by John Marco
“Why?”
“Because Leroux told me to.”
The answer made the dragon smile. “What about Rendor? Was he cruel to Fiona?”
“No, not really,” said Moth honestly. “He just kind of ignores her. That’s what hurts her most. He just doesn’t care about her.”
“Wrong. All parents love their children, and their children’s children.”
Moth examined the dragon. “Why don’t you come away from the water? We’ll make a place for the night.”
“I can’t,” groaned Merceron. “Not yet. I ache, boy. My bones . . .”
“Just like Leroux. He used to get all achy that way, too. That’s rheumatism. Everyone gets it when they’re old. You gotta keep moving, keep the joints from grinding to a halt.”
“I’ve been moving all day,” sneered Merceron. “What else you got?”
Moth climbed up the dragon’s side. “I used to give Leroux rubdowns when he was achy. Where does it hurt? Here?”
Gently he dug his palms against the scaly flesh, running them along the muscles of the creature’s wing.
“Oh!” Merceron cried. “Oh . . .”
Merceron’s whole body deflated. He moaned contentedly.
“Yeah, this’ll help you,” said Moth, remembering all the times he’d done the same for Leroux. A flood of memories came at him suddenly. He’d been there for Leroux when he could, hadn’t he?
“You know, you could help Fiona trust you if you talked a bit more,” Moth suggested. “We hardly know anything about you. And what about Taurnoken? You never tell us anything about your home.”
“You can’t tell a human about Taurnoken. It’s too beautiful for words.”
“Will we be there soon?”
“We’ll follow the river from here,” said Merceron. “That feels wonderful, Moth. Don’t stop . . .”
Moth’s hands moved along the dragon’s spine. “I’m sure the other dragons will help us when we get there,” he said. “They’ll remember you and want to help.”
“They’ll remember me, all right.”
“They’ll probably celebrate! Didn’t you talk to anyone while you were hiding?”
“Not dragons,” said Merceron.
“No family? No one?”
Merceron tensed. “Are you hungry? Maybe we should eat.”
“You don’t want to talk about this, do you?”
“Bright boy.”
Moth worked quietly, asking no more questions. He rubbed and rubbed the dragon’s aching muscles. Within minutes, Merceron was sleeping.
STARGAZING
AS THE SUN WENT DOWN in the valley, so did the temperature. Moth and Fiona cleared a place amid the grass, using the sticks and branches they’d gathered to build what looked like a nest around them. Merceron lit a fire with his fingers, then surprised the others by making the flames dance into the forms of animals. Soon the moon came out, and then the stars. Moth fed Lady Esme from the supplies they’d brought from Merceron’s lair. Together they huddled in the light of the fire, munching on strips of dried meat while the dragon entertained them. Each of them had napped, and now, as midnight came, they were all wide awake.
Fiona remained quiet, but managed to smile at the bird Merceron made from the fire. Using his claws, he drew in the air to let the bird take flight before disappearing. Lady Esme watched the thing, fascinated. Moth gently scratched her feathered head.
The Starfinder sat on the grass in front of him, its mirror blank, its levers and scope unmoving. Moth gazed up as he bit into an apple, marveling at a sky absolutely pregnant with stars. Being on the run had given him precious little time for stargazing. He picked up the Starfinder, noting the patterns etched into its gleaming metal, trying to match them to the ones twinkling overhead.
“Merceron,” he said softly, “do you know all the constellations?”
Merceron took his pipe from his pocket. “Most of them,” he said as he emptied the dottle onto the ground. Moth liked watching Merceron light his pipe, because he always made a show of it. Carefully the dragon packed the bowl with fresh tobacco, then produced a flame at the tip of a long fingernail. He moved the flame in a circular motion around the bowl, puffing gently. Then he let out a long, relaxed breath and leaned back. “Point one out to me,” he said. “I’ll tell you what it’s called.”
Moth had already chosen one, a constellation he had seen engraved on the Starfinder. “There,” he said. “That one looks like an airship to me.”
