” Adnan swore, his voice tight with awe.
“Get your men back. Ava will need room to land.”
The balai fell back at the Captain’s order, forming a broad semicircle around Andrew. In seconds, Andrew heard the strop of enormous leather wings and the scent of burnt cinnamon washed around him. The stars overhead were blotted out by something massive and Andrew found himself smiling as a hot downdraft whipped his clothes about, blasting grit and sand against his boots.
Avandakossi landed with a crash that shook the ground, one rear foot coming down on the thick stone railing, pulverizing it instantly. She roared, a thunderous basso that made the paving stones shake and the balai about Andrew cringe. For a moment, the clamor of battle faded to silence.
“It’s good to see you again, Ava.”
“It has been too long, Avandir. Make haste, the dragons are almost upon us.”
Andrew turned to the balai captain and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Adnan. Look to your safety. Get as many balai underground as possible.” Without waiting for a response, Andrew leapt up onto Ava’s bent knee then climbed up onto the arch of her neck by using her scales as handholds.
He had barely hauled himself into position before Avandakossi turned and launched herself off the promontory. Andrew hung on tight as the cliff face rushed by for a heart-pounding three seconds then the dragon’s wings belled out and the downward plummet was turned into a sweeping glide a bare dozen meters above the hilltops.
The dragon army surged below, a carpet of titanic creatures that charged at the cliff face in leaps and bounds. Andrew looked up and saw the Palace above, the rose marble blazing in the light of Maeis. The Palace was a beacon that drew the desert dragons forward. The base of the cliff was painted blue in a band fifty feet high all the way around the base of the promontory, and under the light of Maeis it was an inky black.
Ava was still banking about when the first of the dragons reached the cliff and leapt blindly upward, claws scrabbling for purchase against a surface that they couldn’t see. Some few fell back, but the rest got a foothold and surged upward again. In seconds the vanguard had cleared the band of paint and were swarming up the cliff face.
The sight was terrifying. Andrew had grown accustomed to dragons, but he had never seen any on the warpath, and he hoped he never would again. The large dragons of the vanguard were ten tons of furious muscle and armor, claws harder than steel ripped great gouges into the cliff as they climbed. The air pulsed with the booming roars of their challenges, echoing off the promontory and being returned by the hills until Andrew wanted to clap his hands over his ears to block out the reverberating cries.
Of the dragon horde, only a fraction scaled the wall and the rest spread out to surround the city. No human would flee the city this night. No matter what else happened, the Incantors would all be dead by morning. With luck, the civilian population of Khar Bora would live.
Ava’s wings stroked the air, and they rose up in a spiral, regaining the height of the promontory ledge at the same time as the first of the desert dragons poured into the Court of the Rising Sun. From his position, Andrew could make out the occasional group locked in combat, but the cloud of dust and smoke filling the courtyard reduced the rest to indistinct blurs. He tried to make out Jules, but all the figures looked the same to him. Andrew swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping Jules had found safety somewhere.
Alchemical fire licked out at one of the dragons and Andrew winced as the dragon bounded forward, leaping twenty feet in a stride. The fire winked out as the dragon lashed its head back and forth the same way a terrier shakes a rat it just caught.
An explosion flashed bright for a split second and Andrew saw the shockwave pulse through the haze. Seconds later he heard the boom and following crashes of enormous stone blocks falling and shattering.
“They broke through the barricades,” he shouted forward to Ava. “The Incantors are no longer contained!”
“It is up to Miranikossi and her brood now,” Ava replied, and Andrew could see she was right. The desert dragons were racing into the maze of arches in pursuit as they made their way up the cliff; only a fraction of the group surrounding the city, but Andrew still lost count.
Andrew thought about the maze of passages beneath the promontory, hallways too narrow for a dragon to pass through and the confusing tangle of arches and structures that made up the palace. A determined man would be able to evade the dragons and escape into the city.
“They will never catch all the Incantors,” Andrew said. “Bring us around to the other side of the palace. I have an idea.”
Iria heard the call being passed from balai to balai, a coded phrase meaning to reveal oneself as balai. She was not sure what the meaning was in this case, but she wished she had her sand mask. Her robes identified her as balai; that should be enough to ward off whatever emergency the phrase was intended to resolve.
