Dragon Horse War

by D. Jackson Leigh

  The morning, however, had brought a steady stream of the new dragon-horse warriors with more minor injuries. Their bonds fresh and still forming, the warriors were antsy to return to the field even though their dragons had shed their wings with the daylight.

  “Hold still.” She snapped at the young man whose shin was a long, weeping blister.

  “How long will this take? I have to check on Sunfire and get a ration of fire rocks and—”

  “If I accidently run this regenerator too deep or over good skin, you’ll really be injured, and I’ll have to confine you to the clinic for a week.” Truthfully, it would only scar a little worse, but she was too bone tired to regret the exaggeration.

  “I’m a dragon-horse warrior. I don’t have time to lie about in a hospital.” His tone was both indignant and desperate.

  “You will obey the First Advocate, no matter what she prescribes.” Despite her weariness, Alyssa had felt Jael as she approached behind her. Not for the first time and surely not the last, she wished they were alone with Jael’s breast under her cheek, Jael’s hands stroking her back. She wished they were lying in Jael’s field of wildflowers, without a care, without war hanging over their heads and darkening their future.

  Jael’s order, however, worked. The young man froze.

  “Oh, for star’s sake. You can breathe. Just don’t move your leg, please,” Alyssa said. For the next quarter hour, the only sounds were the background noise of Uri, Tan, and Nicole treating others in the large ward and the hum of regenerators. Finally, the last of the blister was dissolved and replaced by new pink skin. She straightened and flexed her aching shoulders. “Get a packet of aloe gel from the medic by the door and apply it twice a day,” she said wearily. “Also, ask him for a calf glove and wear it for at least a week. I don’t want to see you back in here with a tear in that new skin or strictures because you didn’t care for it.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” The young man stood and saluted Jael. “First Warrior?”

  “Fire rocks won’t be distributed until after the dinner hour. Go catch some sleep before training begins tonight.”

  He shifted his feet reluctantly and stared at the wall in the direction of the meadow where his bonded would be grazing.

  “You can take your bedroll out to the meadow,” she said gently. “Bed down near your bonded. He’ll keep the others from stepping on you while you sleep. It will help him rest, too, to have you near.”

  He nodded eagerly and snapped another salute. Jael returned his gesture. “Dismissed,” she said.

  Alyssa sank forward from her low stool to rest her arms and head on the cot her patient had just vacated. Immediately, strong hands began a celestial massage on her tense shoulders. Jael smelled faintly of sulfur.

  “You need to rest,” Jael said gently. “Our tent is ready, and a soft, thick sleeping pallet is waiting for you.”

  “Oh, stars, that sounds wonderful.” Her words were muffled, but she was too tired to raise her head and too focused on the unnaturally warm hands kneading her stiff muscles. “What about you? You’ve been up since yesterday morning, too.”

  “I’ve got a few more things to handle, and then I promise I’ll join you within the hour.”

  “Uh, excuse me. First Advocate? I mean, Alyssa?”

  She finally straightened, immediately regretting the loss of Jael’s touch, and blinked sleepily at Toni. “Yes?”

  Toni looked as worn out as Alyssa felt. “Sorry to interrupt, but—” Her shoulders slumped and she stared at her feet. “The ones who didn’t make it…where should we erect the funeral pyres?”

  Alyssa stiffened. “Where did you—”

  “Uh, behind the clinic, under the trees.”

  Without a word, Jael strode out the door, and, after a shared glance, Alyssa and Toni followed.

  Among a hundred and twenty candidates, fifty-seven had successfully bonded. Thirty-eight were injured and unable to bond. Those numbers were a testament to their expert training and would have been celebrated, except for the twenty-four charred and broken bodies covered by their bedrolls under the shade of the banana trees. And the ash and bone that had been Bast’s earthly body.

