by Alex Raizman
Eupheme considered for a moment. “Probably, but I don’t see why they would. Unless they assume you entombed yourself, which seems pretty unlikely. Besides, I imagine there are other spots of molten stone. Unless they know it’s hollow behind…”
“Alright.” Tythel took a deep breath. “Then we’ve got another hour until they get here. Probably half that time for the Skimmers. Give it an hour while they look for the entrance, and then they’ll come into the valley. Tellias, did you find it?”
Tellias grimaced and handed Tythel a sack. The sack struggled and kicked and hissed. “It’s not particularly happy. Thank the light for this armor.”
Tythel’s nictitating membranes flashed at the thought. “I’m just glad it didn’t stick.” She took the sack gingerly, making sure that it didn’t open. The thing inside froze the moment Tythel’s hand closed around the bag. Poor thing smells dragon. Probably scared out of its mind. “You didn’t hurt it, did you?”
Tellias rolled his eyes. “Light, Tythel. What do you think I am? No, I didn’t hurt it. I just…how did you know it would be here?”
“Lots of small animal gather near dragon lairs. We scare away larger predators, and they’re usually not large enough to be worthwhile meal. Especially not…” Tythel gestured towards the sack. When they got truly desperate, a dragon or an aeromane might swoop down on a small mammal. It had to be pretty bad to get to that point – they were usually prey for wolves or cats, and those kinds of predators avoided dragon territory.
And any animal, no matter how great a predator and no matter how desperately hungry they were, would think twice before hunting one of them. “I’ll finish setting up this part.”
“Are you sure that will work?” Eupheme asked.
Tythel shrugged. “From what you’ve both said, it sounds like the Alohym have the same senses we do. They avoid coarse fabrics, they keep the streets free of waste, they avoid things we find unpleasant. If we’re right about how that suit works…it’s worth the chance.”
“I just don’t know how you expect to be able to aim it,” Tellias said.
“You’ve never seen one of these in action. They make their more terrestrial cousins seem…tame by comparison. Trust me – you only escaped the worst of it because it through you were some kind of mobile rock in that thing.”
“Lovely,” Tellias said, clearly meaning anything but.
A silence fell over the group. After a moment, Eupheme broke it. “I guess we should get into position?” she asked.
The words hung in the air, and Tellias grimaced. “Yeah. I guess it’s now, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Tythel looked up in the direction where the flyers were coming from. Now that they were getting closer, she could hear the rumble of the Skimmer’s organic engines. “If we don’t-”
“We will,” Eupheme said, firmly. “We’re getting back to the resistance, so save it for later.”
“No.” The word came out more harshly than Tythel had intended, and she winced at the sound of her own point. “Eupheme, Tellias, let me say this. I think we’re getting back. I think everything is going to be okay. I think we’re going to survive.” The lies came off her lips easily, but one thing she’d learned watching soldiers was that these were the lies they always told each other, no matter how untrue they seemed. “But if we don’t, I’m not…I’m not missing my chance to say goodbye. So, if we don’t…the past month with you two has been wonderful. Thank you both. For everything.”
“Thank me again, on the other side,” Eupheme said, but she smiled with the word. “That goes both ways, though.”
“Likewise,” Tellias said. “On both points.” He gave Tythel a serious look. “I mean it. Sorry for getting…sorry for sulking.”
Tythel made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve already forgotten.”
He gave her an awkward grin and turned to lumber off, his arcplate whirring. Eupheme gave Tythel a quick salute and stepped into a shadow before vanishing. They had their roles. Tythel had hers. She grabbed a boulder, larger than either of the others could have lifted, and placed it over the end of the sack. “You’ll be okay,” Tythel said to the creature inside. “Even if we need to use you, you’re not going to be hurt.” As soon as she stepped away, it startled to scrabble against the thick burlap again. It would be able to tear through in a day or two, long before it was in danger.
And it was good to know they had the option. If things got desperate.
Tythel looked one more time at the Drakebloom, nodded to herself, and started climbing a tree, burrowing as close to the trunk as she could go. It was easier to climb than she remembered, aided by her thick talons biting into the bark and giving her purchase her fingers never could have managed before. She smiled at the thought.
When she’d been younger, she’d used these trees as her own personal highway, leaping from branch to branch and giving Karjon daily heart attacks. She’d always known that being gifted with Heartflame would give her the ability to climb like she’d had back then. Well, she’d always hoped. It was wonderful to have that childish hope confirmed.
Everything had been so…terrible since Karjon’s death. War and death and fear and loss. Nicandros had abandoned her. She’d seen more death than she’d ever imagined seeing. She’d lost her eye. It hadn’t all been bad – she’d made friends – but she’d rarely taken the chance to just revel in being a dragon. The thing she’d wanted most in her entire life, and she’d barely taken a second to enjoy it.
