Scavengers.
Arrrrgh, Winter, you obsessed ninny.
He caught up as Winter was tinkering with the lock on the shed door. Inside, a few of the animals had heard the scratching of his claws and were starting to stir in an understandably worried way. Qibli could hear feathers fluttering, pigs snorting, and the little stamp of tiny scavenger feet.
“Are you serious?” he said, and Winter jumped a mile, which was almost hilarious enough to make this side excursion worthwhile.
“Shhhhh!” Winter hissed.
“What are you thinking?” Qibli whispered.
“I’m thinking your horrifying grandfather is going to eat the poor little scavengers trapped in here,” Winter whispered back. “Unless I save them.”
“Right now?” Qibli asked. “In the middle of our own precarious escape?”
“Well, I’m not planning on coming back!” Winter said. He tugged on the lock again. “Hey, you’re a street thug. Can you pick this lock for me?”
“An Outclaw is not the same thing as a criminal,” Qibli protested. “Oh, fine, move over.” He studied the lock for a moment, then inserted his claw into the mechanism and wiggled it around until he heard a click.
“Now what?” he asked Winter as he nudged the door open. “We shove them in a bag and carry them off into the desert with us? I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, but scavengers tend to get very noisy when they think a dragon is about to eat them. Or when dragons get anywhere near them, actually.”
“We’ll just let them out,” Winter said, pacing past him into the dark interior. “They’re smart enough to fend for themselves after that.”
Qibli decided not to point out that they hadn’t been smart enough not to get caught in the first place.
Winter crouched beside a large cage in the corner. Inside, three scavengers were huddled together by the back wall, squeaking. Two more poked their heads out of a little nest of straw and stared at Winter.
“Don’t be afraid,” Winter said softly. He unlatched the top of the cage, lifted it off, and set it aside, then took a few steps back and waited.
One of the scavengers from the straw immediately popped up and started clambering up the netting of the cage wall. A moment later, two of the others followed, squeaking busily at the two that hadn’t moved yet.
“What’s all this noise?” said a voice from outside. “Raiding the storehouse in the middle of the night? Is there a feast going on that I wasn’t invited to?” A dragon stuck his head in the door, yawning hugely.
Qibli had him pinned to the floor before he realized it was Vulture’s lying MudWing. He banged his elbow on the tail band and the chain mail tangled in his claws as he subdued the larger dragon. Winter flashed across the room to help, seizing the headdress to hold the dragon still.
“Don’t shout,” Qibli said as the MudWing opened his mouth. “We just want some answers. Tell us the truth and we won’t hurt you.”
“Ha!” said the MudWing with surprising bitterness in his voice.
“Who are you?” Winter demanded.
“Nobody,” said the MudWing truculently. “Bog, just Bog, a regular MudWing, me.”
“Why are you lying about Queen Moorhen ordering the cactus attacks?” Qibli asked.
“Not lying,” said Bog. “All true. Definitely a MudWing plot.”
“Where are your sibs?” Qibli pressed. “Are they traitors, too?”
“My what?” Bog said.
Qibli and Winter exchanged a glance. Sibs had come up during a class on MudWings at Jade Mountain. Qibli had heard about the idea before, but that lesson was the first time he’d learned in detail about how MudWings lived their lives alongside their siblings, creating families out of brothers and sisters rather than ever getting married or even knowing their parents.
“Um,” Bog corrected himself. “Not here. Not traitors. Just me. I was captured by the Talons of Power and forced to reveal everything.”
“I bet,” said Winter. “Looks like they used the classic torture method of burying you in diamonds.”
Qibli tried to shake off something that was snared around one of his claws and heard a clank from under the chain mail. He shoved a few of the links aside while Bog squirmed and spotted a pouch tied firmly under one of Bog’s wings.
“Don’t touch that!” Bog roared, suddenly slashing at Qibli’s talons.
Qibli jerked back out of reach. Something had ignited a spark of recognition at last — the anger in this dragon’s eyes, the pouch he protected with such violence.
“I know who this is,” he said.
