Skyfire

by Jess E. Owen

  “We must run,” she whispered, her voice rising, mouth hanging open in a nervous pant. “They’ve scented gryfon in the air.”

  “Stand strong, we’ll fight with you!”

  “No, we must run! Run!” She pivoted in a circle, loosing three wild barks. “Run!”

  A roar shuddered across the earth in answer. It lanced up the marrow of Shard’s bones and he clamped his beak against a witless shriek. The dogs broke and scattered into the rain.

  A strobe of skyfire revealed the dragons only fifty leaps away and stalking closer.

  There were four. The skyfire showed their colors—dull mixes of earthy brown and black, stone gray and worn, dull green like moss root. Huge, boney scales shielded their chests, plated their faces and legs like armor. The rest of their skin was leathery as a boar hide. Horns crested each thick head.

  Skyfire crawled again and in the instant Shard managed to grasp his wit and study them, talons clawing the mud to keep himself from flying.

  Two held their leathery wings close to their sides, their heads low and scenting at the ground. The other two held wings open as if to shield themselves from the rain. If Shard stood on top of four gryfons, he might touch the shoulder of smallest of them, and their long serpentine necks arched up further from there.

  For half a breath, Shard thought they were beautiful—the way a shark or serpent or other deadly foe was graceful and horrifying all at once.

  “Great Tyr’s wings,” Stigr moaned, crouched back, staring up. A new surge of panic struck Shard.

  He’d never heard fear in Stigr’s voice before.

  “It will be all right,” Shard said, and realized that Nitara had circled back, and stood, quivering, but bravely, just behind Stigr. Shard forced himself to take a step toward the dragons.

  “Shard,” Stigr gasped, as if struggling for his voice, “this is folly.”

  “I have to believe,” Shard whispered. “I have to believe that they too are sons and daughters of Tyr and Tor.”

  He walked forward, Stigr and Nitara and her cowering wolf pack at his back.

  Another flash lit the night. The dragons spied him, and stopped. Shard stopped. Thunder rolled and the sound went on and on until Shard realized it was the leading dragon, roaring.

  Shard’s hind legs quavered but he raised his head.

  “Greetings!” He spoke as deeply, as loudly and as firm as he could without shrieking or letting his voice crack. “Great—Hunters! I’m honored to—”

  A witless, hollow roar buried his words. He flinched back, ears flattening against the echo. Then he stepped forward again.

  “I am honored to meet you.” Grinding snarls responded. But they hadn’t attacked. Shard forced a shallow breath. “My name is Rashard, the son of Baldr, from the Silver Isles far in the Starland Sea. I am…a friend to the descendants of Kajar, who—”

  A raw bellow seemed to cut down Shard’s very spine.

  Their heads lashed up and wings flared. Biting shrieks broke the night in anger. Not a witless reaction. An angry one.

  The name of Kajar, it seemed, was known to them.

  The lead dragon stamped forward and the steps quaked the earth.

  “Shard,” Stigr yelled. “Enough!”

  “Stop!” Shard shouted at the leading dragon, which another flash of skyfire revealed was rich sable, the armored scales a lighter earth brown. The same dragon, Shard knew on instinct, that he had seen flying under the moon with the lions. Something, something deep in him urged him to speak, urged him that the wrathful creature was Named, had a family like him, had a reason she was filled with such poisonous hatred.

  She, he realized, locked and staring as the dragon pounded through the mud, wings flared in warning, tail lashing. Nothing told him the dragon was female but his instinct.

  “Mighty, mighty huntress!” he shouted, his voice cracking high. “Sister, daughter of the earth and sky, like me, listen. Tell me your name, say something, I know you have a voice—”

  Something knocked into Shard and fell skidding to one side in the mud as the dragoness leaped. She whipped low over the ground, claws gouging the earth where Shard had been a moment ago.

  Stigr had knocked him aside.

  “Now,” he barked, “can we run?”

  Shard scrambled to his feet. The other dragons loosed triumphant shrieks and stalked forward, flapping their wings to whirl up tempests of sleet toward Shard, Stigr and the painted wolves.

  The pack scattered again, their courage drained.

  The dragoness wheeled back around and landed hard, huge claws and bulk slithering through the mud toward Shard.

