by Jack Conner
“Men and women, friends all, we’ve a new problem,” he said. “Having not heard from Col. Hernandez via the humans, we must assume the worst, that the Libbies have broken through his barrier and are even now making their way up through the Castle. I know there were some reinforcements sent to help him, but again, we have no evidence that they succeeded in stopping Maleasoel and her army, plus whatever aid Junger and Jagoda are lending them. I assume their original goal was to destroy the forces of the Castle, or at least bring it to surrender, with the assistance of Subaire and her Half.
“However, it seems that once it was clear that the majority, sixty-one percent!——of the Castle was in favor of abandoning the war, Junger and Jagoda decided to force the issue by their nuclear attack, thus compelling Subaire and the Libertarians into battle without the benefit of knowing they could have taken us peacefully. What were the Balaklava’s motives? I don’t have time to speculate. The end result was to make the sacking of the Castle that much easier.
“Many of you are wondering why I drew away the five battle units in place to guard against an invasion from the mountaintop, where Subaire is marshalling her troops as I speak. The reason is because, with the help of Roche Sarnova, his Heir and others, I, or rather we, have succeeded in enlisting the aid of nine dragons. Yes,” he said over their sudden babble, “Dragons.” He raised his hands to forestall questions, and they quieted. “Don’t ask. Time is of the essence. Explanations can come later. The point is: the northern flank, and Subaire and her Half, will be dealt with.
“Our duty is clear: to defeat the Libertarians. Not having to fight their way through the Castle as they’d anticipated, they’ll probably weave their way up here to meet Subaire and her Half. I anticipate the arrival of the Libertarians in ten minutes, which gives us that much time to set up an ambush for them.” He ran a hand across his face. “Alright, so here’s my plan ...”
* * *
Subaire was just sending her first four skiffs—each with three soldiers on board—down to the Castle when she caught sight of the dragons winging in out of the west.
“What the fuck?”
She stared in shock. Even as her army began to go berserk about her, she puzzled it over, her mind racing to conclusions with accustomed speed. Then it clicked.
Clever boys, she thought. She remembered those damned sorcerers Blackie and the Ambassador had brought to the Castle nearly a millennium ago. The two hadn’t revealed the true purpose of the sorcerers’ presence, though they’d floated some nonsense about the Council—a reason questioned by most, seriously so by Subaire herself. She didn’t like humans, and she sure as hell didn’t like humans with magical powers. That made them more than what they were intended for: meat. In her quiet way, she’d sat back and watched until finally, and very mysteriously, the sorcerers had grown powerful beyond belief—a hundred times moreso than they’d been when they first arrived at the Castle. Then the idiots grew ambitious.
They wanted power of their own, Subaire realized. It was only then that she dared to go behind Sarnova’s back and orchestrate her first coup; she enlisted over half of the Council to her cause, which was simply to eliminate the sorcerers before the arrogant humans tried to eliminate them. The assassinations went smoothly (only one Councilman was killed) and Subaire was surprised by Roche Sarnova’s tolerance of her deeds. Yes, of course he punished her (had her dismembered, in fact), but it was far from a severe sentence. She respected him for that, as she realized that had she not acted, he would have in her stead. She also detested him for his weakness.
But now it made sense. Somehow, someway, Blackie had used the sorcerers to create a habitat for these dragons, and now Subaire and her Half were up against odds far greater than they’d ever anticipated.
Shouting, she called for the skiffs to return to the mountain, to abort the invasion for the moment, but only two of them could hear her over the raging wind at the top of the mountain. To her frantic soldiers, she began bellowing commands.
She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to whip these wyrms, but she knew that she would. She’d waited patiently, cunningly, for a long, long time, until her chance had arrived. She simply fucking deserved to be Queen, and no stupid human magic or big lizards were going to ruin this for her. This was her chance. Gods damn it, the Castle would be hers.
Chapter 9
Joy and horror both flooded Ruegger as he approached the mountaintop. Joy for the dragons, the scenery and the camaraderie he’d found with the other members of the coven. The wind whipping through his hair, a great dragon thundering below him (the scales burned Ruegger’s thighs), the mountains and the snow—all filled him with wonder.
