The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  “Then I shall fight with you,” she said.

  But Baldo was staring up at the sky, his face suddenly pale. A tendril of fear flickered in Halla’s chest as she turned to follow his gaze.

  Two dragons—a huge red drake, and a smaller one the color of pale smoke—were circling on an updraft above the capital. On the ground directly beneath them, racing away from Drinnkastel and toward the å Livåri army, were a pair of riders.

  Halla waved her arms in desperate warning as the dragons began to spiral down toward the barreling horses. In response, one of the riders raised a staff and sent a blinding bolt of light into the sky. It missed the drakes, but came close enough to force the grey dragon to swoop upward as the sharp crack of the spell echoed over the Tor.

  “Bloody bones!” Baldo was now looking across the plain to the east. “That’s set them off.”

  The drakdaemons were awake—and on the march.

  Halla gathered her reins. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

  Baldo straightened his shoulders and set his jaw. “On your command, Åthinoi.”

  “My command? An å Livåri army to take orders from a gajo?”

  “There’s not one among this company who would hesitate to follow you, Åthinoi, even be it down into the Abyss.”

  Halla clasped the hand he raised to her, then wheeled Rowlan to face his people.

  “Calrest me, fretji y surj!” she shouted, with fierce pride. “Geg pe parip di tert!”

  Ride with me, brothers and sisters, against the wings of dread!

  The words had come to her unbidden, and the å Livåri roared their approval.

  Then with Livårian battle cries ringing in her ears, Halla spurred Rowlan forward, prepared to meet a warrior’s death.

  * * *

  Flying toward the capital from the woods where the elves and dragons had been sheltering, Leif too had seen Aed and Gryffyn. Shouting to Maura and the newly dragonfast, he and Rhiandra accelerated toward the drakes spiraling over the capital, Emlyn in their wake.

  But just as Syrene and Elvinor flew past them to take the lead, Leif spotted two riders. Whit and Borne were racing south across the Tor.

  “Rhiandra!” he shouted. “After the horses!” The bluewing swooped toward the riders, and Leif threw a look back to see that Maura and Ilyria had done the same.

  They didn’t get far. In an instant Zal dropped from the clouds and into his sisters’ path. The blackwing was riderless, and an iron chain dangled from his jaws. His eyes blazed with a crazed fire as he came at Rhiandra and Ilyria, spewing livid flames.

  Rhiandra went into a barrel roll, swerving out of the fire’s path, while Ilyria plunged earthward, just avoiding the reach of the drake’s savage jaws. Rhiandra then swept between the drake and his sister, her talons bared, forcing Zal into a climb.

  As the maddened dragon spiraled in the air, Maura’s bronze landed on the ground below.

  “Why isn’t Ilyria fighting back?” Leif shouted.

  “Zal is still our brother! No matter his treachery, it goes against everything in our nature to harm one another.”

  Leif couldn’t believe his ears. “Emlyn saw Zal break Menlo’s back!” he cried. “Surely this murderous act severed any bonds of kinship you once had! And if Ilyria won’t fight him, we must!”

  Zal dove toward the grounded dragon, a jet of blood-red fire shooting from his mouth. Maura leapt from Ilyria’s back, yanking an arrow from her quiver, and her dragoness shot upward, drawing the drake away from her dragonfast. Rhiandra sped after them with a roar, but before the bluewing could come to her sister’s aid, both Ilyria and Zal were enveloped in a dense cloud.

  Leif stole a look down as Rhiandra raced on in pursuit. The drakdaemons were flooding across the Tor, and were now within twenty meters of the å Livåri army. The brave defenders of Drinnglennin swung their swords above their heads and sang out their battle cries as they thundered forward to meet the oncoming beasts.

  And Halla, astride Rowlan, was leading the charge.

  Leif tore his gaze away as Zal burst from the clouds alone, still blazing fire. The heat from the inferno washed over him as Rhiandra veered once again out of its path.

  The drake gave a blood-curdling roar as he sped past them, plunging again toward the earth.

  “After him, Rhiandra!” Leif cried. “He’s going for Whit, Maura, and Borne!”

