by Kym Dillon
“Good,” he muttered, continuing up the stone stairs. “Let them tear themselves apart before I arrive.”
“I’m telling you there are multiple factions against you now! You have to take me with you. I can help. I can protect you!”
He sneered. “Like you protected the egg?”
“I love you, Sire, please,” she whimpered.
He paused at the door and looked back at her. The musty dungeon was bathed in black. His torchlight did not extend to the floor. His acute vision barely made out the shape of her. He shook his head and emitted a dry, humorless chuckle.
“You don’t know love, Vyda. You think it means killing and destroying anyone who gets in the way of what you want. You seem to have no idea it means sacrificing much more than your ethics. It’s easy to kill for something. Tell me about love when you’re willing to die for it.”
The heavy door took half his strength to open. He muscled it closed behind him and placed an ancient key into the lock. The locking mechanism within was rusty from disuse, and he had to force the key to turn. At the satisfying click of the deadbolt pushing securely in place, he leaned away from the door and nodded.
She would never get out. A few power words would make sure she was fed in his absence, but the cells were designed to inhibit shifting to dragon-shape. In the body of a woman, she was as powerless as any other mortal.
Arken traveled through the tunnel to the lift, knowing he would likely never see her again. The wages of war were death. He wasn’t likely to come back.
Daya had been missing for two days. It took everything within Arken not to make a foolhardy, last-ditch attempt to go after her—the enchantment be damned. He felt like lightning in a bottle, unable to strike at his opponents. Not even Vyda would get what was coming to her. His soul was a tangled mass of fear and fury, but wisdom kept him from lashing out without a plan.
It was a bad one, but his outlook had already reached a critical nadir; so, he felt he had nothing to lose. It was dawn. The sun broke over the mountain in increments of cool white light. Arken stood at the top of the keep, staring at his island with a dark sky at his back. The last stars clung to the heavens, but they were fading fast.
The time had come to strategically move against his enemies. He knew his lone ally was lost to him, a casualty to Ainley’s shifting threads of destiny, and no amount of lingering at the keep would bring Daya home. All he could do was make sure her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.
In retrospect, he had never felt so abandoned. “What can one man do against armies?” he whispered to himself. The prophetic Sylph didn’t materialize to guide him. She had already given her advice. The night prior she had also given him something else: A rare gift, allowing Arken to meet with Daya in the Realm of Dreams.
The beautiful woman from the Sky Realm had welcomed him with pure ecstasy and without question. He had realized Daya thought it all a figment of her imagination, but it had been real. He had sipped the heady wine of her essence as she came apart in his arms. Forgetting to worry about the laws of mating, he had entered her and poured out his soul…
And, she had exposed her heart. She loved him.
He would never forget the stolen moment. It was indelibly marked upon his consciousness. Yet, there was no room for nostalgia now. Stark reality greeted him with the ever-rising sun. It was time. It was past time. Arken inhaled the crisp, morning air and centered himself for transformation.
He spread out his arms, and his golden tan skin sparkled with hints of glistening black scales. His shoulders flexed, and he felt the wings inside him bursting to be set free. His ribcage expanded with another deep inhale. When he let it out, his eyes sprang open, filled with flames. He was changing.
Something like an explosion rocked the morning. The shockwaves expanded out in an invisible ripple that caused the trees to shudder, as if rocked by a strong wind. Light coalesced around him, and he threw his head back. Then, in the blink of an eye, the man who had been standing on the parapet was replaced by a gargantuan black dragon.
He roared, and the mountain trembled. He was the height of three stories, and his imposing wingspan spread nearly as wide as the keep. His gleaming black eyes sparkled with intelligence and vehemence. A hint of savagery. His lips peeled back to reveal teeth like wickedly curved blades. He was prepared for battle.
