The Dragon's War

by Samantha Sabian

  “Just run!” Raine said, “Before they get the catapult re-aimed!”

  Drakar saw the danger as the turret of the weapon was being cranked in his direction. He took two uneven steps, still suffering the effects of the golden rope, and crashed sideways into a crowd of Hyr’rok’kin, crushing them all.

  “Well that was effective,” he muttered. “Humiliating, but effective.” He regained his balance, took two much better steps, and leaped skyward. He was going to wheel about to get Raine, but she shook her head and waved him on.

  “What will you do now?” the great wolf asked, shaking then snapping a Hyr’rok’kin in two with his immense jaws.

  “We need only to get back to our people,” Raine said, “and we can finish this.”

  Raine leaped upon his back and with a roar, he called his children to him. They stampeded through the throng of Hyr’rok’kin, cleared them, then easily outdistanced them in an all-out retreat. The Hyr’rok’kin screamed as one in rage and frustration. They had brought down a dragon. They had cornered their most coveted prey. And still, this puny gathering of mortals was thwarting them. They regrouped and began marching forward, still vastly outnumbering their enemy despite their losses.

  Once at the front lines, Raine leaped from the wolf’s back and ran back to the platform upon which Idonea, Elyara, and Gimle were standing. It was clear that Elyara was weakening because Gimle was now supporting her.

  “Can you do this?”

  Idonea nodded. “I can.”

  “Good, I will prepare the counter charge.”

  Raine gave the order, and the Ha’kan and imperials readied to march forward once more. The Tavinter stood behind them. Raine and the wolves stood at the front.

  “And what have you got up your sleeve this time, Scinterian?” Fenrir asked.

  Raine grinned. “I believe I have the most powerful mage in Arianthem.”

  Idonea stood on the raised dais and gazed out at the approaching horde. She was the daughter of a dragon and the protégé of the greatest wizard the world had ever known. The dark magic in her blood stirred, and her mother circled above, feeling the dark magic in her own blood stir in response.

  “You can drop the wall,” she said calmly.

  Elyara collapsed, as did the wall. The Hyr’rok’kin paused in their death march, uncertain what this could mean. They were now free to spread out and attempt to surround the enemy, as had been their original intent. They shouted with rapacious glee and began running forward.

  “There are still a lot of them,” Nerthus muttered, dismayed to see the number that still remained outside the walls. She felt something hot under her armor, something that went from unpleasant to painful in a fraction of a second. She pulled the chain out from her breastplate, the necklace she wore with the tiny vial of red liquid on it. She dropped it so that the vial rested against the steel of her armor, shaking her hand from the burn.

  Raine was also assessing their numbers, but she was more interested to see if there were any more of the catapults remaining. It seemed there was only the one. Also, as the Hyr’rok’kin had again spread out, the depth of their ranks had thinned. She nodded to Idonea.

  There were inert piles of sand where the walls had been. These dunes began to shake, tremble, slither about, and then began to flow back towards the small army, almost as if the sand were water. The illusion of liquid was pronounced as it ebbed, surged, then formed a stream that rolled back toward Raine. It began to pool, and the pool became a lake, and then the lake began to swell until it rose up into a single wave. Raine thought the wave would be waist high, perhaps a little more, but it continued to grow. It topped her head, then the head of the great wolf behind her, then it was taller than the Marrow Shards, and still it continued to grow. And as it grew upward, it also grew outward, spreading the entire length of the Hyr’rok’kin army, seeming to take up the extent of the horizon. The size of it was jaw-dropping.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” Raine said.

  And then the gigantic upsurge began to move. It flowed just like a wave across the desert, churning the earth before it like the froth of the sea. It was steep, the distance between the trough and crest the distance between earth and sky. It curled downward, creating a barrel-like effect, as if it were continually on the verge of breaking.

  The Hyr’rok’kin, stopped, stunned, then turned and began to run. But it was to no avail as the rapidly growing wave overtook them and swallowed everything in its path. Some were buried, suffocating beneath the heavy sand, some were trapped, unable to move the limbs crushed beneath the surface, some were knocked unconscious and lie scattered like dolls in the wake of the great wave.

