Darkness of Dragons

by Tui T. Sutherland

  Qibli had seen it a few times when he was younger, when he and his siblings were summoned to family meals on holidays. But it looked more ostentatious now — as if the gold and treasure had been plastered over with another five layers of gold and treasure. Or perhaps his time with Thorn had made him accustomed to more simple tastes. Now when he looked at the emerald-studded doors or the black diamond eyes of all the statues, what he saw was a tremendous waste of wealth that could have been used to make hundreds of dragons’ lives better.

  I probably wouldn’t get in trouble with Thorn for stealing from here, he reflected. But if he was caught stealing from his grandfather, the punishment would be certain death.

  As they walked through the garishly grandiose decor, Qibli could feel Winter’s disapproval sticking out of him like giant prickly IceWing spikes. He hoped Winter could contain his sarcastic arrogance in front of Grandfather. He hoped he wasn’t leading his friend into a trap. He hoped Vulture wouldn’t dare harm a prince of the IceWings, if revealing that information would save Winter. (Vulture did not need to know he was a disgraced and banished and supposedly dead prince.)

  Qibli kept himself alert for any signs of Onyx or Ostrich, but there were none. She has to be here somewhere.

  They reached a pavilion where the floor and columns were inlaid with tiny turquoise, gold, and white tiles and the ceiling was covered in mirrors. Qibli could tell from the dragons lurking all around it that his grandfather would be here, even before he spotted Vulture’s long neck, hooked snout, and dark eyes glittering from the dais in the center of the pavilion.

  “Let me do all the talking,” he whispered to Winter.

  “That is how conversations with you usually work,” Winter observed.

  Vulture had added to his collection of dragon skull tattoos, so that by this point he looked rather like a leopard from a distance, pale yellow but stippled all over with black patches. He wore a black cape lined with gold and draped with gold chains all along his wings. His claws were dipped in gold leaf and enormous black-and-gold earrings shaped like spiders gleamed in his ears.

  He didn’t look up at Qibli and Winter as they approached. His eyes — and the eyes of the four dragons beside him — were fixed on a small wooden structure set up on the floor in front of him. It looked like a little maze. It was a little maze, Qibli realized, drawing closer. And inside were two scavengers, running in a panic from one dead end to another.

  Uh-oh — Winter, don’t react —

  Winter drew in a sharp breath, then started forward. Qibli blocked him with his wings, but the noise was enough to make Vulture look up.

  “Qibli,” he said with the smuggest of smiles. “Just the dragon I’ve been waiting for.”

  Vulture’s eyes flicked over Qibli and Winter, assessing them at the speed of lightning, and then he returned his attention to the scavengers in the maze.

  “Hold your tongues for a moment,” he said. “I want to see who wins.”

  “Then what are you going to do with them?” Winter demanded.

  Vulture slowly lifted his head to stare at Winter again. “Eat the loser,” he answered. “And save the winner to try again tomorrow against a different one. I’m curious to see whether they can learn anything.”

  “They can!” Winter said. “They’re very intelligent. Too intelligent to eat. Eating them would be cruel!”

  “Winter, shhh,” Qibli whispered.

  “What a whimsical friend you’ve brought for my entertainment,” Vulture said to Qibli. He turned back to Winter. “You’re quite wrong. Everyone agrees they’re no smarter than mice. If you were right, dragons would already know that, and no one would ever eat scavengers. And yet we eat them all the time, ergo, you must be mistaken.”

  “But —” Winter started.

  “It’s perfectly normal to feel like your pet must think the way you do,” Vulture said, and the condescension was spread so thick that Qibli felt like rubbing his scales with sand to get clean. “It’s happened to many dragons. The Camels’ Rights Movement. Iguanas Are Dragons, Too. Save the Scavengers. World Walrus Fund. All very sweet, and very misguided. Save your energy for dragons, who can appreciate it.”

  “Stop arguing with him,” Qibli hissed out of the side of his mouth. He’d seen this a million times, the way Vulture could grind down anyone who disagreed with him — or, if his opponent argued back for too long, the way Vulture was perfectly happy to win the most annoying arguments with casual violence.