  Behind him, Stigr challenged the other dragons with a weak eagle’s cry. They moved slowly, as if they enjoyed causing terror.

  The female opened her jaws, showing every fang. Shard knew now the terror of a vole under an eagle’s shadow. He could not move.

  They are only flesh like me! Flesh, fang and bone.

  Shard refused to fear what Sverin feared.

  “If you kill me,” his voice rattled in his own ears, “I thank you for my good death.”

  The dragoness shook the ground with her step, and her roar chorused across the plain like a herd of raging boar. Shard realized he’d sunk to the sodden ground, clinging to the earth. Wet grass whipped his face in the wind.

  The dragoness stamped again and he whimpered, unable to move.

  Nitara darted in front of him, barking madly. Her pack streamed around her as she, blind with fear, bared her fangs at the terrible monster before her. She stood to give her pack enough time to flee. She tried to distract the dragon from Shard.

  Her courage snapped Shard back to himself.

  He tried to shout her name but he couldn’t move, couldn’t bring air to his chest.

  The dragoness loomed up, head arcing back, and displayed her enormous jaws. Nitara crouched back toward Shard, a pained, grating growl scraping from her chest.

  The last of the wolf pack escaped into the dark.

  Nitara leaped away as the dragon swiped claws forward—too slow, Shard’s mind screamed. Dragon claws plucked her from the earth. Her dying yelp rang out.

  Shard lunged to his feet and forced himself to shout her name so at least she could take that to the Sunlit Land. Sorrowful howls sounded from the dark in response to Nitara’s last cry, and dragon heads whipped around, tracking the noise.

  No more, Shard thought.

  “Shard!” Stigr bellowed, and shoved into the air once the wolves had escaped. “Fly! now!”

  The dragons looked toward the wolves that sprinted away into the dark.

  “No, not them!” Shard shrieked. “You hunt me!” He spun and shoved from the ground. “You hunt me! Wingbrother to the son of the Red Kings who stole your treasure!”

  The dragoness roared and the others followed, flared their broad, bat-like wings, and launched up after Stigr and Shard.

  Stigr met Shard in the air, both of them battered by sleet and wind. Shard tried to say his uncle’s name, staring through the dark, but couldn’t bring the word. They locked eyes, then turned as one and soared higher as the dragons flew after them.

  Terrified, mindless, he veered away, up higher into the storm.

  The dragons’ roars lashed discord through the night sky. One veered off, and a tiny part recognized that it must be chasing Stigr. The rest of him only knew he must fly to live.

  The leading female swept up to his level with a single wing stroke and Shard yelped in surprise, folding his wings to drop below her. Her claw slashed the air where he’d been. She bellowed rage. Two dragons circled below, smaller than the female, one muddy green and the other gray as bone. Shard shot down between them.

  The gray dragon whipped around faster than Shard thought possible and snapped its jaws. Pain darted up Shard’s tail and he shoved hard, breaking free. A few tail feathers broke away in the dragon’s teeth.

  The green had risen above and stooped, diving toward Shard. He heard the female to his left a
nd he hovered, panting, until they were both almost upon him. At the last moment he kicked into a back flip, falling out of the way. The dragons collided, wings thrashing and jaws agape. They managed to untangle, and turned to find Shard. He’d already flown high.

  Tight fear began to cloud his mind. Their scent overwhelmed him. Their hateful roars. Their size. He couldn’t outmaneuver them forever.

  A sound drew him. A gryfon cry. His mind couldn’t pull together to bring a name, but he knew it.

  He wheeled, dodging dragon claws and gaping teeth, to find his uncle in the storm. Skyfire flashed. He saw a black gryfon, high above. He soared toward it, dragons a wing’s length behind him.

  A dragon paw swiped, catching his tail, and he wrenched down and away, almost smacking into an armored, reptilian chest. Letting himself fall, he slipped below a slashing paw and then winged up again, dodging under a lashing tail. He tried to become one with the night wind and the storm that lashed his face.

  There were too many. Their writhing bodies and slashing claws and horrible screams became his sky. He had to flee.

