Dragon Blue: A Lie That's True (The Dragonlords of Xandakar, Book1)

by Macy Babineaux

  Miranda looked down the hall where they had pointed. “Good,” she said. “Go get her and bring her to me.”

  They looked at each other, obviously confused. “We were under strict orders,” the same one said. He was taller than the other guard, bigger, too. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to fight.

  “And now you have new orders,” she said.

  “Um,” the big one said. He looked at his partner. “We should probably check on this.” He nodded, and the shorter one moved for the stairs.

  “Wait,” Miranda said. I don’t have time for this, she thought. The shorter one paused at the foot of the steps, turning around.

  This better work, she thought. And even if it does, I’m probably going to be in a world of shit.

  She gave the command to the stone around her neck. No, that wasn’t quite right. She didn’t control it, and it didn’t control her. The Emberstone was part of her now, like a third eye. She merely willed it and the transformation began.

  Luckily the ceilings in the dungeon were high, the hallways wide. Because in a matter of two or three seconds, Miranda’s body grew, claws extending, wings sprouting.

  Their eyes grew wide. They hadn’t been expecting this. But they were dragonborn as well. She could see the reptilian slit in their eyes as each began the transformation.

  What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  “Sleep.”

  Miranda heard a hoarse voice whisper from the shadows of the stairs. The guard standing on the bottom step stopped transforming, shrinking back into human form. His eyes rolled up to the whites, his eyelids fluttering, and he slumped to the ground unconscious.

  A figure stepped from the shadows, the ancient owl-mage Magda. Her wide eyes peered up at Miranda, then turned to the other guard, who was now half-dragon.

  She whispered the word once again. “Sleep.”

  For a moment Miranda felt the effect of the spell as well. She felt a powerful urge to just lie down and close her eyes. But it passed quickly. The second guard, however, slumped over to one side, shrinking as he slid to the ground. Instantly he began to snore.

  Miranda looked down at the old woman, a newfound respect for her power. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I see much, my child,” Magda said.

  “And you’re here to stop me?”

  Magda smiled. She looked like a little old grandmother taking a batch of cookies out of the oven. “On the contrary,” she said. “I’m here to help you.”

  Somewhere in the distance a trumpet sounded.

  “An alarm,” Magda said, her smile fading. “Come, we must hurry. They’ll be here soon.”

  They moved up the hall to the cell the guard had pointed toward. The front of the room was a giant wall of blue ice. The wall had a tiny hole, maybe six or seven inches across. Miranda lowered her eye to it and saw Siccora sitting cross-legged on the stone floor.

  “Siccora,” she said. The woman looked up. She was beautiful, even here, defeated, imprisoned, and awaiting death. Her dark eyes narrowed, her mouth turning into a scowl.

  “You,” she said. “Have you come to gloat? To humiliate me in my final hours?”

  “No,” she said. “I need your help. Corban needs your help.”

  Siccora threw her head back and laughed at that. She waved her arms around at the empty cell of ice. “I’d love to help,” she said. “But I’m a little busy redecorating at the moment. Come back tomorrow, won’t you?”

  Miranda sighed and looked down at Magda. “She’s kind of being a bitch,” she said. “Can you open this cell?”

  Magda shook her head. “The ice is far too thick, and it is protected with a magic seal.”

  Are you kidding me? Miranda thought. She wished she’d thought this whole thing through a little better, but there hadn’t been much time.

  She felt the glow of the Emberstone at the back of her throat. “What about dragonfire?”

  Magda smiled, raising one eyebrow. “The breath of one dragon? No. But if you worked together?”

  Miranda put her mouth to the opening. “Siccora,” she said. “I need you to transform, to breath on this wall. I’m going to do the same on this side. Magda thinks—”

  “Magda is here?” Siccora said, getting to her feet.

  “Yeah, she’s right here,” Miranda said, but Siccora was already transforming.