  “I’ll pay you for them,” Winter said quickly. The two scavengers had found each other and now one was trying to boost the other up to look over the walls. It certainly looked like intelligent behavior to Qibli. Much more intelligent behavior than what Winter was doing right now, that was for sure. “I’ll buy them off you. I’m in the market for new pets, in fact.”

  “Oh, really, Prince Winter?” said Vulture, sitting back in his gilded chair. “And how exactly do you intend to pay me, when your family thinks you’re dead and your royal funds have been cut off?”

  In the silence that fell, Qibli tried to keep his breathing on track. He had already identified four possible escape routes, but none of them would work if he forgot to breathe.

  Vulture waved at the scavengers and the maze. “Take them away,” he said to a pair of dragons nearby. “My visitors have ruined my experiment for today anyway. We’ll try again tomorrow.” The dragons bowed, took either side of the board supporting the maze, and carried the scavengers out of the room while they were still trapped inside.

  Winter watched them go with a dismayed expression, but Qibli couldn’t pull his eyes away from Vulture’s. How did Vulture know not only who Winter was, but his whole story? Had the news spread so quickly? Did he have spies in the IceWing tribe?

  “So, Grandson,” Vulture said commandingly. “I see that like many hundreds of SandWings across the kingdom, you’ve realized that Thorn is in no way qualified to be queen, and you’ve come to pledge your loyalty where it truly belongs.”

  War broke out inside Qibli’s mind. Play along! Find out what you can! Stay alive! shouted one half, while the other roared, No, no, no, never, I will NOT betray her.

  “Many hundreds of SandWings?” he echoed, buying time.

  “Oh, yes,” said Vulture. “Her erstwhile popularity, such as it was, is plummeting. Everyone agrees that she’s been quite useless so far. Has the kingdom improved in any way? No one’s life is any better, except of course for her own Outclaws, who are now rolling in treasure up there in the palace. I’m sure you saw that yourself. She pours wealth into the talons of those who bow and scrape to her, and she doesn’t care a fig for anyone else.”

  No, Qibli thought fiercely, that’s what you do.

  “And these tragic bombings, tsk,” Vulture said, reaching for a bowl of dates beside him. “Dragons are dying and she hasn’t done one thing about it. She has no idea who’s responsible. If she even cares. But I do. I have found the culprits! I am the only one who can protect our tribe.”

  “You know who’s been setting off all the cactus fires?” Qibli asked.

  “Of course I do.” Vulture leaned toward one of his guards. “Summon our informative friend for me, will you?” The guard nodded and hurried away into the garden.

  “It’s really an outrage,” Vulture said, sitting back. His spider earrings caught the light, reflecting it like a sharp knife in Qibli’s eyes. “I mean, absolutely everyone is talking about how Thorn can’t keep us safe.” He chewed a talonful of dates noisily. “But I can.”

  “Really?” Qibli asked, battering back his rage. “How?”

  “I have formed a private militia of my own,” Vulture said smugly. He tapped his gold-tipped tail against a metal sheet hanging beside him, and an eerie, coppery noise rolled out across the garden like thunder.

  From every shrubbery, from every shadow, from each corner and descending from the roofs and treetops came a wave of dragons. Black hoods covered their faces and gold medallions hung from their necks, em
blazoned with the shape of a bird of prey — of a vulture, Qibli realized.

  “We’re the new law and order in this town, and soon in the whole kingdom,” said Vulture. “I had them looking into these heartbreaking attacks and the dreadful mess Thorn has made of investigating. We discovered who’s responsible and we’ll bring them to justice.”

  As more hooded dragons slithered forward, Qibli’s four possible escape routes became three, and then two, and both of those very questionable. Who are all these dragons? Qibli wondered. How can there be so many who are willing to follow Grandfather and do his evil for him?

  Vulture spread his wings as though he were displaying a vast tray of new jewels. “I call them my Talons of Power,” he said.

  Beside Qibli, Winter made a choked noise. Qibli knew exactly what he was thinking.

  The prophecy.

  Beware the talons of power and fire.

  I thought it was about an animus dragon — but what if it’s about my grandfather’s secret army?

