The Summer Dragon

  They sped through the arch. I paused and waved Jhem and Tulo past again. I wanted them away from the Horrors.

  I watched the air behind us.

  A Horror flapped up onto the landing and snatched at one of Cairek’s teams—Skot. The man ducked low, presenting the spiked backplate of his armor. His dragon lunged to one side. The monster grabbed at Skot, but momentum took it past. It rebounded off the cavern wall to land on the ledge. I still had an arrow nocked in my bowstring. I drew and released at the creature’s maw. Saw my arrow disappear into its hellish furnace. Fren’s bow thumped, then Darid’s and Tauman’s. Skot frantically backed up his mount. The chunk chunk chunk of Cairek’s top bow, the singing of the cables as Taben rearmed it with motions of his elbows. Fren loosed shafts from behind him. The Dragonry and Tauman and I rained arrows on it. Finally, the beast charged.

  Bellua and Mabir passed me, under the arch and into the cave. Cairek shouted, “Go! Maia, Tauman, go!”

  I backed Keirr into the cave, shooting as I had opportunity until Tauman and Rannu blocked the way. From outside came angry shouts, the roar of a dragon. Savage scuffling and snarling. A scream of terror.

  Darid and then Cairek with Fren backed in next, all pale as ghosts even in the scant light.

  “Keep moving,” gasped Cairek to me. His Taben was bloodied, with stripes across his shoulders. “Go. Skot is gone.”

  The ceiling hung too low for flight. Keirr galloped up a rising scrabble of broken debris. The way widened even as the ceiling dropped. From ahead I heard curses and orders to “Dismount.” I soon understood why.

  The passage was chopped up by stout columns of accreted stone, barring the way with colonnades of the mountain’s own making. Jhem dismounted and Tulo with her. Keirr was still small. By crouching low to her neck I was able to stay mounted. Everyone else walked beside their mounts, even Mabir. He struggled with the uneven terrain, though Bellua had his arm. I called him and stopped Keirr by his side. “You ride. I’ll walk.”

  “No, child. No, I will manage.”

  I dismounted, and Keirr lay down so he could climb up easily. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Don’t worry—she’ll take good care of you.”

  “I know she will.” He smiled.

  Bellua and I helped him onto Keirr’s back, and I scratched her under the chin briefly. “Be good.”

  From behind—screeching and fluttering.

  “Cairek?” I called back.

  “The crispies follow,” he said, “but they don’t like this restricted path. They fall behind.”

  “Then let us gain ground.”

  Jhem and Marad’s lanterns ahead showed as a horizontal sliver of pale light. Keirr crawled on her belly. Mabir clung tightly to her neck, me at her side. We inched toward the light through a maze of stone columns.

  I tumbled down a short slope into a landscape of bones. Shadows careened as Jhem and Marad’s lanterns swung ahead of us. Keirr slid down carefully. When Bellua paused at the lip of the basin, his light revealed the scale of the room.

  Dragon skeletons filled a broad, shallow cavern—cupped rib cages, gnarled wings, coiled spines. Some were bleached white, others mummified in skins of leather. Columns of stone swallowed and preserved the oldest of them, a twisted architecture of bone and glass.

  “Holy Avar,” hissed Darid. “What a sight.”

  “It’s a good sign,” I said. “A dragon boneyard. Dragons came here to die. It means there’s an exit to the outside nearby.”

  “Let’s find it,” said Cairek. “Many of these bones are partially eaten. Only two things I know of’ll eat bone, if bone’s all there is. One is rats, but there’s no rats here.”

  Across the boneyard, Marad found a natural tunnel, just tall enough for our dragons to stand fully but not with a rider. Only Keirr was small enough that Mabir could stay in the saddle, lying forward on her neck and clutching the lower grips. We hurried through in order. I slowed just long enough to see that Cairek followed safely.

  The passage rose steadily. The floor became smoother, then paved with huge flat stones. We entered a natural vault bigger than lantern light could reveal. Marad, Teff, Ansin, and Darid mounted up again. We spread out, instinctively separating ourselves as targets, but a new spectacle on the floor kept us to a narrow path. The acrid stench of rotting meat overpowered that of stone or water.

  “Oh Gods,” said Mabir beside me. “Please . . . open your lanterns that we might bear witness.”

