Dragon Black, Dragon White

by Macy Babineaux

  Her body tensed, thinking at first it might be the demon. She squeezed Zak’s hand and pointed at the hunched figure. She thought they might need to transform, to take the sky and try to run. The others were not here yet, and they stood no chance against the demon by themselves.

  But she relaxed slightly when she realized the figure coming towards them was not a demon after all. As it approached, close enough for her sharp eyes to make him out, she saw that it was a man.

  He was a sight nearly as horrifying as the burning tree. He was naked, though from head to toe his skin was a mottled swath of charred black and glistening red. The white of his eyes and teeth stood out, and she realized with revulsion that a good portion of his eyelids and lips had been burned away.

  He continued on with that choked laughter, bubbling out of him non-stop as he walked to the foot of the hill they stood upon. There, the figure fell to his knees and looked up at them, a crazed menace in his eyes. His nose was flattened, the bridge askew as if it had been broken at some point.

  Myrian thought at first he might be some innocent bystander, caught in the blast near the base of the tree. Her instinct was to go to him, to shift into dragonform and help him with her healing breath. She took a step forward, but Zak put a firm hand on her arm to stop her.

  “Muggs?” Zak said, his voice faint and disbelieving.

  The burned figure on his knees below them stopped laughing, his eyes growing even wider in his face, like some gleeful, horrifying mask.

  “Hello brother!” he said. The words were slurred, but clear enough to understand.

  Brother? Myrian thought. Zak had told her almost nothing about his former life, the one he had led in the swamp, thinking he was part of another family. This burned wretch before them was one of the Mossknot clan? If so, what was he doing here? And what had happened to him?

  “What have you done?” Zak asked. His grip on her forearm was so tight now it was beginning to hurt.

  “I followed you, scabby,” the man Zak had called Muggs said. He had to work to try to get what was left of his burnt lips to come together to pronounce the words. “Just like the master told me to.”

  Master? The demon, of course.

  “Followed you all the way from the swamps to the tree,” Muggs said. His eyes were rolling wildly in his head as he spoke. He looked insane. “Master couldn’t fight the birds. Magic too strong. But we could.”

  “Who?” Zak asked, taking a half-step forward. “Who could?”

  The burnt mask of flesh smiled. Myrian thought that smile might haunt her dreams for a long, long time.

  “The little ones,” Muggs said. A dark anger entered his voice then, the smile fading. “The rats, the snakes, the moles. Not the big mighty dragons. Master cares for us. When the world is his, we will be the favored ones. That’s why we did it for him.”

  But Myrian was sure that if she didn't heal the burned man soon, he wasn't going to be around to see this new world he spoke of.

  “What did you do?” Zak asked. His voice was unnaturally calm, but he was gripping her harder than ever. She put her hand on his, but he ignored her, not seeming to feel it.

  Muggs let out a gurgling little laugh. “Master told us the plan. It was a good one. We dug under the tree, hundreds of his servants. We carried pouches and flasks of lamp oil and firepowder under the tree. We piled them high! The owls’ magic couldn’t see us. It couldn’t stop us. And then, when the master told us the time was right, we put the spark to it all, yes we did. Most of us didn’t get out of the tunnels in time. But I did. Just barely. I—”

  He broke off into a jag of wet coughing then, falling forward on his hands and knees. A great splash of dark blood spilled from his mouth onto the grass, hissing and sending up wisps of smoke.

  “Zak?” she said. He didn’t respond. He just stared in disbelief down at the dying man. “Zak!” Myrian twisted her arm out of his grasp and he finally looked at her, his expression dazed and far away.

  “What?” he said, his eyes not really focusing on her face.

  “Do you want me to help him?” she asked. “He has to be in great pain.”

  Zak’s face grew hard, a dark look in his eyes that she wasn’t sure she cared for. “No,” he said. “He deserves to die, just as he is, however long it takes.”

  As it turned out, it didn’t take long. Muggs spit out a mouthful of hot blood and grinned back up at them, his teeth now slick with red.

  “Master is coming for you,” he said, his voice now hoarse and wet. “He led me to you. He wanted you to know who burned the tree. He’s coming for you. He’s going to kill you all. He’s—”

  But those were the last words he would ever speak. His throat seized up, and his body was wracked with a violent spasm that made his arms fall out from under him. More gouts of steaming blood spilled from his open mouth, and his mad eyes finally became still in their sockets.

