“You are only stunned,” I heard as if from far away. Fingers snapped. “Take her to her room. Send word to Maolmuire that the trap is set. Prepare for departure.”
Hands, surprisingly gentle ones, lifted my body. Hot liquid flowed into my mouth. Someone held my nose and I gasped, sputtered, swallowed. The red sparks faded as I slept.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I struggled against blackness. I needed to escape, to rescue Mettalise—hilarious, the idea of a small human saving a dragon. As my mental laughter died, I noticed the scent of strange spices mixed with soap. Then noises: breathing, boots on wood. The scratch of a woolen blanket under my hand, a thin pillow under my head. Last came taste: a bitter, gummy flavor on my tongue.
Dragonsbeard. I had often taken the herb for the headaches leading up to my manifestation. Peasants used it in medicines to cause sleep, but the body grew resistant over time. I prayed the healer who’d given me the potion had been someone used to treating nobles. If so, the Carthesians would not expect me to wake for hours.
I cracked open an eye. Through scummy slits I made out a sword-bearing Carthesian. He sat in an armless chair beside the door. He paid absolutely no attention to me but cleaned his nails with a knife.
I reached with my thoughts. *Mettalise? Please say you’re safe.*
*Some trees dropped their Illusions and a bunch of dragons captured me, so technically, I’m embarrassed. That’s worse than being in danger,* came a grumpy Mettalise. *You’re hazy. Are you hurt?*
Her words drifted lazily around my mind like scum in a blocked stream. *Drugged.*
*Fun. I hope you didn’t drink some pungent tea or something while you chatted with our enemy. I’d like to think you more difficult to trick than me.*
It took effort to tell her what happened, especially when she flooded me with shock at Thorkel’s identity. By the time I finished, though, my head felt clearer. Clear enough to notice that someone approached the door. I quit talking to Mettalise and pretended to be asleep.
The door opened as my guard’s chair creaked. Thorkel’s voice: “How is she?”
“Hasn’t twitched.” The guard didn’t have an accent, though I remembered he wore Carthesian garb… but no tattoos. Dragerian? Thorkel likely kept close those he knew best.
Fingers caressed my cheek. I barely managed not to shudder. “Good. All is in place. Continue administering the drug in my absence. I doubt this will take long.”
Lips kissed my forehead, followed by a whisper. “I’ll be back, my love.”
I fought the urge to wrinkle my forehead at the wetness his lips had left. Footsteps again, and the closing of the door.
*Thorkel’s going through with some plan—Maolmuire! I heard Maolmuire’s name before they drugged me.*
Flare of anger. *Traitorous whelp. I bet he’s working with his mother. She helped Thorkel’s dragon escape years ago. I knew we should have—* A pause. *The dragons are preparing for flight… Idiotic lizards. I can so beat him.*
Excitement grew in my chest. *You can escape?*
*They left me with an arrogant weakling of a guard. I can take care of him. I cannot take care of this chain around my foot. Forged with magic, I bet.*
*My guard’s ignoring me. Tell me when you think the dragons are out of range. Then I’ll escape and…*
I fell silent. And what? Return to the Kyer? I couldn’t claim Krysta of Clearspring’s blood without also revealing my father’s identity. Thorkel had spoken true. Drageria would never trust me, and hatred… I thought of Tressa and suppressed the urge to cringe.
Whether the truth got out or not, one thing wouldn’t change. Shamino would never want to speak to me again.
The guard began to doze. Quietly, I lifted my arm. No heaviness. The dragonsbeard had worn off, and I finally remembered the rest of Thorkel’s words.
*Thorkel told Maolmuire that the trap is set. Not sprung. He’s planning something for the Kyer,* I told Mettalise. *After I take out the guard, I’m searching the house. We need to get Thorkel’s plans to Merram.*
Shamino had never been mine. That didn’t mean I wanted dragons to die, or their humans. Drageria could reject me, that was its choice. My choice was to go after the blood-red dragon and its rider.
Minutes passed. More. For the first time, I missed the Time Spheres. Finally, Mettalise signaled that the enemy dragons should be out of range.