  About time, Miranda thought. She could hear rumblings up above. The guards were almost here.

  She moved back from the wall and took in a deep breath. The stone in her throat grew white hot. All she saw on the other side of the wall was the dim shadow of Siccora, growing bigger by the second.

  Miranda thrust her head forward, opening her jaws and unleashing the hottest blast she could muster. She exhaled for a good twenty seconds, the flames from her breath curling away into hot steam as they hit the icy wall. When she could breathe out no longer, she paused, taking in another deep breath. She looked at what damage she’d done. It wasn’t much. The wall was wet, only a curved indentation where she’d just hit it with everything she had.

  Miranda took in every ounce of air she could, her scaly chest swelling with pressure, then she roared fire at the door once again. The flames poured out of her mouth, the force of the initial blast shaking the entire dungeon.

  Magda stepped into her peripheral vision, waving her gnarled cane in the air. The cone of flame Miranda breathed narrowed, becoming more focused. She watched in amazement as the ice of the wall began to crack. She saw orange light in the fissures.

  Then the whole door shattered, giant chunks of ice tumbling to the ground, plumes of snowy dust filling the hallway. As the steam cleared, she saw the same sight she’d seen earlier that day, Siccora Wildfire in dragonform standing across from her. Only this time she was relieved.

  We did it, she thought. We brought down that stupid wall.

  “Quickly,” Magda said. “Shift into human form once more and come to me.”

  Neither Miranda nor Siccora questioned the old woman. At once they morphed back into humans. Miranda marveled at how much Siccora looked like her. Now that they both wore the red dragon armor, it was almost like looking in a mirror.

  The yells of the guards filled the hall from behind them.

  They both moved to Magda, who dropped her staff and held out both hands. They didn’t need to be told what to do. Miranda reached out and took the old woman’s left hand. It felt as dry and bony as a claw, but she felt power coursing through it. Siccora held her other hand.

  Magda murmured something in an ancient tongue and all three of them disappeared. They weren’t transported anywhere. If the old owl-mage could have done that, what was the need to melt the prison wall?

  One second Miranda could see them standing there. The next they were gone. Invisible. She held out her free arm and looked right through it to the dungeon floor.

  A group of a dozen guards rushed into the hall, spears raised.

  Magda held her tightly by the hand, pulling her out of the middle of the hall to the wall. Miranda got it. They could press flat against the wall. With no one able to see them, they could just walk right out. She wondered how long the spell would last. If it wasn’t very long, this whole plan was about to go down in flames.

  But they inched along the wall, hand-in-hand, and stayed invisible the whole while. As the moved, they watched the guards move into the cell and further down the hall, spreading out, searching for them. One of them saw Magda's staff on the ground. He picked it up, looked it over, then dropped it.

  Once they got to the stairs, they walked up together, still holding hands. Every time more guards ran by, they moved to the side to let them pass.

  Back on the ground floor of the keep, Magda led them to a window. She squeezed Miranda’s hand, and Miranda got the message. She opened the window. No one was around. Most of the guards were searching the lower levels, and the servants had holed up in their quarters.

  The snow had stopped falling. Magda let go of their
hands, and all three women became visible once again.

  “Why are you helping me?” Miranda said. She was eager to take flight, to head for the frozen lake she had seen in the vision. But she wanted to know Magda’s motives first.

  “Corban is facing a power he does not understand,” Magda said. “A force that threatens the very existence of our world.”

  Shit, Miranda thought. That’s good enough for me.

  “Then we should hurry,” Miranda said.

  “Indeed,” Magda said.

  Siccora jumped out of the window first, transforming as she fell, swooping as her wings extended. By contrast, Magda shrank, becoming a small gray owl. She looked at Miranda, hooted once, then twisted her head around and took to the night air.

  Miranda looked around the hallway one last time, wondering if she would make it back. Then she turned to the window and jumped, becoming a dragon once more and taking flight.

