by Serena Rose
“Itzal! And Alaia! Thank the gods!” she exclaimed, squashing them both in a hug. “When no one came after us right away, I was afraid something terrible had happened. And of course, no one would tell us a thing.”
“Shhhh,” Itzal said, a finger held to his mouth. “Everyone is all right. Your brother should be outside any minute, providing a distraction.” Alaia scooped up the first child in reach, and Izar crooned happily, patting her face with chubby little hands.
“They’ve been missing you so,” Galena said tearfully. “Naia refused to eat, and you know she never does that, and Zuzen called ‘ma ma ma’ all night.” Alaia wiped a tear from her own cheek, and Lorea brought Naia from her cradle so she could hug all three of her children at once. The knot in her chest eased.
“As touching as this reunion actually is,” Itzal said, “we don’t have time to stand around. Gather up everything we need to transport the children home through the secret passages. Lorea, you’ll have to be their guide, with Alaia, and either Galena or Maite will take Alaia’s place posing as the maid.”
Everyone nodded, and began preparing with silent efficiency. Alaia traded clothes with Galena, and each of the three women tied a child to their chest with a blanket. Extra supplied were stuffed in sleeves and aprons. “Now all we have to do is wait for a signal.”
They didn’t even have time to get impatient. Less than a minute later, a roar sounded from somewhere nearby, so loud that Alaia imagined she could feel it vibrating through her feet.
Her heart thrilled with love and fear together. Zorion was out there. “It’s time. Let’s give them a minute to make sure they don’t check in on us right away.” They waited with bated breath; the sound of running feet passed by the door, but no one entered.
Itzal pulled back a tapestry. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but at the edge of some gilded paneling, a thin vertical crack ran down the wall. He pressed on something, a slightly raised carving of a dragon on the wall, and with a click, the concealed door popped open just a crack.
“Take the first left, go two floors down the spiral staircase, and the second right comes out into the kitchen. Alaia knows where the door in the cellar is. Go quickly,” Itzal said. Lorea opened her mouth, her expression anguished and determined, and Alaia just knew she was about to say something uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Itzal. Please be careful,” she said, yanking Lorea by the arm and into the passageway. He shut the door behind them. The passageway was extremely dark, and they had to go carefully while shushing the whimpers and coos of the children.
They could hear shouting through the walls, arguments and crying about the dragon outside the gates. There was a tiny window in the stairwell letting in the sunlight, and they moved more quickly, almost enough to make Alaia dizzy. Something crashed against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, and Zuzen cried out against Alaia’s chest.
She shushed him, bouncing and patting his back, and they stood still and silent for a long moment, for fear they’d been overhead. Her heart pounded in her ears, and their breaths were loud, but there was nothing else. They continued down the corridor, toward the sound of pots and pans. The outline of the door was obvious from this side, but Alaia was not at all sure how to open it.
“Let me look at it,” Lorea said, pushing her way forward. She peered at the door for a few seconds and then kicked it sharply. Alaia scowled, but she couldn’t complain; the door had popped open. They pushed their way into the kitchen, and though the head cook nodded in their direction, they went mostly unnoticed through the bustle and clamor of the luncheon hour. There was a new smell in the cellar, the iron tang of blood. Alaia held her breath, forcing herself not to look at the body on the ground.
“You killed him?” Lorea said, wonderingly. “I suppose it was Itzal.” She sniffed. “You shouldn’t feel bad about it, Alaia. That man was a pig, always leering at us. He made Galena cry.” Alaia shushed her, but she did feel a bit better, and they found the trapdoor after a few minutes of looking.
Itzal had left a lantern at the bottom of the ladder, and when they finally shut the hatch above them, it was like a heavy weight had lifted from her shoulders. They’d escaped, and there was little chance that Imanol would find them, unless he somehow already knew where they were.
“Let’s go down one of these side passages and I’ll feed the children,” Alaia said. “Then we can decide where to go. I have a feeling we shouldn’t go right back to the house.”
