by Dima Zales
She and her people turn into dragons in a flash, and the rest of the cockatrice warriors get on their backs, armed with diamond-tipped spears.
Nero nods at the older-looking dragon next. The elder turns, and his naked troops do as well.
I expect the athletic-looking dragon to disrobe and turn next, but he and his troops—who are actually clad in armor—grab more spears and climb onto the backs of the older dragon’s squadron without changing shape.
Either the athletic one’s soldiers aren’t dragons, or this is a tactic to hide the number of dragons on Nero’s side.
My bet is on the latter—at least if my boss is running this battle the way he usually runs his portfolios.
“Pozoj,” Nero says to the hawk-nosed dragon from the tent. “You will make sure that no one, especially the usurper, leaves the battlefield.”
Pozoj nods solemnly, then issues orders.
As he speaks, it occurs to me that Godiva’s strong defensive position will be a double-edged sword for the usurper if he tries to escape.
If I could chime in, I’d ask Nero if he wouldn’t be better off using Pozoj in the air battle to come. The usurper’s escape seems less important to me, but I guess I’m not driven by a vendetta.
Done talking with fellow dragons, Nero walks around the rest of his army and instructs troop leaders on what to do. At some point, he must deem them ready because he turns into his dragon self and roars what sounds eerily like, “Attack!”
The ground shaking under their feet, the giants march toward the castle as the centaurs head for their usual target—the enemy cavalry. At the same time, Councilor Albina shoots her white energy at the nearest enemy squadron, dissolving them on the spot.
At the head of the human troops, the strongmen rush forward in a bloodthirsty rampage, quickly setting a Guinness World Record of kills per second, and east of them, the werewolf guy turns into his giant form and starts ripping enemies to shreds.
On the western side is Vlad. This time, he’s holding a sword so big that it must’ve come from one of the giants. To Vlad’s left is Isis, armed with just a shield and a short sword, and to Vlad’s right is Colton, the small giant from the Council. Behind them is the elf-like guy, who’s shooting arrows with the speed of a semi-automatic rifle.
Also with Vlad are a few cockatrice warriors—who must not like riding dragons as much as their brethren do. They’re armed with the same diamond-tipped spears, which enter enemy armor as if it were aluminum foil.
At the very back of Nero’s ground troops is the lady who can control animals—and she’s a miniature army herself, thanks to the zoo of critters under her command.
Minutes into the battle, I start to feel hopeful. Though outnumbered, Nero’s side seems to have saved up all their stamina and ferocity for today.
With every muscle twitch, each strongman dude kills or maims an enemy soldier, and they show no sign of waning enthusiasm.
The giants also look energized as they decimate thousands of soldiers with lethal arcs of their massive swords—and anyone they merely wound gets stomped to death under their giant feet.
As before, the centaurs make short work of the cavalry and are soon using their lances and hooves on the dispirited ground troops that are unlucky enough to fall in their path.
Colton and the elf fight just as hard, and Isis heals everyone around her when they get so much as a papercut.
Still, when it comes to the ground battle, no one’s killing spree compares to that of Vlad’s. Each swing of his giant sword seems to fell whole regiments, and the blood he spills leaves a macabre abstractionist work of art for the dragons in the sky to stare at.
Except that the dragons are too busy fighting to look down.
The enemy’s formidable air forces are in a carefully arranged formation reminiscent of what army planes do during an air show. At the head of the formation is the behemoth of a dragon that Nero called Zmey. Smart or not, he’s huge and terrifying, and his malevolent gaze never strays from a single target.
Nero.
“Now!” Nero’s roar seems to say, and his allies roar in reply—a frightening dragon version of a war cry.
Nero dives down, and Zmey leaves his formation to follow.
The large dragons that have Itzel’s weapons on their backs clump together and fly to the right wing of the enemy formation. The dragons with cockatrice riders on their backs follow suit.
