Wings of Flame (The Dragons of Ascavar Book 5)

by JD Monroe

  “It’s likely both,” Kaldir said. “I can usually put my feelings aside, but not this time.”

  “You seemed very worried about the prince,” she said.

  He nodded. “He and the queen have treated me like family from the moment we met. He’s a brother to me. I swore an oath to keep them safe, and I can’t help feeling responsible for being away.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”

  “I know that,” he said. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “But the heart is not always logical.”

  She sighed. “Come with me. Bring the crate,” she said. He dutifully lifted the heavy crate, following her to the other table laden with glass. She quickly wiped each jar clean, checking its lid, before handing it to him. Her eyes were intent on her hands as she spoke. “I’m afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we are grossly outnumbered,” she said. “And I know you won’t let that stop you, but that’s part of what scares me.”

  As she handed him the next jar, he caught her wrist, squeezing gently. Her eyes drifted up to him. “I know,” he said. “It scares me too.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Because I want this to end with our people safe, and I want to come back to you. Until I saw you again, I knew the trajectory of my life. It was not unpleasant, but I could bear losing it if I had to. Now…” A strange swelling, like anguish and anger all at once, ached in his chest. “I have only just found you again. And I cannot lose you.”

  She stole a glance over her shoulder. Her Shrine Wardens bustled out of the room, each hauling a crate. Leaning across the table, she grasped his cheeks. With her light, warm touch on his skin, he felt as if the goddess herself touched him. “You will not lose me,” she said. “But promise me you won’t be a fool.”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said. “But I must uphold my oaths. I swore to protect Ironhold, and I swore to protect our kind.”

  “Then I swear to protect you,” she said, bringing his lips to hers. A fiery burst of power passed from her lips to his. It felt like breathing in steam, tingling down his spine and radiating through his chest with an odd, slithering sensation. When it dissipated, it left a strange, heated pulse near his heart. “To remind you that I am always with you.”

  He caressed her cheek gently. “Let us hope I don’t need it.”

  A hard day of flying brought them to the small village of Firebend, not far from the soaring heights of Ironhold. Grain fields surrounded the town like a sea of gold. Small figures worked in the fields, giving no hint that anything was amiss.

  They landed in the central square, an expanse of well-manicured grass and stone benches. Amidst the quiet chorus of wings, Kadirai stopped in the streets and emerged from their homes to stare. Some held weapons, while the air filled with the smoky scent of Kadirai energy intensifying in anticipation of a shift.

  Kaldir quickly shifted back, accepting Azeria’s offer of a loincloth before striding forward. “I am General Dawnblaze of the Iron Blade,” he said. “All is well.”

  But his words didn’t seem to relax them. He saw worried glances, even a few hands moving toward weapons. A woman in a familiar red uniform stepped forward. Her red hair gleamed like flame in the light as she bowed. “Nalak halar, General Dawnblaze.”

  “Nalak halar anan,” he replied in kind. “And you are?”

  “Letha Flamesinger,” she said. “With all due respect, sir, may I ask why you are here? The Iron Blade has been forbidden to move.”

  “Who gave this order?” he asked.

  “The queen herself,” she responded. “Unless you have come to deliver news.”

  “I intend to change the queen’s circumstances,” Kaldir replied. “Find us somewhere to gather, and tell us what you know.”

  An hour later, they had been granted full use of the town’s meeting hall. Several families hurried in with steaming dishes of food and casks of wine. Some of the generous volunteers lingered at the door to eavesdrop until Azeria shooed them out. Letha echoed Zahila’s tale, and confirmed that even the outlying towns had received an official decree from the queen that they were to stand down. No one was permitted in or out of Ironhold by air, lest they be shot from the sky by poisoned spears. Travelers on foot were being questioned, and their cargo inspected.

  With their small force taking a well-deserved rest and eating a hot meal for the first time in days, Kaldir conferred with Velati and Lotheraos. “Can you conceal us all to fly in?” he asked Lotheraos.