“Close. That’s the Gothrol, the ship of dreams.” Smoke drifted lazily out of Merceron’s nose. “A ship that can travel anywhere—seas, mountaintops, deserts. They say if you fall asleep aboard Gothrol, you’ll wake up in whatever place you dreamed of going.”
“Come on,” squawked Fiona. She put her palms up to the fire. “There’s a lot of crazy things here, I know, but who could make something like that?”
“The seafolk of Lorn. They’re all dead now, but once they traveled all over the world, probably when the Skylords were young.”
“Does the Gothrol still exist?” asked Moth.
“Of course,” said Merceron. “I told you—every constellation is something or someone that exists in the Realm. The Starfinder can find all of them. Go on, pick another.” Merceron nudged Fiona with his tail. “You try this time.”
Fiona looked up without much interest. Her eyes moved over the stars, stopping suddenly on a group right above their heads. “There,” she pointed. “With that bright star.”
“The red one?”
Fiona nodded.
“I know that one. What does it look like to you?”
“Like a horse,” said Fiona instantly.
Merceron looked astonished. “That’s Jorion, the centaur. Do you know what a centaur is?”
“Yeah, like half a man and half a horse stuck together.”
Moth laughed. Merceron just smirked.
“Ugly beasts, centaurs. Jorion is their chieftain.” Merceron took the pipe from his mouth and used it to point toward the constellation. “That red star represents his eye. Centaurs are great hunters. They can see almost as well as Esme.”
“Are there many centaurs?” asked Moth.
“Oh, yes. They live in a valley not far from Taurnoken. No one sees much of them, though.”
Fiona studied her constellation. “What are they like?”
“Arrogant,” snorted Merceron. “Hard to abide. Even the Skylords leave them alone. They don’t think much of dragons, either.”
“Why not?” asked Moth.
“Jealous, probably. Centaurs don’t live the way dragons do. They think with their fists instead of their heads. When the war with the Skylords ended, they called us cowards. They thought we should have kept on fighting. Maybe that’s true, but how would they know? They didn’t lose anything. They can’t fly.”
It was strange seeing Merceron angry. He bit down hard on his pipe. Moth could tell he was thinking about more than just centaurs.
“Will we see any centaurs when we get to Taurnoken?” asked Fiona.
Merceron shook his head. “Taurnoken’s a dragon city, Fiona. Centaurs aren’t welcome. They’re not welcome anywhere.”
“Why? Because they’re ugly?”
“I told you why,” said Merceron.
“You told me you don’t like them.”
“No one likes them, Fiona. That’s why they stay in their valley.” Merceron tilted his head back to exhale a stream of smoke. “But they’re brave, at least. Not much brains but a whole lot of heart.”
“Merceron, can we see Jorion with the Starfinder?” asked Moth.
Fiona sat up. “Yeah!”
“No,” said Merceron.
“Why not?” Moth reached for the Starfinder. “All I have to do is call his name, right?”
Merceron glared at him. “If you want to be like a Skylord, go ahead. Speak Jorion’s name. Invade his privacy. Spy on him.”
Moth set down the Starfinder. “Oh.”
The dragon
’s tail came around his shoulders. “Don’t forget why the Skylords made the Starfinder,” he said gently. “Think what it would be like to be a slave.”
Moth felt his face getting hot. “Sorry.”
Merceron extended his tail toward Fiona, tugging her closer. “Listen to me now, both of you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Moth and Fiona pressed together in his embrace. Merceron struggled with his words.
“I left a mate in Taurnoken,” he said. “Her name is Dreojen.”
“A mate,” said Moth. “You mean a wife?”
“A brood mate is more than a wife,” said Merceron. “Humans take wives. They live together for a blink of an eye and call that love. They watch the sunrise together. Dragons watch rivers being born. We watch volcanoes live and die. Do you see?”
“I think so,” said Moth. It was hard for him to imagine such stretches of time. “You spend all your lives together.”
“But you left her,” Fiona blurted. “You just left her?”
“Where I was going, she couldn’t follow,” said Merceron. “There was no life for her living in a hole in the ground, hiding from the Skylords. I was too dangerous for her to be around.”
“So you left her,” snorted Fiona. “Typical.”
