Dragon Child

by Elana A. Mugdan

  “It is the shadowed half, so it is not truly me.”

  “If you have no soul, how are you still . . . alive?” she said, staring into his empty eyes.

  “One of the rules of our universe is that every thread is connected to every other thread,” he explained. “While my body lingers, my soul and I are yet linked through some quantum-magical bond.”

  This made little sense to Keriya. Perhaps if she’d been a wielder she would have understood. Before she could ask any more questions, the dark fog flickered, assaulted by an unearthly wind that did not touch their hilltop. Then it faded, dissipating into the atmosphere.

  “Where’d it go?”

  “I assume it has gone to its owner and master, Necrovar.”

  Keriya’s eyes widened in alarm, but Thorion shook his head. “He doesn’t own all of it, so he cannot wield it. It is not mine, but I am not his.”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “For my body I am greatly worried, since bodies don’t fare well without the energy of a magicsource to fuel them. But for my soul, no. The clean half is safe, and the shadowed half is no longer poisoning me. For the first time in three months, I can rest easy tonight.”

  Three months . . . was that how long it had been since the attack on Irongarde? Winter had melted into spring. Keriya had been separated from her friends for nearly half that time.

  The last vestiges of warmth vanished from her at that thought. She had no way of knowing if Fletcher and Roxanne were alive, and she didn’t have the luxury of being able to look for them. Her next step would be to find Necrovar.

  Thorion poked at the valestone with one shadow-stained claw, then flicked it away in irritation. Keriya cried out as she watched it arc over the side of the boulder and tumble off a small cliff to be lost in the sea of rocks below.

  “It’s useless now,” said Thorion. “All the magic has been leached from it.”

  She wasn’t sure if something that had been filled with power mere moments before could be considered useless, and she scowled at Thorion’s cavalier attitude.

  “It is late,” he continued. “Or rather, early. We should rest while we can.”

  It must have taken longer to perform the exorcism than Keriya had realized, because the sky was growing light around them. A wind stirred the hem of her dress, whisking away the fog that had shrouded the Temariyan Gorge for the past fortnight. Dawn was approaching.

  Instead of seeking rest, she and Thorion sat together and watched the sunrise. The first brilliant rays stretched from the horizon, alighting a thousand golden fires on the waters of the West Outlet. Light seeped across the plains, the mountainous gorge, and the green swell of hills in the distant south.

  A land crab appeared, clicking its way between them and waving its pincers in what it clearly thought was a menacing fashion. Keriya allowed herself a small chuckle. She patted the crab on its shell, which seemed to offend it deeply. It scuttled off the side of the boulder. As she watched it go, something else caught her eye.

  “Look,” she breathed. A black line stretched across the eastern plains. It moved like a snake, twisting around the curvature of the countryside.

  “An army,” whispered Thorion. His eyes, which were much better than her poor human ones, narrowed in distaste. “Erastatian soldiers on the march.”

  “Think they’re looking for us?”

  “I think they’re looking for whoever they can pick a fight with,” he growled. “Allentria has grown sick with the Shadow, but its people are turning on each other instead of banding together against Necrovar.”

  The heaviness in his tone pulled her gaze to his left side, where one of the wounds from his journey glistened in the dawn. His scales were puckered in a patch around a grisly hollow that had scabbed over.

  “Why?” The question burst from her in an explosion of pent-up frustration. “They know Necrovar is back, but they’re happy to go to war with each other—and us. Why can’t they acknowledge who the real enemy is? Why are they all so stupid?”

  “Necrovar has friends in high places who are working to pit them against each other,” said Thorion. “People like Tanthflame.”

  “And Windscoure,” Keriya added. “From the sound of it, he’s with Necrovar, too. Max thinks it’s because the Shadow promised him more land or gold.”

  “There you have it. The humans aren’t stupid, they’re just greedy, power-hungry, and bloodthirsty. Though I suppose it comes to the same thing,” he quipped.

