The Blind Dragon

by Peter Fane

  "Let's go ahead and head back around—," she started.

  But Dagger collapsed his wings, rolled, and dropped straight down the cliff side, a near vertical dive, the intensity of the speed stopping her heart, her breath catching in her chest.

  An angry cry rang out above her. Anna glanced over her shoulder and saw three Tevéss riders—one on a red scout dragon that had crashed into the mountainside just where she'd ordered Dagger to turn. The red's rider was uninjured, but his dragon's shoulder was damaged. The red clung there to the rocks, immobilized and out of the action, but his rider's comrades were circling back, rolling, and diving after them. One was mounted on a small green scout, the other on a lightweight gold in full battle gear. The gold dragon wore a maroon battle standard across its chest, the three crossed swords of House Tevéss emblazoned black at its center. The rider who'd crashed drew his sidearm and aimed at her.

  Anna looked away, pressed her chest to her saddle, and squeezed her grips.

  "Go!" she cried.

  Dagger went, pulling his white wings tighter to his sides, the expelled air from his bladders hissing like steam from a forge. The mountainside shot past them, a blur of smooth grey stone. Three shots rang out. A chip of rock blasted past her face. Dagger furled his wings with a snap, pulled them up, took a massive breath, his intakes pulling huge amounts of air into his flight bladders. The Tevéss riders blasted past them, taken totally off-guard.

  "Ha!" Anna roared. "After those traitor dogs!"

  And then they were the hunters.

  The little green banked, cut right, leveled, and started climbing back towards the Keep. The gold cut left, but still dropped, drawing them away from his smaller, faster comrade, both riders looking over their shoulders, assessing Anna's position, a flurry of hand signals flashing between them.

  "The gold can wait," Anna snarled, turning Dagger up towards the little green.

  Dagger banked up and right, pushing forward at speed, closing on the green immediately. Anna took a split moment to assess the armament of her opponent. The Tevéss rider was pressed flat against her own saddle's belly pad, her long blond hair streaming back from the hole at the top of her leather helmet. A scout—virtually unarmed. The scout dodged right. Dagger followed and closed. She dodged left. Dagger followed—closer still. She rolled and dropped, dodging insanely near the cliff side. But Dagger tracked her perfectly, dropping onto the green's hips, his talons sinking into the base of the dragon's green tail, pulling them up like a spear hawk plucking a fish from a stream. The green screamed, head down, wings flapping uselessly. The Tevéss scout reached for her sidearm. Dagger took a massive breath, his talons still sunk into the enemy's tail, and blasted dragon and rider with a searing column of silvery-white fire, flesh and scale melting to formless char. He banked away and released them, hurling the burnt corpses into the cliff crags, his triumphant roar shaking the mountainside.

  "The next one!" Anna thundered.

  War lust blossomed hot in their minds, and Dagger was already rolling, already diving, his agility extraordinary, plummeting back the way they'd come. But the Tevéss rider and his gold were there already, fearlessly coming straight at them, knowing they had three times Dagger's weight. The Tevéss battle banner snapped against the gold's scaled chest. The rider crouched in his war saddle, his form perfect, his war lance aimed flawlessly at Dagger's head. Dagger dove, cut high, rolled away to protect Anna, the enemy's lance hissing harmlessly beneath him, grazing his scales, no blood drawn and—snap!—Dagger talon-snatched the rider from his saddle. Clasps and buckles shattered and belts tore as Dagger yanked the rider off his mount, smashed him flat against the rocks, and leapt back into the sky, launching straight at the gold with a savage roar. The gold dragon arced, turned, and charged them head on, its own roar savage with grief and rage, golden wings wide, talons flexing with blood thirst.

  "No, Dagger!" Anna cried. "Don't grapple!"

  But it was too late.

  The dragons collided with a roar, spun, fangs flashing ferociously, a flurry of wings and blinding sun, Dagger weaving and snapping as agile as a knife fighter, Anna holding herself tight to his neck with all her strength.