  Jael knelt at the feet of the fallen, bowing her head reverently. Then she worked her way down the line of bodies, uncovering a hand of each to clasp as she murmured something in a tongue Alyssa didn’t recognize. An odd mix of pain and pride softened Jael’s angular features and washed over Alyssa. Her heart ached with Jael’s pain, but her mind struggled with the pride. Even the promise of rebirth didn’t justify the senseless loss of this life.

  At last, Jael stood and walked past them. Uncertain, they followed her to the edge of the plateau, shading their eyes from the sunlight with their hands. She gestured to her left as she spoke to Toni. “Erect the pyre frames at the north end of the plateau, next to the rock face. The Guard will take care of the rest.”

  “Yes, First Warrior.” Toni turned to go.

  “Toni,” Jael said softly.

  She turned back.

  “Pass the word that the pyres will be lit just after dusk.”

  “Yes, First Warrior.”

  “Jael—” Alyssa wanted to somehow shoulder part of Jael’s burden.

  “Go. Rest. You might be needed tonight. Some will have trouble as they grieve the loss of their friends.”

  “And when will you rest?”

  “Only after my duties are fulfilled,” she said grimly.

  When would that be? When the pyres were lit, or when this mission was done? She started to protest, but Jael’s shields were thick, the mental silence looming between them like a huge, empty, silent chasm. She didn’t have the strength to cross it, and instinct told her to leave it for now. She brushed her hand down Jael’s arm. “Then come as soon as you can and rest with me, if only for an hour.”

  She started for the path that led back to the clinic and the encampment farther downhill. Now that her mind had registered rest as the goal, her body seemed to embrace it. Every step felt like she had lead in her sandals, like she would fall asleep before she could reach her bed. That’s why she didn’t see him until Diego clasped her arms to keep her from stumbling headlong into him. She blinked at them.

  “Diego? Thank the stars you’re safe.”

  “I was unavoidably detained. We’re looking for Jael.”

  Her brain sluggishly registered that Michael and a man she didn’t recognize were behind him. The stranger held tight to the collar of a man she did know. He was one of a handful of locals who’d stumbled upon the main encampment and begged to work at menial chores in exchange for food and medicine for their families. “Ricardo?”

  “Advocate!” He jerked free, but the stranger quickly grabbed his collar again and shook him. “Tell them you know me. Tell them I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Something was amiss here. She looked to Michael and Diego. “What’s going on?”

  “Did you send this man to the main encampment for more supplies?” Michael’s question held no judgment, no emotion at all.

  She rubbed her forehead. Her fatigue made it hard to think.

  “It wasn’t her,” Ricardo said quickly. “It was a guy. A big guy.”

  “Uri?” Alyssa searched her memory. Uri wouldn’t have sent anyone for supplies without checking with her first.

  Ricardo nodded emphatically. “Yes. That’s his name.”

  The moment he said it, she could feel that he was lying, and it must have shown on her face. Both Michael and Diego nodded.

  “Jael?” Diego repeated his question.

  “She’s on the plateau, preparing for the funeral pyres,” she said grimly, turning back to the trail. She couldn’t deal with another thing until she’d rested.

  *

  Jael watched the workers erect the last pyre frame, her back to Michael and Diego as they approached. She’d heard them the moment they’d encountered Alyssa. She didn’t turn to greet them but reached out to Michael with her thoughts.


  Tell me.

  We have captured a spy, but we believe he already has relayed our location and the nature of our army.

  I’ll deal with him later. Lock him down somewhere and summon the rest of The Guard.

  Yes, First Warrior.

  *

  The harsh sun gave way to dusk, and the moon was rising in the east quadrant by the time all twenty-five pyre frames were complete. In the center of the field, the newly bonded warriors—outfitted in silvery unitard battle skins—stood in loose formation with their dragon horses beside them. Support personnel gathered at the edge of the woods ringing the plateau and lit torches as the night darkened.

  The ache grew in Jael’s chest as the six members of The Guard personally carried the twenty-four bodies and laid them on the black slabs of compacted ultra-flammable material that topped each pyre frame. Each snowy sheet emblazoned with a black dragon-horse symbol and draped over the pyres was her personal failure, casualties before they’d even reached their first battlefield. The last was a sharp blade that would scar her very soul.

