The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  Davorin’s image of the future cracked before his very eyes. He put his hand on the spot where he carried the dragon’s tooth. When he spoke, his voice was cold. “I ask you again, Captain. What. Happened.”

  This time, Nadezhda’s words were barely a whisper. “Ravenna is gone. Left to warn her people. I was not in time to stop her or know where she went.”

  “Oh,” Davorin said, voice mild. He pulled the tooth from his belt and ran it through his fingers as though its mere presence was comforting. He fitted it in his fist, the point curling outward like some terrible dagger. “Is that all?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Davorin seized Nadezhda by her armour. He pulled her so close that he could taste the fear in her breath. He saw every tiny flaw in her face, every inch of fear that shone in her eyes. Before she had time to whimper, Davorin drove the dragon’s tooth into her neck.

  The tooth pulsed, power running through its magnificent shape. Nadezhda clutched at her neck, but no matter how she scrabbled, she could not pull the tooth out. She gurgled something at Davorin. He sneered at her and released his hold on her armour, letting her fall to the ground to writhe in pain. Blood began to spatter the ground where Nadezhda coughed it up and where it welled around the fang.

  Then, almost as if touching blood had called back some long dead power, the tooth began to pulsate. It glowed first white, then red, drawing power from the dying woman. Davorin felt the surge of power in his own body, a song that drowned out any other sound and made his very bones tremble with power. Magic.

  Davorin threw back his head and laughed. At his feet, Nadezhda lay unable to move as the tooth did its terrible deed. Her skin changed from its healthy tan to something sickly, then to a red that was like blood mixed with water. Her veins showed blue against her skin, darkening until they were nearly black. Around her eyes, the skin peeled to form scales in that same pale red. Her fingernails curled into claws. Her teeth elongated. And finally, when it seemed that Nadezhda could go no further without losing all trace of humanity, the tooth pulsed once more and melted into her wounds.

  Davorin could still feel the magic of the dragon’s tooth running through him. He knew that if he forced the song to change, then Nadezhda would stand. Even as he thought the change, she stood. Her eyes were bloodshot and reptilian, no longer even slightly human. “Face me,” Davorin ordered with relish.

  She turned to face him, bowing at the waist. “My lord,” she rasped. Her voice echoed with some other creature’s voice, deeper, throatier.

  “Who are you?” Davorin asked, though he felt he knew the answer. It was in every note of the song that thrummed through him.

  “I am the one long dead. Long forgotten. I am Bane and Fear and Rage. But you know this as well as any other, for you freed me from my prison.” The creature that now possessed Nadezhda raised its head and fixed Davorin in its greedy gaze. “You freed me, Master. You name me.”

  Davorin smiled. “I shall call you Dagan, after my dear departed brother.”

  The false Dagan bowed its head, a perverse jerking motion that had once been smooth on Nadezhda’s features. “What would you have me do, Master?”

  “We are going to raze this palace. We are going to find Queen Lenore and make her bow to me,” Davorin purred. He sucked in a breath, heady with the energy rushing through his body. “And then we begin the hunt for the sylphs.”

  Dagan threw back its head, the black veins throbbing, and let out a shrieking battle cry. It and the chuckle that escaped Davorin’s mouth were both blotted out by the harsh music that pounded in his head, whispering of power yet to come.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Davorin called Utheria to the tent and not ten minutes later she scrambled inside. Her eyes were wide, but she stood with the proud posture of any true warrior. She spotted what was formerly Nadezhda standing in a corner and licked her lips nervously.

  “My lord?” Utheria asked. “We heard screams…has Nadezhda not performed to your standards?”

  Davorin smirked. It was telling that his soldiers did not even bother interrupting him when there were screams of pain and death in his tent. Did they think him cruel or just exacting? Neither much mattered to him provided that they actually did what it was he wanted. He would worry about his reputation later. For now, all that mattered was acquiring the power necessary for him to make his next move.

  “Nadezhda has sacrificed herself to my cause,” Davorin explained smoothly. “She was eager to reunite with my, ah, brother’s spirit and so gave her body to host him.”