The enemy dragons who escaped from the prior battle must’ve warned their comrades about the danger of Itzel’s weapons because everyone within reach of the steam-powered guns breaks the pretty formation. Some of them dive under where they think the guns will shoot, some fly up, and some dart to the side—smashing into their brethren.
Like a set of dominos, the formation dissolves into an uncoordinated mess—which is when the gun-wielding squad changes course and aims at the center of the escaping foes.
The guns boom, piercing a few hundred shrieking and roaring dragons with spears, while the cockatrice warriors jump off their dragons’ backs, turn into their flying forms, and point their death stares into the freshly made wounds.
Amidst the pandemonium, a large group of enemy dragons flies to attack what they must think is an easier target—“humans” that are wielding spears on dragons’ backs. Except these humans are dragons and are able to toss the spears with supernatural strength and speed, piercing dragonhide with ease.
Spears gone, the “human” riders jump down from their brethren and turn into their dragon forms, their transformations ripping their armor apart as they go to town on their wounded opponents.
Meanwhile, Nero dives under Zmey’s enormous stream of dragon fire, then stops mid-air and readies himself for a fight.
If I could, I’d tell Nero to reconsider this. I’d remind him that the outcome of this battle wasn’t guaranteed by Rasputin—and that Zmey is just too big to fight fairly dragon to dragon like this, even for someone as powerful as Nero.
Seeing Nero face him, Zmey roars so loudly that the castle and the mountains vibrate in the distance.
Nero zooms forward with blurring speed, then performs an aerobatic loop where he whooshes over Zmey’s body and swoops under the beast.
With a vicious swipe, he leaves a gash on Zmey’s underbelly.
The giant dragon roars in pain and swats under his body with his Eiffel Tower-sized tail, hitting Nero on the head.
My boss reels back, stunned, and Zmey reorients his body and swipes at Nero’s head with his claws.
Nero reacts in time to avoid getting gouged, but the back of Zmey’s bulldozer-like claw still scrapes across his snout.
Growling in pain, Nero lashes out at Zmey’s face. The large dragon tries to dodge, but Nero’s claw enters his opponent’s ginormous eye with a nauseating squelch.
Zmey’s roar makes the air around him shimmer as if it got superheated. The beast swats at Nero with his tail again, which Nero dodges; then, with speed born of pain and desperation, he rakes at Nero’s chest with his talons.
To my horror, a wound opens in Nero’s stomach. An ugly, six-foot-long gash that starts spurting blood like a fountain.
Nero roars in pain.
Unable to believe what passes for my senses in this vision-nonexistence, I pray that the wound isn’t as bad as it looks.
Except reality cares nothing about my denial. Clutching his gushing wound like a hero in a tragedy, Nero plummets down in a deadly spiral.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Something about the way Nero is falling reminds me of another vision, the one in which Kit was spiraling down like an airplane with disabled engines.
Zmey growls and swoops down after his dying enemy.
My nonexistent blood turns to ice.
He’s either going to rip Nero to shreds, or Nero will hit the ground at full speed. Either way, he’ll die—and in the second scenario, he’ll also squish Vlad, Isis, and the rest of the people below.
I desperately will Nero to recover and fight
Zmey, but he keeps falling.
And falling.
Until he’s about twenty feet from the ground, that is.
At that point, Nero turns back into human shape.
A human shape that is not Nero, however.
What?
Though Zmey’s snout is lizard-like, there’s no doubt the expression on it is that of confusion when he sees a woman where a man should be.
And that’s when it clicks for me.
No wonder the spiraling-down reminded me of what happened to Kit.
This is Kit. Or, more accurately, the person I thought of as Nero in this vision was Kit all along.
Recovering from his confusion, Zmey dives to snatch Kit from the air—which is when the cockatrice warriors around Vlad launch their spears at him, piercing his scales in multiple locations.
At almost the same time, the cockatrice warriors turn into their scaly forms and Isis shoots Kit with a stream of healing energy six inches thick.