  16: Corban

  He flew high above the trees, not wanting his enemies to see him until it was far too late. The snow had cleared and the moonlight lit up the surface of the frozen lake. He saw them, the jagged purple ring of the door they had stepped through.

  He saw them sitting atop their mounts, menacing even from this distance. But he had the element of surprise. He had the fury of revenge in his heart. And he had the power of ice in his lungs. He would leave one of them alive, but just barely. He needed to know where his father was and if he was still alive. If need be, he would go through their portal and bring him back.

  He circled high, careful not to put the moon at his back. Otherwise they might see his shadow upon the ice. They had just begun to move out, heading east away from the door they had come through.

  He would hit them with an icy blast, throwing them in disarray, then fall upon then and tear them to pieces. All but one.

  As he circled for the attack, Corban took in a great breath of cold night air. He thought of Miranda. Now he had someone to go back to. She made him feel stronger. His father would be pleased to hear the news.

  He turned into a dive, falling straight toward the party. They were clustered together, perfect prey for the cone of ice he would unleash upon them.

  Halfway into the dive, he pulled up and opened his jaws.

  The rider in the lead looked up. From this distance Corban could see him clearly. He was a stout man wearing shiny black armor, but no helm. His head was bald except for a thick gray ponytail trailing down his back. His chin was capped with that same gray hair. His nose was wide and flat, his eyes were as black as night.

  The man raised his arm up toward Corban, holding something. The moonlight glinted off of what looked like a glass ball. There was no spark, no light, no flash. Before Corban could let loose with his icy breath he felt all the energy drain out of him. He felt his wings give out, and he beat them frantically.

  It was no use, though. He was changing back into human form. When he realized what was happening, he tried to fly as low as possible. If he fell from this height, even as powerful as he was, he’d break half the bones in his body.

  Instead of gliding low, he began to tumble. But at least he had begun to fly level before he lost control. He became fully human still thirty feet or so above the ice.

  No, he yelled in his mind, trying to remain calm, to mitigate the fall. He had no time to focus on how this could be. He had never unwillingly shifted from one form to another.

  He tried to roll into it as he hit the ice with a loud crack, thumping like a stone being skipped across a lake and bouncing twice more before coming to a stop. He ached all over.

  Corban heard the clip-clop of hooves on ice. He tried to move, to get up, but a bolt of pain shot through his back and his right leg.

  A horse’s head appeared above him, like no horse he had ever seen. Its flesh was a ghostly shade of violet, its skull visible beneath. It moved away, and then the face of the man who had been looking up at him only moments before was now looking down at him. The man smiled wide, his teeth blocky and gray.

  “You have saved us the trouble of the hunt, boy,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “I thank you for that.”

  Corban writhed on the hard ice. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  The man straightened up in his saddle. “Most just call me The Nether Lord. Some call me The Dark Rider. But my true name is Nicola Nullvoid.”

  “How…” Corban didn’t finish the thought, pain cramping his back. The fall had been hard. Even so, he usually healed quickly. But he didn’t feel his body mending itself.

  “Ah, how did I make lose your wings?” Nicola said. “How did I make you fall from the sky?” A massive steel warhammer hung from his saddle. Next to it was a black velvet bag. Nicola reached into it and withdrew the glass ball Corban had seen earlier. The orb was dark, the interior smoky. Just looking at it made his body feel weak.

  “This,” Nicola said, “is quietglass. It casts a dampening field within a given area, a sort of anti-magic cloud. Keeps little lizard-boys like you from holding their magical form. As long as it’s near, keeps you from ever transforming back.”

  Corban was horrified. He had no idea such a weapon existed. Nicola kept right on grinning as he slid the glass ball back into its bag. Corban was glad to see it disappear, even though he still felt its dark cloud all around him.

  “What do you want?” Corban asked.

  “Why, you my dear boy,” Nicola said. He nodded to his fellow riders. Two of them dismounted, their steel boots crunching on the ice.