  Keriya scowled as she watched the line of soldiers. Thorion, in turn, watched her.

  “Keriya . . . there is such anger in your eyes.” He leaned closer and rested his head on her lap, as he had done when he’d been small. She petted his brow and scratched behind his ears.

  “I wish you would forgive the world,” he whispered.

  “This world destroyed you and its people have betrayed us. Why should I forgive?”

  “Because you deserve to love something so beautiful.” He tilted his head so he could look at her, and added in Allentrian, “You deserve to be happy.”

  Keriya closed her eyes so the dragon wouldn’t see the shine of tears that had sprung up there.

  “Do you think we can win?” she asked. “A pair of crippled outcasts against Necrovar?”

  “We are not crippled, we are merely disadvantaged.” A subtle tremor ran through his body as he shifted his weight closer to her. “And you will overcome those disadvantages, as you always have. I know it.”

  Keriya smiled in spite of herself. She and her dragon were both at a disadvantage now, but not all was lost. She had her sword, which would afford them some protection from the Shadow, and together, they could overcome any obstacle in their way.

  “We should try to sleep,” said Thorion, “before we begin the final leg of our journey.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “Do not confuse equality with justice.”

  ~ Thyraxis Faleoun, Fifth Age

  Roxanne abandoned her coat a fortnight into their trip, burning it in their evening campfire when the weather grew warm. She would have loved to burn her old Aerian clothes, too. While she kept them clean by wielding the dirt out of the fabric, she could do nothing about their fraying ends and threadbare appearance.

  The time spent traveling with Brother Azrin couldn’t have been more different from the first half of her journey through the Fironem. The Valaani Order had provided them with camels—and though they were slow, they made the trek comfortable. The monk’s presence also provided protection on the road, as he’d promised.

  She was especially grateful for Azrin’s presence when they reached the Chasm. It was a vast canyon stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. A small city crouched on the edge of the abyss, beyond which arced a bridge of gigantic proportions. It had been molded from the red earth and stood on great pillars of stone and metal rising from the depths of the divide. Slender archways curved across the bridge at even intervals, bedecked with colored lanterns to light the way.

  “It’s quite safe,” Azrin assured Roxanne. She didn’t doubt that—it looked like a combined feat of the finest wielding and the most precise mathematical calculation. What worried her was the Imperials guarding the city.

  Azrin went ahead to speak with the soldiers at an outpost. Roxanne saw him point to her and Effrax, and the gray-clad men nodded and moved aside, giving them space to proceed.

  “What did you say to them?” Roxanne whispered when they were safely on the bridge.

  “I told them you both had leprous-plague and that I was taking you to be cleansed at the temple in the Black Hills,” he explained with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  Despite their easy passage, Roxanne’s neck prickled with unease when she reached the far side of the bridge. There was a heaviness in the air that had nothing to do with the increasing heat and humidity, and a stilln
ess in the land that she couldn’t define. In the same way a dying man grows still before he draws his last breath, so too did the earth feel rigid here.

  Finally, the sprawling skyline of Fyrxav emerged between red stone mesas. They stopped at an oasis bazaar and Azrin used a few copper derlei to buy her and Effrax desert veils. Once their faces were hidden, they continued on the sandstone road that led into the capital city. They approached a band of men traveling north, and Roxanne’s jaw dropped.

  “A shadowman,” she hissed, reining her camel toward Effrax to give the other group a wide berth. “Look!”

  The two of them gaped at the demon. There could be no question: his skin, hair, and eyes were darker than the deepest parts of the Chasm, yet there he was, trotting along in broad daylight as if that were perfectly natural.

  “Were those humans his prisoners?” she wondered once the demon was out of earshot.

  “They didn’t look like prisoners,” Effrax replied.

  “Then why the blood were they with a shadowman?”

  Effrax shook his head, his eyes tight with worry. They passed a cluster of palm trees where three pitch-black dogs rested in the shade, their hides blending into the shadows, their eyes glinting like obsidian stones.