“C’mon, Fiona. He had to!”
“Don’t argue about it,” said Merceron. “You were wondering about me, so I told you.” His eyes glazed over with memories. “But it’s been a long time . . .”
“You must be dying to see her again,” said Moth excitedly. “What will you say?”
“Yeah, that should be good,” quipped Fiona.
Merceron let Lady Esme climb onto his shoulder. The stars and firelight shined in his reptilian eyes.
“I will tell her that I’ve missed her,” he said. “That I missed our togetherness. That I miss everything that we once had. And I’ll be afraid when I see her, and I’ll shake like a child.” Then, Merceron looked right at Fiona and said, “And I’ll hope that she forgives me for leaving her.”
THE DECOY
SKYHIGH EASED BACK ON the sticks of his dragonfly, bringing the craft level with the horizon. Now that the sun was down, there was only moonlight to guide him. He watched the distant mountains, guiding the dragonfly into another long, lazy turn. The whine of the engine and the beating of glass wings shattered the peace of the forest below. Somewhere behind him floated the Avatar. The moon and stars shone down through the dragonfly’s canopy, projecting a wavy reflection of Skyhigh’s smiling face.
It felt good to be in the air again, away from the crowded Avatar. Since breaking through the Reach they’d been running low and slow, leaning over observation platforms to locate Moth and Fiona. So far, they’d found nothing.
Except for the mermaids.
Skyhigh nearly fell overboard when he saw them.
At first the mermaids had stared back up at them, amazed and horrified by the airship’s arrival. Skyhigh and his crewmates had crowded the rails, waving and hooting at the beautiful creatures until the mermaids dived away, disappearing into their shining green lagoon.
After that, the day fell into tedium. Commander Donnar paced the deck while the Avatar crawled through the sky. Rendor kept to his quarters, not appearing until the sun went down. As the Avatar floated stationary above the ground, Skyhigh took his dragonfly for his first patrol.
No one had ordered him to be quiet or subtle. Both those things were impossible for a dragonfly anyway. He fired up the engine, looked out into the dark void, then rocketed from the Avatar’s hangar. He felt the moonlight on his face, the thick air of the forest rising against his wings, and the glorious sense of freedom he only got when flying.
For almost an hour the sky remained perfect. Each time Skyhigh wheeled the craft around for another orbit he saw the Avatar’s yellow beacon flashing in the distance. He wasn’t sure why he was on patrol or what Rendor expected him to find, but the dragonfly’s guns were loaded. Skyhigh’s mind drifted as he flew over the moonlit forest. The engine sang to him like a lullaby.
Completing his turn, he spotted the Avatar’s beacon. He leveled the wings, pointed the craft for another orbit, then noticed its position in the sky. The darkness made it hard to be certain, but the airship seemed lower to him now.
His first thought was that the Avatar was in trouble. He throttled up the power just as something struck the canopy. Instantly the glass spider-webbed.
“Great,” he fumed, jerking the ship to the right, away from whatever had hit him. Probably a bird, he supposed. The canopy shook, threatening to shatter. Skyhigh settled the ship by reducing power. Just as he got it back under control, another blow came.
“Hey!”
The dragonfly lurched left on a damaged wing. Skyhigh glanced for a look, but the wings were still moving too quickly to see. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the sticks, but when he saw the black form sweep across the moonlight he knew he hadn’t hit a bird.
The thing flashed by too quickly to describe. Its batlike wings swooped down toward the dragonfly. Skyhigh banked into a corkscrew. Through the twisting, broken canopy he could see the yellow beacon still descending.
“What are they doing?” he cried, slamming the dragonfly upright again. From somewhere behind him the thing caught up, pounding on the fuselage.
“That’s it!” spat Skyhigh. He jerked back the gun lever and hooked it around his finger. “You’re a fighter? Then let’s fight!”
He pushed in the throttle, jerked back the sticks, and rolled the dragonfly into a loop. As the craft screamed out of its roll, he squinted through the canopy. When a hint of wing caught the moonlight, Skyhigh squeezed the trigger.