  First Bellua, then Jhem, Cairek, and Marad opened the shutters on their lamps.

  In every direction fading into shadow, we saw bones. Human bones. And dragon bones. The nightmare had a pattern. Manacles linked to spikes hammered into the stone filled the chamber. Black stains runneled into troughs or low spots. Here and there a shackle held the bones or mummified remains of a foot, possibly a leg bone or wing bone as well. What remained was small—finger bones, wrist bones, an occasional rib. The distinctive fragment of pelvis or skull. Morsels fallen by the wayside.

  The spotlight of Marad’s lantern traced up the clear trail to a workbench hung with spikes and chains. Tongs, needles. Saws and hammers. On a rack beyond it hung an abomination.

  Jhem gasped aloud, and Tauman cursed under his breath. Cairek said, “Dear sweet Avar.”

  Wrists, legs, wings, torso were strapped to the rack. The man-portion above still glowed with horrible nonlife, the green light dim and failing in its hollows. The head lolled back, demonic eyes staring. The dragon below sagged as dead weight, pulling at the unfinished stitches where the two were joined. Dark as char, the dragon crumbled at the extremities and around the deep scars, exposing blackened skeleton. Clotted piles of cold cinder lay beneath it.

  “Its maker never returned to finish what he started,” I said.

  “What?” said Bellua.

  “The leader of the Harodhi, I killed him. He controlled the Horror that chased Darian and me. Look—don’t you see? He was making Horrors.”

  “Sweet Korruzon,” Bellua said. “One man made all those nightmares?”

  “And how many more? We’ve seen dozens already.” I tore my eyes from the carnage, turned to him and Cairek. “I thought he was their leader, and they were his soldiers, but these men weren’t willing. They were shackled to the floor. Prisoners or even slaves. Meant to bond with dragons and become an army.”

  “An army of Horrors,” said Cairek.

  “And when the Harodhi leader died, there was no one to finish this monster. Without their shaman, or priest, or whatever he was, there was no one to control them, no one to stop the dozens of Horrors already made from”—I swallowed my gorge—“from killing and eating all these prisoners.”

  “How in this good world do you make a Horror?” asked Bellua.

  “He may have brought many of them with him,” I said. “But why steal qits? I’m missing something.”

  “It solves one mystery,” said Cairek. “What happened to the Harodhi leader’s lieutenants in the city by the lake.”

  “And begs another,” I answered. “Who or what controls the Horrors now?”

  The monster’s mouth opened in a hiss like sand on glass. The head jerked upright. As it struggled against its shackles, a bow thumped. An arrow rocked its head back. The hiss became a screech. A second arrow pinned the head to the wall. The third shattered the neck below. It ceased moving. The screech died. The sick light faded. As it sagged, a chunk of dragon flesh fell away with a dry thud.

  The last echoes died. Fren lowered his bow, staring at the thing.

  From the belly of the tunnel behind us came a rasping shriek. Horrors still followed. Not close—not yet. But too near. “It’s time to go,” said Cairek.

  From the other direction, blocking the way ahead, came the soft crunch of pads on bone. Almost immediately the images penetrated my head—pain, vertigo, sorrow, haunted memori
es in an overlapping crescendo. I doubled over in pain. Gasped.

  “Edimmu,” I said.

  “Lady?” said Cairek.

  “Oh dhalla, it’s here.”

  “Sweet Asha,” said Mabir.

  “It’s here.” I winced against phantom pain—the sting of an evil word, the cut of a blade, the cold touch of a Horror. “I know you now, Edimmu. Show yourself, monster!”

  Instead it showed me the angry scowl of my mother. Darian’s spite and scorn as he stomped on my fingers. Father’s contorted face before he turned and left in search of his son. It drew on my guilt and shame and anger, turned it on me.

  “I said show yourself, monster!”

  We heard it before we saw it—bone snapping, rustle of wing. Then it stepped within range of our lanterns.

  The Edimmu had changed. More substantial now, the thing once made of little more than mist and shadow had a core, like a blackened skeleton strung together with sinew inside a smoky bottle. I loosed two arrows at it faster than thought. Both struck it in what might have been the head, pierced it without sound, and emerged from the back like quills.