  “And now we finish this,” Raine said, and all followed her charge.

  The small army was merciless as it came upon its stunned and helpless foe. Hyr’rok’kin were stabbed, beaten, decapitated, incinerated, crushed, impaled, killed in every way imaginable as the Ha’kan and imperials moved efficiently over their fallen adversaries. The dragons were ruthless, having suffered at their hands, and they burned everything in their path. The catapult, now on its side, was turned to ash. The Tavinter rained down arrows, then ran through the sea of Hyr’rok’kin, stabbing and slicing as they went. Raine was in the lead with the wolves, dealing with those so foolish to stagger to their feet once the wave had passed. It was a bloodbath, but not in the way that anyone would have expected, given the way the day had begun.

  Raine slowed, and Fenrir was at her side.

  “Are you going to chase them all the way back to the Underworld?” he asked drily.

  Raine sighed and sheathed her swords. “No, as much as I want to, that’s probably not a good idea.”

  “And probably not necessary,” Fenrir said. The fleeing Hyr’rok’kin numbered in the hundreds, not the tens of thousands that had marched across the Empty Land. The wolf god and the Scinterian, surrounded by wolves, started walking back toward the small army in a comfortable silence.

  Queen Halla withdrew her sword from a Hyr’rok’kin foot soldier and paused to look around her. Everything was dead. She looked to her First General, who was dirty, sweaty, and covered in blood, and who had never looked more beautiful to her. And Senta looked upon her Queen, bruised and battered, her armor covered with scrapes, nicks, and cuts, and thought that she had never loved her more. And the Ha’kan as a whole looked to each other, stunned and overjoyed, not only that they had survived, but that they had triumphed.

  Nerthus walked through her men, quietly congratulating them, and they felt the same subdued, slightly hysterical elation as the Ha’kan. She came up behind Idonea, just in time to catch her as the raven-haired mage’s knees buckled.

  “Are you all right?” she asked with concern.

  “Of course I’m all right,” Idonea said carelessly, “just a little tired.” She noticed the vial outside of Nerthus’ armor and grinned wickedly. “Did you really think that little thing could ever control me?”

  “Not for an instant,” Nerthus replied.

  Skye ran to catch up with the Queen and Senta, wanting to make certain they were unharmed. Before she could get a word out, Senta snatched her up and fairly threw her into the air, catching her on the way down and hugging her tightly. She kissed her on the forehead.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. Senta knew the Tavinter had been the Queen’s guardian angel during the fight.

  And the Queen knew it as well. “Thank you, First Ranger.” Halla grasped Skye’s shirt and pulled her to her, treating her as she did all her staff, which was to say she kissed her fully on the mouth, a passionate and prolonged kiss. She released her and moved on to find Astrid, leaving Senta to catch the stunned youngster.

  “Welcome to the Royal Staff,” Senta said over her shoulder as she followed the Queen.

  Raine stood off alone with Fenrir.

  “Thank you again, my friend,” Raine said, holding the great head in her hands. “I know you will pay for this.”

  “It is you who I fear
will pay,” Fenrir said. “My sister will not be happy about this.”

  “If it comes to that,” Raine began, “if—” She trailed off, unable to go on. “Just don’t interfere,” Raine said, and Fenrir nodded his understanding. The great wolf joined his pack, and the wolves trotted as one back towards the Deep Woods.

  Two dragons landed on the expanse of sand, and with a flash of red and yellow light, a silver-haired woman and a devilishly handsome dark-haired man appeared. Idonea had recovered her strength and ran to them, hugging them both tightly. Raine approached, her eyes caressing Talan, then settling on Idonea.

  “You….”

  “I—,” Idonea tried to explain. “I didn’t know I was capable of that.”

  “Yes,” Raine said sardonically, “but in the future we might want to lead with that instead of saving it for last.” She relented and hugged the raven-haired mage. “That was magnificent.”