Claws the size of vehicles scraped the stone as he began running the length of the parapet. The wind gathered beneath his wings and thrust him into the air on take-off. With breathless wonder, Arken sprinted from the edge of the building and flew higher in the sky. He was swept from current to current, ascending faster and faster, until the mountain seemed a distant hill beneath him.
It was exhilarating. He knew the enchanted treaty was meant to bind him to the keep, but Ainley’s words had haunted him for days. An idea had taken shape that couldn’t be dislodged from his brain. The treaty was just another set of rules. And, if there were no true rules, as Ainley had said, then it could be broken. The only thing binding him to the fortress was his own sense of duty.
He hoped he was right.
Arken swooped eastward and ignored the tide of gloom that tried to wash over him. He could do this. He beat his graceful wings and put miles of distance between him and the city. Any second, Feis’ huntsmen might see him and attack, but it was a risk he must take. He had the Heart of the Dragon. He was protected.
He approached the boundary of the furthest distance he had traveled from his home in centuries, and the sky around him took on the strange consistency of a bubble. There was tangible resistance, but he kept flying toward the sun, despite the strain.
“You can do it, come on,” he growled.
The wind slid over his scales as he aligned his body aerodynamically and cut through the bubble. He looked down at the beautiful island he was leaving behind, and, suddenly, his shadow was over open water.
Arken blinked in disbelief as he tossed his head up to see where he was. He was beyond! A stunned laugh rose from his throat in a swell of fire. He laughed again just to see the flames. He had done it! He had made it through the boundary, the exit so seamless that he almost hadn’t realized.
Ainley had given him the push he needed. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he soared toward the last stand of a long-lived race of dragons. The Isle of Warriors beckoned, though it wasn’t yet in sight.
He looked back and saw tiny warships at King’s Isle, and it made his dark eyes burn with promised retribution. He didn’t know how much time Daya’s selfless act of valor had bought him, but he knew he would make it to his warriors before Feis’ ships ever could. The journey would take them a fortnight. He would arrive there in days.
The unique anatomy of a dragon allowed him to coast high-altitude winds to conserve his energy. Arken required little food or sleep. He was fueled by fears of what was happening to his sister and what would happen to Oedaya if he didn’t find a way to defeat the dragon eaters. He flew with burning muscles and a mind plagued by self-doubts. He flew through extremes of temperature and terrible weather. He pushed himself to continue.
Yet, on the fifth straight day of flying, his body demanded rest. Descending through a downy, white blanket of clouds, he dropped low enough to see the surface of the Fire Realm. His eyes scanned for landmarks, although his internal compass told him he was near one of the many islands that dotted the ocean.
A dark tide of foreboding arrested him in the sky. He hovered as he scoped his destination—the crater of a long-dead volcano. He had to get there without drawing the attention of whichever dragon eater called the island home.
Arken suppressed his anxiety and reminded himself that the Heart of the Dragon would keep him safe. However, in the back of his mind, a small voice questioned the veracity of that claim. He had never used the diamond for protection. The isolation of the keep and Ainley’s treaty had been all the reassurance he needed. Now, he was far away from the familiar walls, and anything felt possible.
His stomach gr
owled insistently, forcing him to make a decision. He swooped toward the earth and prayed for the best. Just keep flying, he whispered internally. Using the last of his strength, he nosedived for the crater. His eyes darted left to right, studying the terrain. He clenched his jaw when he spotted a small band of men and horses.
They came sharper into focus as he drew closer. Four men, getting water from a river. They were likely on patrol. He tried not to alert them to his presence, but the whooshing of his wings was unmistakable. One of the men looked up.
Arken swore in frustration as he gathered his lungs for a blast of flames. But, before he could open his mouth, an indistinct blur whizzed past him. “What the hell?” he gasped. He pushed his feet against the air and drew back. His wings cupped the wind, and he floated upward, staring down in shock. “Impossible,” he reasoned.
It was Vyda. The bright red dragon cawed in warning as the huntsmen sprinted to their horses and drew their bows. Her rain of fire ignited the sparse grass, but there were too many stones near the riverbed for the fire to spread. She charged at them anyway.