*****************
Imanol strolled out of the palace a quarter of an hour after Zorion’s arrival. His demeanor was nonchalant, almost cheerful at first, but the prince could see that he was taken aback by the first real sight of him in dragon form. “It seems I was correct to assume from those reports of a dragon terrorizing the city that it was, in fact, you, Prince Zorion,” he sneered.
I was giving you time to run away, he replied, blowing smoke into the king’s face. Imanol coughed, though he tried to hold it in for several seconds. You didn’t heed my warning, and now you’ve stolen my children. It’s time we settled things.
“Why should I fight you when I could simply fire the cannons? Surely even a dragon couldn’t withstand such an assault.” His words were bold, but the tone didn’t match.
You might kill me, but not before I burn you to a crisp, Zorion said with another pointed blast of smoke. Then no one wins. This way, we can prove which of us is the stronger. If you defeat me, not only will you not have to deal with my interference, but you may claim the power of dragons from my corpse, if you wish.
Greed gleamed in Imanol’s eyes. “I don’t think I believe you.” This was the moment Osane had been waiting for, and she stepped forward.
“The power of dragons is passed through the blood. If you defeat a dragon and drink its blood, you will have proved your worth to the gods, and they will grant you what you seek.”
If you lose, I’ll eat you and reclaim the throne that is rightfully mine, Zorion said with a wide yawn, showing off his many sharp and gleaming teeth. I’m sure you’ll taste disgusting, but I can hardly keep you around when you insist on trying to assassinate me and kidnap members of my family.
“How do I know you won’t simply set fire to me the moment I agree to your terms?” Imanol asked shrewdly.
I haven’t burned you up yet. You’ll just have to trust my word, he replied with a feral grin. Unlike you, I don’t make a living stabbing people in the back. I fight with honor.
“How honorable can you really be, expecting one man to fight a dragon?” Imanol asked. It might have been a fair point, but Zorion wasn’t particularly interested.
If you wanted a fair fight, you shouldn’t have kidnapped my children. I was just going to besiege the palace. Now you have to face my teeth. Don armor. Choose a weapon. I’ll wait another half hour.
Imanol conferred with the two men who were standing at his side—his captain of the guard and Duke Alfonso, one of his staunchest allies—but Zorion knew he would take the bait. The lure of the power of dragons was too great to resist. Sure enough, he came back less than a minute later. “Very well, I accept your terms. I will go prepare myself."
I’ll be waiting, Zorion said. As soon as Imanol was out of sight, he got down from the wall and shook himself before beckoning the four commanders of his troops forward.
They weren’t the people he trusted most. Markel was dead and Itzal was, with any luck, on his way out of the palace, along with Alaia and Lorea, but these four lords were the people with the most to gain or lose by the success of his rebellion.
Lord Firenze was smiling. “Surely, there is no way Imanol can defeat you. In a matter of hours, it will all be over, and you will be crowned as king, with a minimum of bloodshed, just as you wanted.”
Zorion sighed. Don’t get overconfident. He may be out of shape, but Imanol was once a feared duelist. And he is devious. If the worst does happen, please make sure my family is safe. I want them to be taken far away from here. The children don’t
need to be involved in this mess. Not at least until they’re adults.
The four lords looked at each other and then at him. Whatever they saw in his eyes was apparently convincing. “We swear it will be done,” Lord Firenze said, his hand to his heart. The others repeated after him. There was nothing else Zorion could do to prepare.
He wished he had more experience, any experience, fighting in dragon form. His scales would protect him, but they certainly weren’t foolproof, and Imanol would be much more maneuverable on the ground. Zorion knew he had hampered himself by agreeing not to use his fire, but he had known there was no way Imanol would agree to the fight otherwise, and the flames would be dangerous to civilians. He would have to be careful.
Imanol returned just as the time limit was coming to an end, and Zorion was beginning to worry if he would actually have to set fire to the palace. At least, he reasoned, Alaia and the children should be well away by now, unless something had gone wrong, and surely Imanol would let him know if that were the case.