  The wiry man shook his head. “Not unless we all fly asshole to asshole.”

  Velati snorted a laugh. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Why should I?” Lotheraos said. “I can hold something like that for a few minutes at best if you’re all in dragon form. If you’re willing to go in soft-shell, then that’s a different story. I can walk you in the front gates and take a leisurely stroll around the city. Maybe a couple of you in dragon form, and I can carry a few.”

  “We’ve also got Thaleza and Miko to split the burden,” Velati reminded him.

  “There’s a system of tunnels that runs beneath Ironhold,” Kaldir said. “If you can get us in the gates unseen, I can get us underground within a few minutes. From there, we can get anywhere in the city, including into the palace.”

  “That’s convenient,” Velati said.

  “It is now,” he said. He gestured to Zahila, beckoning her over. “Where are the queen and her family being held?”

  “The last I saw, the princesses were in their own room. The queen was in her room, but Adron was there too,” Zahila said. “Ohrena is in her room, and Inrada is making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  “I want you and Lotheraos to do a quick scouting pass.” He raised an eyebrow. When Zayir married Ohrena, they’d had quite a fuss over her nosy maids and their spying. He had no doubt Zahila knew the palace almost as well as he did. “I trust you know which windows are theirs.”

  She smiled, a devilish gleam in her eye. “I do indeed,” she said. “And yours, General Dawnblaze. Shall I check on your quarters?”

  He ignored the provocation. “I want to know if the royal family is there, and how many guards are posted, if any,” he said. He glanced at Lotheraos. “Are you up for another flight?”

  “I’m always up for a ride with a beautiful woman on top,” he said. He bowed politely to Zahila. She smirked as she secured her hair in a tight bun. “Shall we?”

  With the moon hanging high in the sky, Kaldir and his company prepared for battle. They’d argued over whether they could afford to wait another day. Kaldir knew that he was biased, practically itching to dive into Ironhold alone if he had to. Thankfully, Velati had agreed that sooner was better.

  Lotheraos and Zahila had returned, confirming that Tarim’s daughters were in their shared room. They’d only seen one, but assumed they were both there. He didn’t like assumptions, but that would have to do.

  Tarim was relegated to a couch in her reading room while that bastard Adron slept in her bed, as if to taunt her. They also noted, with a grim solemnity, that dozens of Kadirai bodies were strung up around the city, with several at the city gates, and more on the approach to the palace.

  As she had several days ago, Sohaila stood among them and sang an ethereal, mournful hymn, blessing each of them in turn with a kiss. She was businesslike, almost formal, but still lingered just a moment longer as she kissed his brow. “Come back soon,” she whispered as she pulled away. Her power rushed down his spine, enveloping his heart with a warm pressure.

  “I will,” he said, breathing deep to fill his lungs with her clean, floral scent. He wanted to carry her with him.

  Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, then knelt to begin his transformation. Once he was shifted, wings outstretched, Azeria climbed onto his back. Several of the other Scalebreakers joined her, and ahead of him, Velati tested his balance with three warriors on his back. Lotheraos would fly at the point, with the others
tight on his tail. It would be ungainly if they had to fight, but they would get into the city silently.

  Kaldir leaped into the air and nearly fell back down from the surprise of the extra weight on his back. He growled, reaching deep for the strength to propel his wings. He tucked himself close to Lotheraos as they flew northwest to the capital.

  Even under the circumstances, he was happy to see the familiar lands of home. Mardahl had been untouched by the ravages of the Great War. Over a century later, the dry Stoneflight lands were just beginning to allow life again. But the Ironflight lands were still lush and green. Rolling hills spilled down from the Azure Peaks, ablaze with colorful fields of wildflowers. Far to the west, he could see the faint glimmer of the sea. The tight formation of dragons followed the twisting line of the Irithaz River as it cut through the darkened landscape and drew them toward the city like a silver thread.

  They were still several miles out when Lotheraos let out a quiet growl. Then a strange, pressurized sensation surrounded Kaldir, and his vision shimmered slightly. It felt like he peered through blue-tinted glass.