“Get behind me, Your Majesty! I’ll protect you,” she growled fiercely.
“Vyda!” Arken yelled. How had she escaped? He flew to her defense, knowing the prisoner was his responsibility. He would deal with her after this.
Arrows sliced toward him, and he dodged the glinting tips. Vyda was on the ground now, darting and feinting, blowing fire and smoke. The mortals worked together to drive her toward the river. Arken recognized the ploy and swept over them with a mighty roar. His thrashing tail sent one man flying from his horse. His claws raked the chest of another.
Vyda shrieked in pain as an arrow plunged through her scales. Arken’s destructive teeth clamped over the huntsman who had attacked her. The acrid taste of blood filled his mouth, and he spat out the remnant.
Suddenly, one of the fallen ones gave a wild grunt and raced at him with a short ax, but Arken whipped his neck and hissed gas and steam that left him writhing on the ground in pain. He didn’t test the stone. His survival instincts were in high gear.
As he turned to Vyda to help her fight off the last huntsman, he gasped in shock at the bite of a blade. Arken’s horns speared the air, and he brought his massive jaws around to finish his scalded opponent. The short ax fell from the man’s lifeless hand and splashed in the crimson-soaked mud. Arken hurriedly examined himself for injuries, but Vyda’s outcry drew him.
“No!” he yelled in anger when he saw what was happening.
The skilled huntsman had launched himself through the air and landed on the dragon warrior’s shoulder. She had no time to spew fire. He plunged his remaining arrows into her open eye, and Vyda screamed. She tore him off with wicked claws. The mortal hit the ground and bounced, lifting his head weakly. He coughed up bubbly red sputum and fell back. Vyda, blinded by his arrows, stumbled toward the dying man and crushed him beneath her foot.
Arken tensed at the sickening sound of bones crunching. Then, the dragon warrior collapsed beside the man she had killed. “What did you do?” Arken whispered, moving toward her. “Why did you come after me? Why would you put your life in danger when you knew that I had the stone to protect me?”
He had sustained no injuries. Even the blade that had hacked into his muscular foreleg had done no damage. The power of the Heart of the Dragon had proven true. Arken counted the arrows that protruded from her battered body. She panted in agony, but a slow smile made its way across her face.
“I showed you,” she gasped. “I slipped out through a loose bar in the cell…the tunnel…behind the dungeon.” She heaved a shuddery sigh. “I proved to you that I’m willing to die for you.”
“Lie still. Don’t try to talk,” he murmured. He nosed her shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“No, I have to tell you. The young ones—” She turned her head and groaned as the effects of the arrows culminated. Through her distress, she tried to continue. “The young ones only follow Cithurel because he—He’s promised them lands. They don’t know—the dragon eaters have taken over everything.”
“I’ll deal with them, Vyda.”
“You have to tell them the truth! They’ll listen to you. They only want…A leader. A king.” She nodded desperately. “You’re the leader they need, my king.”
“I may be too late to sway them,” he breathed. His brow furrowed with sorrow.
“Never too late.” She hooked his claw with one of hers. “Do you know, I fell in love with you because you were the first one,” she whimpered, “to ever see me as…a true dragon warrior in the King’s Army? I thank you, Arken, Son of Imyr…And, I’m so sorry for everything I did against you,” she sobbed.
“All is forgiven that is repented with heartfelt solemnity. You have to rest easy now. It won’t be long,” he shushed her.
She seized in pain. He looked away from her as her scales morphed from red to gray to red again. Her emerald eyes became muddy brown as blood vessels constricted and broke. Her claws tightened around his. He held strong. She kicked reflexively once…twice…then, she was gone.
13
The room where Daya was being held was cold as winter and decorated in what could only be described as devoid-of-hope chic. Everything was fashionably institution gray. It was a closet-sized space where the walls seemed to close in, and the floor begged for attention. She would swear it was crawling with things, as was the ceiling. Spider webs clung to the corners.