  “I always thought the Talons of Peace was too grand a name for that disorganized group of whiners,” Vulture said. “I knew I could improve on both the concept and the reality. Ah, here we are.”

  The guard had returned, leading a dragon who was so heavily swathed in jewelry that it took a moment to see through it all to figure out which tribe he was from. Trails of gold chains encircled his neck, dangling from an elaborate ruby-encrusted headpiece that clashed with the rows of silver, emerald, and topaz earrings in each ear. Silver chain mail studded with sapphires covered his chest; golden silk veils wreathed his wings. He even had a tail band, which was an item of jewelry that had gone out of style centuries ago because they were hard to fly with. His was gold and shaped to look like dragon claws clutching every inch of his tail, each claw tipped with a sapphire.

  Qibli had never seen a dragon look more ridiculous. He glanced sideways at Winter, whose expression suggested that his eyes might never recover.

  But underneath all the glitter, the dragon’s scales were simple mud-brown, and his snout was broad and flat.

  A MudWing? Qibli thought, confused.

  Vulture surveyed the walking, clanking pile of treasure for a moment with his jaw clenched. Qibli wondered if his grandfather was upset because the MudWing was being so obvious about the lavish bribe he must have gotten.

  Or possibly Grandfather just doesn’t like any other dragon to wear more gold than he does.

  “How is your pavilion, Bog?” Vulture inquired with forced politeness.

  “Much better than that prison cell,” Bog answered cheerfully, but very much as though he was reading back a line that had been written for him.

  “I was hoping you could share your confession with our dear guests here,” Vulture said, spreading one wing toward Qibli and Winter.

  Bog’s gaze tracked the movement and landed on them. He jerked backward, nearly tripping over his chains and ornaments. An expression of horror surged across his face and then he ducked his head, took a deep breath, and looked up again, now placid and smiling.

  What was that about? Qibli wondered.

  “Of course, sir,” he said. “The MudWings are the ones who’ve been attacking cities throughout the Kingdom of Sand. Queen Moorhen and the MudWings are responsible for all of it.”

  Qibli stared at Bog, who was definitely avoiding his eyes.

  No. I don’t believe it. He’s lying — but why?

  “You see?” said Vulture. “Unlike Thorn, I investigated. Unlike Thorn, I found out who is trying to hurt us. And unlike Thorn, I can lead us to victory against this enemy, along with my Talons of Power.”

  The MudWing nodded, his gold chains jangling.

  Why is Bog doing this? Qibli wondered. For treasure? How did Vulture find a MudWing willing to betray his tribe this way? A MudWing who’s willing to lie to lead us into another war … willing to see his tribemates die, just so he can have another expensive ring on his claws?

  He is lying — he must be lying. There’s no reason for Queen Moorhen to attack us. She wouldn’t want more war.

  “See?” Vulture said condescendingly. “Now we know the real truth, all thanks to me. And if we’re going to defeat this pervasive MudWing menace, we’re going to need a strong leader like me — not a corrupt, glory-seeking liar like Thorn. You may go, Bog.”

  The MudWing scurried away as fast as he could clank, while Vulture stood up and swept toward Qibli in a cloud of heavily perfumed air. “I’m sure you agree with me, since you’re here to work for us, right on time.”

  Qibli tamped down his rage. Keep it together. Gather information. “What exactly do you think I’m going to do?” he asked.

  “First, tell me everything you know about Thorn, her palace, her guards, any weaknesses, everything a good little spy would have absorbed in your time with her. Next, teach my Talons any passwords they need to know to get close to the palace. And finally, return to the palace, and to our false queen, bearing a gift.”

  Qibli took a deep breath in and blew it out again, making sure his voice didn’t shake with anger when he finally spoke. “Where is Ostrich?” he asked.

  “Ostrich …” Vulture said reflectively. “Oh, the general’s daughter. She’s fine. Perfectly happy. She loves it here. Of all the places to be held captive, this is the best, obviously.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “And I want a new queen of the SandWings,” said Vulture. “A true queen who will set up trade routes that make me richer and turn this town into the thriving metropolis it could be. I’m sure you can imagine how great that will be. All your old friends, your family, happy and wealthy and running the world. We’ll kick out everyone who’s not a SandWing and crack down on troublemakers. It’ll be spectacular.”