  Utheria gaped. “T-that’s witchcraft! Calling spirits back from the dead is for priests! Isn’t it?”

  “Surely, Utheria, you understand that the priests are only using powers borrowed from other beings. After all, they worship somebody, do they not?”

  This time, the young leader of Davorin’s mercenary army had no words. She dropped instead to her knees, fear and awe plain on her face. Davorin stepped forwards, forcing her to lift her chin to look up at him. He took in the way her leather armour contoured with her body, how her curved blade sat in its sheath on her back, how like a soldier she was. The look she wore on her surprisingly pretty face suited her, Davorin decided. One of awe. Of fear.

  “Rise, Utheria,” Davorin said. She did, scrambling backwards to keep from being too close to her lord. “I see you understand, now?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she breathed. “What do you need of me?”

  It was a request that went beyond her current role as leader of the mercenaries. And perhaps Davorin would make some use of her later, when he had time to marshal his forces and make certain that his victory was guaranteed. For now, though, he just said, “Gather your forces. We are taking the Red Palace.”

  “I thought you were going to marry Queen Lenore. We would lose a goodly number of people if we openly attack.”

  Davorin rolled his eyes. “Lenore will have me,” he assured her. “And as for losses, just don’t attack openly.”

  His commander faltered, caught between her loyalty to him and her experience as a warrior.

  Davorin sighed and waved his hand for her to speak.

  Utheria shuffled her feet in a most childlike gesture. “Their forces have been gathering since last night. There were reports of four riders going out to summon the armies to the Red Palace. I thought it was because she had accepted you…”

  Davorin cursed and slammed his hand on the table. Utheria flinched. The creature called Dagan did not, merely turned to look at Davorin with eagerness in its eyes. That look, that desire for blood, was so much like the actual Dagan that for a moment Davorin was taken aback. But no. He controlled this dragon reincarnate. He was finally in control. And he would take the Red Palace.

  “All I need,” Davorin ground out as he bit back a grin, “is for you to get me through the door and to the queen. Fight for as long as you can. It won’t take long.”

  Utheria shifted her feet again. “And you are so certain that—”

  Davorin rounded on her, fury burning in his eyes. The song that pounded through his head grew to an impossible roar. With a snarl, Dagan leapt from where it stood and brought its claws across Utheria’s face. She let out a yelp and jumped backwards, one hand covering the scratches, the other pulling her blade from its sheath and pointing it at Dagan.

  Davorin stepped in behind her and wrapped his arm around her neck. He released some of that thrumming power into her and Utheria let out a scream. After a moment, she fell limp, unable to even think about fighting back.

  “You are being well paid,” Davorin growled. “And you are fully aware of my abilities and my plan. Yet you still question me?”

  “N-no, lord,” Utheria said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I obey.”

  Davorin released her.

  Utheria fell to the ground, gasping for breath. When she could breathe well enough, she straightened and fixed a wide eye on Davorin as he towered over her. He curled his lip. “Then get up and rally your soldiers
.”

  Utheria wasted no time as she clambered to her feet and rushed out of the tent.

  Davorin let out a wordless snarl as she vanished, then spun to face the dragon’s spirit. “Was that magic, what I just did?”

  “You were the one who performed the act,” Dagan said, smiling through the Captain’s lips, revealing pointed fangs. “You should be aware.”

  “Give me a straight answer,” Davorin snapped. “Was that magic?”

  Dagan inclined its head. “It was a manifestation of the song. In times long since gone, that was one name for the act.”

  Davorin nodded, clenching the hand through which the magic had flowed. Magic! To think, in this age of magicless beings, stuck with much of their history lost and their civilisations constantly bickering over absurdities, he was a wielder of magic. With the false Dagan at his side and a legion of Stormbringers at his back, he would be unstoppable. He would be immortal.

  “Come,” Davorin said, forcing his thoughts to the task at hand. A person could only accomplish one thing at a time, no matter how far thinking they were. And right now, he had a queen to subdue. “We are going to take the Red Palace. Keep anyone from killing me, but don’t kill more than you must. And leave Queen Lenore to me.”