  If only they would fall through, Corban thought. But the ice of the lake was too thick for that. They walked toward him leaving black prints that glowed like oil in the moonlight.

  Nicola watched on as the men grabbed hold of Corban. He yelled out with pain as they bound him with thick wire, roping it around his ankles, wrists, and chest.

  When they were done, one of them picked him up like a sack of potatoes, carried him to his horse, and slung him over it.

  This was my father’s fate, Corban thought. This man and his lackeys came across my father’s party, perhaps on a hunt. He smiled bitterly at the idea that this knowledge had only come from getting caught himself. The horse he was slung across turned, and Corban could see the purple-ringed black mouth of the portal up ahead. They meant to take him back, to their world. For what purpose he could not guess, though he held out some sliver of hope that he might live and that he might see his father alive on the other side.

  The horse moved into a trot, its hooves clopping on the ice, jolting Corban up and down. He opened his mouth to ask where they were going, to tell them to stop, but he felt a rib crack high up in his chest. The pain was finally too much, and he fell unconscious.

  17: Miranda

  They flew together as swiftly as possible, Miranda, Siccora, and Magda. Miranda worried that the little old owl might not be able to keep up. But she had already seen the mage’s magic, so she felt silly doubting her when Magda easily kept pace.

  The flat expanse of the ice lake was visible from far away, the light of the moon lighting up its surface. Mountains lay on the far side. They flew over the piney forest that bordered the lake to the south. Her vision was much better as a dragon. All her senses were. But even as she strained her eyes, scanning the lake, from this distance she couldn’t see any sign of either Corban or the riders who had come through the portal.

  “There,” Magda said, shifting course slightly. How had the old owl seen something Miranda had missed?

  But Miranda trusted her, even if she still wasn’t exactly sure why Magda was helping them. Something about a force that could destroy their world. That sounded ominous as hell, but it was still pretty vague.

  Magda began to descend, and as Miranda and Siccora followed suit, she could finally see it, a ring of purple light floating above the ice. Men on their horses were moving into it. She counted only three left on this side. She squinted as she dove, and her heart nearly froze.

  There, slung across the las
t horse, was Corban. He looked unconscious, maybe even—

  No, she thought, panic gripping her. Don’t let him be dead. Please.

  She beat her wings furious into the dive, pulling ahead of the others. She had to get to Corban. She had to stop them. And that’s when she felt it, almost as if she’d entered a polluted fog, even though the air was still clear. She felt sick and weak, and almost lost control of her flight.

  But as she watched the riders enter the ring of darkness, including the one with Corban, the feeling passed.

  What the fuck was that? she thought. She felt like she’d almost been ripped out of dragonform by some weird force. But now that the riders were on the other side, she felt fine. Well, not fine. They had Corban, and who knew how long the portal would be open? She had to follow them. But the opening was too small for a dragon.

  She pulled up just before hitting the ice, flapping her wings to slow the impact. Her claws still hit hard, cracks spider-webbing across the surface of the ice as she landed.

  Miranda shifted into human form, voluntarily now, and ran toward the dark circle. She heard the flutter of Magda’s wings behind her and the thud of Siccora hitting the ice. But she didn’t care.

  The gate was closing, shrinking in front of her eyes, and she had to get through. Ten feet away she slipped on the ice, spilling hard and cursing as she went down.

  Pain shot up her arm as her left elbow smashed into the ice. “No!” she yelled, looking up.

  The portal had shrunk to the size of a dinner plate, the crackling purple edge still collapsing. It was almost gone.

  Then it stopped.

  Miranda turned her head to look back at Magda and Siccora, who had both transformed back into human form.

  The owl-mage stood with her hands stretched out toward the portal, her fingers curved into claws. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a strained look on her face.

  Miranda glanced back at the portal and saw that it had begun to widen again.

  She’s opening it back up, Miranda thought. It was about to close, but she’s forcing it back open.