Threads of Amarion: Threadweavers, Book 3

by Todd Fahnestock

  But now Mirolah’s “fingers” were past the barrier of the scales. The sword had made the opening, and that was all she needed to see and feel the threads inside the creature.

  She dug deep and unraveled its heart.

  The dragon thrashed mightily, screaming, then went limp.

  Mershayn yanked his sword out of the dragon’s eye and stumbled backward.

  “Mirolah,” he shouted. “I know you’re here. I felt you. Show yourself!”

  She let go of the threads of air she had bent around herself, and made herself visible to him.

  He ran, skidding to a stop in front of her and dropping his sword. Impulsively, he threw his arms around her and kissed her on the lips.

  “You beautiful woman. You did it! I felt you in my fist, in my blade. By the gods, do it again!”

  The kiss crackled through her, lighting up her memories with bright clarity. That little voice, smothered in the darkness, became her voice. Stunned, she didn’t even hear Mershayn’s next words, she just felt his hands pressing into her shoulders as he shouted.

  She reached up and touched her lips with her fingers.

  “You brought the dragon down,” Mershayn continued. “You took away its power of flight. Do it again. Do it with the rest!”

  Her heart beat faster. People needed her. She had to think clearly now, move quickly. She turned her gaze on the dragons circling Teni’sia. They filled the sky, diving and rising on the far side of the castle, burning.

  The orange and red lights of fire painted the sky beyond the slopes of the castle’s roof. Screams rose. The city beyond was in flames. Dragons wheeled all about. One climbed into the sky, bearing the prize of a screaming Teni’sian in its claws, and dropped her.

  Mirolah caught the woman, then pulled the air away from the dragon’s wings. It plummeted out of sight behind the castle.

  “Yes! Come on! We have to get to the city,” Mershayn said. “We have to get to the other side of the castle.”

  “Yes,” she said. Kiss me again...

  “Let’s go!”

  31

  Bands

  Bands saw the flames as she scrambled over the ridge line of the Corialis mountains. Teni’sia was burning.

  “We’re too late,” she whispered to Stavark, who clung to her back. When she’d seen the dragons, she’d dumped half the weapons on the slope and doubled her efforts.

  “No,” Stavark said. “They fight. The dragons have come to the ground and the humans are fighting them.”

  Bands looked again and realized Stavark was right. There were no dragons in the sky.

  “They wouldn’t do that....” she said slowly. No dragon would crawl on the ground when they could fight from the sky.

  “The Maehka vik Kalik,” Stavark said softly. “The Maehka vik Kalik is fighting.”

  Bands stared, stunned. “She couldn’t. Not that many....” By the gods... Could Mirolah really ground a whole flight of dragons?

  “Then there’s still time.” She snapped out of her awe. “We have to join the fight. Hang on.”

  She leapt down he ridge, ignoring the flaring pain in her shoulder. She bounced like a goat from ledge to ledge, throwing snow and crunching stone with her claws as she raced down the slope. Poor Stavark clung like a barnacle to her back. The great net full of weapons bounced about, doing its best to take her balance away. She fought it and kept her blistering pace.

  All too slowly, they neared the base of the slope. Every minute seemed like an hour. When they reached flat ground, she sprinted like a great cat, her long body contracting and stretching. She sped straight toward the wall to the Southern Walk and leapt atop the rampart, landing heavily on the stones.

  Grendis Sym was there on top of the wall. He yelled and fell over himself trying to get away from her. Stavark slid from her back, and she transformed into her human form.

  The pain receded in her shoulder. The huge net of weapons clanked to the flagstones in an amorphous, spiny heap. Sym had almost rounded the corner when she called out.

  “Sym!”

  At her voice, he spun around, stopped when he saw the dragon was gone. He blinked and staggered toward them a pace, eyes squinting.

  “Bands?” he said incredulously. “Were you... Did you...” He looked around, trying to find the green dragon that had been on the wall mere moments ago. “Did you kill it?”

  “Yes,” she lied. She didn’t have time for this. “Where is Mershayn? Where are the dragons?”