  “A new queen of the SandWings?” Winter said skeptically. “Who? Blaze?”

  Qibli had met Blaze, the only remaining daughter of Queen Oasis, and the only sister left alive after the War of SandWing Succession. Thorn had allowed her to keep living in the palace, as long as she didn’t meddle in the kingdom’s affairs. Blaze had agreed happily, thrilled to return to the desert warmth after years in the IceWing tundra border zone. All she cared about was keeping her scales polished and her gems sparkly. In Qibli’s estimation, Blaze was silliness personified. She was the opposite of levelheaded, empathetic Thorn.

  “No, no,” said Vulture, wrinkling his nose. “Nobody wants Blaze. Have you really not heard the rumors, little dragons? The whole kingdom has been buzzing for months about a secret heir to the SandWing throne. One that nobody knew about until recently. A granddaughter who escaped the deadly claws of Queen Oasis and has been living in hiding since she hatched. A dragon, unlike Thorn, who has true royal blood in her veins —”

  “Onyx,” Qibli interrupted, the realization hitting him like snake fangs sinking into his neck.

  Vulture snapped his mouth shut, thrown off the rhythm of his dramatic announcement.

  “Of course she is — that’s what she’s been up to this whole time,” Qibli said, his mind racing on ahead of his words. “Queen Oasis’s granddaughter — but how? She could be the daughter of Blister or Burn, taken away by a trusted servant to be raised in secret. Except Blister would never let a possible threat to her leave her sight, and Burn didn’t want anything to do with partners or eggs.

  “Blaze has a lot of empty space between her ears, but she’d remember having a dragonet, if only because carrying it would have been a great aggravation to her. So she would have gone looking for it after the war, and she never did, so it can’t be hers.

  “Which leaves the royal sons, and of those, only one was rumored to have a love affair serious enough to warrant an attempted elopement. Except his true love was supposedly captured and killed by Queen Oasis shortly before the queen’s own death — but if she wasn’t, she could have escaped and hatched a dragonet who’d be just exactly Onyx’s age.

  “So Onyx could be lying, a false pretender to the throne, but it’s equally lik
ely to be true — meaning she’s the daughter of Prince Smolder, the granddaughter of Queen Oasis, and directly in line for the SandWing throne.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Sometimes your brain makes my brain hurt,” Winter observed.

  “Well done,” said Vulture. “I always suspected you were the smartest of Cobra’s offspring.”

  Rattlesnake let out an injured growl and Sirocco stopped picking his claws for a moment to look at her and say, “What? I didn’t do anything! What?”

  “Now at last you can use that intelligence for a good cause,” Vulture went on. “A righteous cause.”

  “No.” Qibli straightened his neck and folded back his wings. I can’t lie about this, he realized. I’m not a sneak. I won’t betray Thorn, not even by pretending to. “I’m loyal to Queen Thorn and always will be.”

  Vulture made a face. “You think you are,” he said. “Because she stole you away and brainwashed you. You haven’t thought for yourself in years. You do exactly what she tells you to and think whatever she tells you to think. You’re not your own dragon, Grandson. Everyone knows her group is basically a cult. It’s true; ask anyone. The whole kingdom has figured out that her Outclaws are blind followers. You don’t want to be a blind follower, do you, Qibli? Don’t you want to think for yourself?”

  “I am thinking for myself,” Qibli insisted, bristling.

  “So think yourself back into your family,” Vulture suggested in a deceptively friendly tone of voice. “You loved being one of us before Thorn snatched you away. She’s fed you a lot of lies about us, hasn’t she? Turning you against your own family, tsk. What kind of leader does such a thing? Don’t you remember the puzzles we did together — the family dinners? The way I was grooming you to take over the business once you were older? Those were happy times.”

  Vulture’s eyes reminded Qibli of the Eye of Onyx; not solid black, but black in loops all the way down, like looking into the longest, deepest hole in the world.