  Dagan bowed at the waist, pressing a clawed hand to its chest. “As you like,” it purred.

  Davorin put a hand on the blades at either hip and breathed in deeply. He heard the song pounding through him, full of terrible potential. He opened his eyes and started towards the Red Palace. The mercenaries were stirring beside him, most of them already forming into their ranks. They were more disorganised than a proper army would be, but it would serve for now. They followed Davorin as he marched through the garden towards the steps of the elaborately carved palace, trampling plants and ignoring the cries of the servants as they did so.

  The steps of the palace were already swarming with the soldiers that were garrisoned there. They had obviously been waiting for Davorin because their weapons were already drawn and their expressions were determined. Davorin simply drew his blades and shifted them to sit more comfortably in his grasp. They were not the standard curved swords that many of the Salusian Empire favoured, but the shorter, heavier leaf-shaped blades made of true steel and bone. They were not out long before they sang with blood.

  Each stroke against the soldiers of the Red Desert was like swatting flies. Davorin had so much power running through his body that his blows felt twice as strong, his movements faster. He sliced through the arm bracer of a young man who fell to the ground screaming as he held his stump against his chest. Another strike had Davorin blocking a poleaxe to his head and returning a stab to his opponent’s chest.

  Dimly, Davorin was aware of the beast, Dagan, moving around him with graceful ease that such a terrifying creature should not have possessed. It seemed that with each stroke of Dagan’s claws, each kick and block and strike, the music running through Davorin’s head pulsated. Soon, Davorin’s own movements were coordinated with the song.

  Then, there was no one to meet his sweeping blade and Davorin faltered. He was breathing heavily, far more than he should have been. Dagan, on the other hand, stood calmly by as if it had not even broken a sweat. Davorin turned to look behind him and saw the mercenaries were spreading out, taking on the other soldiers that had come to their comrades’ aide. A few followed behind Davorin, ready to help fight their way to the Great Hall, where Lenore would likely be waiting.

  “Why am I so tired?” Davorin murmured to Dagan. The creature raised one of Nadezhda’s brows, the scales around its eyes stretching grotesquely at the motion.

  “To use the song properly, one must know its ways. Or you will simply burn up in the process, trying to control something far beyond you.”

  “It will kill me?” Davorin demanded, straightening. He put his blades across Dagan’s throat, ready to end the creature to save himself.

  “No. But you should perhaps not use it to augment yourself in battle,” Dagan said, as if doing such a thing were easy.

  Davorin closed his eyes, concentrating on the song. It surged forwards, wanting to break free and flow through everything in Davorin’s path. He felt blood running from his nose and his head began to pound. Davorin snarled and forced the music back, forced it to quiet. As he did, he heard Dagan let out a sigh, almost of relief. Davorin quickly held onto the tune that seemed to connect him to the dragon’s spirit. He opened his eyes to see Dagan looking calmly at him.

  “When this is over,” Davorin said through gritted teeth, “you will teach me to master this magic.” He rubbed the blood away from his nose, leaving a smear of red in its place. Davorin gripped the hilts of his swords tighter, then turned and strode into the Red Palace.

  The interior of the palace was much quieter than the raging battle outside. In fact, it was almost eerie in its emptiness. Davorin looked behind some of the carved pillars and doors. Only once did he see anybody, and it was no more than a serving girl who scurried away with a terrified squeak as soon as she saw Davorin. So, the Red Palace was not empty, but nor was anyone putting up any resistance. Had he been tricked?

  “Come out, Queen Lenore,” Davorin spat.

  Dagan gave him an odd look but said nothing.

  Finally, he reached the enormous doors that led to the Great Hall and the most likely place where Lenore was hiding. Davorin pounded his fist on one door and, to his surprise, it swung open.

  The sight that met him made his blood pound in his ears and not from fear. Queen Lenore was indeed sitting on her throne, her gaze imperious and her posture regal. Arrayed before her were at least twenty soldiers, all wearing leather armour reinforced with metal plates, their weapons gleaming and their eyes hard. At the sight of Davorin, they raised their weapons.