Slowly I shifted my weight, seeing if the bed creaked. It didn’t. I eased myself to sitting. The guard continued to doze. The room was simple; it only had the bed, a chair, the table—on the table, an earthen bowl.
I stood, slipped my hands around the bowl. Every rustle from my clothing made my heart skip a beat. The soles of my boots pressed against a rug—I made a mental note, if I ever needed to hold someone captive, I should remove all rugs. I lifted the bowl. The guard sighed in his sleep.
The bowl gave a low, dull crack as it hit his head. He slumped and I awkwardly caught him. We collapsed together, him on top. I scrambled to pin him, paused when he didn’t move. I’d successfully knocked him out.
*Too easy,* I said to Mettalise as I checked the man’s breathing. *He was supposed to struggle or cry out or something.*
*Be grateful. There are many guards to go.*
*I know. That’s why I’m unhappy. I used all my luck on the first one.*
I considered taking the man’s sword, but I had no training. I hid it under the mattress instead. I did take his dagger and used it to cut the blanket into strips. I belted the dagger to my waist. Every thud we made as I wrestled him into the chair set my nerves on edge, but soon I had him tied with the shredded blanket.
I pressed my ear to the door. Nothing. Eased it open. No one roamed the halls, either. I hoped Thorkel had taken most of his men with him.
Which way? Four other doors lined my side of the hallway, and I suspected they were small rooms like my own. On the opposite wall, a single door. Doors on both ends. I picked the single door in the long hallway. I tiptoed, pressed my ear—
Thick, unknown words and laughter. Not my door.
I tried one of the end doors next. Silent. And locked—I liked locked. Cautiously I fed my Gift through the lock; I found a spell there, and it took very little effort to unravel it. Better and better, because only Thorkel could dare to use such a simple lock. I slipped inside.
“I really can’t be this lucky,” I murmured. Unlike the other rooms, this one showed no sign of decay. The plaster on the walls was new. There were no stains on the ceiling, and the floor had been smoothed and polished. One side of the room had been turned into a personal area, the main feature a large bed with a ridiculous number of pillows. The rest of the room was more of a study, with a desk and a bookcase. A map of Drageria-Carthesia hung on one wall, marking the front with tiny green and yellow circles. Green circles also trailed from the Kyer and Dragonsridge—our courier lines.
Desk first. Most of the papers were written in hopeless Carthesian. The rest, financial records, supply lists. I spent one minute, five. More. I began checking drawers, but I found nothing. When I knelt to search the bottom drawer, I noticed a pile of crumpled papers on the floor. I took one, smoothed it out—
“Shamino?” I breathed.
*Are you found?*
I calmed my shock. *Sorry. I found letters, a whole pile of them, and they’re written by—no. This looks like Shamino’s handwriting, but…* I flushed. Shamino formed his words with careful precision, just like the letter writer, but whenever the real Shamino wrote my name it was as if his pen relaxed. The ‘A’ in Adara didn’t peak sharply, the last stroke usually trailed…
*Shamino didn’t write these. They are drafts of a single letter… Give me a second.* I rummaged until I found a few of the more complete ones and began reading. *Pigshit.*
Thorkel was using me as the lure. The letters begged Merram to return at once, for Adara had lost control of the spells she’d used to save a kit from death. Now she raved about a peasant village…
&nb
sp; “She keeps calling for you,” I read. “She demands to know the truth…”
Apprehension made it difficult to breathe. A quick look at the map—a large cluster of yellow at the Dragerian-Carthesian border. I told Mettalise what I’d seen and read. *Merram will go to the Kyer alone. There’s too many enemies at the front for him to divide our forces.*
Unease from Mettalise. *We don’t have many fighting dragons at the Kyer. Are you sure? Rose happened days and days ago. Surely Shamino has sent a report by now.*
*He sends non-urgent summaries to Merram by horse.* A horse courier had little hope against an enemy dragon. I did some quick calculations. I didn’t like the results. *If Thorkel sent this the day I left the Kyer, Merram will be leaving the front today.*
I stood to study the map. *Courier dragons between the Kyer and the front are missing. And here—how many dragons did you see leave? This shows at least twenty.*
*I’m afraid that’s right. Thorkel’s crimson led the Flight.*
At Mettalise’s words, the vision slammed into me so strongly I fell to the floor.