  But the power of the gold's weight and training was immediately evident. It lashed its tail around Dagger's, furled its wings, and jerked them downwards to the hungry rocks, heedless of its own life, knowing only that its rider was dead and that its enemy lived. Dagger sunk his teeth into the gold's throat—once, twice, clamping down, thrashing his head back and forth—but the move was a desperate one, without skill and to no effect. Still they dropped, plummeting now, Dagger trying to detach but to no avail, the gold's talons sunk into Dagger's tail, blood spraying, the gold's strength unbreakable, the dragons' wings colliding and battering against each other, their roars savage and final, whipping past the trees of the mountainside. Anna's back smashed against an outlying tree trunk, crushing her chest into Dagger's neck. The gold peered over Dagger's shoulder, drawing in its own breath, preparing to burn them both alive as they fell. Then Dagger went limp and lifeless, as though he'd been shot through the skull. His neck bent back towards Anna, his throat naked and exposed.

  "No!" Anna cried uncomprehendingly.

  The gold roared triumph, unfurled his wings, took a massive breath, its lungs and bladders near bursting with deadly heat.

  But Dagger's collapse had been a feint.

  His head flashed up at exactly the right moment, faster than a striking snake, jaws wide, biting into the enemy's mouth as it dropped, snapping the gold's jaws shut with incredible force. Molten dragon fire spewed sideways through its eyes and the corners of its mouth, melting skull and scale, its grip slacking immediately. Dagger pulled up, hard and away, barely clearing the ground, as the Tevéss war dragon plowed into the rocks, its head a smoking ruin.

  "We need that banner!" Anna shouted. She turned her grips hard into Dagger's neck, doing the same with her knees.

  Dagger turned smoothly and landed next to the gold's broken body. Anna unclipped, leapt from her saddle, and unhooked the maroon Tevéss battle standard from the gold dragon's chest.

  It was torn, bloody, and burned.

  But it was enough.

  It was open war. And now she had the proof in her hands.

  They launched for Voidbane.

  38

  THEY REACHED HIS lodge without further incident, but when they landed, the big dragon wasn't breathing.

  Anna unclipped from her saddle, ran, and knelt in the straw at Voidbane's side. She placed both her hands against the scales of his massive jaw. They were cold. Dagger approached, too, nudging the massive dragon's black snout with his own.

  Voidbane gave a long, trembling shudder.

  "Thank the Sisters!" Anna cried and reached inside her breastplate.

  But it was damp there. The paper in which she'd wrapped the vial was moist.

  Crushed.

  The crystal vial had broken in the fight.

  "No! Ah!" She pulled her hand from inside her armor. A splinter of jagged crystal stuck in her fingertip. Blood welled around it. The red seemed to crawl up the side of the shard.

  At the stable's eastern window, a large crow landed with a ruffle of black feathers. It peered into the stable, black eyes glittering.

  Anna pulled the splinter from her finger and smeared the residue of Master Borónd's silvery cordial against Voidbane's snout. Where she touched him, the dead, greyish scales went glossy black almost immediately. The big dragon opened his massive jaws, his pale tongue touching at the spot where she'd applied the cordial's balm, searching for it, knowing, somehow, that it could save him.

  Moondagger whined.

  But there wasn't enough.

  Whatever ancient magics the vial had contained, whatever timeless lore had been spun into the silvery liquid, more was required.

  "Great Sisters, no!" Anna cried. She reached into her damp undergear, smeared the faint wetness she found there on Voidbane's pale scales and lips. Again, the sc
ales went black. But it wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough.

  Voidbane's side shuddered, and he groaned. The sound was impossibly huge but still so weak.

  It was the sound of death.

  And then something opened in her mind and Anna heard Voidbane's bellowing rage shake the mountains the moment Father had been hit, the dragon's sorrow and fury shuddering everything within her. Voidbane knew what she'd known then. He'd felt what she'd felt. Father was dead. My rider is dead. She'd screamed with the big dragon until her voice was raw, screaming, knowing she was failing her duty, not caring, reloading her carbine—Maybe the wound isn't mortal? Maybe we can get him back?—firing at any enemy she saw, screaming at Voidbane over and over, "Get him home! Get him home!" The blood, the gouts of blood running and streaming along Father's armor, coursing dark rivulets from the black hole in his chest. The big dragon turning desperately, slow in his bulk, trying as hard as he could for speed. But it wasn't enough. Not enough.

  She shook her head. Voidbane's massive eyes peeled open, as if seeking her out. Once burning orange, his eyes were a cloudy, pale pink, like the milky eyes of a feeble old man, pupils glazed and unseeing. The big dragon shuddered. His great side shook.

