Dragon Child

by Elana A. Mugdan

  There was a roaring sound, and suddenly the tunnel was awash in furious orange light. Fletcher raised his head in time to see Effrax wielding a horizontal pillar of flame against the Imperial. The man deflected it, slicing through the blaze with a brutal cross current of wind.

  “Run,” Effrax told Fletcher. “I’ll hold him off!”

  “But—”

  “Just go! They’ll be flushing the system soon, and if we’re caught here when that happens, we’re in trouble!”

  Roxanne stood, fists clenched at her sides. A shiver ran down the length of the tunnel, as if some great monster were slithering beneath the slime on the walls. A moment later that slime came to life—it grasped the guardsman, constricting his body and wrapping around his face.

  Roxanne raised her hands and gestured sharply. Strands of the glutinous algae snapped across the width of the sewer, shielding them from the Imperial. For good measure, Effrax set the barrier on fire. The stringy green mass went up as easily as dry tinder, and ribbons of vile smoke billowed from it.

  “That’ll hold him for a bit,” said Effrax. They fled, the splashing of their footfalls lost in the din of the hungry flames.

  Effrax led them through a series of twists and turns. He veered down a wide tunnel, then skidded to a halt and shooed them into a dark offshoot, stifling a curse. A light was shining around the corner.

  The three of them hid in the shadows while Effrax consulted the map. He scanned the green lines, his brow creased with worry.

  “It’s risky,” he murmured, as another group of soldiers splashed by in the corridor next to theirs, “but we have no choice. Let’s go.”

  Moving as quietly as they could through the sludge, they crept away from the enemy wielders. Effrax dimmed his spell to the size of a candle flame so as not to attract attention. They came to a crossroads and Effrax tried to turn left. Before he could, an iron barricade descended from the curved ceiling with a resounding thud, blocking his way.

  “Gods damn it,” he spat, banging his fist against the new obstacle. “The open-ended tunnels are closing off for the system flush.”

  “Not a problem.” Roxanne pushed past him. She raised her hands in a gesture that looked like she was lifting something invisible. The barricade shuddered but stayed put. Frowning, Roxanne clenched her fists and tried again. It rose fractionally before grinding to a halt.

  “Why isn’t it moving?” she demanded.

  “You’re only wielding against the door, but it’s connected to a network of automated gears and pulleys that operate the system,” said Effrax. “It’s locked in place.”

  “Fine, then I’ll—”

  An angry shout cut off her words. Fletcher looked over his shoulder to see three Imperials at the far end of the corridor.

  “Come on,” he cried, pelting down the right tunnel, which was now their only option for escape.

  “Fletcher, don’t—oh, Valaan take it all!” Effrax splashed after him with a frustrated groan, Roxanne close behind.

  They were chased by the soldiers’ shouts and a new sound, something like the growling stomach of a massive beast. A rush of humid, dank air whooshed past them.

  “They’re wielding against us,” Fletcher panted, daring to glance at the soldiers. The gray-robed men were no longer pursuing them—they were backtracking.

  “That wasn’t them . . . and they aren’t following because they know this is a dead-end,” said Effrax, answering Fletcher’s next question before he asked it.

  The rumble grew louder. It pressed against Fletcher’s ears. He looked back once more and gasped in horror. A massive wave, large enough to fill the sewer pipe, crashed into their tunnel, splashing against the wall before roaring toward them.

  Fletcher had the presence of mind to clamp his hand onto Roxanne’s coat and take a deep breath before the liquid hit. He was knocked off his feet, caught in the violent roll and swell of the wave. He held onto Roxanne, and felt her hand find his wrist and squeeze.

  They were tossed around in darkness as the wave surged onward. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, he spun upright and his head broke the surface.

  “Roxanne,” he gasped, choking. He’d never learned to swim in Aeria, but the pressure of the water was keeping him afloat. They were at the crest of the wave, riding whorls of frothy liquid into the unknown.

  “Here,” Roxanne coughed. “So’s Effrax.”

  “We’re heading for the filtration system,” came Effrax’s voice.