The wound on Kit’s chest disappears instantly, and Kit opens her eyes, grinning as the cockatrices turn their death stares on Zmey’s ruined eye and the spear wounds.
Then Kit disappears again, and I see the number of Zmeys double.
With a final roar, the original Zmey goes limp—and Kit uses her new massive claws to snatch the body from the air and toss it at the enemy troops, crushing them under the enormous corpse.
Winking her huge eye at Isis and the rest, Zmey-Kit flies up to rejoin the air fight.
I’m back in the restaurant, dizzy from what I just foresaw.
I feel like I’ve witnessed another magician’s effect—and was fooled by it, which is rare.
All that time, I was actually observing Kit, not Nero—which makes sense, now that I’m thinking about it. I targeted Kit, yet I didn’t see her anywhere until that reveal at the end.
With a pang of guilt, I recall that going into the vision, I was expecting something bad to happen to Kit. Yet once inside the vision, I was too busy observing the battle and worrying about Nero to even think of Kit. What’s worse is that Kit did nearly die.
But why the switch?
Was all that a ploy to defeat Zmey?
This does explain something strange that happened in the last vision: the part where Isis told Nero to “sell it” and how Nero then acted as though Kit was killed. Was that all part of this ploy? Did Nero, Isis, and Kit hope to make the retreating enemy dragons think Kit was out of the picture? If so, why? Was this Zmey guy worth such an intricate plan?
Then it hits me.
This wasn’t about Zmey. It was a way for Nero to pretend to be in the Godiva battle while really doing something else.
As I ponder the mystery of why Nero would miss the most important battle of his campaign, my seer intuition blares an alarm.
Picking up my tea, I take a big gulp, then slam the cup down and leap back into Headspace.
Focusing on Nero’s essence, I examine the dreadful-sounding shapes that appear around me.
Yep.
There’s little doubt about it.
Something truly terrible is going to happen to Nero or someone else I care about.
I touch a shape and prepare for the worst.
Nero and two other men are walking at the foot of the Godiva mountain range dressed in black outfits that are just a hood away from ninja costumes. Instead of katanas, though, Nero is armed with the gate sword, and his companions are carrying broadswords.
If their eyes are anything to go by, the companions are dragons, and they look enough alike for me to suspect them of being brothers.
The taller of the two takes the lead as Nero and the shorter one follow more carefully, with Nero looking around the barren, rocky terrain as if searching for something specific.
The Godiva half-moon entrance is far in the distance from this location, and it must be the same day as the battle because I can see the tail end of Nero’s troops arriving on the scene.
“Hold on,” Nero says, studying three giant boulders intently. “Step aside,” he then tells the taller of his companions and points at a perfectly smooth and ordinary rocky surface under the guy’s feet.
Shrugging, the taller man walks over and stands behind Nero, who uses his finger to draw a Cyrillic letter “zhe” on the smooth section of the smaller of the boulders.
Nothing seems to happen for a few moments, and Nero’s companions exchange worried glances.
Then, with a screech, the ground where the taller guy stood slides away, revealing what must be a secret tunnel.
“Follow me,” Nero says and climbs into the hole.
Once everyone is inside, the hole closes ominously behind them.
Nero’s companions glance at the exit with concern, but my boss is already striding deeper into the tunnel that’s illuminated by glowworm-like luminescent critters that are creepy-crawling on the slimy ceiling and walls.
The two dragons hurry to catch up with him, and once they do, Nero speeds up his pace. Eventually, the tunnel gets more winding, and they’re forced to slow down.
“Remember, once in the castle, we won’t be able to turn,” the taller dragon says to the shorter. “The wards—”
“I didn’t grow up in a cave,” the shorter one growls angrily, then turns to Nero. “Is it true the members of the imperial family are the only dragons who can still turn, despite the wards?”
“Old wives’ tale, unfortunately,” Nero says. “If she could turn, Claudia would’ve freed herself long ago.”