  "No," Anna mumbled, cast around, looking—for what?

  She didn't know. There was nothing she could do. And her head was spinning. The old, black rage was there, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. In her mind's eye, she saw the lance hit Father's side. The spray of blood from his mouth.

  He's supposed to live forever.

  And then the fury was everywhere, spinning through her entire self. The unspeakable anger. Maniacal, driven, and ravenous. A hissing worm of black acid scalding her mind— becoming her. The crow cawed.

  Moondagger nudged Voidbane's snout, trying to wake him, the little dragon's efforts becoming more and more determined. Voidbane's eyes seemed to refocus for a moment. He cocked his massive head, just slightly, towards Moondagger. Dagger pushed his snout against Voidbane's cheek, hard, mashing his scales against those of his sire's, cooing and growling, trying to revive him. Voidbane's side hitched and he tried to breathe, but something stopped him, and he went suddenly still, his mouth half open. His eyelid sagged, his pupil rolled, its glow fading, fading . . . gone. Over a hundred years old, the best dragon on Dávanor, Father's mount, lost in an instant.

  It could not be.

  Dagger rammed his head against Voidbane's head. Again. Then again and again, trying to rouse him, cooing plaintively, growling, butting his head against the massive black jaw, casting around, silvery eyes wide, white tail thrashing the straw. He hit Voidbane's jaw again and again with his head, a strange whine coming from his throat. Again and again.

  Anna stared. Swallowed. Tried to breathe. It was hard. She reached out and put her hand on Dagger's side. That felt better, but it was still difficult. She was having a hard time swallowing. Dagger rammed his head against Voidbane's jaw, harder and harder and harder, trying to wake him. Anna blinked. Tried to swallow, the tears threatening to come, but she bit her tongue and held them back, touched her own head against the cold wall of scales, Voidbane's cheek.

  "No," she growled at herself. "No. Think, curse you. Push and think!"

  Then Dagger roared, long and deep. She turned, wrapped her arms around her dragon's neck, and took a deep breath. Then another. Managed to swallow. Shook her head. Took another breath.

  Push it back.

  She ran to the far side of the lodge, where Voidbane's flight and feeding records were kept. There, she folded down the small desk from the wall, ripped a shred of blank paper from the back of Voidbane's log, and opened the ink pot in its wooden holder. With a poorly-trimmed quill, she wrote the following:

  To Lord Bellános Dallanar, Duke of Kon and High King of Remain –

  Dávanor is now besieged from within by Murderous Traitors bent upon the Complete Ruin of our High House. We call, most urgently, for your Arms and Aid. Loyal Soldiers and very Good Dragons die here for Your Sake, their Sworn Oaths upheld in accordance with our good High Laws. In the Great Sisters' names – help us.

  Anna Dyer, Dragon Squire

  House Dradón

  She took the high silver tube from the inner pocket of her breastplate, the one that she'd found on the dead messenger dragon. She rolled the letter, slid it inside, then tucked the tube back in her pocket. She knew that Master Khondus would have his own message and his own plan to get word to Kon.

  "But Master Khondus could be dead," she said suddenly.

  She looked at Voidbane.

  She had to admit that.

  Moondagger whined.

  They could all be dead. Anna shut her eyes.

  Dagger hissed and whined.

  "Listen to me," she said, eyes still shut.

  Dagger went quiet.

  She opened her eyes, looked at him. "I swear to you, on your life and mine, we will have justice here. And we will bring it."

  The crow cawed, even louder. Anna looked at it, reached for her pistol, then stopped herself.

  She had more urgent targets.

  The crow seemed to sense her intent and leapt away with a lonely caw.

  Then, somewhere far below in the High Keep, a single gunshot rang out.

  Dagger's head jerked up.

  Another gunshot. A distant report.

  Dagger growled. Anna cocked her head.

  Another shot. Very distant. But unmistakable.

  Gunfire.

  In the High Keep.

  Two more shots, widely spaced. Then a short volley, a spattering.

  Then a distant battle cry and a long flurry of gunfire.

  A deep explosion. Cannon.

  Then a long, high cry followed by an eruption of gunfire and the crash of metal on metal.

  It was happening.