  Fletcher squinted in the inky darkness. Through some miracle, the bent ends of his glasses had remained curled around his ears. He pushed them up the bridge of his nose and saw an oval ahead that was slightly less dark than the rest of the tunnel: an exit to the outside world.

  Fire flared to his left. Fletcher blinked as Effrax raised his free hand to light their way—his other hand was holding Roxanne’s tightly. “It’s on you, Tigress. We hit those filters and we’re done. Can you wield paramagnetic tungsten alloys?”

  “I have no idea what that means,” said Roxanne. Her eyes glinted amber in the firelight as she glared at the end of the tunnel. Fletcher could see it was crosshatched with a grid of silvery bars and filaments, some thick, some razor-thin. “And I don’t care.”

  “Wield fast,” coughed Fletcher, fighting to keep his head above the churning liquid. At this speed, the grid would slice them into little cubed pieces. Roxanne closed her eyes, which was not a reassuring sign.

  Fletcher braced himself for the impact, but it never came. The bars distorted and bent apart just before the water reached them, allowing the three humans to tumble through unharmed.

  “More,” yelled Effrax. Fletcher gasped—and caught a mouthful of foul sewage—when he saw another filtration grid beyond. Roxanne reacted like lightning. She forced the bars apart, and the path was clear. Fletcher could see the stars twinkling as they careened toward the exit.

  Then they were free—and he realized they’d exited the sewers from the side of the cliffs of Noryk, ten heights in the air. Moonlight illuminated the horrifying sight of the moat rushing to meet him.

  Fletcher let go of Roxanne and curled into a defensive ball. He smacked into the icy river and was forced down by the weight of the water. He was trapped, and he would surely drown. Even if he could swim, he hadn’t the strength to escape the force of the liquid spewing from the tunnel.

  Then something wrapped itself around his midriff. He clutched at his glasses as he was tugged from the deluge. He popped out of the moat and was deposited on the sandy bank with a splat. Looking up dazedly, he saw a vine fall limply to the dirt at Roxanne’s feet.

  “T-thanks,” Fletcher said around chattering teeth, standing and shivering against the wind. She nodded and turned to Effrax, grabbing a fistful of his cloak and yanking him upright.

  “W-what I wouldn’t give for a w-w-water wielder,” he grumbled, trying in vain to wring out his shirt. “Right. We’re n-not too far from your carriage, Lordling. Follow the moat north and you’ll find it. If you hit the eastern city b-bridge, you’ll know you’ve passed it and you d-double back.”

  “W-what about y-y-you?” Fletcher stuttered, clasping his thin arms around himself. In his sopping garments, the wind felt brutal.

  “We’re heading s-south to the temple,” Roxanne reminded him. She looked frozen and exhausted. “This is it.”

  The cold momentarily left Fletcher as he stared at his friends. What if something went wrong on his journey? Or theirs? What if he never saw them again?

  No. Fletcher refused to accept that. Roxanne and Effrax would survive—they were strong, capable wielders. And as for him . . . he would survive, too. He’d do what he had to. He would do it for Keriya and Thorion, for the sake of Allentria.

  Effrax offered a hand. “Good luck, Master Earengale. One day, when this is far behind us, the empire will sing your praises. I’m pro
ud to have traveled with you.”

  Fletcher tucked those words safely in the back of his mind. He was certain he’d need to draw strength from them before his adventure was through. He shook with Effrax before turning to Roxanne. Dripping and shivering, they stared at each other. Then she stepped in and hugged him.

  “Where will we meet you?” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “When you’ve done what you need to do, where will we meet you? You and Taeleia,” she amended herself with a small smile.

  “It’ll have to be the Valaani Temple,” said Effrax. “I know we’d hoped to bring the elf to Thorion sooner, but things have changed. Regardless of whether the phoenix-god can help us, we’ll need Taeleia there.”

  Fletcher bit his lip and nodded. “The temple it is.”

  He raised a shaking hand in farewell and set off along the moat. He looked back only once at Roxanne and Effrax. Despite the light of the near-full Oldmoon, their forms were soon swallowed by the night.