  Though it was only Bast’s charred bone fragments, the box she personally placed onto the twenty-fifth pyre felt like it held all of her failures. She fingered the silken sheet—there had been too many of these in her lifetimes—and then carefully draped the pyre. The symbol on Bast’s shroud was red. It was Jael’s own, taken from her battle pack. She could order another to be made for when her time came. She gathered her regret and used it to fuel the anger that caught flame and began to burn in her gut, then turned to her waiting army.

  “We are here to honor the bravery of our fallen.” Her voice rang strong across the wide field.

  The seven dragon horses of The Guard swept low in formation over the field, dark figures in the night sky, and Specter landed lightly between the pyres and the waiting army. When the remaining six flew over again, Specter’s spot in the arrow formation remained open—a nod to the missing wingman. He spread his great wings and screamed at the sky, releasing a terrible column of blue-white flame. He lunged into the sky but flew straight up rather than follow the others. Soon, he was but a speck among the stars.

  The night hummed with a low-level harmony as Furcho stood next to the first in his group of four pyres and cupped his hands together to form a large fireball. “Avyrl, House of Candlish of Region Five, Third Continent. Good speed on your journey.” He raised the fireball overhead and flung it, igniting the pyre.

  Diego cupped his hands in the same fashion. “William, House of Blackman, Region Seven, Third Continent. Good speed on your journey.” He torched the pyre.

  Every pyre lit to purify and release the souls for their next life burned a new mark on Jael’s soul.

  When the heat of twenty-four pyres forced The Guard to move back and stand as the front rank of the new army, Jael remained, scorched by the fire and backlit by the inferno. She bowed her head to cup her hands and stared into the fireball for a long minute before she lifted it skyward.

  “Bast.” She swallowed as the rest caught in her throat.

  I beg…a warrior’s death…help me…next life, another chance.

  “House of Saleh. Region Two, Fourth Continent. Fly unfettered, my young warrior.” Though Bast’s soul already had been freed hours before, Jael had felt her hovering, waiting for the others. Stronger together, my warriors. Go in peace. She flung the fireball at Bast’s pyre and then stepped back, finally acknowledging the scorched scent of her clothing. She addressed her army.

  “We mourn their absence in this life yet celebrate their fulfillment of this journey.” She raised her arms to the sky. “Glorious will be the day when all is as it should be, and we are reunited.”

  “Glorious will be the day,” the warriors echoed.

  She paced before the army, searching for the words that always seemed to come easily to her before battle. But the cloying smell of the pyres, the echo of Bast’s words in her head, and a bitter anger she couldn’t yet name held her in its fiery grip. Her army needed her wisdom, not her raw, barely controlled fury. “Warriors, report for flight training.”

  Second, Tan, Raven, and Furcho herded the new warriors into groups and prepared to instruct them. Michael and Diego awaited her orders.

  “Where’s the prisoner?”

  Diego pointed to a large tree where Ricardo sat, his hands tied behind his back. Michael released Ricardo and dragged him to stand before her. She studied Ricardo’s face in the light that flickered from the pyres. He bowed his head under her hard gaze.

  “Please, I didn’t do anything.”

  His whining felt like nails scratching at her ears. “Diego?”

  “We encountered him on the trail, making his escape.”

  “I was going to get supplies for the clinic.”

  “He had an IC strapped under his sleeve, and Michael found a video he’d recorded of the bonding.”

  “I thought you might want it later, to commemorate the event,” Ricardo said, flicking a glance at her. “I, uh, I was making it to give to the First Advocate. She told me that she keeps a journal, and I thought maybe she’d like a copy to imbed in her journal.” He seemed pleased with his new story.

  Michael snorted. “You told us that you made it to send to your mother.”

  Ricardo scowled at him. “Her, too.”