The horror came from the thought of the wanton slaughter ahead. I will not lose myself, he thought. No matter what happens, I’ll stay true to myself.
Riding abreast of Danielle, the two exchanged good luck signs, and then Ruegger flew down out of the formation (per Sarnova’s orders) to join Jean-Pierre and Draekshar below.
The albino hailed Ruegger as the Darkling drew up to the sinewy white dragon and its pale rider, and he and Jean-Pierre swept down away from the other seven dragons to deal with the five skiffs heading toward the Castle. Make that three heading towards, and two heading back.
Seeing those five skiffs below him, three soldiers to a one (Ruegger could even see individual faces), outlined against the blazing lights of the Castle, Ruegger felt a twist of pity at what must be done, but there was nothing for it.
Ruegger angled Montalvo toward the two skiffs heading back toward the mountain, and at Ruegger’s direction the dragon lanced the first skiff with fire, blasting it backwards and disintegrating it. One of the shades was killed instantly; the other two, living pyres screaming into the night, tumbled off the skiff and fell brightly to the Castle below. Ruegger could hear their screams even as Montalvo wrapped his great talons about the second skiff and tore it apart, along with the three soldiers on board. The dragon’s bulk muffled their cries.
Then, with a gleeful roar, Montalvo dove to assist Jean-Pierre and Draekshar in finishing off the last two, Draekshar already having destroyed one. The white dragon beat the red to the first skiff and ate it and its passengers whole.
Only one skiff remained. The dragons raced toward it, each meaning to snare the prize as their own. As they closed on it, a bright flare struck from the floating conveyance. The missile flew straight toward Montalvo’s head.
Ruegger reached out with his mindthrust and averted the rocket at the last second, and it flew off into the blackness to detonate loudly. After the near miss, neither team decided to take the skiff manually, but instead both Draekshar and Montalvo incinerated the skiff and its riders from a safe distance.
Jean-Pierre ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “That was too close,” he called across the distance, and Ruegger only smiled at him wanly. The two riders steered their awesome mounts up toward the mountaintop, where Sarnova led the others in the assault against Subaire’s Half.
As the albino and the Darkling joined the fray, Ruegger was immediately impressed with how swiftly Subaire had organized an opposition—and how brutally.
Like Maleasoel and the Libertarians, Subaire had brought humans along to feed her soldiers, as evidenced by the pile of dead and drained bodies sprawled to one side of a long scar in the earth. Really the scar was a hastily dug trench, cut in S-shapes and filled almost to the brim with the blood of the humans now scattered to the side. The gruesome sight told Ruegger that the battle was not simply over a hypothetical homeland.
Subaire’s army sent missiles and bullets toward the dragons, projectiles quickly deflected by the telekinetic abilities of the coven. But when one or more of the wyrms blew fire toward their assailants, Subaire’s soldiers did one of the three things: they either tunneled into the cold ground; jumped in the snaking river of blood for protection, much as Ruegger had done at the lake when battling Gethraul; or leapt into the mountainous pile of human bodies for shelter.
Other than a few big rocks, copses of tall trees and the smoldering remains of the Red Light Outpost, the top of the mountain was bare, so it was doubly impressive how quickly Subaire had organized a defense.
“Start circling,” Sarnova ordered. “Look for weaknesses.”
Montalvo and Draekshar fell in behind Majestica as the Dark Lord’s orders were carried out, and Danielle twisted backward atop her mount and said, “Evil bastards, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Ruegger shouted over Montalvo’s wing beats. “But this is where it ends.”
She turned back to assess the mountaintop and to guard her dragon against missiles, and he felt a fierce pride in her that he wouldn’t have been able to articulate.
“We’ll begin strafing runs over their encampment,” Sarnova called.
This would expose the dragons’ underbellies to Subaire’s army, Ruegger knew, but it would also provide the best means for slaying Subaire’s people.