  His heart thumped as Ironhold grew larger and larger ahead of him. Azeria and his other two riders leaned in, tucking themselves tight against his body. Like many dragon cities, Ironhold had no defensive outer walls. For millennia, dragons had only feared war with their own kind, and walls would not keep flying invaders out. That would change after this was over, he was certain.

  A low stone wall, barely as tall as his shoulder, marked the official border of the city. A great iron archway straddled the Iron Lane, the main trade road that entered the city from the south. On either side of the arch, dead Kadirai men hung limp from bound wrists. Their chests were slashed open, in a crude symbol like a dragon’s wing. Soldiers in red stood beneath them, chatting quietly.

  He suppressed the urge to growl and dive at the guards. Judging by the smell and the color of their bloated bodies, the Kadirai had been hanging there for days as a grisly warning. Kaldir would learn their names and add them to the debt that he would carve from Sidran’s flesh. And he would pray, until he laid eyes on his old friend again, that Zayir was not one of them.

  Flying over the low walls, they were undetected. Below them, the city felt like a tomb, silent and still. As they glided silently over the empty marketplace in the southeastern quarter, Kaldir made a quiet clicking sound.

  Lotheraos flicked his wings carefully, rising up to let Kaldir take his position at the point. Kaldir descended rapidly, into an alley in the merchants’ district. The strange pressurized feeling ebbed, then returned as Lotheraos landed behind him.

  “Off,” he said quietly. His three riders slid off his back, and he quietly shifted back into his human form, clamping his lips shut on a quiet sigh. He planted one sweat-slick hand on the ground and came up with a green-tinged palm. The fine powder smelled acrid, making his stomach lurch. It had to be the poison Zahila described.

  Within minutes, the tight formation of Kadirai had landed and shifted, donning clothes and weapons for battle. Lotheraos and Thaleza both looked tense, their faces clearly strained from holding the illusion. “This way,” Kaldir said.

  Ahead of them was an abandoned distillery. The smell of stale smoke and old blood still hung in the air, lingering from the scuffle that had taken place months ago. The last time he’d been here, it was to run a rogue group of Edra rebels out of the city after trying to frame the prince for murdering his wife. He’d thought their attempt on Ohrena’s life was to shatter the precarious new political alliance, but now he wondered if they were a tool of the Chosen.

  Once they were safely inside the upper floor, he made a circling gesture. “I’ll get you to the palace entrance and open it for you. Once we’re inside, stick to the plan.” He heard a chorus of quiet agreement.

  A set of dusty stone stairs led down into a wine cellar, where several casks still stood intact. The air smelled of smoke and wine gone sour. Broken furniture was strewn about from the fight that had run the Thorn out of the city months ago.

  Kaldir stepped over a shattered chair and ducked through a dark stone archway. Azeria fell in next to him, touching his shoulder to let him know she was there. Velati was close behind, his cold aura clashing with Kaldir’s fiery energy. Another short set of stairs led down into the dark tunnels. He lit a flame in his palm. Azeria did the same, illuminating a warm glow around them.

  Major junctions were usually lit with flickering sconces, though some stood dark. With the Chosen holding the city hostage, the usual patrols hadn’t been by to light the candles. Moving in near silence, Kaldir led the group confidently toward the palace on the north side of the city. The wide tunnels were marked with muddy footprints, left by years of patrols.

  Near a junction close to the center of the city, he heard a warning hum. He was ready to attribute it to nervous energy, but Velati grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Kaldir turned to see him shake his head. “Hear that?”

  “Elegy?” Marlena asked quietly. Velati nodded. She stepped forward, beckoning to Azeria. “We’ve got this.”

  Azeria swatted lightly at his shoulder. “Be right back.”

  “Be careful,” he said. Behind them, their men were poised and quiet, their eyes alert.