When I’m done here, I will. The first moment I get.
Exactly what form that would take had to be considered later, however. Catheon’s wings were growing so loud that they had to be almost here. Tythel strained her ears to listen.
“I’m telling you, there’s an illusion over this valley,” a male voice said in a frustrated growl. It didn’t have the buzzing quality that Tythel had come to associate with Catheon. That must be their Lumcaster.
“Then what’s beneath it?” Catheon hissed. His voice was distinct – the blend of Alohym buzzing and human speech that made it both alien and familiar. It was somehow worse than the Alohym’s voice, as if the fact that it was recognizable as something that a human throat could produce but also not made it more alien than the Alohym’s native speech.
Of course, it probably didn’t help that his voice was thick was something between arrogance and pure hatred.
“I can’t see through it,” the Lumcaster said, his voice harsh. “That’s veilflame. I’m a lumcaster.”
“You speak pretty boldly to a Scion, Daetor,” a woman’s voice said. That must be the Umbrist. Leora Dimici. The Thirteenth Forsworn, one of the Umbrists that had betrayed their calling. The only one, if Eupheme was correct. Tythel wondered, not for the first time, who Leora was to Eupheme, and why her betrayal had hurt her so much. “Perhaps you could tell us what you can do with the illusion?”
“Well, if you drop me into it, I can fall through it. If you press my face against it, I can see sparkly lights. If you kill me, I could probably haunt it. I can do about as much to Draconic magic as I could to your Umbra, Leora. But trust me, it’s there.”
“I didn’t doubt that it was,” Catheon said in a low purr. “But I’d like more details. Can you tell me at least how close to the ground it is?”
“Fifteen spans,” the Lumcaster – Daetor, Tythel now knew – said promptly.
Whatever was said next was partially cut off by the sound of the Skimmers roaring past. “-be sure?” Catheon said.
“Because that’s the height Karjon stood in life,” Daetor said in the careful tones one would speak to a particularly dense child that’s prone to dangerous tantrums. “I’d be a waste of his power to make it higher, and it’d be pointless to make it lower.”
“You’re certain Karjon made this?” Leora said, “and not that half-dragon bitch?”
“Of course I am.” Daetor scoffed at the question. “If she had access to the deeper draconic mysteries, we’d have died in that fight. She had Drago
nflame and Ghostflame. At best, she might have Heartflame. But Veilflame? Warpflame? Strangefire? If she knew how to use those, the only one of us who might have survived would have been Catheon, and only if he flew away very fast.”
Tythel heard the wood begin to crack as she tightened her hands into fists and forced them to relax before she tore apart her perch. Karjon had barely mentioned the deeper mysteries, and Tythel had barely even considered them. Especially not now. It was impossible to learn the deeper mysteries without another dragon to assist you. Another part of her heritage that was lost forever thanks to the Alohym. It galled her to hear Daetor talk about them, but more importantly…how did Daetor know this much about how dragon’s magic worked?
Her anger caused her to miss part of the conversation. Leora was speaking. “-overstated. If you were so skilled-”
“I was chosen for this because I fought in the Conquest for the Alohym,” Daetor said harshly. “I’ve faced dragons before. That’s more than some murderer hiding in the shadows can ever claim.”
“You face dragons as part of our army,” Catheon said coolly.
“As part of the Alohym’s army, yes,” Daetor conceded, and Tythel noted that he refused to acknowledge Catheon’s use of the possessive there. She filed it away but didn’t think it would be useful. They were long past the point of clever words saving them. “But I still have seen them.”
The sound of Catheon’s wings was growing louder. He was descending. Tythel tensed up for a reason besides anger. It was almost time.
“What should we expect then?” Catheon said.
“Given the terrain? She can’t fly and thank Your Father for that. She knows the area, though, and will probably try to hit us with flame the moment she can. Dragons almost always open with a burst of fire to try and pick a few targets off. She’s saved her Ghostflame for you.”
“Leave the Umbrist for me,” Leora said. “I can handle her.”
“And I can take care of that bastardization of Imperiplate,” Daetor said. “The war proved Alohym could defeat dragons, Catheon. By the same logic, I’m certain that a half-Alohym can beat a half-Dragon.”
Then they were in view. Catheon’s…whatever it was he war. Alohym skin refit for a human. It was bulkier than before, covered in gleaming black carapace as opposed to the brown he’d had before. Leora was dressed in a bodysuit of dark greens and greys, tight enough to avoid catching but loose enough to avoid restricting her movement. Daetor wore a Lumcaster’s robe that had been divided between the legs and re-woven into loosely flowing pants. “Call me that again,” Catheon said harshly, “and I’ll ensure you regret it.”