  His plans and thoughts dissolved into nothing but the sense of the dragons. They crowded his entire field of vision. Dragon stench coated the air, filled his lungs with reeking fumes and rot. He lost track of Stigr. Any words, any faith, any knowledge of his own soul or Tyr’s protection or any courage he’d ever felt in his life crumbled in the heat of their hatred.

  Seized by terror, his instinct guided him toward a faint glow of light.

  Toward Tyr’s horizon.

  Toward the Dawn Spire.

  43

  The Dark of Night

  Dragon screams broke the dark.

  He tried to shout a warning to the sentinels on the towers, tried to make any sound at all. Roars and eagle screeching answered him.

  “Shard!” shrieked a sentinel. Shard couldn’t answer. Everything was flight, fast flight, dodging sweeping talons and fang-lined jaws.

  “Warriors to me!” roared another male with a deep voice. Overhead, thunder echoed him and rain lashed against the fires. “Sentinels to me!”

  Asvander, Shard wanted to yell, but had to swallow the shout and dodge the green dragon that chased him.

  He wove around the rock towers, gasping for breath against his terror. He glanced up to see what was happening. At least he had one dragon distracted. If he could keep his fear in check, keep hold of himself, he might be able to lead it away again…

  Twenty gryfons gathered in a wedge and drove against the first dragon—the female, the one Shard had spoken to.

  Tried to speak to.

  Fool, fool, fool—

  The dragoness stopped midair and roared. Rocks shuddered down from the towers and Shard’s wings seemed to turn to water for a moment. The wedge of gryfons dissolved into panic.

  Except for Asvander, who hovered until the last moment, roaring defiance. The dragoness swooped forward and Asvander dropped down below her.

  A female voice commanded, “Don’t let them pass the outer towers!”

  Shard veered to one side as his own pursuer dove in fast in, jaws agape.

  Talons swept the air above Shard’s back and he shut his wings to drop out of reach.

  “Stigr! Uncle!” He cast around, but couldn’t make him out in the madness of wings and battle.

  “FIGHT!” shouted Asvander, to anyone who could hear, Shard thought. “Don’t flee! Remember yourselves! Your families! Only the strong endure!”

  The battle cry drowned in witless terror and cries. The Dawn Spire had exploded into chaos. The brown dragoness landed hard, swiping her spade tail at gryfons on the ground, screeching challenges. The rain seemed to lessen though it hardly mattered then.

  As Ajia had said, it was not fire that kept dragons away from the Dawns Spire.

  It’s my fault, Shard knew, looping around a high spire as he tried to lose the green dragon. I goaded them into this.

  A volley of warrior gryfons launched toward Shard, led by Asvander. They slammed into the green dragon and fell together, a thrashing mess of talon, wing and writhing dragon.

  Shard swooped around and back to help, then caught sight of the female.

  She’s leading them, he realized. If I get rid of her…

  “You!” Shard yelled. She seemed to know his voice, and whipped her head toward him. “I tried to befriend you! Now, I challenge!” he flared his wings, loosing a lion call.

  She reared up to her hind legs, knocking away gryfons with her wings and tail. She shrieked, a strange, clattering sound. It wasn’t a challenge.

  Shard realized, as the gray, male dragon broke away from harrying the sentinels on the towers, that it was a command. She didn’t pursue Shard, but the gray male did.

  He dove fast, twisting his body and wings like a falcon to gain speed. The dragon’s roar sang through Shard’s bones and he banked hard, leading the creature back away from the gryfon towers.

  He soared low over the plain, his tail bumping brush and rocks, then flapped hard to gain height as a desperate planned bloomed in his mind. The dragon caught his tail feathers in his teeth. Shard flapped wildly, twisting, straining, his shouts drowned in the dragon’s roar.

  He couldn’t fly. He had to fight.

  He shut his wings and twisted, dropping on the dragon’s face with talons splayed. The dragon’s head alone was the size of Shard’s body and he clamped talons against slick, bone-hard scales. Scrabbling, he found leather hide between the scales, and dug in.

  The dragon’s eyes filled Shard’s vision. Black. Black and empty as a serpent’s gaze.

  But then the distant firelight caught a yellow gleam deep in the dragon’s glare. Yellow, like the light before dawn, like Tyr’s first rays…I have to listen, Shard thought strangely, staring deep. The light flickered within, and he heard a guttural roll as if the dragon might actually speak. I have to wait, to be still—

  “Shard!”