A rat-a-tat of bullets sailed across the sky. The bat-thing dove and weaved. It raced headlong for Skyhigh, crashing again against his ship. The canopy shattered. A storm of glass and rushing wind pounded Skyhigh’s helmet. His dragonfly plummeted.
Skyhigh didn’t shout or panic. His hands worked the sticks, his feet pumped the pedals. The broken wings of his craft strained to bite the air. Wind pulled tears from his eyes as the ground rushed toward him. He listened to the whine of his engine and the telltale wail of his wings, while he was wrestling the controls. Slowly at first, the spin corrected. As the wind got under the craft again, the dragonfly’s nose started to lift. Skyhigh held his breath when he saw the trees.
“Hurry,” he whispered. “Now now now . . .”
He rammed the sticks back hard, willing the dragonfly skyward. The tallest of the trees scraped the bottom of the craft as it tore overhead, splintering branches. Skyhigh punched the throttle one more time. He was still a good way from the Avatar, but when he sighted her again she was already grounded, settled in a clearing. Men swarmed out of her hull.
“Rendor . . .”
The dragonfly screamed over the treetops. A minute passed, then another. The trees thinned out below him; Skyhigh had the clearing in sight. The Avatar’s beacon grew brighter and brighter, calling him home.
“Come on,” he told his broken craft. “Just hold together . . .”
Too late, he saw a glimmer of the thing barreling toward him. Too late, he tried to turn. Another crash, another broken wing, and the dragonfly was falling.
“No!”
Skyhigh held the nose as level as he could, bracing himself for the crash. Pilots died in crashes. Friends died.
“Not me, boys,” he yelled. “Not me!”
He cleared the trees, streaking down like a meteor. Up ahead he saw the Avatar. Grass and rocks rushed past him. He pumped the pedals, twisting what was left of the wings to catch the wind and bleed off speed.
He’d crashed before, he told himself.
Just let me walk away from it. Just let me walk away . . .
It was the last thought he had as he buried the dragonfly in the dirt.
He was only unconscious for a moment. When he opened his eyes, the engine was screaming. Stubs of glass wings
beat the empty air. He saw blood on the console, then tasted it on his lips. Breathing through his broken nose felt like fire in his nostrils.
“Fire . . .”
He had to get out of the dragonfly. He found his wits, tore off his helmet, and somehow managed to free himself from the cockpit. As he staggered from the vessel, he remembered that what happened wasn’t just an accident—something had attacked him.
He drew his dagger and ran for the Avatar.
“Hey!” he shouted. “I’m here!”
A whoosh of air swept overhead. Skyhigh didn’t look up, and he didn’t look back. He simply ran as fast as he could, shouting, hoping someone would hear him.
“Here! I’m here!”
Behind him, the bat-thing dropped from the sky. Skyhigh heard its footfalls shuffling nearer. He scrambled toward the Avatar, saw figures stirring in dark hiding spots, then heard the unmistakable voice of Rendor.
“Now!”
A tidal wave of light seared Skyhigh’s eyes. An inhuman screech echoed behind him. A gunshot fired amid the shouts. Blinded, Skyhigh turned his face away, stumbling over. He hit the ground, then felt hands grabbing him up again. He opened his eyes to yellow spots and the blurred sight of crewmen swarming the clearing. Ahead of him, something was fighting to free itself from a tangle of nets and ropes.
“Get off me!” roared Skyhigh, shaking off the crewmen. He couldn’t even see their faces. As they fought to drag him back to the Avatar, Skyhigh heard Rendor again.
“Let him go.”
At once the men backed off. Slowly, Skyhigh’s vision began to clear. Rendor was smiling. Behind him, the captured creature wailed and cursed.
“You all right?”
Skyhigh was breathing too hard to answer. He nodded, pointing at the thing. “What is that?”
“Well done,” said Rendor. “That was excellent work. Just excellent!”
“What?” sputtered Skyhigh. “You mean you sent me out here to lure that thing?”
The thing’s violent cries made it impossible for Rendor to answer. From out of his coat he pulled a hidden pistol. He strode over to the tangled creature, kicked it onto its back, and put the weapon to its head.