  “More shadowbeasts,” Roxanne said unnecessarily. She sent a tendril of thought to the dogs and found only empty, void space where their mental presences should have been.

  “Oh dear,” Azrin fretted, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Ahead on the road, a convoy of mounted Imperials was forging a path through the throngs of city dwellers. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

  “Stay calm,” Effrax told them as they entered the city proper. “We’ve made it this far, we can make it to the palace.”

  “My friends can’t come here,” Roxanne whispered, more to herself than to Effrax. “Thorion would be attacked on sight.”

  Security grew tighter as they approached the gilded sandstone palace, Indrath Nazrith. More Imperials lined the thoroughfares, and not even Brother Azrin’s presence helped when they reached the entrance to the palace grounds.

  “No outsiders permitted,” said a huge Fironian, barring their way.

  “On whose authority?” Effrax demanded. “The king has always permitted visitors.”

  “On the authority of the highest order in the land,” the man replied.

  “The highest authority is King Embersnag.” Roxanne could tell from Effrax’s tone that he was already plotting a midnight break-in. “His policy has always been—”

  “I’m afraid the king’s authority has been superseded,” said a crisp voice behind them. Though it had been months since she’d last heard it, it was a voice Roxanne would recognize in a heartbeat. Her stomach sank as she turned to see Gohrbryn Tanthflame riding a shadowbeast warhorse, flanked by a platoon of soldiers.

  “Superseded by who? You?” Effrax demanded as he pulled off his veil. A few passersby stopped, whispering and pointing at him.

  “We are but servants,” said Tanthflame, indicating himself and his soldiers. Roxanne wished he was riding a living animal—she’d have told it to throw him into the dirt where he belonged. Her eyes darted around the palace entry square as she tried to decide how best to attack him.

  “Miss Fleuridae, I’ll have to ask you not to wield in a public space,” he said without so much as glancing at her.

  Since Tanthflame already knew it was her, she slowly removed her veil. “How did you find us?” she asked, glowering at the general.

  “I have eyes everywhere, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He waved a careless hand, pointing out a number of shadowmen who had appeared noiselessly behind the growing crowd of onlookers. “We’re surprised to see you here. We thought you’d learned your lesson after Noryk.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Effrax. “Kill us?”

  Tanthflame gave him a look that seemed to suggest he was dabbling with the idea. “No, I think not. Come with me. You’ll be permitted onto royal property if you are in my company.”

  “I am permitted on royal property by birthright,” Effrax declared, raising his chin.

  “You are not recognized as royalty by any state in our empire, Nameless,” Tanthflame reminded him, booting his shadowhorse past Roxanne and entering the palace gates.

  Roxanne, Effrax, and Azrin had no choice but to follow Tanthflame, for his soldiers pressed forward, herding them on like cattle. Roxanne shied away from the wraiths. Her eyes fluttered, unable to settle, as she desperately sought escape routes—though she knew she was surrounded and outnumbered.

  “Is this part of your grand plan to destroy the Fironem?” Effrax asked Tanthflame as they rode through a sandstone archway into the entry hall of Indrath Nazrith.

  “Destroy?” Tanthflame raised an eyebrow at Effrax. “The capital is thriving. Crime is down and the economy is booming. Humans and shadowbeasts are coexisting in harmony. This is but a glimpse of what Allentria will be like once we remodel our government.”

  “Once you stage a coup and overthrow the government, you mean,” Effrax retorted.

  “Nothing so uncivilized, I assure you.” Tanthflame dismounted and a shadowman took his horse’s reins. “This project in Fyrxav proves that with proper leadership, we may yet restore peace between the four kingdoms. The business in the Galantasa was merely the result of decades of hardship here in the south.”

  “What happened in the Galantasa was your fault,” cried Roxanne. Her voice rang in the hall. She slid off her camel and stomped across the tiled floor toward Tanthflame. “Your followers detonated the bomb in the Galantrian Village. Your soldiers killed innocent men in cold blood. And I saw you in Indrath Olven, trying to burn it to the ground!”