  Stigr’s voice made him blink. In that second the dragon’s jaws yawned open and it flicked talons up as if to grab him. Shard raked his talons across the gleaming eye.

  The dragon screamed.

  Searing dragon’s blood ran down Shard’s foreleg and into his feathers and it was like thrusting his flesh into a lava flow.

  Shard writhed off the horned head and slid, bumping and clawing, down the long, scaled back. One wing slapped him hard and he sunk talons into the dragon’s tail. Shard clung to the tail as the dragon whipped its body and long neck around, biting the air just beyond Shard’s head. He climbed higher, talons sinking in the hard leather hide, making it difficult for the dragon to bite without twisting so hard that he couldn’t orient and fly.

  The female, he thought wildly, looking down. The battle raged below, in the air and on the ground. Not even all the gryfons of the aerie were a match for four dragons. They fought in witless panic with no order and no strategy.

  Shard had to help.

  He clamped his hind claws against the scaled flesh and loosened his talons just as the dragon whipped its body and tail hard to shake him loose. Shard lost grip and slid scrabbling down its tail. A talon-sharp spade at the end of the swiped at Shard as he fell loose, barely missing.

  Battered, Shard regained his wind and swooped under the dragon’s hind legs, then flew high again. As he’d hoped, the dragon chased him up.

  An eagle’s cry followed them. Shard recognized it.

  “Uncle!” He chanced a look back. His vision filled with dragon. But beneath death darted a smaller black shadow. Stigr, trying to harry the dragon into chasing him instead of Shard. “Stigr, help me drive him!”

  “Yes, my prince!” Stigr’s mad laughter echoed through the night.

  Relieved that his uncle still had his wits, Shard worked hard to gain height. The dragon followed. Stigr wove around and flew up alongside the beast until he met Shard in the sky.

  “Talk to the dragons,” Stigr gasped, “indeed.”

  “A mistake,” Shard panted, heart crumbling
to hear the gryfon cries below him. The dragon screamed rage, unable to catch them.

  “Yes,” Stigr agreed. The air thinned and grew sharp and icy around them.

  “Forgive me,” Shard panted, trying to speak, to keep his mind, his name, his love for his uncle, anything to keep his reason intact. The dragons drove the gryfons to witless terror.

  If they could only keep their wit, they could win, Shard thought dizzily.

  “My fault,” Stigr rasped, working hard against the thin air. “Should’ve stopped you.”

  The ground grew hazy and dim, the sky vast and deep. The dragon lashed talons, the giant wings stirring the only wind.

  “I should’ve…listened to you…” Shard urged words, clinging to his thoughts. Grayish lines thinned the night at the horizon. Dawn flew toward them fast.

  Stigr laughed, hysterical with the thrill of fighting and the terror of death.

  “Maybe…are we high enough?”

  “Yes,” laughed Shard, dizzy with fear and the height. As one, he and Stigr banked sharply and wheeled fast around the dragon’s head. Shard met Stigr’s glance, they folded wings and dove together.

  Frosty air froze the feathers of Shard’s face. He clenched his talons, then stretched them out toward the distant ground. Beside him, he caught Stigr’s scent and it filled his mind with the Silver Isles, with himself, and washed away his fear.

  The dragon swung its massive bulk around to dive after them.

  Shard closed his eyes against the stinging cold. The sound of the battle coarsed back to him. Grew louder with each heartbeat. The clouds gusted away, leaving a flat, dark sky. In the gray light he saw dead gryfons on the ground. He shut his eyes again.

  Dive, dive, dive, no fear…

  It was a stupid plan. He couldn’t think so fast, couldn’t pull up hard enough—

  Don’t think. I am wind. Wind, feather and bone. The ground seemed to lunge toward him. Death clawed at his hind paws. Beside him, the black gryfon he loved laughed madly at the challenge.

  Ten leaps. Seven.

  Five.

  Two.

  “Now, Stigr!” Shard flung open his wings and jerked up, speeding only a hare’s leap off the ground. Stigr flared beside him, neat as a shadow. An impossible feat, if he’d taken the time to think about it.