Atop Gethraul, Sarnova led the black and unmounted dragon Venator, as well as Kharker, who rode Shalung, straight over the mountain. The three dragons rained fire down like napalm on Subaire’s Half, who delivered bursts of machine gun fire and rockets up into the night.
Ruegger reached out to turn aside one of the missiles—and encountered resistance. Shit. He strained, swinging the missile wide, then another and another. Still, deflecting the rockets proved more difficult than it should have been. What the hell was going on?
Could the Dark Lord’s theory about the Sangro Sankts helping out Subaire possibly be right? After all, there was no way ordinary shades could overpower a coven of kavasari in the realm of telekinesis unless they were themselves given the blood of kavasari.
Gods, Ruegger thought. This just went from bad to fucking awful.
All three dragons and both riders crossed over the army below without a casualty. Their fires blackened the mountain of human corpses and toasted the river of blood until it was all but solidified. Another few passes and Subaire’s defenses would be ruined.
Jean-Pierre and Sophia led Draekshar and Yazback next, with the black dragon Nakara bringing up the rear. Bullets and rockets buzzed up from Subaire’s troops, who quickly dove into shelter as the great wryrms (one white, one flaming pink and one a shimmering black) passed over. This time Subaire’s Half was more organized and kept the three dragons too busy dodging rockets to cause much damage to their encampment.
However, Jean-Pierre and Sophia were not so easy to sway; using their new kavasari talents for lighting fires, they laid waste to the pile of blackened humans. The refuge became a bonfire that rose into the night with tendrils of smoke reeking of burnt hair and skin, almost enough to make Ruegger gag.
Immediately, the thirty or so of Subaire’s troops hiding in the bonfire scrambled into the open and dove into the hardened river of blood. Several explosions rocked the bonfire of corpses, indicating that some missile-wielding soldiers hadn’t gotten clear in time. Score one.
Then: disaster.
Several of Subaire’s missiles, propelled with the unnatural power of shades gifted with kavasari blood, broke through the coven’s net of telekinetic power. Draekshar and Yazback escaped, but three missiles struck Nakara.
Two hit him in the chest. His thick ribs and breastplate deflected some of the power of the blasts, but the third rocket entered right below his breastplate and plunged into his soft belly.
Nakara roared as the missile detonated in his innards. So much blood and gore rained down from the opening blown in his belly that it renewed the fluidity of the river of blood and nearly put out the bonfire of corpses.
Still leaking blood, Nakara sailed past the heart of Subaire’s encampment and, as his strength gave out, began a slow descent to earth, breathing fire all the way. Troops burned or scattered before him. His intention seemed to be to land amidst his killers and take as many of them out as he could, but the vitality in his wings and legs was gone and he could do little more than glide along. As he passed the heart of the encampment, rockets flared out after him. Ruegger and the others managed to keep every single one from hitting its mark.
Just as Nakara crested the mountain, his strength waned entirely and he plummeted toward the Castle.
The coven watched helplessly as he dropped a thousand feet, his beautiful black wings outstretched to hold the air since he didn’t have the strength to pump them. He struck the northeast battlement, the one in which Byron had flung himself from, and the sharp roof of the thick blackened spire impaled him through the gut. Thrashing about horrendously, Nakara’s body sank down the length of the battlement before it came to rest, with a last mournful protest, at the base of the spire. He gave a last angry shake of his head, belched a last puff of flame, then lay still.
While Subaire’s Half gave a triumphant yell, the coven, Ladrido, and the surviving eight dragons circled the mountaintop in grim silence.
Ruegger had known there would be casualties. Still, try as he might to steel his heart against the dragon’s death, he found himself grinding his teeth. He cast a look at Danielle and saw the carefully concealed pain in her pale face. He wished he could comfort her, but there was no time.
Using Gethraul to speak to all the dragons and riders at once, Roche Sarnova said, Nakara died nobly. He may have been an artist, but he died a warrior’s death and nothing can take his valor away from him, except our inaction to continue the cause for which he died. So, everyone, ready yourselves for another assault.