He couldn’t let himself consider it. The man who called himself king was wearing shining plate mail and carrying a shield and spear—sensible gear for fighting a beast much larger than himself.
You are prepared, then? Zorion asked, getting to his feet. He unfurled his wings because he knew it made him more intimidating.
“I am ready to have your hide as my next suit of armor, whelp,” Imanol said fiercely, baring his teeth. “Will your pet priestess officiate our duel?”
If these witnesses are not enough for you, I am not opposed, Zorion said, surprised Imanol would even want a referee.
“I just want to be sure she’s close enough to witness the fall of her champion and the defeat of her gods,” he replied, almost a snarl.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Osane said, slowly moving forward. “As discussed, this will be a fight to the death or capitulation. The winner will be the rightful King. There will be no other combatants, and no breathing fire. Are both of you agreed?” Imanol nodded curtly, and Zorion did the same. “May the gods grant victory to the worthy,” she said, stepping out of the way.
Zorion waited until she was well out of the way. He was worried that Imanol would not, would try to use surprise to his advantage, but he seemed to realize that killing the priestess in public wouldn’t go over well. He raised his spear and Zorion roared, loud enough, he hoped, to make Imanol’s head ring. He rushed forward at once. This needed to end quickly.
****************************
“Well, I don’t think we should go back to the house,” Lorea said as Alaia nursed the last of the triplets. Zuzen was already sleeping in the sling on Maite’s chest and Naia was well on her way. “If something should happen,” she continued, shaking her head as if to dispel the possibility, “That’s the first place Imanol will look for us.”
“I agree,” Alaia said, though she shivered at the thought. “But I don’t know where else we can go. We can’t stay in the crypts forever. I know there’s a passage that’s leads out towards the villages, but I don’t know where or how far.”
“We could go to my sister’s,” Maite said. “She and her husband have a shop, a bakery in the merchants’ quarter. I’m sure they would hide us for a day or two.”
Alaia let out a breath. “We’ll go there. If… well. Someone will find us.” She had to believe that Zorion would succeed. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. When Izar was fed, clean, and wrapped tightly against her chest, the women all stood, shaking out their stiff limbs.
“I’ve been through these tunnels before,” Lorea said, “Though usually not this close to the palace. We’ll have to go east to get to the market district. This should be the way.” They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then a roar reverberated through the air, shaking dirt from the ceiling.
“Zorion,” Alaia murmured, her heart in her throat, and Izar started whimpering.
“Da, da,” she whined in her reedy baby voice and the other two started to cry in unison. Alaia felt a chill go down her spine. Like someone walking over her grave, her mother would have said, but it wasn’t her own death she was seeing.
“We have to go to him. I know he said to run… but I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen,” Alaia said, her heart beginning to pound.
Lorea swallowed audibly. “I think you’re right. It’s like a cold stone in the pit of my stomach. The front gate…I’m sure there’s an exit in the courtyard. Let me think.” It was nearly impossible to be heard over the crying children. “This way!” They started to run.
************************
The blade of the spear skittered against his scales and his teeth missed Imanol’s face by inches. As Zorion had anticipated, it was difficult to close with the man in dragon form. He was light on his feet for someone with such a large belly.
It was tempting to forget his word, to roast the man alive for his crimes. If anyone deserved it… but even ignoring the damage to his own reputation, that would be a violation of Osane’s trust. She had done too much for him to be repaid with dishonor. The spear jabbed at his face, and his tail whipped up by instinct to slap it away, nearly jarring it from Imanol’s hands. That was an idea. He flicked his tail again, hitting Imanol’s helmet with a clang. His accuracy left something to be desired.
“Don’t play with me, boy,” the would-be king growled, shaking himself.
I was only trying to give you a fair chance, he replied, more confidently that he felt. This time the spearpoint narrowly missed his wing. His wing! He felt like an idiot. He’d promised not to use his fire, but he’d said nothing about flying. Zorion jumped backward, clinging to the wall with his claws and climbing upward.