“Apologies. I meant no offense,” Daetor said, sounded not even slightly apologetic. “I thought you’d take pride in both parts of your heritage.”
Catheon stiffened, and Tythel realized this was it. This was her moment. She’d never get a better shot on all three of them.
Taking a deep breath and focusing her hatred on Catheon, Tythel took a deep breath and fed that loathing into the fire in her stomach. When she let loose, it was with a beautiful wave of blue ghostflame.
Chapter 51
Ghostflame washed towards Tythel’s targets like a cresting wave. She didn’t sustain the burst, having learned from her past attempts how badly that would damage her throat. It came out in an arc of flame that rushed towards her adversaries.
Their reaction was immediate. Catheon’s wings flicked to life and pulled him into the air, away from the fire. Leora dove into the shadow of a bush and vanished. Daetor threw up his hands and set a half crescent of light between himself and the flame.
Ghostflame could penetrate any physical matter, leaving it unharmed, to sear the very soul of the creatures it struck. In the past, when dragons had attacked human settlements, they’d sometimes fly low and let loose a long running wave of ghostflame as their opening barrage, leaving dozens of seemingly unharmed corpses in its wake.
Tythel had hoped it would pass through Light with the same ease, but instead the wave broke when it hit Daetor’s barrier. It wasn’t completely stopped again. Instead, Daetor’s lumwoven construct caught aflame, as if it was thick wood.
Exactly what happened after that, Tythel didn’t see. She was already moving, leaping from the branch of her tree and onto the next. She’d given away her position with that trick, but that had been an expected consequence.
Her movement was proven to be the correct choice mere moments later. An unlight beam came down from above, and the tree she’d just vacated detonated like it had been struck by an entire storm’s worth of lighting. Splinters of wood bounce off Tythel’s scales.
All right, now he’s going to have to come back into the illusion to see and…The droning of Catheon’s wings betrayed his approach. He was alert this time, ready for her to shoot another blast of flame his way. Tythel tensed, waiting for him to draw closer. “Oh won’t you please come out,” Catheon said in a mocking voice. “I want to end your life, and if you do, I’ll make it painless.”
His path drew him close to her tree. The moment she thought he was distracted enough, she propelled herself out of the tree with all of her might.
Catheon didn’t try to dodge this time, instead shooting a beam of unlight the moment she started to move. If she’d tried another burst of flame, the beam would have cut her in half. Since she’d leapt, it passed under her. Catheon swore in surprise and Tythel brought up her feet. She hit his chest and sunk all four sets of talons into the black carapace that surrounded him.
The scream that Catheon made had no trace of human pain in it. It was just that strange buzzing that overlaid his speech. His flight began to falter, and they started to fall towards the ground.
The moment Catheon was between Tythel and the dirt, she kicked off, pushing herself upwards and propelling Catheon even faster down. His wings began to flitter furiously, and he stopped himself a mere span before he would have slammed into the ground. His wings kicked up a storm of dust as he righted himself. Black fluid leaked from where Tythel’s talons had torn the carapace.
Tythel turned her leap into a flip and landed in a crouch, letting loose a torrent of ordinary dragonflame the moment she touched the ground. Her blast met Catheon’s unlight beam midair. Just as Karjon’s flame had once meat the unlight cannon of an Alohym ship, and as Tythel’s flame had met Rephylon’s.
Catheon wasn’t interested in a protracted trade of fire, however. He dove to the side, breaking off his beam as the flame passed through the space he’d just vacated. He turned his dive into a roll and came up on his feet, shooting another beam at Tythel with the movement.
Tythel was already moving, dashing to the side. Their fight turned into a mutual circling, Tythel sending quick bursts of flame in his direction, Catheon lashing out with unlight beams. Both of them were avoiding the shadows that surrounded their battle.
There was another war happening there. Tythel could catch glimpses of a fight in the shade of the trees, Leora and Eupheme appearing for brief flickers to slash at each other before both vanished. Leora struck in one flash, and the coppery taste of blood reached Tythel’s nose. Eupheme!
The distraction nearly cost her the battle. Catheon shifted one of his arms into a wicked, scythe-like blade and dashed in. Tythel barely managed to duck under the blow and lash out with a slash of her own, forcing the half-Alohym back. Catheon took to the air, merging his arms into a single unlight cannon.
It was a reflex he’d likely developed over dozens of battles, and it would have served him well in most fights. In this case, however, the instinct played in Tythel’s favor. He cursed as he passed through the illusion, and Tythel dove under the trees while he’d lost track of her.
Then she slashed wildly with her talons, two quick arcs that cleaved the air. On her left side, she felt something give under the slash. Leora let out a surprised yelp and vanished again. Strips of cloth hung from Tythel’s claws. I didn’t hit her. She’s going to be re-appearing any moment, and knows I can’t cov
er my back with that trick, so-
