The Dragondain

by Richard Due

  “I need to get down there. What did Lord Tanglemane want with me?”

  “He asked us to help you flee this place before the scaramann infest it!”

  “How would you do that?”

  “We are to fly you to Foam, where a ship awaits to take you to Rihnwood.”

  “You could do that, fly me all the way to Foam?”

  “It would take both of us, but with this strong wind coming off the ocean, we could glide almost the entire way.”

  “Thank you for the offer. But I’m not ready to flee just yet. My sister called down the darkness. Maybe there’s something I can do. I need to get to where the Rinn are. Can you help me?”

  “No,” said the larger of the two birds.

  “But I have to get down there!”

  “Even if we wanted to—and we don’t—the fire-breathing dragonflies would see us coming from this side of Sea Denn.”

  “There has to be another way to get down there,” said Jasper, more to himself than the birds.

  “You can ride me, Jasper,” said a deep Rinn voice, and Jasper turned to face Nimlinn standing in the open gate, the magic saddle on her back.

  “Does this mean Greydor is . . .”

  “I have said my goodbyes.” Nimlinn’s big amber eyes swung away from the valley and locked onto Jasper’s. “Now that you’ve arrived, he has bid me leave his side. If anyone can save the Rinn now, it’s you: Jasper Winter.”

  “Then you better get me down there.”

  “I can’t promise you we’ll be coming back in one piece.”

  Jasper knew exactly what his uncle would say. “Now, now. One impossible task at a time, please.”

  “Madness!” cawed one of the birds.

  Nimlinn shifted her full attention to the two black birds, her eyelids narrowing to slits. “And what might you two be?”

  “Birds, Your Majesty,” said one of the birds.

  “I thought there were no more black birds of your size—that you were all extinct. Where have you come from? Whom do you serve?”

  “We are Noc, Your Majesty, from the mountain of Knonaam. We have ever served the clan Qaz.”

  Nimlinn’s eyes flicked between them. “But the Qaz are clanless.”

  The birds blinked. “We beg to differ, Your Majesty.”

  “You’re part of Tanglemane’s mischief, aren’t you?”

  “Mischief, Your Majesty?” The great black bird ruffled its feathers. “Look before you,” it continued in a graver voice. “Greydor should have listened. He needed to wait. Now look at what has become of your valley Rinn, your fading empire.”

  “Wait? Wait for what?” asked Nimlinn. “Can you tell me what Tanglemane could not?”

  The two birds said nothing.

  “The dragonflies have been systematically destroying all our food and water,” Nimlinn continued. “At night, we are unable to walk our own ramparts for fear of being burned alive. What is there to wait for?”

  “Lord Tanglemane would counsel you to hasten Jasper to safety.” Nimlinn’s mane ruffled at the title. “Anywhere would be safer than here,” the bird continued.

  Nimlinn turned to Jasper. “I could hide you in one of the deeper recesses of Sea Denn. You could wait for a favorable crossover and escape to one of our moons—or possibly you could leave from there some other way.”

  Jasper bristled inwardly at the thought of hiding; it smacked of cowardice. And he knew exactly what Nimlinn meant by “some other way.” Placing his hand on the moon coin, Jasper thought about Lily. She had thought the coin responsible for the effect on Roan’s darkness enchantment, although she didn’t know how she’d done it.

  “Do you know how to call down the darkness, Nimlinn?”

  “I do, but it would get us very little. Our only hope now is to retake Fangdelve. We have to stop whatever is going on in there. If we can get Mowra inside, maybe we can understand how they have brought the scaramann to us again, and in such great numbers.”

  Jasper stepped to Nimlinn’s side and pulled himself up into the saddle. “I don’t know how I can be of help, Your Majesty. But I’m certainly willing to try.”

  “Your Majesty,” said one of the Noc, wriggling his wings and looking disturbed. “This is foolish! The boy must be saved! He cannot be allowed to fall into Werfryht’s hands!”

  Werfryht, thought Jasper. The Taw word for Wrengfoul.