  His heart thrummed as they waited in silence. In the distance, he heard a clipped shout, then the unmistakable clash of metal weapons. A female voice swore loudly. He lunged forward, but Velati said, “No. Wait.” Then something deafened him. There was no pain, but there was a powerful impact deep in his head, a sound that he didn’t hear but felt all the way into the marrow of his bones. He reeled, trying to shake off the fuzzy feeling enveloping his skull.

  A few minutes later, Azeria and Marlena returned, beaming from ear to ear. Marlena’s arms were aglow, and Azeria had a trickling cut on her brow. “Are you all right?” he asked Azeria.

  She dabbed at her forehead and wrinkled her nose. “I’m great.” She glanced appreciatively at Marlena. “That was fun.”

  “What did you see?” Velati asked.

  “An active Elegy,” Marlena said. “Two guards on it. Past tense.”

  “Well done,” he said.

  When they reached the junction, they found the two Chosen guards, crumpled and still amid shattered pieces of purple crystal. A strange energy still hung in the air. A sensation like claws ran down his spine, like the dragon was reminding him he was there and that it didn’t like that sound.

  “Look,” Lotheraos said quietly. He rifled through one of the slain guards’ pockets and produced a folded piece of parchment. On it was a hand-drawn map of the tunnels, with a dozen red dots distributed across the city. One was circled. “Is this Ironhold?”

  Kaldir examined it. The drawing was crude, but it was accurate, and fairly well-scaled. “Yes,” he said. He took it from Lotheraos and gave it a quarter turn, then handed it back. He tapped the top of the paper. “Here’s the palace.”

  “Then I assume the rest of these dots are Elegies,” Lotheraos said.

  “That’s a safe bet,” Kaldir said. There was another directly under the palace, but the others seemed to be far enough away that they wouldn’t be an issue. “Should we take them all out?”

  Velati shook his head. “Leave that for once the palace is secured. We’ll get rid of this one, then continue with the plan.”

  Deeper into the tunnels, they encountered a second patrol. Their heartbeats gave them away before they rounded the corner. Kaldir was on them before they noticed his presence. He grabbed the closer of the two and snapped his neck like kindling. Anger surged through him as he dropped the limp body.

  Kaldir swept the other soldier’s foot from beneath him, then dropped down with a knee to his chest. The satisfying crunch of bone fed the angry, vengeful flame in him. The other guard wheezed, “Please—” but Kaldir grabbed his jaw, then slammed his head into the stone, killing him instantly.

  “Remind me not to make you angry,” Azeria said mildly.

  “You’ve ma
de me angry plenty of times,” he replied.

  She smirked at him. “Clearly not like that.”

  “No. Not like that,” he agreed, wiping blood from his hands.

  Close to the palace, the footpaths were cleaner. There were only a few routes that led to the palace, all converging on a single junction. Barred gates usually blocked the way, each secured with complex combination locks. Tonight, they stood open.

  Past the first of the gates, he listened carefully for the Elegy. Sure enough, he felt the warning tickle in his gut just before the faint warbling found his ears. Marlena and Azeria moved forward, dispatching the weapon with another explosive whoomph.

  When they returned, Kaldir led them through the passages that would come up into the cellars of Ironhold. Just before they entered the vestibule into the stairs, he held up a hand to pause them. Two guards were inside. Clad in the red cloaks of the Chosen, they were alert and moving toward the tunnels.

  He started to move forward to intercept them, but Velati stepped past him. Ahead of him, four glittering spears of solid ice coalesced in the open air. He pointed toward the door, and the spears hurtled forward, impaling the two guards. One in the throat, one in the gut. Perfect aim. Both men went down hard, choking and gurgling with only a wheezing protest as blood pooled around them.

  Kaldir’s heart pounded as they moved forward. “Follow me up to the ground level. From there, you all know what to do,” he said. “Stay in the Skymother’s sight.”

  They crept across the main hall of the palace, silent and unseen. Lotheraos’ hand rested on his shoulder and Azeria’s as they hurried toward the open terrace on the west side. Half a dozen of the Chosen were posted in the cavernous hall, though none seemed to notice their passing.