“Right,” the shorter dragon says. “I still can’t believe she’s alive.” He glances at Nero. “I can’t believe either of you is alive, to be honest.”
“The usurper was highly motivated to keep my escape a secret.” Nero squeezes his sword handle so hard I half-expect it to break.
“It won’t stay a secret for much longer,” the taller dragon says. “After today, even the worst shut-ins will know that you’re back.”
The shorter guy nods approvingly, then looks at Nero and says, “Is it true that even you didn’t know she lived?”
“I saw her get stabbed and then lie unmoving in a pool of blood,” Nero growls, his limbal rings overtaking his eyes. “I assumed.” His jaw clenches, and he walks silently for a few steps.
“Your mistake might be for the best,” the short dragon says. “Because you ran, you survived. You grew strong, and now you’re back. If you’d stayed with her, you’d be—”
Nero blurs into motion and has the dragon gripped by his throat and dangling off the floor before anyone can say “temper tantrum.”
“Sir,” the taller dragon says soothingly, placing a careful hand on Nero’s shoulder. “He didn’t mean it that way.”
“I didn’t,” the short one chokes out. “I’m sorry.”
Nero looks at his hand as though it developed a mind of its own, then releases the guy and stalks down the tunnel.
“What have I told you about your tongue?” the tall dragon hisses at his comrade. “You always say the—”
“Let him be,” Nero growls without turning. “Your brother had a point. I just can’t stand the thought of Claudia living in a cage while I was biding my time on another world, oblivious to her suffering.”
If I had ears that could perk up, they would at this point. I still don’t know what Claudia is to Nero, and this is the most I’ve heard on the subject since I first learned of her existence.
“Even as a small child, she loved her freedom above all else,” Nero continues, picking up his pace. “She found this tunnel on her own—then used it to run away from the castle and get lost in the forest.” A distant smile touches the corners of his eyes. “It took the royal guards a week to locate her that time—and she was only four years old. And it only got worse from there.”
So Nero knew Claudia as a small child. That’s a strong argument against my biggest concern: that she’s his wife or some other kind of romantic interest. Unless, of course, she was a princess he was betrothed to as a child—such thi
ngs might be normal for an imperial dragon family.
“Will you even recognize her when you meet?” the taller dragon asks carefully. “She was still so young when—”
“I will,” Nero growls. “My heart will recognize her, no matter what.”
If he last saw her when she was young, she can’t be his wife, can she?
At least I hope not.
“Besides,” Nero adds. “Claudia has a port wine stain on her face—a kind of birthmark.” He touches his left cheek. “It’s shaped like a cloud and is visible whether she’s in or out of her dragon form.”
“That’s helpful to know,” the short dragon says. “If we split up and look in cells that—”
“No splitting up,” his taller brother says. “The usurper is too clever to leave the castle unattended, which means we’ll need to fight our way in.”
“Speaking of guards.” Nero lowers his voice to a whisper. “We might be within hearing range of the ones guarding the castle entrance.”
With this, all three men fall silent and start moving more stealthily, their steps inaudible.
They walk for quite some time—Nero must’ve meant dragon hearing when he was talking about that range—but finally, they reach a rusty metal door that could give the thickest bank vault entrance a run for its money.
Nero locates a smooth surface next to the door and draws the same symbol as on the tunnel entrance.
Everyone stands expectantly for a few moments, but nothing happens.
Maybe the opening mechanism died? Or is it magic?
Undaunted, Nero activates his gate sword and pierces the door, the shimmering plasma cutting through the thick metal like scissors through paper.
He cuts out a hole large enough for the tall dragon to enter, then pulls the chunk out and softly places it on the ground.
Behind the door is a brick wall.
Someone must’ve blocked the entrance during a remodeling.
Nero’s sword cuts through the stone with equal ease. Then he kicks in the cutout, revealing a room with ten armed guards.