  39

  SHE RAN TO the stable's flight door and looked out. From her vantage, she couldn't see down into the High Square, but the crashing din of all-out battle was unmistakable. Above the Square, at least two squads of dragons circled, the maroon battle standards of House Tevéss fluttering against their chests. Anna counted. Two heavyweights—a big red and a huge purple—at least six middleweights—all blues and greens—and more than ten lightweights of various colors. High above the combat, Captain Corónd soared on his bronze, a long maroon pennant streaming from the top of his war saddle. A young signal hand rode behind him, flashing coded flags from his perch. A red flag flashed twice and the two heavyweights swung into the High Square, dragon fire spraying from their mouths, shrieks of horror and pain rising like a hellish storm.

  Anna frowned. Whatever the tactical situation inside the Square, with no air support, House Dradón had no chance.

  It'll be an all-out slaughter.

  Moondagger nudged her, his eyes wide.

  "I know," she murmured, looking skyward.

  They might be able to get up there, to engage Corónd and his bronze, but even if they could kill him—which she doubted—what then? Fight two dozen enemy dragons?

  A flight of middleweight silvers blasted over Voidbane's lodge, over her head, House Dradón banners streaming blue from their tackle. The lead rider sounded his battle horn, the note high and clear. The Tevéss dragons answered, turning to meet the threat. But the Dradón riders didn't engage. Rather, they swooped in, banked, fired a carbine volley into the Tevéss formation, knocked a middleweight green from the sky, and arced away from the Square, diving over the Keep's southern fortifications. Corónd didn't take the bait. Instead, he signaled another strafing run to the Tevéss heavyweights. The big dragons executed the maneuver to horrible effect, the nightmare screams rising again. But then the House Dradon middleweights were back, silver flashing in the sun, skirting the enemy formation, firing with perfect coordination, this time targeting the massive purple. Their marksmanship was deadly, and Anna saw the purple's rider sag in his saddle while another half dozen rounds found their marks in the heavyweight's side and neck. The giant beast ang
led off and sagged in the air. Its right wing smashed into the Square's bell tower, and it spiraled out of control, crashing head first into the far colonnade. The Dradón middleweights dodged away, gone again over the southern fortifications. This time, however, it was too much for Corónd. A flurry of flag signals from his bronze and three Tevéss middleweights and five of the Tevéss lightweights broke formation and launched after the Dradón flight, knifing over the southern wall. The moment they did so, a thunderous barrage of cannon fire roared and the flight of Dradón silvers was back, untouched, climbing directly for Corónd. The Tevéss dragons dove to meet them and full aerial combat was joined.

  Anna pulled out her telescope, pointed it at Corónd, then turned it to the lead Dradón rider.

  "It's not Terreden," Anna said. She didn't know who the lead Dradón rider was. And it didn't matter. She leapt to her saddle, clipped on, and they launched for the High Square.

  40

  THEY LANDED A moment later on a rooftop near the Square's eastern edge and quickly hid behind a roofline. Carefully, she looked over the ridge.

  Inside the High Square, a brutal melee raged around the High Gate. The Gate itself was a huge, pointed arch of high silver, five times the height of a man, seeming to rise from the foundations of the Square itself. Around the Gate, combat seethed, a smashing mass of blue and maroon uniforms. The elaborate pattern of the Square's flagstones was slick with ash and gore. Five House Dradón adepts, their blue robes stained with blood, lay dead around the Gate, surrounded by four grim squads of Tevéss heavy infantry. One side of the Square was a blackened carnage of burnt bodies, stone and flesh melted and smoldering.

  Anna didn't see any of House Tevéss's adepts. That meant that the High Gate might still be open. It might still be theirs. For the moment—.

  A shout and a roar and there was Master Khondus on the far side of the Square, swinging his hammer to horrible effect. Blood flowed from two bullet wounds in his back. Master Zar was at his side, his face a purple mask of rage, using a strange flame weapon against the enemy, blasting the Tevéss ranks with ropey gouts of silvery fire. Jenifer Fyr, Captain of Lady Abigail's High Guard, was there, too, twin revolvers blazing, Dradón guardsmen rallying around her with grim determination. Master Khondus, Zar, Fyr and their men were pushing hard towards the High Gate. But they still had to cross more than half the Square. Anna touched the silver message tube she'd placed in her armor's pocket. The note that she'd written might not be the most well-written message that the High King had ever received, but it might be all they had.