  “They’re everywhere,” he said in a too-loud voice. “They’re in the city!”

  “Where is Mershayn?”

  “When I left him, he was running for the Northern Walk. The dragons attacked. They—”

  “Calm yourself, Sym.” She turned to the young quicksilver. “Stavark, can you run?”

  He nodded.

  “I need you to find Mershayn. Give him one of these swords. Tell him we are distributing the rest. Go now, my friend. Be swift.”

  Stavark snatched a pair of swords from the pile, a curved sword that fit his own hand and a straight longsword. In a flash of silver lightning, he vanished.

  Bands turned back to Sym.

  “Find Lo’gan. Distribute these to the defenders of Teni’sia. They are the only weapons that can penetrate a dragon’s armor.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the center of the fray,” she said. Bands could barely stand, but she braced herself for the transformation. She bit back her scream and became a dragon again.

  Sym shouted and staggered back. “You’re one of them!”

  “Go find Lo’gan!” she boomed.

  Sym fled.

  Bands launched herself over the edge of the parapet and landed heavily between the buildings. People ran screaming from her as she galloped through the city, following the swath of fire and destruction left behind by her fellow dragons.

  By the gods...

  There were only five of her fellows, but they seemed to be everywhere, smashing through buildings with their tails, burning with their breath, flinging people away with their threadweaving. She knew they would be panicked because they’d been grounded. It trapped them here in the city, and they wouldn’t know how Mirolah had grounded them any more than Bands did; it made them desperate and brutal. And humans were a pitiful match for an enraged dragon. They were all going to be slaughtered if she didn’t step in.

  Well, Medophae, my love, here we are again. You battle a goddess and I shall brace six of my kind. If we get through this, we must raise a glass to ridiculous odds....

  She charged the nearest dragon, an arrogant purple male named Dyrfalikazyn. She’d never liked him. Bands reached into the threads and calmed the noise made by her claws, using the GodSpill and the raucous noise the dragons were creating to mask her run.

  Dyrfa turned at the last second, his eyes going wide.

  Burn this...

  32

  Mershayn

  “We have to get down there,” Mershayn said to Mirolah.

  She stared at him with those multicolored eyes, then said, “I can take us.” Sniff, who had tried to take on that blue dragon single-handedly before Mirolah had brought it down, stood once again at her side. He sat down with a thump and began panting, looking satisfied.

  “Then let’s—”

  Silver light burst around the corner of the Northern Walk, flashed up to them and became the little quicksilver.

  “Stavark!”

  He breathed as though he’d run for miles, but grinned and held out an archaic-looking longsword for Mershayn.

  “From Bands,” he huffed.

  Mershayn grabbed the sword. “This is...?”

  “Yes,” Stavark said.

  Mershayn whooped. He held it over his head triumphantly, then looked at Deni’tri and the other Teni’sian archers.

  “Now we have a chance,” he said, testing the balance of the blade.

  “There are more on the Southern Walk. Captain Lo’gan is handing them out,”
Stavark said.

  “Then all that remains is for us to join the battle,” Mershayn said, and he turned to Mirolah. “My lady?”

  A few startled cries went up from the Teni’sian archers as the entire group floated into the air. They flew over the pinnacles of the buttresses, over the royal gardens and the roof of the great hall, past the northern courtyard and down to the southern wall. They landed next to Lo’gan and Sym, who were handing out weapons to the defenders of Teni’sia, an army of maybe fifty.

  “There’re so few,” Deni’tri said.

  “One dragon at a time,” Mershayn said. “We take down one dragon, then move on to the next.”

  The assembled guards watched as Mershayn and his ragtag half dozen guards floated down to the flagstone walk.

  “Well met, Your Majesty,” Lo’gan said.

  “Well met, Lo’gan. It’s good to see you. I worried the dragons were already chewing on you.”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  “Maybe they tried and just spit you out again?”

  “As you say, Your Majesty.”

  One of these days, Lo’gan, I’m going to beat a sense of humor into you.