  “Enough.” Jael closed her eyes and tried to settle her anger. His thoughts wouldn’t lie. She opened her eyes and reached for him. He jerked away from her hands, his face a mask of terror.

  “No, please, I saw what you did to that wounded soldier.”

  “Hold him.”

  Diego and Michael each took an arm and held him fast between them.

  Jael grasped his chin. “I am a telepath. If you’re telling the truth, then you have nothing to fear. If you’re lying, I’ll know in an instant.”

  He struggled, but she spread her hands on either side of his head like a vise. His thoughts were simple and the truth easy to find. Rage burned through her brain. Men like this one were ripping apart The Collective, denying food and medicine to children, enslaving women, spreading the same greed and manipulating power that had infected her past lives. She was a warrior who had at last sought peace, and The Natural Order was wrenching that from her. She released his head and dragged him by his collar as close to the pyres as the heat allowed and threw him to the ground.

  “I find you guilty of treason, a traitor to The Collective.” The words were a growl barely escaping her clenched teeth.

  His fate sealed, his true nature surfaced and he spit at her. “The days of your perverted Collective are numbered. The Prophet will return our world to The Natural Order, where men rule and women like you are recognized as unnatural.”

  She raised her hands and flames arced above her head. “In the name of The Collective, I sentence you to a cleansing death and a new life in which you will pay restitution.” His scream echoed through the night. Her anger had tempered her flame so that his execution wasn’t instantaneous like Bast’s death. For that, she would owe restitution. Every action had a consequence. But she couldn’t think of that now. She had an army to train.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Alyssa was stunned, the man’s scream reverberating in her ears. She’d roused from her nap too late to see Jael before pyres were lit and had been making her way across the field after the haunting memorial, intending to soothe the pain she knew Jael held bottled inside. Then a blast of fury from Jael had nearly thrown her to her knees. The visions Jael had shared of her past lives were shocking, but they’d been a dispassionate movie silent of emotion. This…this murderous anger frightened her. She watched in horror as Jael passed judgment and torched a living, healthy man without hesitation.

  When Jael turned and their gaze met, it stole her breath. She saw nothing of her tender lover, the thoughtful leader of The Guard, the patient instructor of young recruits. She saw eyes bright with battlefield savagery, a gaze that held no recognition before Jael leapt onto Specter’s back the mi
nute he touched down and launched into the night sky.

  The slap of terror from the man in the split second when the first touch of flame seared his skin before it mercifully consumed his brain lingered and soured her stomach. She doubled over and vomited its contents onto the ground.

  “Alyssa?” Nicole was at her side.

  She shook her head and pulled away. “Can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

  Nicole hesitated, worry filling her eyes. “Let me help you to your tent. Then I’ll go find Han for you.”

  “No. I…I need to be alone. This is all too much.” What little rest she’d had that afternoon had been restless and broken, and the shock of Jael’s fury, of the man’s terror had hammered her weakened shields. Even Nicole’s gentle concern was sandpaper on her raw emotions. “I’ll be okay. Need some solitude to regroup.”

  Nicole let her go, but Alyssa could feel her concern as she stumbled in the direction of her quarters. Inside the tent, she fell to her knees, sobbing. She cried for young lives too soon aflame upon the pyres. She cried for her lover stolen by the cold fury she’d last seen in Jael’s eyes. She cried because she knew she wasn’t strong enough to bear this. She’d failed Han, failed The Collective, and she’d failed to be strong enough to stand at Jael’s side. How could she have ever thought they might be soul bonded?

  The tent and Jael’s things scattered about had been a comfort earlier. Now they only tore at her. Jael’s scent, Jael’s clothes neatly stacked in the corner, Jael’s lingering essence permeating everything. She stumbled back out into the night, but the flames of the pyres were too bright, the screams of the dragon horses too loud. She turned back and found an entrance into the dark, quiet forest. She didn’t know where the path led, only that it led away from the dragon-horse army and the stranger she’d seen when she looked into Jael’s eyes, stark and as deadly as hot, blue flame.

  *