“You do?” said Winter. “When have you ever met a MudWing outside of school?”
“He wasn’t a MudWing last time we saw him,” Qibli said. “He was a NightWing calling himself Shapeshifter.”
“Shapeshifter?” said Winter with a hiss. “The one who was working with Scarlet?”
“You mean the one you robbed,” Bog snarled. “Perhaps you remember beating me bloody in order to steal my scroll.”
“Perhaps you remember putting our friend Kinkajou in a coma,” Qibli snapped at him, sinking his claws into the brown scales. “What are you doing here, with my grandfather?”
“I didn’t like the Mud Kingdom,” Bog grumbled. “Too brown. Thought I’d try my luck in the Scorpion Den. Looking for treasure.” He managed to flop one of his talons to a place where he could see it — and see the giant bejeweled rings on it. “Found it,” he said with a smirk.
“But what kind of idiot would meddle in royal politics again, after last time?” Qibli demanded. “You could have gone anywhere and started over.”
“I was trying to,” Bog snorted. “Vulture approached me in the market and offered me a lot of treasure to tell people this MudWing story. What was I going to do, say no to treasure?”
“That would have been a good start,” said Qibli.
“I’m confused about something,” Winter said to Qibli. “How is he a MudWing now? Didn’t we take away the scroll he was using to shapeshift?”
“Taking away the scroll meant he couldn’t write any new spells,” Qibli said. “But I’m guessing he had a little trove of spells already written — scraps of paper torn from the scroll that were enchanted to turn him into different dragons. Is that what’s in here?” He poked the pouch and Bog snapped at his talons again.
“Haven’t you ruined my life enough?” Bog snarled. “Aren’t there any actual bad guys you could go harass?”
“I would love to have nothing to do with you,” said Qibli, “but I can’t as long as you’re in the business of starting a MudWing-SandWing war.”
Winter reached for the pouch, but as he leaned over Bog’s head, the MudWing abruptly rammed his headdress into Winter’s chin. At the same moment, he lashed his tail up and around and slammed the heavy gold band into Qibli’s side, knocking Qibli off his back. Qibli scrabbled to keep his hold on the chain mail, but Bog ripped it off in a sudden, smooth motion, leaving Qibli with a talonful of limp silver links and sapphires.
Winter lunged for the MudWing again, but Bog seized something off the floor and held it out in front of him. “Stop right there,” he snarled, “or I will bite this scavenger’s head off.”
Winter froze, his gaze fixed on the little creature in Bog’s talons. It had evidently escaped the cage and made a run for the door, but Bog had caught it before it reached the threshold. It wriggled pitifully in his grip, the thatch of black fur on its head just visible over the MudWing’s heavy rings.
“We can’t let him go,” Qibli said to Winter. “He keeps showing up. He’s too dangerous.”
“Put down the scavenger,” Winter said to Bog.
“You get out of here and leave me alone,” Bog growled. He whirled and bolted out the door. Qibli dashed after him, but the MudWing was halfway across the orchard already, running as fast as he could toward the sounds of a party at one of the far pavilions.
Qibli turned back in frustration. “We can’t chase him,” he said to Winter
. “Or we’ll end up right back in Vulture’s claws. We have to get out of here now.”
Winter was crouched beside a small shape in the grass — the scavenger that Bog had dropped as he fled. It scrambled to its feet and backed away from Winter, limping. One of the other scavengers darted out of the shed and waved a stick at Winter with some ferocious squeaking noises.
“I think you’ve done enough Champion of the Scavengers work for tonight,” Qibli said, poking Winter in the side. “Come on.”
They abandoned the scavengers and ran back through the trees to the spot where Qibli had left Ostrich. Cobra pushed through the bushes, grinning and streaked with dirt, as they came galloping up. A large black sack was thrown over her shoulder.
“That’s what I call living,” she crowed.
“We were seen,” Qibli panted. “We have to go.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Cobra snapped, the triumphant look vanishing from her face. She darted off along another path. Qibli and the others raced after her, keeping their footfalls as silent as possible. He kept expecting to hear shouts of alarm and pounding talons as Bog raised the entire Talons of Power militia to find them. But nothing broke the stillness of the night.