  Rooting around in my head, pulling things from my memory to throw back at me like arrows. A fly on an eyeball. Vomit in clean water. The dead in the fishing village. Borgomos’s desiccated corpse. Addai’s threats. Father’s absence.

  “I know you now, Edimmu,” I shouted again.

  We liked that one, it said angrily, shocking me. Did I hear that? Or only remember hearing it?

  “One? What one?” I countered with memories of mother’s smiles, of her attempts to speak with dragons, of Keirr teaching me about Bi-g and Smaw. Felt the trickle of blood on my lip.

  That one, on the wall—its suffering was music. Interesting creations, these Horrors. We like them.

  “Who are you?” I loosed another arrow. It vanished into the smoky body.

  Us, in all our many names.

  “What are you? Are you Dahak?”

  The thing paused in its assault, as if intrigued by the idea of conversation. A respite, then images in my head of swarming darkness. Stone. A cavern full of colorless people and yearling dragons chained to the floor. Horrors standing motionless. The Harodhi shaman working over his table.

  Not my memories. Its.

  They awakened us. We came to see what they were doing. We knew that we belonged to it.

  “I don’t understand.”

  In answer, the assault resumed in a deluge. Horrors descended on the screaming prisoners. Tearing, swallowing, blood spraying. Screams extinguished, horrible pain. Delicious fear. I cried out and fell to my knees. Beneath it all, the Edimmu’s pleasure in their torment. Its pleasure at pouring sick memories into my head.

  I vaguely heard the beat of our bows. More barbs pierced its head to protrude from the back like spines. It showed no response.

  I sought another remembrance: sunshine, qits at play, the joyous vertigo of flight. But the Edimmu clawed deeper into my mind. The meaty sound when an arrow pierces flesh—again and again. Stabbing at the face of a Horror. Screams, flames. The images built to a rapid-fire pace, then subsided all at once.

  We learned much from watching them die. All of them.

  I heard movement behind me. Mabir hobbled past. How did he get down from Keirr? I failed to grab the hem of his robe or a dangling harness strap. He placed himself between the Edimmu and me, squaring his shoulders. “Leave the girl alone.”

  The assault on my head ceased as the monster turned what might have been a face in Mabir’s direction. The old man took another step forward. The Edimmu raised its head. Mabir tensed in pain, went rigid, fingers curled in agony. “We all know you, foul Edimmu!” he rasped.

  Our bows thumped without pause. Arrows blossomed from its neck and chest. It didn’t care.

  Mabir stiffened even more, drawn straighter than I’d ever seen him. “You’re but a phantom, a shadow,” he croaked.

  Oh, but you’re wrong, said the creature. We were a shadow, but we become.

  Mabir sucked in a deep breath. “The Harodhi shaman summoned you, didn’t he?”

  The Edimmu fell silent for several breaths, the cascade of imagery in my head slowing to a trickle.

  I vaguely heard the beat of our bows resume. More barbs pierced its head to protrude from the back like spines. I realized that Mabir’s intervention had distracted it, if only for a moment.

  Marad and Teff on their dragons charged in from my right. Talons raked, teeth slashed. Dragons growled in surprise and pain. Stumbled. Retreated, shook their heads.

  “The congregation of the Edimmu is the fearful, the desperate,” Mabir said, between gasps. “It takes root in ignorance and grows in its own filth.” He groaned and dropped to his knees. “You don’t scare me, monster.” He straightened and spread his arms wide. “Your presence gives me great joy, because you vindicate me—”

  Mabir went rigid. Spittle foamed on his lips. Blood ran from his nose.

  Do you fear us now? said the beast.

  Somewhere, sobbing. Tulo.

  “You always fail,” whispered Mabir. “The Circle always turns.” Then he moaned and fell to the floor.

  I shouted and tried to stand. The Edimmu turned to me again. Knives sliced across my body, image of Keirr hanging from a scaffold, splayed open like—

  I rejected it with the sound of Keirr’s echoes in high places, the sight of sunlight sparkling on water, the smell of spring rain.

  It showed me images of the time it followed three Horrors out into sunlight, just to observe. I saw myself in the Edimmu’s memory, riding Keirr.

  We learn from you, too.