  Another demon materialized in front of her, blocking her way. She stopped in her tracks, shaking—not with fear, but with rage.

  “I’m afraid the word of a felon doesn’t count for much,” Tanthflame said blandly. “I have only ever acted to serve and improve Allentria. My troops have come to rebuild the Fironem in its darkest hour, and I’m pleased to report that the cities of the new regime are flourishing. Fyrxav has become a benchmark example of what we can achieve in the rest of the empire.”

  “The rest of the empire is standing on your doorstep, ready for war,” said Effrax, who had also dismounted. His voice was steady and his expression was unreadable. “You incited people against Fironians.”

  Tanthflame tutted. “It would do no good if I ignored what my countrymen have done. My point is that their actions are a symptom, not the disease. The disease has been festering in our country for decades, centuries, ages perhaps.”

  Roxanne frowned in confusion. Was Tanthflame talking about the Shadow?

  “Imbalance,” he said, noting her expression. “Not just a magical imbalance. There has always been economic and societal imbalance in Allentria—but we have begun to heal these wounds. Follow me,” he said, gesturing for them to join him as he strode away.

  Roxanne fell into step between Effrax and Azrin as they trailed the general into the palace. Behind them marched Tanthflame’s platoon, their booted feet stamping in unison like the beat of a war drum. She noted, with some disquiet, that one pale man had red bands on his cheeks and sleeves—the mark of a mage, like Rhudain.

  “Where are your friends?” Tanthflame asked conversationally as they entered a colonnaded hall that led to a grand staircase.

  “Even if we knew, we wouldn’t tell you,” growled Roxanne. “I guess that’s part of the plan, is it? Turn everyone against Thorion, kill him so no one can stand in the way of Necrovar’s return?”

  “There is no place for a dragon in a well-balanced world,” he replied. “And that monster is a perfect representation of the worst aspects of the draconic race. I’m sure you’ll agree things took a notable turn for the worse since he returned to Selaras.”

  “That’s because you�
�ve been blowing up cities trying to kill him!”

  “Oh dear,” Azrin squeaked.

  Roxanne was sick with fury. She didn’t understand how Tanthflame had gotten this far. Why were the Fironians listening to his lies? They must know he was working for Necrovar. He’d brought shadowbeasts into their midst, for Shivnath’s sake!

  They reached the top of the stairs and walked through an open-air gallery with a magnificent view of Fyrxav. A set of black doors glittered ominously at the end of the hall.

  “What role has my father played in all this?” Effrax asked Tanthflame.

  “King Embersnag has been understanding and cooperative.”

  “Doesn’t sound like him,” Effrax said in an offhand voice, as if he were commenting on the weather.

  The commander-general stopped when they reached the doors, which were bordered on either side by the state flag—a golden phoenix on a black and red slashed background.

  “For security reasons, I can’t permit you into the throne room with the royal family unless I can be certain of your motives,” he said, his blistering gaze roving over the three of them.

  “Motives?” Azrin echoed.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Brother, but you are in the company of two dangerous war criminals,” Tanthflame explained. “However, given that Lord Nameless is the son of the king, we are prepared to offer him what would amount to a full pardon.”

  “What?” Effrax’s jaw fell open at this pronouncement.

  “If you pledge fealty to us, then you will have a place in our new regime. We are not so narrow-minded as to reject a potential ally when he flings himself into our midst.”

  “Your offer is great indeed,” Effrax said slowly, his face a mask. “I have to wonder why you would bother to make it when I can offer nothing in return.”

  “You can offer your loyalty,” said Tanthflame. “To have the royal family—including you—united in our efforts to rebuild the Fironem, the empire, would be a powerful symbol. With Brother Azrin’s support, we may gain the support of the Valaani Order. Gain enough support for the new regime, and there should be no resistance to it. The transition of power can be painless, bloodless. We can—”