  Nimlinn’s fur stiffened, and her ears swept back. “I will eat him before I allow him to fall into Rengtiscura’s hands!” She lowered her haunches to spring away.

  “But the dragonflies! How will you escape them?”

  Nimlinn bared her teeth. “Speed and grace!” she spat.

  She leapt to the ledge separating the first switchback, but rather than descending its twisting, roundabout route, she leapt from ledge top to ledge top until, at the very last, she launched herself onto solid ground. Her claws raked the dry earth. Jasper felt himself pushed back in the saddle as she began her fierce ascent to the rim of the earth mound, which she leapt in a single bound, momentarily clearing the thick dust, allowing him a brief view of the buzzing dragonflies belching their deadly flames.

  Jasper pulled up his hood and secured a flap that covered his nose and mouth. Nimlinn increased her pace, and he wondered how it was that Nimlinn could possibly navigate through this terrible dust.

  “Nimlinn! Can you see in this?”

  “Remember the saddle, Jasper! I suggest you concentrate on seeing better. But be careful what else you think about!”

  Jasper tried to imagine the dust being less, and to a degree his vision cleared, but not as much as he would have liked.

  “Thanks for the tip!” said Jasper, and without even thinking, he drew out his moon sword and swiftly cut down a lone scaramann that had strayed too close to Nimlinn’s path.

  “Well done, Jasper! I didn’t see him coming out of that dip until we were upon him. I had no idea you were so skilled with the blade!”

  Jasper held the hilt of the sword before his face, turning it. The motion had felt so natural, like he’d done it before. “I’m not,” said Jasper, his voice so low that not even Nimlinn’s ears could have heard him.

  “Are you right- or left-handed? I can try to keep them to the side you favor.”

  Jasper flipped the sword into his left hand and tried a low practice swing, his wrist and arm responding with perfect control as he cut a beautiful arc.

  The saddle? he wondered.

  “It appears I’m . . . ambidextrous?” Jasper marveled at this new development, flipping the sword back into his right hand and dispatching another scaramann. “We’re going to Fangdelve, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take the straightest line you dare. I’ll deal with these scaramann. Oh! And Nimlinn, about what you told those birds . . . uh, about eating me?”

  “A figure of speech, nothing more.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Jasper flipped the sword to his left hand and dipped the blade down into the path of three scaramann dashing alongside a gully. “As one of my top goals for today is to not be eaten.”

  “Hold tight!” yelled Nimlinn, veering sharply and leaping over a small ravine. An instant later, a fiery blast of flame showered down onto the path where they would have been had Nimlinn not changed her course.

  Without thinking, Jasper sheathed his sword and lifted the protective flap from one of the sharp bladed dirazakein. It was uncanny; he seemed to know exactly where to look in the sky, as though he were using his third set of eyes. “Mark!” he shouted, at precisely the right time for Nimlinn to reach over her shoulder, grip the dirazakein in her paw, and loose the whirling blades of destruction.

  Jasper continued to track the enormous shadow of the dragonfly above them while using his second set of eyes
to remain aware of Nimlinn’s movements. The thing was gigantic, and on its back were eight saddled scaramann, crossbows at the ready, scanning the valley, firing their deadly bolts at will. A second shadow passed over the first. Jasper looked up and thought he saw something bat-like, leathery—and then it was gone. A moment later, the fire-breathing dragonfly plummeted to the ground.

  Jasper cheered. “One shot!”

  Nimlinn doubled back to the fallen dragonfly. It was severed in two and burning in its own fiery vomit. The scaramann lay crumpled and scattered. None had survived the fall.

  Having seen enough, Nimlinn continued to race to Fangdelve.

  “Jasper, what could have downed that dragonfly?”

  “You did.”

  “But it was severed clean in two,” said Nimlinn.

  “You must have hit it exactly where the body segments join. Or maybe you ignited whatever it uses to make its breath, and it blew apart. If those things have a weakness like that, then we have to get to the Broadpaw and let them know where to aim their arrows.”