“Stop!” Ostrich whispered, catching Qibli’s wing. “Two dragons up ahead.”
She was right; two hulking figures blocked the path in one of the courtyards, leaning over a fountain and splashing water onto their faces. Cobra skidded to a stop and plunged into the shrubbery beside the walkway.
“Shhh,” Qibli said. He tugged Winter under an imposing statue of Vulture and spread his wings to hide him. Ostrich played along, pretending to measure him from wingtip to wingtip.
“Hmm,” she said as the two figures came toward them. “Yes, I think we can manage an excellent tattoo of, uh, your face along here.” She sketched out a shape with her claw on one of his wings. “And perhaps a pattern to match on the other side — diamonds are always popular, or snakes …”
“Skulls!” shouted one of the approaching dragons. “Th’only good tattoo izza skull!” He staggered sideways and the other dragon shoved him away from her with a hiss.
“Sirocco and Rattlesnake,” Qibli muttered, staring fixedly down at his wings. He prayed that the hood would be enough of a disguise to hide him. His mother was very still, and he wondered if it was strange for her to see her other two children — who had, presumably, been working for Vulture the whole time she’d been imprisoned. Did she feel as if they’d betrayed her?
“Of course, there are always gem-embedding options,” Ostrich said. “I hear they’re painful, but such a statement.”
“I want a ruby inna middle of my forehead!” Sirocco bellowed, lurching toward Ostrich. “Can you do that?” He tripped over his own tail and slammed down onto his snout, yelping in pain.
“You are such an embarrassment,” Rattlesnake fumed. “That’s why Grandfather thinks we’re both stupid; because all he can see is you and your big empty head! Why aren’t you on patrol?” she suddenly barked at Qibli and Ostrich. “Don’t you know the compound is on lockdown tonight?”
“Yes,” Ostrich stammered. “Just — on a break.”
Rattlesnake swelled up so she looked twice her size. “On a break, sir,” she said menacingly. “One day I will inherit all of this, both my brothers will be dead, and everyone will come crawling before me the way they crawl before Grandfather.” She tossed her head and suddenly caught sight of Cobra in the shadows. A slight frown creased her forehead. “M-Mother? Aren’t you —”
Cobra moved so fast that Qibli wouldn’t have been able to stop her, except that he knew what she would probably do and he’d been waiting for it. She had the disk out and ready to fly but he managed to knock her arm aside before she could throw it.
“You can’t kill them!” he cried. “Mother! They’re your children!”
“You’re my only dragonet,” she said coldly, reaching for another chakram.
“Qibli?” Rattlesnake gasped. She leaped backward and opened her mouth to yell for help.
Suddenly Winter was there, knocking her over, seizing her snout, and smacking her head into the tile. Almost at the same moment, Ostrich leapt at Sirocco, who was blinking in confusion. She landed on his back and threw her wings over his face.
“No,” Qibli said to Cobra. “They’re awful, but they’re still my brother and sister.” He ran over to Ostrich, untying his hood. The black fabric worked just as well to muffle a dragon as it did to conceal one. Sirocco flailed around frantically at first, but soon he was bound and gagged behind the statue, tied up with a canopy stolen from a nearby pavilion. They dumped Rattlesnake next to him, unconscious and tied up as well.
“I thought your years as an Outclaw would have made you less soft,” Cobra said to Qibli disapprovingly, staring down at her other two offspring.
“There’s nothing weak about being compassionate,” Qibli retorted.
“Can we fly now, before we run into any more of your loving family?” Winter asked.
Cobra beckoned and darted away, past the fountain, around another statue of Vulture, and to the edge of a stand of tall, bristling cacti. Beyond it, Qibli could see the outer wall of the compound, with the wide-open sky of stars beyond that.
“All right,” said Cobra. “Stand back. This is going to be a little dramatic.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled a whooshing ball of flame that engulfed the cacti.
Instantly several explosions went off inside the fire, as Vulture’s traps all burst into action at once.