  “Report,” Mershayn said.

  “One dragon has broken from the main battle and is trying to reach the castle. I sent Lord Baerst east with fifty guards and enchanted weapons to stop it.”

  “And where is the main battle?”

  “Surrounding a rogue dragon, apparently. One of the green dragons turned on them. It’s the only reason all the dragons haven’t reached the castle.”

  “She,” Mershayn corrected.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “The green dragon with the light green bands around her neck. That is our ally, the Lady Bands.”

  Lo’gan’s mouth hung open.

  “Treat her as you would treat me,” he said, then raised his voice so that it would carry to the entire assemblage. “The green dragon is on our side. Do not hurt her. She is the reason we have these weapons.”

  After a stunned moment, Lo’gan said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Mershayn turned to Stavark. “Find Lord Baerst. Help him stop that one dragon. With your abilities, you’re worth all fifty of us with that blade in your hand.”

  Stavark nodded. In an explosion of silver light, he vanished into the city.

  Mershayn turned to the rest of the guards and raised his voice. “Are you ready to give back some of what the dragons gave to us?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty!” they shouted back.

  Mershayn slashed his sword left and right, loving the balance of it, and he grinned. The fifty or so guardsmen looked amongst themselves, as though they thought their king had gone crazy.

  By the gods. Maybe I have gone crazy.

  This whole battle was surreal, but he was giddy. He’d spent the last week feeling like there were reins attached to his arms, his legs, his head, tugging him this way and that. Now there was only one objective: kill the dragons. It was an impossible goal, but it was focused and unambiguous. What better way for man to die than throwing himself against a horde of dragons? That was legendary.

  A light finger touched his shoulder, and Mershayn turned to face Mirolah. She looked solemnly at him, her kaleidoscope eyes swirling. “I will watch over you,” she said.

  Impulsively, he took her in his arms and kissed her. She was as hard as ice at first, then slowly melted, put her arms around his neck, and she kissed him back.

  The guards cheered.

  Mershayn broke the kiss and winked at her, still holding her hand. “My last kiss ought to be stolen. Farewell, my lady.”

  A small smile curved the edges of her lips.

  Mershayn let go of her hand and faced his small army. He raised his sword over his head. “If you have life left to give,” he said, “spend it for those you love. Spend it for Teni’sia!”

  “For Teni’sia!” they chorused back at him.

  He turned and ran down the stairway into the city. The roar of fifty voices rose behind him as they followed. Mershayn headed straight toward the loudest screams. Fire and plumes of rock dust rose from the merchant district, which was only a short distance below the castle walls.

  He and his army ran for about five minutes before they rounded the corner to a nightmare battle. The center of the merchant district had once been a wide courtyard with a circular fountain. Brightly painted shops with hanging wooden signs had bordered the circle, once creating a festive, exciting air. Now it was destroyed. The fountain had been crushed, the buildings burned, and stone rubble was scattered everywhere. In the center, where the fountain had been, Bands spun, lashing out and keeping three dragons at bay. The air smelled like brimstone and sour milk, and a smoky haze slithered about the giant creatures.

  The dead body of a giant purple dragon lay to the side, great rents in its neck and chest. Three other dragons—a pure silver dragon, a black-and-gold, and a huge gray dragon with blue spikes from head to tail—surrounded Bands.

  Mershayn’s rage boiled. It looked as though Bands had dealt with the purple dragon, but her left wing had been melted to a nub. A deep cut gashed her leg, and a dozen claw marks raked her neck and sides. Each of the remaining dragons was larger than her, but they all seemed to have a healthy respect for her. Still, it was obvious they were readying to rush her.

  A low growl came from behind Mershayn, and he jumped, thinking a dragon was behind them.

  But Sniff crept forward, his narrowed eyes on the scaled monsters converging on Bands.

  Mershayn felt a rush of relief. Sniff was here. That meant Mirolah was here, too, doing her threadweaving.

  “That’s Lady Bands?” Lo’gan whispered, prudently keeping his voice low.