  “Jasper, I think I saw something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. It swept through fast, and then it was—Jasper! Ready yourself! We approach a skirmish. There are friendly Rinn here—be watchful.”

  The clouds of dust grew thicker, and the air darkened. Jasper heard the heavy footsteps of other Rinn wheeling and thundering. A dark, Rinn-sized shape approached from the right, then pulled away, vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared. All about them were the clicking sounds of scaramann. Jasper drew his sword, but he could not tell where they were. Nimlinn slowed, and another Rinn overtook them on the left.

  Someone bellowed, but it was not the roar of a Rinn, and certainly no scaramann could produce such a sound.

  “Nim—”

  “Hush!”

  Shadowy shapes of Rinn materialized on either side of them, forming a line. All at once the Rinn began to trot. From either side, Jasper heard the ring of swords being drawn, and the Rinn broke into a run. Nimlinn shot out in front, then pulled back, compensating for her greater speed. As she dropped back into line, the Rinn to the right veered close, materializing out of the brown clouds. It was Roan, and on his saddled back sat a man. Roan’s eyes grew large as he recognized Nimlinn.

  “Nimlinn!” he roared.

  “Jasper!” yelled Dubb. “Nice sword—look sharp!”

  A second later, scaramann were everywhere.

  Nimlinn and Roan swerved apart. Jasper and Dubb swung hacking blows on every scaramann they could reach. And then they were clear.

  “Come about!” yelled Dubb.

  Nimlinn doubled back and the line reformed.

  “How many are there?” Jasper yelled to Nimlinn.

  “More than we can deal with, but there is a group of riders in peril here. I think Dubb is trying to create a weak spot to help the troubled riders break free.”

  “Nimlinn, how many Dainriders are there?”

  “Perhaps a dozen, all told. I can’t be certain.”

  The Rinn increased their pace and Jasper heard more swords ring out, but this time he knew what he was hearing: the swords of Dainriders. They made another pass like the first, scattering the scaramann and thinning their ranks.

  “How did you ever find us?” yelled a familiar, powerful voice.

  “There are still a few birds braving the dragonflies,” shouted Dubb. “But it was the Rinn knowing this ground so well that brought us the advantage.”

  “I thought they had us,” said the voice, and this time Jasper realized it was Andros speaking. “You got to us just in time. Where are we headed?”

  “To Fangdelve!” yelled Dubb. The Rinn sprinted away in tight formation, allowing the Dainriders to communicate.

  “Andros!” Tavin yelled. “What did you learn?” Tavin then leaned further out of his saddle than seemed physically possible.

  “The valley is lost!” yelled Andros. “I haven’t heard the sound of so many scaramann since the battle of Perianth, and they’ve begun to swarm.”

  “But how can that be?” asked a voice Jasper couldn’t identify.

  “There must be another queen,” yelled another.

  “Impossible,” roared Roan. “Our lunamancers combed the fields after we killed their queen, and there has been only the one crossover since—and that was with Dain.”

  “But how else do you explain—”

  “I cannot!” yelled Roan.

  Nimlinn evaded a boulder and shot in close amongst the riders.

  “Jasper!” yelled out Andros. His face was bloodied, and a fresh cut bled freely from his left cheek. “What are you doing—hey, nice sword!”

  A number of the Dainriders twisted in their saddles to get a look at Jasper and Nimlinn. Jasper recognized Quib, Jemma, Boots, Marred, Arric, and Tavin. There were other men and women riding whom Jasper did not recognize, but he didn’t see Cora or Ember.

  “They must have made themselves a queen, then,” said Nimlinn.

  “Are you suggesting there’s a dwythbane in that tower?” shouted Tavin.

  “It would explain a great many things: the fire-breathing dragonflies, the scaramann emerging fully grown, the great numbers in which they hatch.”

  “Dubb!” shouted Andros, “If you want to take that tower, it will have to be now. The scaramann are at our heels!”