“What the —” cried Winter. “I thought the plan was stealth!”
“Stealth, and then flying really fast!” Cobra crowed. “See you at the palace!” She launched herself over the flames, beating her wings furiously.
Qibli couldn’t hear anything beyond the crackle and roar of the fire, but he was sure Talons must be converging on them from all directions. He grabbed Ostrich and hauled her into the sky with him. “Don’t look back!” he shouted to her as they swept over the wall. “Just keep flying!”
Winter’s moon-pale shape soared up alongside him and together the three of them flew after Cobra, north to the palace of Queen Thorn.
Qibli couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, but it didn’t matter — the wind lifted him high over the dunes and his wings felt charged with lightning as he swept closer and closer to the SandWing palace and his queen.
Please let Thorn be safe, he prayed. Please let Darkstalker be too busy with other things to have turned his thoughts to the SandWings yet.
For the first hour there had been dragons behind them, chasing them, but they seemed to have given up and gone back to the Scorpion Den. Qibli wondered how his grandfather was reacting right now, and what Onyx might do next, and what kind of terrible retribution was coming.
He flexed his front talons and studied the weather bracelets in the moonlight. There had to be a way to use these to stop Vulture … if he could only figure out how to use them.
“We’re almost there!” Ostrich called, doing a flip in the sky beside him.
Qibli looked up and saw the palace ahead. It still gave him a startling surge of fear and pride each time he saw it — like his first thought was always, instinctively, Oh no! We’re too close! Burn’s going to catch us and kill us all! and then he had to shift his brain over to No, wait — we defeated her — she’s gone, and that’s OUR palace now, with the best queen of all time ruling the kingdom.
The outer walls used to be lined with decapitated heads, in Burn’s day, but those were all gone now, and the stone had been scraped and scrubbed and painted to remove all trace of the blood that used to drip there. Thorn was considering knocking down the gruesome walls altogether, the way she’d knocked down the weirdling tower, since they only served to remind everyone of Burn — but she had been too busy with other kingdom business to get that done in the few months she’d been queen.
Guards lined the top of the wall, the bristling shadows of their spears looking like IceWing tail
spikes. Lamplight glowed in several of the windows.
Cobra slowed and circled back to fly next to him. “Outclaws first,” she said with a toothy grin. She kept shifting the sack from one shoulder to the other as though it was heavy — or as though she was nervous.
“You’ll be safer here than with Grandfather,” Qibli told her.
“I’ll be safe wherever you are,” she said. Her eyes gleamed. “Perhaps we can take out Vulture and then you and I can rule the Scorpion Den. His whole compound and all that treasure would be ours.”
“If I were given the Scorpion Den to rule, the first thing I would do is turn that compound into a home for orphans and wounded soldiers,” Qibli said.
Cobra squinted at him, as if she couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. “Right,” she said. “Of course. Me too.”
Two of the guards on the walls flew out to meet them. Even by the dim light of the slender moons, Qibli recognized them both from their Outclaw days.
“Tawny! Parch!” he cried. “I have to see the queen immediately!”
The two guards swooped around them, waving to Ostrich and tucking their spears back into their holsters.
“Of course you do, Qibli,” Parch said, laughing. “Let me guess — it’s an emergency!”
“It is!” Qibli insisted, ruffled. “It’s a danger you’d never even begin to imagine. I need to see her right now.”
“She’s in a meeting,” Tawny reminded Parch. “A really important meeting with that cool hybrid dragon from Possibility, remember?”
“Yeah, but it’s Qibli,” Parch said agreeably. “She won’t mind.”
Qibli remembered that Parch was one of the Outclaws who’d had the most trouble adapting to the new rules and strictures of the palace. He still behaved like a renegade of the Scorpion Den when it came to things like a dress code or showing up for guard duty on time. But not out of malice — Parch just assumed nobody would ever get mad at him, considering how many times he’d nearly died to save the other Outclaws. And that was pretty much true, even if it was maddening to see him joke with Thorn like she was a regular dragon and not a queen at all.
Darkness of Dragons Page 11