  For the riders had reached Maura, and Whit was now propelling spells into the sky. His blue fire collided with red as the young wizard hurled his magic to counter Zal’s deadly breath.

  “Rhiandra!” Leif cried. “Help them!”

  The bluewing closed the gap between her and Zal in a burst of speed, and her jaws closed around his thrashing tail. The drake bellowed in fury and twisted violently mid-air, jerking Rhiandra along with him. Leif was jounced briefly off Rhiandra’s back, forcing her to release her hold on her brother’s tail in order to catch him.

  Zal ignored his sister as soon as he was freed of her grasp. He shot onward, his single focus on his prey below, leaving Rhiandra too far behind to stop the maddened drake’s attack.

  But as Zal closed in on his target, Whit cast his shadow—and he, Maura, and Borne vanished in a swirl of his cloak.

  The drake kept coming, blasting a stream of fire at the spot they’d occupied. He hovered over the ground, beating his massive wings to raise a violent wind, and Leif gave a cry of alarm as his three friends reappeared, sprawled on the ground.

  Only Maura scrambled up, her face pale as death.

  Shielding Borne and Whit, who were still laid out, she drew her bow and let an arrow fly. It found its mark in Zal’s right eye, and with an ear-splitting roar, the drake reared back, his great wings flailing the air.

  Rhiandra continued to hurtle toward her crazed brother, and even over the wind of their headlong descent, Leif felt a great rushing fill his ears, as though a waterfall were crashing down from the very heavens.

  The black drake heard it too. He raised his head, his red eyes blazing—and a blur of bronze drove into him. Ilyria’s jaws closed savagely around his neck.

  With a howl of pain, Zal frantically beat his leathery wings. The two dragons writhed in a mortal dance, twisting in the air, their talons slashing. And then the sharp, definitive snap of bone forced the breath from Leif’s lungs. For the span of one breath, the dueling dragons hung suspended.

  And then they crashed together to the earth.

  Rhiandra raced toward them, and before the bluewing had even touched down, Leif leapt from her back and ran to Maura, who had fallen to her knees before Ilyria.

  Zal lay sprawled atop his sister, a single black thread of smoke drifting from his nostrils.

  “No… oh no, my beautiful one, please!” Maura sobbed, running her hands over Ilyria’s scales, from which the gleam was already fading. “Don’t leave us! Please don’t leave us!”

  Leif knelt beside her and held her, while Rhiandra, great tears falling from her sapphire eyes, lowered her head to her sister’s snout, blowing softly.

  Ilyria responded with the faintest of breaths. “You must not… grieve for me. I have long known… this time was coming. And our brother was lost to us long ago… He would have hunted us all without cease. If you are all to live… he had to die.”

  Dark blood trickled from the dragoness’s mouth. “Ffarwel, chwaer fach… Byddwyn mewn frwy disglair.”

  Farewell, blood of my blood. May your brightness shine on.

  Her jeweled eyes glazed over, and Maura threw herself against her dragon’s neck with a cry of sorrow.

  Leif bowed his head, and as tears rolled down his cheeks, Rhiandra sent up a blast of fire and railed a sister’s terrible grief against the sky.

  Chapter 58

  Halla drove Rowlan headlong into the boiling mass of drakdaemons, their roars drowning out the cries of
the å Livåri streaming behind her. Her sword held high, she bore down on the first beast in her path and, with one fell swoop, beheaded him, then sliced through the groin of the second. When yet another drakdaemon leapt forward to take the fallen monster’s place, snarling and brandishing his broad axe as he charged, Halla leaned off to the side of her horse and sliced through the sinews of the drakdaemon’s legs. The creature stumbled to the ground with a squeal, to be trampled under the broad, taloned feet of its advancing brethren.

  Halla’s next assailant was already hurtling toward her. His spear lanced through the air, only missing her by inches as she veered the destrier out of his path. Pounding onward, she neatly sliced off the oncoming drakdaemon’s reaching arm as she passed.