  “The gates of Fangdelve are far too powerful,” roared Nimlinn. “We would have to bring all of our lunamancers to bear, and they would be easy targets for the dragonflies, to say nothing of their archers within the tower.”

  “Then we will have to do it quickly,” shouted Tavin, and even with all the dust, galloping at breakneck speeds upon their Rinn, Jasper could see Dubb and Tavin staring hard at one another, as though passing thoughts through their eyes.

  Dubb nodded his head. “Sheathe swords! Form a line! Keep it as tight as you dare!”

  “Dubb,” warned Nimlinn. “The gates of Fangdelve are magically sealed!”

  “Your Majesty,” yelled Dubb. “even the strongest magic can be breached by force.”

  Smoke and ruin lay thick upon the battlefield, giving the Dainriders very little intelligence on the terrain, but above their heads, the layers of murk were not so thick. Looking up, Jasper could make out the veiled forms of moons, but which moons he could not tell. After many minutes of hard riding, the upper reaches of Fangdelve loomed into view. Once they reckoned the position of the tower’s base, the Dainriders trimmed their line even more, running side by side with only inches between them.

  “On my signal!” yelled Dubb.

  In unison all twelve of the Dainriders reached forward and opened the leather flaps protecting their dirazakein, hoisting one of the heavy, bladed wheels in each hand.

  “Full gallop!” yelled Dubb.

  The Rinn stretched out their long limbs, raking the earth, sprinting with all their might. Jasper strained to keep himself in the saddle while holding the dirazakein steady.

  “Mark!” yelled Dubb.

  In unison, the Rinn’s heads dipped down. Their rear limbs stretched forward, claws digging into ground. Roaring like dragons, they launched themselves into the air, freeing their powerful front limbs long enough to reach back over their shoulders and grasp the dirazakein passed by the riders. With the force of every muscle in their bodies, the line of Rinn released two dozen razor-sharp blades directly at the gates of Fangdelve. No sooner had the first volley of dirazakein vanished into the dust-filled air than Dubb yelled, “Mark!” A second volley followed the first into the mists. Then a third. “Mark!”

  The walls of Fangdelve materialized with no warning. Jasper grasped the saddle pommel and braced himself as Nimlinn sheered off, narrowly missing the curved wall of the tower’s base.

 
The gates had borne the first volley well. On the second volley, however, the stone began to crack. On the third volley, the gates fell. By the time Nimlinn circled back, the Dainriders had already slipped from the backs of their Rinn and were disappearing through the ruined gate.

  Jasper reached down to unbind his leg from the saddle.

  “You will stay here,” said Nimlinn sternly. “It’s up to the Dragondain now.”

  “But Nimlinn, why aren’t the Rinn going in?”

  “A Rinn would be at the mercy of a dwythbane’s magic. Besides, we have our own impossible task to perform. We must hold this gate against a swarm of scaramann until our Dainriders finish their task. Then we must flee before we are overrun. Roan! Where are our remaining warriors and lunamancers? Where are the Broadpaw?”

  Roan galloped over to Nimlinn. “They were all on the northern rise, staying out of crossbow range. But by now they will have seen what we’ve accomplished. I expect them to arrive any moment. The Broadpaw have long been out of arrows, but luckily for us they packed their claws and teeth as well before leaving Rihnwood.” Roan gave Nimlinn a fierce grin.

  A low rumbling began to shake the earth, but not from the northern rise. It came from the valley. It was the sound of thousands of scaramann running as fast as their legs would carry them.

  “Roan, what are our chances of holding back the scaramann—with all our forces?”

  Roan cast his eyes away. “We will not stand for long. Even if the Dainriders manage to slay the dwythbane, there will still be enough scaramann left to wash over us like a sea.”

  “And if we make our stand in Fangdelve?”

  “We’ve destroyed the gate. They will pour in on us, working through every crack. They will use the ceilings and walls. They will climb the tower and reach the upper windows. We wouldn’t last the night.”

  Nimlinn turned and faced the rumble of the advancing scaramann. “Then this is where the Rinn will make their last stand. This is where it ends.”