  “I’m very proud of you,” Talan agreed, “and I’ve never been happier that you were born human and not a dragon.”

  “Hey now,” Drakar said, pretending hurt, and Talan kissed him on the forehead. “I’m very proud of you, too, dear.”

  Drakar was instantly appeased. “And I owe you my life,” he said to Raine, growing serious. “You risked all to come save me.”

  Raine took Talan’s hand. “Skye helped, she paved my way. Then Fenrir came to save me.”

  “I’m not sure he so much as saved you as expedited the process. I’m pretty sure you would have killed everything around you,” Drakar said, “it just would have taken all day.”

  Talan’s attention had turned to Raine and she examined the Scinterian with intense focus: bruised and battered, muscles bulging, covered in the blood of her enemies, her eyes a perfect shade of violet.

  “You’re going to go rape her somewhere, aren’t you?” Idonea said.

  “Of course I am,” the dragon replied.

  Chapter 11

  The wood elves met the entourage at the edge of the Deep Woods. Word had spread of the epic battle taking place on the plains of the Empty Land, and they were dismayed that they were not in time to assist. But they were glad to tend the wounded. Despite the pitched battle, the Ha’kan Queen sent word to her daughter that they would continue their journey. They still had time to reach Mount Alfheim prior to the Ceremony of Assumption. It was decided that the wounded Ha’kan would stay with the wood elves until they were fit to travel. Although the imperials could have returned to their garrisons for treatment, a curious camaraderie had grown between them and their Ha’kan sisters, and they did not wish to leave them, so they, too, remained with the wood elves.

  So after a day’s rest, the entourage started out once more. Raine rejoined them and it was a content group that left the Deep Woods, not as lightly celebratory as before, but with a deeper sense of satisfaction, one that came with a hard-fought victory. They had lost few, and those were mourned deeply. But they had beaten an army of monstrosities against impossible odds. Dagna was already hard at work immortalizing the deed, entertaining the troops around her by tossing out lines of the poem she was writing in her head.

  Word continued to spread, and the Alfar contingency that was to meet them at the border did not stop there, but rode into imperial lands to join them. Raine pulled up as the impressive group of elves, all wearing green and yellow armor, barreled down upon them. They were led by a handsome, fair-haired elf and surprisingly, a dwarf.

  Raine dismounted in tandem with the lead elf. He approached Raine, gave her the traditional formal greeting of his people, then embraced her. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her at arm’s length.

  “You do not appear any worse for the wear,” Feyden said.

  “Did you expect anything else?”

  “Of course not.”

  The dwarf approached and his greeting was far less restrained. He struck Raine a blow on her shoulder that should have broken her collarbone.

  “How could you?” he said. “How could you go into battle without me?”

  “I apologize for such egregious conduct,” Raine said. “It will never happen again.”

  “It had better not, lass.” And then Lorifal could contain himself no longer and hugged Raine so tightly the Ha’kan winced. “And you two,” he said, turning to Elyara and Idonea. “A canyon and a wave of sand? Are the stories true?”

  “They are,” Dagna said proudly, “and I’m recording them all.”

  “By my ancestors,” Lorifal said, “Dagna, too. If only I could have been there!”

  “Feyden,” Raine said, “you remember Queen Halla?”

  Feyden bowed low. “Of course, your Majesty. I was going to welcome you to the land of the Alfar, but we are not quite there yet.”

  “Thank you, Feyden. It is good to see you again.”

  “And the empire has sent us an escort as well, you remember the Knight Commander?”

  “Yes,” Feyden said smoothly, wondering if he would be chastised for crossing over into imperial territory. Nerthus did no such thing.

  “Bristol sends his regards and his congratulations to your sister. He wanted to come, but his words were ‘someone has to stay and run the country.’”

  Feyden bowed at the unexpected diplomacy from the Knight Commander. Idonea continued to work her magic on that one.

  “Shall we get going?” Raine said, putting her arms around the shoulders of the dwarf and elf. “We’re cutting our arrival much closer than we intended.”