  Images pelted me. I crouched down against the pain. Things I’d shown it without meaning to: the aeries, Riat. Darian and Father. Everything this coalescing nightmare knew about the world outside came from its victims. From me. Every image I’d ever shown it, willingly or not, had a story, and I’d shown it everything I loved in an effort to turn back its madness. Cold terror curled down my spine. It had used my defenses to unlock my mind. But at the same time, I understood something it didn’t mean for me to know.

  Whether the Edimmu was ancient or not, its memories were new. Much as Mabir had once said—with a potential released or achieved, or some arcane line crossed, it became. It emerged into existence. It came to be. More than that, it remembered becoming. It recalled being drawn to the Harodhi shaman at work and to the carnage that followed when he no longer kept his Horrors contained. Something new to it: memories of its own. It seemed eager to share them with me.

  I summoned one of mine. Of Cheien and Shuja tearing it to smoky tatters at our first encounter. At the same moment a volley of arrows from half a dozen bows struck. The Edimmu released me. I sagged onto my hands, crawled to Mabir, lay with my arm around his shoulders, gasping for breath.

  The Edimmu reared up, and smoky wings spread wide. You misread us, girl, said the apparition. We are new, but we are also ancient. We are timeless. And now we give direction to the monsters. We show them what you showed us. Your village, Riat. Your aeries. Your love for them.

  A screech sounded from behind us, and the first of the Horrors appeared. The Dragonry teams rained arrows on it. Marad and Teff seemed unsure what to do until the Edimmu stepped back into shadows.

  I pushed to my feet. The Horrors charged.

  “Go!” cried Cairek, backing up.

  Yes, go! said the Edimmu.

  Fren appeared beside me. Together we hauled Mabir onto Keirr. I got us both strapped in, gathered the dhalla’s arms around my waist. I clung to his sleeves, to hold his unconscious body against my back. Fren loosed arrows, backing up, until Tauman called, “Here, Fren!” and he scrambled onto Rannu’s back.

  With everyone mounted again, we left the room of shackles, dashing into the tunnel. Jhem’s lantern lit the way ahead, bobbing, careening. Scr
eeches, roars, and shouts came from behind. A scream of terror. I peered over my shoulder to see Marad, then Cairek and Teff behind him in full retreat. The other Dragonry team was missing, but I’d lost their names. Ansin? Who was with Jhem? Keirr clicked and sounded, moving with amazing efficiency through black passages scarcely lit.

  We hunger for what will come, said the monster.

  “No more,” I groaned. “Get out of my head.”

  The cascade of images changed. Memories stripped from other victims, their guilt and injuries and private torments. I cried out at the unexpected avalanche of pain, pulled tight to the saddle grips, fighting to keep my sanity. Light ahead. A crack. Late day in an eastern sky. That seemed right if this opened where I expected. Jhem and Tulo’s silhouette, then a Dragonry team, then Bellua. Mabir’s additional weight didn’t slow Keirr at all, so I urged her onward. “Faster!”

  The Edimmu faded behind me—thank the High Ones. Sky broadened before us, then opened all around. We galloped through the crack and into a golden evening, on a high, narrow ledge of Mt. Zurvaan. Jhem paused in front of me, and Bellua beside her. She looked back, Tulo wide-eyed over her shoulder. Darid just beyond set an arrow. I turned.

  Cairek and Teff stood their mounts side-by-side across the opening of the cave, Marad behind them. A dragon Horror and rider fought them arrow, tooth, and talon. Dragons snarling, glowing chunks flying. Arrows rained into the monster. Taben rearmed Cairek’s topbow with every swipe at the thing; the cables in the mechanism sang, the pulleys squealed. Cairek loosed just as fast. I couldn’t shoot without letting go of Mabir’s arms, but there was too much activity for a clean shot anyway. In frustration, Jhem, Tauman, and Fren held their arrows nocked.

  The monster faltered, stumbled, then its entire front spilled out in a cascade. It fell into its fading embers like spent logs collapsing in a fire. Immediately another stepped up to claw through its wings and past its body.

  “Hold the line!” Cairek fell back as Marad took his place. He yanked the magazine from his topbow and tossed it, slapped another in. Shouted back at us, “Go. Get back to the aeries. We’ll hold—”