  “I see you’ve arranged a proper welcoming reception.” Davorin smiled darkly at Lenore, twisting his blades in his hands. The soldiers nearest flinched as he did so, and he chuckled. Their anger was a facade. It would crack into submission soon enough.

  “Do you think me a fool?” Lenore asked, her voice hard. She shook her head and those ridiculous braids swung as she did, the gold beads clinking together. It was interesting that she felt the need to dress in her finest while waiting for Davorin to return. In the end, he cared nothing for her riches or beauty, only for her kingdom, her armies. “I know why you came here. And I have had enough.”

  “So have I, my queen,” Davorin said, sneering.

  It was then that Dagan entered the room. Wearing Nadezhda’s form, the dragon spirit was far more graceful than the Captain had ever been. It seemed that the fight on the palace steps had finally settled the creature into its host’s body. One of the soldiers nearest, a large woman with a long-handled axe, dropped her weapon at the sight of Dagan. A few others shuffled away. Davorin watched Lenore’s reaction, horror and revulsion plain in her eyes.

  “What…that was Captain Nadezhda,” she said. Her hands tightened on the curved arms of her throne, the knuckles turning white against her golden skin. Her eyes flashed and in that moment, Davorin knew that he had won. Now it was merely a matter of discussing terms.

  “It was,” Davorin agreed. “But is no longer. I have brought magic back to the world. This is the result!”

  Dagan bowed, pressing its clawed hands to its breast in a mocking gesture. It straightened and fixed the Red Queen in its gaze. “It is my honour to serve the Lord Davorin,” the creature said, its double timbre echoing through the stone chamber. More soldiers stepped backwards, fear now obvious in their visages.

  “What have you done?” Lenore breathed.

  Davorin raised his brows questioningly. “Why, I have only done what is best for the Empire. As I am doing now.”

  “You delude yourself if you think this is best for the Salusian Empire, or anyone,” Lenore said. She tightened her mouth into a thin line and said no more. But Davorin wasn’t finished.

  “You know nothing of my plans,” Davorin said with a shrug. �
��But I don’t need you to understand. I only need you to comply. So, what do you say, Queen Lenore. Will you consent to marry me and become part of the Salusian Empire? Will you spare your people the suffering of a prolonged war and instead entrust them to someone who actually cares about their wellbeing?”

  Lenore curled her lip in disgust. She lifted her chin and looked down on Davorin with enough venom to make him seethe. “You? Care about their wellbeing? You are nothing but a cruel monster who is interested only in blood.”

  Davorin snarled, some of his control over the music in his head slipping. The ground under his feet cracked and spidered out towards the soldiers. They stepped back in alarm, eyes wide. “I care nothing for blood! I am not Dagan!”

  “You are exactly like Dagan,” Lenore said.

  Davorin snapped. As he released the song into his blades and surged forwards, rage fuelling his steps, the dragon reincarnate began fighting as well. The creature seemed to revel in the drops of blood that spattered the floor as it sliced at those in its way. Their weapons were snatched from them, their lives forfeit if they fought back. And leading the charge was Davorin. He didn’t hesitate to kill when before he might have at least spared them to preserve some sense of mercy. Twenty soldiers had stood in his way. After only a few minutes of fighting—every motion enhanced by the magic he now held, Davorin was at the base of the throne.

  Lenore was on her feet, eyes wide in alarm. She had a single dagger clutched in her hand, as if she thought that it would do any good. Davorin held his arms out wide, the blades still held but not threatening. He advanced on Lenore until he was close enough to see her swallow down a scream. He didn’t have to look behind him to know that the entire Great Hall was carnage. That there wasn’t a single soldier still living. He could feel it.

  “I would change your answer,” Davorin said in a low voice. He bared his teeth at Lenore, feeling some of the spattered gore from dead soldiers dripping down his chin. “Do you really want to subject your kingdom to this?”