A crimson dragon flies like an arrow over the mountains. Thorkel, his rings glittering, smiles with satisfied hatred. The background blurs like a Transportation spell as time passes—Thorkel lands on the Dragonmaster’s platform. It is time. It is time to end this...
The vision faded and hope bloomed in my chest. There was no chance we could overtake Thorkel—or that Mettalise could take on twenty dragons by herself. But the vision meant that my decision mattered. My actions had to change something.
*We’re going to rescue Merram,* I told Mettalise. I pushed myself from the floor and—
A Carthesian stood in the doorway, his eyes as wide as my own. Had I been such a fluffbrain that I’d left the door open?
The startled man recovered and shouted in Carthesian.
Pigshitting weasel snouts. I threw up a shield as the Carthesian swung his sword. He cursed as it recoiled off air. He gave the sword a shake and black fire snaked down the blade—this time it sliced neatly through my shield and grazed my upper arm.
“You cut me,” I said with shock. Normally men with swords wanted to hurt their opponents, but I’d thought Thorkel would have left instructions not to harm me.
He swung again and I dodged. As I did so, I sent out a blast of warm air—a little heat made air spells much easier—and his sword spun out of his hands.
I smiled. I never expected real fighting to be, well, fun.
The Carthesian scowled and a black cloud formed between us. As it sped toward me, I formed white-hot flames on the floor. The cloud shot to the ceiling, and I mentally thanked the farmers I’d grown up with for talking about weather all the time. I ceased the flames and pulled heat from the clouds. Black ice began to fall.
Without thinking, I used a burst of heated air to shove the cloud backward toward the mage.
Past the man, Carthesians filled the hallway. They halted as my opponent began to scream. Black drops of rain splattered his skin, and smoke curled from each drop. He staggered, holding his face in his hands, and his screams grew higher pitched.
“First One, I’m sorry—” I took a step toward him as if I could help in some way. He slumped to the ground. The liquid ate through his robe and shirt and the skin peeled away—
The other Carthesians began to shout and move. In panic I magically shoved the dying man through the doorway, slammed the door with air, and spun.
Window. I could escape through the window. I pushed the shutters—they stuck—I blasted them with Incineration, set the wooden floor behind me on fire as I climbed out.
*Mettalise, I am outside and running. Where are you?*
*Northeast. I’ll take out the dragon now.*
I crashed into brush, thankful for the night. Cries came from the house and, through the window, flames blazed. I wondered if they had tried to get past the acid pool or were coming a different way. It didn’t matter. My job was to run.
A root tripped me. I cursed the night as I fell headfirst into bramble. I scrambled free, ignoring scratches, and cast Light. It made me a target, but it wouldn’t do to impale myself on a tree branch. I made the Light smaller and lower to the ground before running again.
A roar shattered the night like thunder.
*Mettalise! Can’t you attack quietly?*
*Like that pathetic roar was mine. My guard is dead.* There was no remorse, only smugness.
Her smugness bothered me. Not a single scrap of remorse came from my dragon. Meanwhile, horror of what I’d done threatened to paralyze me at any moment. Then again, I hadn’t been born with pointy teeth and spines.
*He was an idiot,* Mettalise said as she experienced my feelings. *He joined the wrong side and underestimated me. Most of all, I couldn’t let him hurt you. Thus, dead.*
I burst into a clearing—an enormous clearing, one that could have hidden many dragons under Illusion. Now it only held Mettalise and the corpse of a dragon so deep a purple it was black in moonlight. Dark ruts marred the ground beside Mettalise—she’d been cleaning her claws.
Mettalise thrust out her leg. *Hurry! The shackle.*
I heard them, too: humans running in the brush. Only they made less sound than I had, so they were surely following a path—not what I needed to be thinking about. I went to Mettalise.
The shackle was as wide as my waist and made out of a metal I didn’t recognize. It connected with chain to a rod thrust deep into the earth. I ran a finger along the cold surface. No keyhole. Not even a forge line. “How’d they get it on?”