She felt the ground tremor under her feet, faintly at first, then growing stronger until she had to concentrate on keeping her footing.
Jules identified it first. “The dragons are coming!” she cried and beckoned Iria to follow before running back toward the hall.
Iria followed close on her heels. If the dragons were joining the fight, then it had escalated beyond what she could contribute. All she could do now was get out of the way and hope she was not stepped on by accident. As she ran, she saw more balai who had the same idea and waved them over to join her.
They reached the hall as the first of the dragons came over the ledge. Iria could not see clearly through the haze, but the shadowy mountain of muscle and spines was unmistakable.
“Inside!” Jules cried, grabbing Iria by the arm and dragging her into the building.
Within the Hall of Morning, the haze was mostly clear, and Iria could see the number of balai gathered within. The sight gave her hope. At least a hundred balai were present, many wounded, but most still in fighting condition. She saw Sergeant al Din and waved him over. “Fakhir! I am glad you live.” She traded an arm clasp with him. “What is our state?”
“Many have fallen,” the Sergeant replied with a tight smile. “Few of those were balai. I have reports of over a dozen confirmed killings of Incantors.”
“Good! I myself–” Iria’s words were cut off as a massive explosion shook the ground and deafened her. Iria went down to one knee as the blast ripped past them. The arching roof of the hall splintered and chunks of masonry rained down.
Jules was down, unconscious or stunned. Iria struggled to her feet and hauled Jules up with her. For a moment she struggled to haul the taller woman under the safety of the balcony, then Fakhir grabbed Jules’s other arm and together they ran for shelter. The initial failure in the arches rapidly spread, and the roof fell in great chunks and slabs of stone.
Once under cover, Sergeant al Din pressed Iria down on top of the unconscious Jules and bowed over them, using his body to shield them from spalling fragments. After a minute, the remaining roof stabilized, and Fakhir stood up again. He was limping from a cut in his thigh, but otherwise seemed uninjured.
Not all the balai sheltering in the hall had been so lucky. Moans and cries of pain came from the fresh rubble. Iria nodded toward them. “Help them. I will look to the Lady Vierra.”
Fakhir saluted and ran off, already calling for assistance. Iria bent over Jules and ran her fingers over the other woman’s skull, searching for fractures or bruising. There were no soft spots that indicated fractures, but at the back of her skull, Iria felt dampness and her fingers came away wet with blood. Moving quickly, Iria tore the cloak off a fallen noble who had died in the initial burst of fighting and busied herself making a compress for the wound on Jules’s head. The rest of the cloak served as a makeshift blanket and a shattered chair propped her feet up.
First aid complete, Iria took the time to look around the ruined hall and see how much damage had been done. Half of the ceiling had collapsed and taken the front of the hall with it, blocking off the exit to the courtyard. Teams of balai moved about the room performing battlefield triage and first aid smoothly and competently. Fakhir was busy helping tie a tourniquet, so Iria grabbed the sleeve of a passing balai.
“Are you hale?” Iria asked.
“I am,” the balai responded. She had her arm wrapped in a bandage, but it wasn’t bleeding and she seemed otherwise uninjured.
“Good. Scout the courtyard, but be wary. Stick to the shadows.”
The balai saluted and sprinted off. Jules moaned and Iria returned to the fallen Salian. “Easy, Lady. You took a hit to the head.”
Jules probed at the compress and winced. “Ow. What happened?”
Iria helped her sit up and waved out at the ruined hall. “An explosion collapsed the roof. I fear the Incantors broke free of the barricades.”
Jules nodded then winced in pain. “Burn me. That’s not good.”
The balai Iria had sent scouting returned, panting from her sprint. “Lieutenant! The entire eastern wall is gone. There are many dragons in pursuit.” Her eyes were wide. “I have never seen dragons of such size. And so many!”
Iria nodded, her chest cold and tight. “The Incantors are fleeing. We have failed.”
“I saw some of the Speaker’s guard,” the balai continued. “They said an enormous dragon landed just before the others came, a flying dragon! And the Speaker got on its back and flew off.”
“What is she saying?” Jules asked and Iria translated for her. “Ava is here! That is good news. Andrew will know what to do. It isn’t over yet.”