  Perhaps he was like Vander, some small spark of life still within him. But Zak had probably been right. He didn’t seem to completely be a slave to the demon, but a willing, eager servant. Even after the spell of the dark day had worn off, he had continued to do the demon’s bidding. And if his story was to be believed, he and many others had conspired to burn the tree, killing untold owl mages. She didn’t want to think it, but perhaps even Magda was dead. If so, then Muggs deserved his fate.

  Myrian turned away, hugging Zak and burying her face in the nape of his neck. The burned man’s body was grotesque, and a smell was beginning to waft up from the foot of the hill towards them, a burning, rotting stench.

  Zak put his arms around her, but his body was still tense. She tried to imagine what he might be thinking, though she didn’t want to ask. Her back was to the burning tree, and she felt the waves of hot wind rolling in across the hills.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered. The One Tree was on fire. Zak’s dead brother had said the demon knew where they were and was coming for them. She felt herself begin to slip into despair. After all they’d gone through, it had come to this.

  But as if in answer to her question, she looked up into the night sky, lit with the giant fire and brighter than most days. There, to the north, she saw two figures flying towards them, a blue and a red dragon. Out of the corner of her eye she saw more figures in the sky, coming from the west. A familiar green dragon approached with a rider on his back. She caught the glint of silver from the light of the flame.

  Her heart lifted a little at the sight of them. They had come, but without Magda’s guidance, how were they supposed to stand against Vish’Kazir?

  Zak pulled her close to him, hugging her fiercely. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I will never leave your side.” Then he pulled back and looked into her eyes. Whatever shock had gripped him from his former brother’s words was now gone. He looked at her with a mixture of open affection and a grim determination.

  Then he leaned in and touched his lips to hers with urgency and desperation. They kissed, bathed by the hot wind and the unnatural brightness of the night sky.

  Myrian had no idea what would come next, but when it came, they would face it together as one.

  EPILOGUE

  Vish’Kazir stirred.

  He opened his eyes, trying to remember where he was.

  Ah yes. For a moment he thought he was back in the forsaken metal box that he had called a home for centuries. He was in the dark, curled in a brass basin, half-submerged in some thick, congealed liquid.

  Then he remembered that he had ordered the remaining servants, among the few he had not slaughtered, to carry the basin into the throne room of the black dragon’s stronghold.

  He had rounded up four of the dragonkin guards, the only ones to surrender. And one by one he had punctured a neat hole in their necks with a single sharp fingernail and drained their blood into the basin.

  He had readied himself to perform the ritual of Hazra Da’Kor, the dance of the dark sun. He would need as much power as he could muster, both for the ritua
l itself and for the aftermath. The spell was long and complicated. It would leave the five kingdoms in disarray, ripe for the picking. But it would also deplete his strength, perhaps for days.

  The dragon guards had struggled. They had screamed. But one by one their blood had been drained into the giant brass bowl. The incantation had taken hours, but the spell had been a success. And then, shaken and weak, Vish’Kazir had climbed into the pool of bright red and curled up to sleep.

  Now he sat up, wiping the globs of dark jellied blood from his arms and chest. While he had slept, he had absorbed every bit of energy that he could from the dragon blood. He felt replenished, but not completely. He was eager to see the fruits of the ritual. And where was she?

  He closed his eyes and searched, smiling to see that she was not far at all. She was in dragonform, perched on the roof of the cypress palace just above him. Her job had been to protect him while he slept. He did not expect anyone to come for him. They would all be too busy fighting one another in the chaos of the darkness. But one could never be too sure. And there she was, still loyally standing guard.

  I’m awake, my little princess, he whispered to her. Come to me.

  And he could feel her boredom shift to excitement at the sound of his voice inside his mind.

  His clawed hand slipped on the edge of the basin as he tried to pull himself out, and he fell back down into the bloody mush. He let out a small, deep chuckle and grabbed both sides this time.

  I was as weak as a kitten while I slept, he thought. If they had come for me then, they would have killed me easily.

  But they hadn’t. He laughed again as he pulled himself out of the basin to stand shakily on the hardwood floor. Clumps of spent blood dropped from him, landing with wet plops.