*I assume magic. I was unconscious.* Her muscles tensed. *They’re here. Let me take care of them.*
Two Carthesians, a man and a woman, emerged from the forest. The man flung a black lightning bolt at Mettalise. Without thinking, I stopped it with a shield of fire.
*Magic-proof, remember?* Mettalise yelled in my mind. *You smash the shackle, I’ll scorch the mages.*
Mettalise’s large, magic-proof tail crashed in front of the enemies. I forced myself to ignore the battle and poured my Gift into the metal. My magic bounced off like raindrops on rock. Clearly, filling the shackle with Gift and exploding it wasn’t going to work. Shards of metal in Mettalise’s leg would infuriate her anyway.
“Of course it’s not easy,” I muttered. I tried throwing more Gift at it, just in case, and the metal shone brighter. A black lattice appeared—the mage’s spell.
A woman cried out in Carthesian—a new female voice answered. More mages had arrived. Heat blasted behind me as Mettalise used her fire-breath. The mages had likely cast Fireproofing, but sometimes a mage skipped it in order to conserve power. It was hard to see through fire—
Fire. I studied the lattice. Could I bypass the spell and melt the metal in the gaps?
*There’s a big crossbow coming. I’d like to fly soon.*
I could only try. I heated the gaps… the metal turned red, orange… “Shake your foot!”
Mettalise kicked, spun her body, and whipped out her tail. A tail-spike impaled a woman—I saw shock on her face just before Mettalise flicked her into the woods. Another man screamed as molten metal struck him.
*Climb on. Now.* Mettalise half-lay on the ground and I threw myself on her back. They’d removed the harness and I clung for dear life as Mettalise straightened. Her wings began to pump.
“Wait! I’m not sitting right!”
*They’re loading the crossbow, and I’ve seen what it can do.* For the first time, I heard fear in her voice.
*Bank right! I’m slipping!*
Mettalise tipped and I heaved. The fabric of my clothes slid against the scales, ripping—I grabbed a smoothed-off spine near where my harness usually sat and heaved to sitting. Below, the glow of spells illuminated the crossbow—the bolt had been snapped into place.
Since I was touching Mettalise, she knew the moment I grasped the Gift. She pulled in her defenses until they only enveloped her. I took aim and unleashed the spell.
A bolt
of bright-blue lightning arced from us to the ground. The crossbow turned into smoking splinters; its mages, black smudges.
*Ooo, nice. I expected a fireball.* Mettalise’s admiring words held a touch of pain, but it sounded minor.
*Lightning’s faster and harder to block.* I gripped her tighter, lightheaded from the rush of magic. Not to mention, the excitement of battle began to seep away. A sick, shaky sensation swept over me.
Mettalise paused in flight, gliding. *Are you going to be able to handle the death?*
I swallowed. Hard. A Dragon Mage trained to kill—that’s all I’d done for hours with Zoland. Yet I had never imagined what it would feel like to kill, to see my opponent both alive then dead.
*They came into your territory,* Mettalise said gently. *They must live with the consequences. Or, er, die with the consequences. I swear I had a better way of phrasing that.*
*I understood.* I patted her back as I continued to cling with my other hand. We’d need to stop soon to create a temporary harness. *Just… give me a bit.*
The wall rose between our minds. Mettalise was right. I would kill again. Yet never would I like it, nor would I ever view death with the cool practicality of a dragon.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We flew straight for the Kyer. Two-thirds through our trip, we saw a pillar of smoke painted black by the rising sun. It wasn’t the Kyer. It was off course. Then I realized. *That’s where the Stoneyfield refugees were.*
Without a word, Mettalise banked left.
The smoke drew closer. The camp itself had burned out; the surrounding forest blazed on. We coughed through a screen of sooty air until we flew above the destruction.
*I don’t see any movement,* Mettalise said. Anger rumbled in her words. *They must have swooped down and lit everything as they flew. Took ten minutes at most.*
The ground glittered black with pools of smoking gray ash. Lumps that could have been remains of wagons, or tents, or people, littered the ground. The terror Lily and the others must have felt, the agony of burning alive…
Blue Fire Page 24