“Are you such a coward that you run away from me?” Imanol yelled from the ground.
Not running away. Just trying to get a little altitude, he said, and he reached the top of the tower and spread his wings wide. Imanol didn’t realize what was coming until he had already leaped from the tower. His eyes widened, and he screamed something, throwing himself flat on the ground so that Zorion’s claws closed inches from his back. He was screaming again, something about cheating.
We never discussed anything regarding flying. I’m using my natural advantages, Zorion said as he circled around for another pass. Imanol was running but turned to face him at the last moment. Zorion bowled him over with his skull and grabbed his body with his rear claws, squeezing him tightly and tossing him away against the wall.
Imanol groaned, his leg sticking out at an unnatural angle, and Zorion landed heavily on the ground, pacing toward him with murderous certainty, a predator approaching a kill.
There was a burning pain in his shoulder, but it hardly mattered. The battle was over; he had won, but Imanol was laughing. “Foolish boy. Did you think I would allow you to win, to have even a chance at it?” Zorion didn’t understand at first, but his shoulder was on fire. His vision blurred.
You poisoned me, he said. Or he thought he did. He could hardly speak and his legs gave way. Imanol was on his hands and knees, crawling forward with a dagger in his hand.
“How do you think I got rid of your father?” he said with a cruel smile. “Cunning will always triumph over superstition and nobility.”
Zorion felt himself lose control of his form, and he screamed as he came back to himself. At least Imanol would not have that victory. Not that it would have worked either way, but it felt good to deny him in the moment. Zorion could feel himself fading; it was difficult to draw breath. He would never see her again. “Alaia…” he breathed, letting his eyes fall closed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your wife,” Imanol said.
***********************
They burst out of a door, the guard barracks maybe, just in time to see the dragon, the sun shimmering on his beautiful indigo scales, fall heavily to the ground. “No!” Alaia shouted, though she knew no one could hear her. She ran, and she could hear the other two following. Izar was st
ill yelling for her Da. Zorion screamed as he returned to his human form, naked and bloody, and Imanol, hearing her running feet, limped forward to block her way. “Don’t you interfere, woman. This duel was his decision.”
Osane was there, moving between them, grabbing Imanol’s arm in a vise grip. “Would you deny a dying man the chance to bid his family farewell?”
It was as phrased as a question, but he was given no choice about the matter. Alaia dropped to her knees at her husband’s side. He was very still, but when she put her hand on his face, his eyes opened, wide and unfocused.
“Alaia… no… you have to… run,” he said, and every word was a struggle. Izar squirmed, crying with her arms outstretched, and Alaia took her out of the sling and set her in the curve of her father’s arm, tears welling up in her eyes.
“We won’t leave you,” she choked out, taking his hand. By unspoken agreement, Lorea and Maite set Naia and Zuzen next to Zorion as well, and all three children put their pudgy hands on his chest, their eyes wide and solemn.
“Get… children… to safety…” he said. Was it her imagination that his voice sounded stronger? Alaia squinted as light shone in her eyes.
Lorea gasped. “Look at the children.” The light was coming from their hands, enveloping Zorion in a glowing nimbus. The wound on his shoulder slowly closed, and the sickly pallor left his skin. He took a deep breath and blinked up at Alaia with clear eyes.
“I don’t seem to be dead,” he said after a moment. Alaia laughed and helped him to sit up, and everyone was crying and hugging and laughing with joy.
“This is obviously foul sorcery! This is against the rules!” Imanol yelled. Two of Zorion’s commanders were holding him by the arms, and he was red with rage, almost frothing at the mouth.
“It is a miracle from the gods,” Osane said. “These children are the ones foretold, and this is the proof.” There was a swell of murmuring among the onlookers, and some of the men closed ranks around the family on the ground.
Zorion was given some pants and a sword, and he kissed his wife and each of his children before stepping out into the open space of the courtyard again. Alaia thought he looked more like a king in that moment, bare-chested and bloody, than he ever had.