  The double doors to the throne room swung inward and there she was, his little queen.

  Nevra Nightshadow strode into the darkness of the hall, but he could see her clearly enough. Both of them saw in the darkness just as well as the daylight, perhaps better.

  She had taken back her human form, her black armor clinging tightly to her slender body. Her head was shaved, her scalp covered with the swirling black tattoos of Vish’Kazir’s ancient sigil. She had bound herself to him. When had she done that? Before he had gone to sleep, or during? He could not remember, but it mattered not. He smiled at her while she strode towards him with loud clicks upon the floor from the spiked heels that were now a part of her armor.

  As she drew close, his smile widened at the sight of the black crystal hanging from a silver chain around her neck. She had wanted a souvenir, and who wouldn’t?

  Once she had cut her father’s beating heart from his chest, Vish'Kazir had taken it from her hands and worked his dark magic. He had forged the dragonlord’s heart into a talisman for his new queen to wear around her neck, a charm both beautiful and powerful. He saw a dim red glow pulse from within it as she approached.

  Nevra walked right up to where he stood, reached out to take his head in her hands, and drew him viciously towards her for a kiss.

  This one was no timid flower. He had chosen well for a mate to sit beside him as he ruled this new world.

  She kissed him deeply, her tongue licking fearlessly across his sharp teeth. When she was done, she pulled back, staring at him with those impish black eyes of hers.

  “Welcome back,” she said.

  “Did I miss anything?” he asked playfully.

  She smiled. “Reports keep coming in from across the land. The world lies in ruins, ripe for the taking. And the tree is burning.”

  “Good,” he said. “I saw it in my dreams.”

  “The screams of the owls carried all the way here on the wind,” Nevra said. “Though our scouts have not said whether the high bitch herself is dead.”

  Vish’Kazir closed his eyes and searched. All the other owls were a nuisance, to be sure. But when he had whispered to his minions to burn the tree, his one true target had been Magda. With her gone, the little band that meant to oppose them would be weak and confused. If she had been alive, her magic would have shone like a beacon on the horizon of his mind. But as he scanned, he saw nothing. The high bitch, as Nevra had put it, was dead.

  He smiled and opened his eyes. “She is no more."

  “Then nothing can stand in our way,” Nevra said, throwing her arms back around him and pressing her hips against his groin. He felt himself stiffen in spite of himself. Never in all the eons, in all the worlds he had conquered, had he met a being quite like her. His lust for destruction usually drove him more than any other impulse, but this dragon princess, now his queen, had kindled a new lust within him. He found himself wanting to take her there on the floor. But there were other, more pressing matters to attend to.

  “There is still the feeble group of stragglers,” he said.

  Nevra looked up at him, a glint of uncertainty in her eye. “Should we be worried?”

  “No,” he said. “There is only one that causes me any real concern.”

  “The gold?”

  He nodded. “But I will kill her with all the rest,” he said. “I will pluck the unborn child from her womb. And then, finally, the last of the gold dragons will be gone forever.”

  Nevra wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed against him, pressing her small breasts against his bare, oil-black chest. “And then we will rule this world together," she said.

  In an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, the demon put his arms around her. She had not bored him yet, and she was a useful pet. Perhaps she would continue to surprise him. He kept himself from chuckling at the idea that she thought they might rule next to one another as equals. He would almost certainly cast her aside at some point, but that day had not yet come. He still lusted for her. And he still needed her.

  "There are other worlds to conquer," he said, hugging her tight and whispering in her ear. The gold dragon had been hidden away on a place called Earth. It was a weak place, full of fools and ripe for the taking. Once he was done with Xandakar, he planned to travel across the void and pay that world a visit.

  Though perhaps I won't just conquer it, he thought. It was the gold dragon's home. Perhaps I will make her watch as I turn it to ash.

  Author's Note

  Thank you for reading! The 5th and final book in the series will be called Dragon Gold: A Tale Untold. I'm hoping to have it ready for release before Summer 2017.

  Don't forget to sign up for my newsletter to receive updates about new releases, along with an exclusive copy of my novella "Switch and Bait".

  Thank you so much for reading!

  Macy Babineaux

  January 18th, 2017