  And Fletcher was on his own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Trust is built upon consistency.”

  ~ Ghoori Proverb

  Dawn broke, cool and brittle. For the first time in recent memory there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun crested over the eastern hills, its light pooling in the hollows of the land and racing across the desert.

  The thing that kept Roxanne going was the certainty that if she stopped to rest, she’d freeze to death. Only her outer garments had dried in the persistent winds, leaving her with a layer of dripping, icy fabric chafing at her skin with every step.

  “Can’t you wield a fire to keep us warm?” she grumbled, casting a sidelong glare at Effrax. His lips, which were trembling with repressed shivers, quirked upwards sardonically.

  “That’ll serve as a nice beacon for the Imperials. But if it’s for the Tigress’s personal comfort, I’ll—”

  “Oh, forget it,” she snapped.

  There was no clear path, and she had no idea which way they were supposed to go, but Effrax let her lead as the sun climbed in the azure sky. It lent a tiny amount of warmth to the left side of her body.

  Before long, Roxanne heard shouts behind them. She looked back to see a dust cloud rising from a group of black specks on the horizon.

  “Speak of the devils,” murmured Effrax. “I can’t outrun them on my bad leg.”

  “They’d catch us anyway,” said Roxanne. “They’re on horseback and not half-frozen.”

  “We should be able to take a couple Imperials. Let’s get to high ground so we have a better vantage point.”

  They ascended the closest dune, their damp garments weighing them down. When they reached the top, tufted with clumps of thin grasses that swayed disconsolately, Roxanne turned to their pursuers. Her jaw dropped.

  “A couple? Does that look like a couple to you?” She pointed at the dust cloud. There had to be twenty riders approaching.

  “Hm.” Effrax tapped a finger on his chin. “Tanthflame must really hate us.”

  “There’s nowhere to hide in this gods-forsaken kingdom. We’re sitting ducks.”

  “We could tunnel,” he suggested.

  Roxanne snorted. “I can’t maintain that level of wielding in this state. I wasted a lot of energy on those filters. But we can burrow and hope for the best.”

  She cracked her knuckles and slid down the far side of the dune. In the valley between the mounds of sand, she embraced her source—which felt as sluggish and cold as if it were still in ice water—and sank her threads into the ground. She’d always thought there was nothing useful to be done with sand, but now she was thankful for its light consistency as she cleared a hole.

  Effrax jumped into the pit and she followed. The landing jarred her, and she stumbled and fell against him. He put a strong arm out to steady her. She was tempted to shove him away, but his body next to hers was warm, and the weight of his hand on her shoulder was oddly reassuring.

  “Hoods up,” he advised. Together they crouched and Effrax draped his cloak over the two of them, sealing them in a makeshift tent that smelled vaguely of the sewers.

  Roxanne cast out more threads from her source to gather the sand she’d displaced. At her mental command, it slid into the hole around them and spilled on their heads, forcing them closer together. She pressed against the mass with a second web of threads, keeping the granules at bay as she refilled the pit.

  They were enclosed in total darkness and utter silence. The only sound was Effrax’s breathing and the blood pounding in her ears as she knelt in cramped discomfort, waiting.

  The pounding of blood turned into the pounding of muffled hoofbeats. Roxanne bit her lip and strained to listen. She could tell the riders had stopped above, and she could discern the sound of angry voices.

  “Drop your threads,” Effrax breathed in her ear. “Let the sand go.”

  “Why?”

  “They might try looking for the magicthreads of active spells.”

  “I thought only high-Tier wielders could see other wielders’ spells,” she whispered, though she let go of her spell, thread by thread, and let the sand settle on her. She wished she’d chosen a different position to sit in. Her legs and back screamed in protest at the added pressure. At least Effrax’s cloak kept the sand away from her face.

  “They’re all Tier Seven or higher. And if they have a mage in their group, he’ll be strong enough to see the wave of your spell.”

  “Great,” she hissed, praying to Shivnath that the Imperials would leave soon. “Just great.”

  It was impossible to say how long she and Effrax huddled there. Between her discomfort and the panic rising in her chest, it felt like ages. Finally they heard the riders leave. They sat and waited until the sounds of the soldiers had faded.