As a group, the other five kavasari and the one cursed vampire turned to him and, solemnly, nodded. Next Roche addressed the dragons and received a similar response. Despite their brother’s demise, the wyrms were still willing to fight. In fact, Nakara’s death had lit a thirst for vengeance in them. Ruegger, for one (and he suspected the rest of the shades felt the same), shared that sentiment fully.
Without having to be told, he understood that it was his turn up at bat. He steered Montalvo out of the ever-circling ring of dragons, past the northern lip of mountain, and Danielle and Ladrido followed. Everyone else had passed over Subaire’s encampment; now it was their turn.
As they went, Ruegger outlined his plan: instead of all three dragons charging abreast over the mountain, they would strike from different sides. Danielle would ride Majestica east-to-west, Ladrido would take Damara north-to-south towards the Castle, and Ruegger would fly west-to-east. He dispersed them to their positions, then charged.
Missiles blasted out from the copses and trenches, but none so much as singed one of Montalvo’s scales or warmed Ruegger’s face. While his steed ripped out arcs of flame, Ruegger dealt out his own tricks.
For one, he set the clothes of at least twenty of Subaire’s troops on fire, which caused them to go into ludicrous fits during which they weren’t thinking about the dragon just above them, thus making it easier for Montalvo to blow them apart. Next Ruegger turned their own guns and missiles on each other, which surprised them as much as it amused the Darkling.
He was just starting to have some real fun when he saw both Majestica and Damara, with Danielle and Ladrido aboard, streaking out from their own positions and laying waste to all those who got in their way.
As they passed over the heart of the encampment, Montalvo torched the river of blood, curdling it, then focused on what was left of the human bonfire. The dragon blew the grotesque mountain apart, sending burning corpses everywhere.
“Good job,” Ruegger said as they flew past the heart of the encampment and started making their way toward the eastern lip of the mountain.
Ruegger sent out a call to both Danielle and Ladrido, confirming that they were still alive and the dragons okay, and was heartened when he received affirmative answers.
A few missiles aimed at Montalvo parted around him and raced off into the night, and Ruegger followed their progress against the stars as his adrenaline subsided. Finally, he and Montalvo blasted out over the lip of the mountain and into open air again, where Ruegger could see the C
astle below to the left, and directly ahead——
Helicopters.
Ten black attack choppers swarmed up from the Castle, the last of Sarnova’s air force. Missiles gleaming darkly under their stubby wings, they rushed straight for the mountaintop.
The shades manning the helicopters must have been alerted by the absence of light coming from the Red Light Outpost, Ruegger realized as he rejoined Danielle and Ladrido in the circling ring of dragons.
The cavalry’s here, he thought.
The helicopters fired—but not at Subaire or her soldiers. They aimed at the dragons and their riders.
* * *
Captain Raulf D’Aguila led the procession of Libertarians up out of the catacombs, the two gigantic Collages just ahead. Raulf would risk no more of his men; if opposition was to be found ahead, as it surely would be, he’d decided to let the Collages take care of it. Meanwhile, his wounds from the previous battle mending thanks to a subordinate’s blood, he marched stolidly forward, leading the army higher into the Castle.
Even though victory seemed imminent, Raulf held grave misgivings. He’d joined Liberty to help Ludwig take over the world and, hopefully, make it a better place. Of course, his motives weren’t all that selfless; he expected a position of power—say, Asia—to be given to him to manage once the world was solidified under Liberty’s control. Ludwig had foreseen trouble with the Dark Lord and his empire, but that bridge would be crossed or burned when Liberty was ready to initiate its plan. In other words, had Ludwig himself ordered an attack on the Castle in order to wipe out Roche Sarnova and any opponents to Liberty (an order Ludwig probably never would have given), Raulf would’ve accepted the assignment happily.
But now ...
He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Maleasoel wasn’t the same woman she’d been before Ludwig’s death. Not that Raulf felt especially pure or innocent himself, but she’d turned into a blatantly power-hungry creature. He looked forward to power as much as the next man, but he didn’t want to win it this way, not under her reign or with the allies she’d chosen.