  The roars were now a cacophony of shrieks and screams. At least some of the beasts were falling under the å Livåri’s attack, and Halla felt a rush of exhilaration. But when she darted a glance over her shoulder to see how her comrades fared, her exhilaration was replaced with a surge of horror.

  An ocean of monsters surrounded her, and she could see no friend among them.

  There was no hope of stemming this tide.

  Just as she turned back in the saddle, a huge drakdaemon leapt directly into her path. Rowlan reared, jerking the reins from her hands and pitching her to the ground. For a breath, she stared up at the sky, then recoiled as a snout thrust over her, and familiar red eyes peered down into her own.

  “You made my lord angry with me,” Lash growled. His huge claw descended, and he seized her roughly by the neck. “He was very angry.”

  Halla thrust her sword upward, but the drakdaemon brushed it aside with a sweep of his massive arm. The pressure on her windpipe increased as he lifted her from the ground and raised her to eye level. She tore furiously with her free hand at his claw, but she might as well have been stroking it for all the effect it had.

  “You made my lord hurt me,” he said, further tightening his grip, his eyes smoldering embers.

  Halla felt her throat close, and she kicked out in desperation. Her boot slammed into Lash’s abdomen, but he showed no sign of pain. Only her sword could make a dent in his tough, leathery hide, and it lay somewhere below her on the ground, where it would do her no use.

  The drakdaemon’s sulfuric breath was hot against her face. “But now, my lord will reward me.”

  Black spots swam before Halla’s eyes, and she fought for a breath that would not come.

  But it seemed that Lash wanted to take her alive, for he set her back on her feet and loosened his hold. She coughed and choked, then went limp.

  As she’d hoped, he released her—and in an instant she doubled over, grabbed her sword, and came up swinging. The blade bit into Lash’s side, and he reeled away with a shriek.

  Halla cast around for Rowlan, but the horse had been lost in the raging wave of monsters. More of them were rolling toward her, and those at the fore flung their pikes into the air. She looked up at the weapons arcing overhead, and her heart leapt to her throat.

  Emlyn hung just above her.

  Halla cried out a warning as the volley of pikes speared into the dragon. Some glanced off her scales, but more found their marks. None of them stopped Emlyn. She came at the daemons with her teeth and talons bared, tearing off limbs and crushing skulls in her effort to clear a path to her bindling.

  Halla knew it would do no good to plead with the dragoness to save herself. Emlyn would die before she left Halla to face this onslaught alone.

  With a cry of impotent fury, Halla snatched up a fallen pike and swung it low to the ground, knocking the closest drakdaemon’s legs out from under him. But before she could do further damage, the weapon was wrenched from her hands.

  Lash held the pike tight in his grip. With a growl he lurched away from Halla and took aim at Emlyn. Halla sprang after him, landed on his back, then scissored her legs around his torso and dug her fingers deep into his eyes. The daemon yelped in agony, and the pike fell from his claw. He grappled at Halla’s hands, and when he had pried them loose, she dropped to the ground and punched him, as hard as she could, in the spot where her sword had pierced him.

  The monster stumbled to his knees with a grunt.

  Emlyn swooped toward Halla, and the fury of wind from her wings rebuffed the oncoming drakdaemons long enough for Halla to bound onto Lash’s back and leap into the air. Emlyn’s talons closed over her, but Halla felt another pair of claws seize her ankles.

  She didn’t need to look down to know that they belonged to Lash, who now dangled from her legs.

  The greenwing gained altitude, but the drakdaemon held fast to Halla, and his weight dragging on her made Halla feel as if she was being torn in two. At any moment, she knew, her muscles would tear, just as she knew Lash wouldn’t let go—he was determined to take her to Lazdac and redeem himself.

  “Emlyn!” Halla screamed. “You have to release me!”

  Only then did Emlyn look down and see Halla’s plight. In one sinuous movement, the dragoness twisted her neck and severed the drakdaemon in two with her powerful jaws.

  “Or I could rid us of unwanted baggage,” Emlyn said.

  As what remained of Lash fell away, the greenwing climbed the sky. “Are you hurt?” she called down.