  Once again, it was just the two of them. Effrax’s breath on her cheek. The beat of her pulse ringing in her ears. If he was as uncomfortable as she was, he was doing an excellent job hiding it. He was as still as if he’d been carved from granite, crushed against her side. Was he not bothered, or was he trying to be respectful of her in their cramped, sandy prison? Highly doubtful.

  “Think it’s safe?” she asked.

  “Better give it a few more minutes.”

  So they continued to sit and Roxanne continued to suffer. She insisted on wielding to alleviate the sand’s weight, and heard Effrax sigh with relief.

  Although they were no longer being crushed, it soon became difficult to breathe. The air in the pit was growing stale and Roxanne was getting lightheaded.

  “Now is it safe?”

  “It’s no longer safe for us in here, so we might as well check.”

  She’d been ready and waiting. Heaving the sand out of the pit, she stood and tossed the cloak off of her, stretching her aching limbs. She drew a deep breath of fresh, crisp air as she clambered from the hole. Effrax followed with more difficulty. When he was on solid ground, Roxanne rounded on him and gave his arm a hearty smack.

  “What was that for?” he demanded.

  “Because you got us into this mess, and the Imperials are on our tail, and Fletcher is alone out there!”

  “Fletcher’s in a bloodbound. He’ll be leagues ahead of them,” said Effrax, scowling at her. “Besides, he can handle himself.”

  “Hmpf.” Roxanne crept up a dune to peer over its top. She could see far-off shapes roaming the sands. “They’ll spot us if we move. I guess we’re stuck here til we die.”

  “Only til nightfall,” Effrax corrected her. “The Imperials will head east to more favorable terrain when it gets dark. They’ll want to have access to food and water when they make camp.”

  “It would be nice if we had some food and water.”

  “My bow survived our escape,” he said, adjusting his cloak to reveal the sealed quiver strapped across his back. “As
for water, there’s a lot more water in the desert than people think. We’ll be fine.”

  “So you keep saying,” she grumbled, hunkering down and pulling her damp coat tighter around her.

  A lopsided smile twitched at the corner of Effrax’s lips. “Never you fear, Tigress. I vow I’ll keep you safe.”

  “You? The war criminal felon on the run from the entire Allentrian government?” She’d meant her tone to be serious and angry, and was horrified to hear a note of teasing instead. She scowled at her own softness.

  “Ah, you’d be surprised what I can accomplish when it comes to the people I care about,” said Effrax, easing himself onto a mound of sand beside her.

  She cast him an appraising sidelong look. “What can you accomplish?”

  He met her eye with a steady gaze. “Anything.”

  Roxanne pursed her lips and looked away. The two of them lapsed into silence. Though she’d promised herself she would keep watch, she soon slipped into a dreamless slumber.

  By the time Effrax woke her, the day had passed. The moons had risen and the world was still.

  “I dug up some lizards from hibernation,” he said, showing her the reptiles. “You have to eat,” he added when he caught her look of disapproval. “We can make a fire and warm ourselves before we leave.”

  In that manner they made their way southward. Roxanne wielded burrows for them to rest in during the days, and at night they stole across the land. Cactus plants provided their water. They watched for signs of the Imperials, but it seemed they were alone in the wasteland.

  This is what I used to think all of Allentria was like. In Aeria, it had been taught that everything on the far side of Shivnath’s Mountains was barren and uninhabitable. The villagers hadn’t been able to conceive of anything beyond their own little world.

  For a brief moment, Roxanne wondered what her life might have been like if she hadn’t left her childhood home. She wouldn’t have been freezing and starving to death, for starters. She would have been safe.

  But I wouldn’t have been happy. No matter how grand her delusions, Roxanne knew the Elders would never have allowed her to become a Hunter. A husband would have been chosen for her, and she would have had to bear his children. Beyond the basic wielding for whatever dull work she was given, she wouldn’t have been allowed to use her magic. Her father would have been presiding over it all, controlling her, herding her in whatever direction he deemed fit.