  Mershayn nodded.

  The silver dragon crouched low, about to lunge, while the large gray-and-blue dragon shifted behind Bands, blocking any attempt to escape down the sloped street.

  The silver leapt.

  “Now!” Mershayn roared. His little army charged out from the alley, and Sniff bounded ahead of them.

  The thick-bodied black-and-gold dragon spun to face Mershayn’s group. The big gray hesitated, looking angrily at Mershayn’s group, but unwilling to take his gaze completely off Bands. The black-and-gold snorted as though disgusted. He drew a breath and blew fire at them.

  Mershayn dove to the ground, hoping to get beneath the spray, but it engulfed him. He clenched up, expecting to feel the searing pain—

  But there was nothing. He rolled to his feet in the midst of the raging orange and yellow fire. He could feel the wind, could see the spray of some kind of mist in the midst of the fire, but he felt no heat.

  The fire cut off abruptly, and Mershayn looked down at himself. He was completely unharmed. The other guardsmen behind him were similarly unharmed and just as stunned.

  It’s Mirolah. She’s blocking their fire!

  By the gods, he wasn’t going to waste that chance.

  “Don’t stand there,” he shouted. “Chop this lizard into dog food!”

  Sniff responded first, bounding onto the dragon’s back. His bramble of teeth tore at the black-and-gold scales. The dragon coiled back in surprise, obviously surprised they had survived the fire.

  Mershayn ran at the creature, which just got larger the closer he came. The thing’s front leg was taller than Mershayn’s whole body. The claws curled down, cracking cobblestones. Seeing Bands in the castle, coiled and docile, had been breathtakingly intimidating. Seeing this beast standing at full height and ready to destroy was nearly paralyzing.

  Mershayn ran through his fear. The guards would take their cue from him. If he showed even the slightest hesitation, they would do worse, perhaps even flee. He barreled at the dragon like he was readying to jump off a cliff.

  He reached that enormous leg, locked his stance, and swung his enchanted blade. He put all of his momentum into the strike like he was trying to chop down a tree. The weapon sparked as it hit the scales and bit deep into the dragon’s leg.


  The dragon roared, rearing away from the pain and yanking Mershayn up in the air before he could pull the blade free. He went up, jerked his sword free, did a neat flip and landed on his feet.

  “Try again,” he growled at the beast. The gold-and-black dragon’s eyes had gone wide. It retreated, limping, blood streaming from the deep cut in its leg, and bumped into the silver dragon that was attacking Bands. The silver hesitated, flicking a glance at the black-and-gold, and Bands went low, her frightening teeth crunching into the silver’s foreleg. The silver screamed, then tried to snap at Bands’s neck, but wasn’t fast enough. Bands scrambled back, up and over a crumbling building. Roaring, the silver shot fire and scrambled over the rubble in pursuit.

  The gold-and-black dragon said something to the big gray in an indecipherable language that included a great deal of hissing. Mershayn couldn’t understand the slithery words, but he knew desperation when he heard it.

  Mershayn’s little army swarmed the black-and-gold, stabbing and slicing. It whirled around, throwing a half-dozen of the guards to the cobblestones, but still more hung on. The big gray whirled and ran uphill toward the castle, away from the battle.

  The sight of the monster fleeing made him giddy. They’d scared the dragons! In fact, they actually had the upper hand. The black-and-gold dragon was desperately trying to escape his tenacious attackers. The Teni’sians’ strikes rained down, splitting scales and leaving gashes.

  Fifty people with enchanted swords can take down a dragon. We can win this war!

  Mershayn was about to leap into the fray and do what he had told Deni’tri before—focus on one dragon at a time—but he forced himself to calm his jubilance and think.

  You’re the king. It’s your job to think of the war, not just this one battle.

  Mershayn’s little army was beating the black-and-gold, but only because the monolithic monster had been surprised. Now that the dragons knew about these enchanted weapons, they would adjust their attacks. Now that they knew their dragon fire had been somehow evaded, they would go straight to claws and teeth.