  Halla ached all over, every muscle burning and strained to its limits, but she didn’t think she’d suffered any major injury. “I’ll survive, although I may be a few inches taller!” she replied ruefully. “But we need to land when you can, so that I can tend to your wounds.”

  Emlyn snorted. “They’re only scratches. But I will set you down so that you may properly mount, and then we must go to the å Livåri’s aid.”

  When the sounds of the battle had diminished behind them, the greenwing came to ground. Contrary to her dismissive claim, her belly and flanks bristled with spears. Halla pulled them out as gently as she could, but each one provoked a growl and a sharp jet of black smoke, and she was concerned to find that a few of them had gone quite deep, inflicting wounds that oozed crimson blood. Still, Emlyn insisted she was fit to fly, and Halla knew better than to argue.

  As the green dragon winged back toward the conflict, Halla prepared herself for the worst. But as they overflew the tail of the enemy army—at altitude, to avoid more pikes—she was overcome with relief to see that not all of her comrades had yet perished. Indeed, they were still of great number, slicing and stabbing away at the drakdaemons with a vengeance.

  And then Halla rubbed her eyes, not sure she could trust what she was seeing as the front lines came into view.

  The enemy weren’t advancing.

  “Emlyn? Why are the drakdaemons just… standing there?”

  For it was clear that something bizarre was taking place on the field of battle. The drakdaemons were bellowing and roaring at the line of å Livåri strung across the field, the women among them taunting the beasts. The monsters, driven by instinct to reproduce, were trying to get at them, but each time they attempted to, they were cut down. The drakdaemons weren’t even fighting back, and the ground was carpeted with their hideous corpses.

  Emlyn soared over the defenders and landed behind their rear guard. A stream of horses raced down the å Livåri flank toward the greenwing, with Baldo at its head.

  Halla slid to the ground, ignoring her screaming muscles, as he thundered up.

  “What are you doing here?” she said. “And what in the name of the Three-Faced Goddess is happening on the front line?”

  “I’m just taking a breather,” Baldo replied, his tone oddly light, “and letting the others have a turn. It’s only fair.”

  Halla stared at him.

  Baldo shrugged. “It’s a bloody romp in the meadow, is what it is! The fatal flaw in the Strigori’s plan is that his drakdaemons can’t seem to bring themselves to use lethal force against å Livåri.”

  Halla wasn’t sure she coul
d trust her hearing. “Are you saying they won’t fight you?”

  “I’m saying what I said. They’ve a will to fight, judging by the ruckus they’re kicking up, but they can’t. Not against us, anyway.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, all the same. More like hewing trees, actually. We’re likely to be here all night finishing the last of them off!” He raised his gaze, and his expression sobered. “What ails your dragon?”

  Halla spun around, her heart in her throat. The dragoness was gazing silently across the plain, and great tears spilled from her emerald eyes. Halla ran back to her, fearing Emlyn was succumbing to her wounds, and it was only then that she saw what the greenwing had seen.

  Across the Tor, two dragons lay entwined—one black, one bronze—in an embrace from which neither would ever rise again.

  Chapter 59

  The streets of Drinnkastel rang with cheers as the victorious å Livåri swept through the Havard Gate. Fynn Konigur himself took the defenders onward into the Great Hall, which was crowded with both commoners and the nobility of the realm, all eager to raised their goblets to drink to the drakdaemons’ utter defeat.

  But while every last one of Lazdac’s unnatural creatures had been destroyed, and the newly bound dragons had driven Aed and Gryffyn across the Erolin Sea, the dark wizard himself was still at large. Some voiced the bold opinion that he’d fled in the wake of his army’s annihilation, but wherever he was, Fynn knew the Strigori was still a threat to be seriously reckoned with.

  Maura rose with the others to salute the å Livåri. Despite her heartsickness, she would honor all who had fought for the Isle, and those who had died so that this day could be won. She owed it to Ilyria as well, for the dragoness’s sacrifice had not been in vain. The bronzewing’s selfless act had spared Maura, Borne, and Whit a fiery death, and had released her brother Zal from his agony. But throughout the jubilant evening, Maura touched neither food nor drink.