The room was a far cry from the guest treatment Daya had received the first night she spent at the Temple of Fire, but she supposed that was to be expected. She wasn’t a guest this time. She was a prisoner. She stared at the tiny window overlaid with mesh in the upper half of the door, and she saw her guard.
If she had been in her own realm, getting out would be a simple matter of bribery. Here, she had nothing to offer up. Her supplies had been taken, including her trusty knife. She was left to defenselessly ponder what Feis would do with her.
It had been days since Daya had arrived at the temple and handed off the decoy Heart of the Dragon. At first, it had seemed the high priestess was gullible enough to believe she had the real stone. However, Feis had taken one look at the diamond and ordered Daya to the windowless tower.
She was terrified out of her wits. Most of all, she was worried about Arken. There was no way to get a message to him. No way to receive word back. She had no idea if he had taken the leap of faith and proceeded to the Isle of Warriors or not.
I have to get out of here, she thought. She turned away from the door and looked for another escape route, but what she saw gave her little inspiration. There was nothing she could use as a weapon, even if she did get out. The lone torch that dimly lit the space was positioned high overhead, and she couldn’t get to it.
There was no furniture to dissemble and use as a club. Her bed was a straw pallet on the floor, and the soggy, mildew-covered fibers smelled strongly of urine. She wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, although she supposed it might be categorized as a biological weapon. It definitely looked disease-ridden. There was a cracked chamber pot for her to do her business, but she wasn’t touching that, either.
“You can’t keep me in here forever, you know!” Daya called out defiantly. “There has to be a law or something against that. Nobody even read me my rights.”
Her guard chuckled and slapped the door. “Pipe down,”’ he muttered.
Of course, there weren’t any rights here. This was the Fire Realm. Daya crossed her arms and sank to the floor in the middle of the room with a dejected sigh. She had been counting on gaining an audience with the dragon eater to explain that she, herself, had been duped. That was the original conclusion of her plan.
As it were, she’d never get to tell her side of the story if she remained stuck under lock and key. It suddenly occurred to her that she could be imprisoned indefinitely. Her eyes stung with tears, and her stomach churned—not least of which was due to the disgusting miasma that clung to the sta
le air.
All she had wanted was a chance to go home. Now, she was worse off than when she’d been dangling from Marco’s roof. How hard would a night or two in regular prison have been? She could’ve made it.
Daya was five seconds into her pity party when she heard a noise just outside. Her eyes darted to the mesh window. Her guard snapped to attention. She heard the jangle of keys and straightened up. Covering her face, she inhaled deeply and pulled herself together. The door swung inward, and Daya gasped as the Sylph, disguised as Neigen, entered the room.
“Ain—!”
“Yes, I came as soon as I could,” the priest cut her off. He pushed small wire glasses up his nose and bobbed his bald head. A reminder that he wasn’t Ainley in this place. Daya was so happy to see him—with his tiny stature and priestly robes swallowing him up—that she almost shrieked.
“I was made aware you delivered the Heart of the Dragon to the high priestess,” he stated formally.
“Right,” Daya went along with it. “Unfortunately, there seems to be some sort of mix up. My arrangement with Feis was to go home after delivering the stone. So, why am I still in here?” She injected self-righteousness into her tone, and her eyes skated to the guard, whose ear was tilted into the room. “What happened to democracy?”
Neigen leaned close and whispered, “You’re overdoing it.” He smiled and swept an arm toward the door. “Right this way, please.”
“You mean, I’m free to leave?” she gasped in shock. He disappointed her with a subtle shake of his head.
“Not quite. However, I’ve convinced the priestess to allow you to explain your egregious crimes against the Temple of Fire before she has you fed to the wild dogs.”
“Oh, god.”
“Therefore, it is in your best interest to get your story straight. Would you come with me, please?”