  The capital city of the Alfar Republic was extraordinary. Where imperial architecture was designed to project power, size, and force, and Ha’kan to project strength, elegance and beauty, the Alfar were unique in projecting a sense of both history and innovation. The infrastructure was ancient but timeless, meticulously maintained, full of gorgeous detail. The entourage moved slowly through the streets, enthralled with the golden spires that rose into the sky, the intricately carved stone structures that sat perched on the steep cliffs, the towers and walkways that crisscrossed the city. It was a sight that very few non-Alfar had ever seen.

  And many of the Alfar came out to greet the visitors. Some were curious about the Ha’kan, and the procession of fearsome, beautiful women did not disappoint. Some wanted to see the Tavinter Rangers, because Alfar scholars speculated that the nomadic people had elven blood somewhere in their bloodline. Although this speculation had been greeted with contempt by many, now, on further review, it seemed possible and even desirable that the Alfar could claim some kinship with these woodland warriors. And the imperials, largely despised by the Alfar, were welcomed because these outmatched soldiers had just fought and destroyed the Hyr’rok’kin in a heroic battle. The Baroness of Fireside garnered particular attention because all wanted to see the raven-haired mage who was rumored to have drowned an army with a wave of sand. And Elyara of the Halvor was greeted with more respect than the Alfar had ever bestowed on any wood elf.

  The throngs of elves were slightly disappointed, however, because Talan’alaith’illaria, Queen of all Dragons, and her lover, the Scinterian-Arlanian warrior were not present. Out of the illustrious guests, these two went beyond celebrated: they were legends. The soon-to-be Directorate, Maeva, owed some of her political pull to her claimed ties with them, and it was believed that her brother was good friends with the Scinterian. But they were nowhere to be seen, so the crowds had to content themselves with the current spectacle.

  The structure housing the High Council was a castle, although with distinctly elven architecture. The gleaming gold turrets grew out of the mountainside, and the structure itself gave the impression of solidity while perched precariously on the sheer cliffs. The procession stopped at the bottom of an immense staircase. Queen Halla dismounted and began to flow gracefully up the stairs, her staff one step behind. To the wonder of those standing on the upper terrace, the soon-to-be Directorate started to flow down the stairs toward her. The Emperor had received no such honor; Maeva had made him climb the entire staircase.
But she clearly considered the Ha’kan more favorably, for she met the Queen on the middle terrace, a point of etiquette not lost on her people.

  “Your Majesty,” Maeva said, bowing low to the Ha’kan Queen.

  “Madame Directorate,” Halla said, giving the deep curtsy of one sovereign to another. Maeva was greatly pleased with the grace and respect of the Ha’kan. Civility, tradition, and ceremony ruled the Alfar, and the Ha’kan appeared kindred souls on these matters. She nodded a greeting to her brother, then addressed the Queen again.

  “I understand you had a little skirmish on the way here,” Maeva said, her tone signifying she knew the skirmish had been anything but.

  “A bit of a diversion,” the Queen said, and Maeva appreciated the tact and steel of the response.

  Maeva extended her arm to Halla. “I must hear every detail,” she said. “But let us finish our ascent to I can greet the rest of your entourage properly.”

  And then the throngs received a rare treat, for the cold, arrogant aristocrat walked up the staircase arm-in-arm with the gorgeous Queen of the Ha’kan, when on most occasions she would not deign to touch another. At the top of the staircase, Melwen, Maeva’s Chief Assistant, bowed low as his liege passed. The First General, taller than all present, nodded in recognition as she moved by him. A minor council member leaned in to whisper to him.

  “I did not imagine that the Ha’kan were so large.”

  “I told you they were big,” Melwen whispered back.

  They entered into a grand foyer, and there were throngs of spectators here, as well. Maeva now turned to the Ha’kan Royal Staff.

  “High Priestess, welcome to Mount Alfheim. I am certain you will be inundated with ill-mannered questions, so please let me know if anyone becomes too boorish.”

  “Alfar courtesy is well-known,” Astrid said, “and I am used to curious questions about my people.”