Iria looked around at what was left of the balai and swallowed. Perhaps the Speaker could find some way to turn this into a victory, but it felt hollow to her. So many dead. The auction had been a necessary ruse to attract the Incantors, but what were the consequences? Most of the nobility of Nas Shahr had been present, and of them, most were dead or dying. On top of that, the Emperor was dead or worse at the hands of the Speakers.
Even if they saved the city, Nas Shahr as a nation was dead. Power struggles among the remaining nobles would be fierce, and the nation would collapse into internal war.
“Help me up,” Jules said, pulling Iria’s attention back to the present. After regaining her feet Jules stood, if somewhat unsteadily. “What do we do now?”
“An excellent question.”
Iria turned to see Colonel Mohandi striding toward them, his face streaked with sweat and spotted with blood. “You,” she hissed.
“I asked who leading this mess and was sent this way,” Mohandi said off-handedly. “Which of you sorry lot is in charge?”
“I am,” Iria said.
“Oh. And you are?”
“Lieutenant Iria Mian.”
Recognition flashed across Mohandi’s face and his blasé attitude sharpened, his gaze flicked to Iria’s hand, tight about the hilt of her scimitar. “You!”
“I will see you hang for your crimes,” Iria cried, her scimitar ringing as she drew it from its sheathe.
“Stop her!” Mohandi commanded imperiously, then faltered and looked around in surprise when none of the balai forming a wide circle around them moved.
“Traitor!” Iria screamed. “I saw you betray your own men, I saw you murder a full Ranger squad so you could gain your filthy power!”
“I only did what was necessary!” Mohandi shouted, “I sacrificed so that our Emperor could be saved! It is the balai way!”
“You corrupted yourself,” Iria countered, advancing on the Colonel, her sword pointed at his heart. “You sought power beyond your understanding and have brought the dragons down upon us all!”
“Who among you would have done differently, given the opportunity?”
“Be silent and defend yourself,” Iria snapped, “or I will run you through where you stand.”
“This is mutiny!” Mohandi cried, “I am your senior officer. I demand that you lay down your arms!”
“You are no balai,” Iria said and struck.
Her blow hit solid air a few inches from the Colonel’s neck and he stumbled backward, clawing at his own sword. He was laughing, a mad sound. “You would condemn me for my power, but you have no idea what strength I have gained! Doco’lani!” he
shrieked out the Saying, flinging his free hand at Iria’s head.
Iria dove to the side and heard the whistle of a blade going through the air where she had been a moment earlier and a sharp chime as it struck the stone somewhere behind. She rolled to her feet and braced herself for another dodge.
“He uses alchemy!” one of the watching balai cried.
“Traitor! Do not let him live! Kill the traitor!”
Abruptly the calls were muffled, and Iria saw the disturbance of a shield form around them. Dust swirled outside of it, arrows deflected from the shield and blows rained down upon it. Within, the sound came through only faintly.
“So we won’t be interrupted,” Mohandi said smugly.
“You are a fool,” Iria said quietly. She started circling the perimeter of the shield. “You learn some tricks and think you are in the right.” She spat. “A child has better sense.”
“You call it a trick.” Mohandi shook back his sleeve and drew the blade of his scimitar along his arm, opening a deep wound that sprayed blood from a severed artery. He muttered a Saying and the wound sealed up on its own before Iria’s eyes. He rubbed the blood off and showed her the faint pink scar that remained. “I am immortal, you clod! I do not need the heart of a northern dragon. Nothing can kill me now!”
“And at what price?” Iria demanded. “How many must die so that you may live?” She kept her eyes on the Colonel, but a part of her watched the shield. If he was willing to gloat, she was willing to let him. She did not know much about alchemy, but she knew the Lady Jules had held a much smaller shield for only a short time before it failed, completely draining a dragon scale in the process. How much vitae did Mohandi have stored up?
“Does it matter? It has always been the way of the strong to take from the weak. How many have you killed, Mian? Scores? Hundreds? You claim they were for a just cause, but does that make you any less of a murderer?”
“I am a killer,” Iria corrected him, “not a murderer. There is a difference.”
“Semantics,” Mohandi shot back. “In the end, the power is what matters. After you die, after your friends die and your children’s children succumb to old age, I will still be here, I will still be powerful! My strength is everlasting. That is worth more than the pointless flicker of mortal existence in the greater scheme of things. That is the way of the balai, Mian, to do what is necessary for the greater good.”