by Meg Cowley
Myrkdaga moved faster, his scales hissing as they slid over each other. He poked his head out of the cave, and almost collided head first with a young, red-faced Eldarkind, who squeaked and scrambled backwards as he was confronted by the huge dragon head.
Myrkdaga rumbled, slow and menacing, let coils of smoke tumble from his nostrils, and stared at the young Eldarkind with narrowed eyes. He rather enjoyed scaring people, and had mastered the art of freezing creatures in their tracks with just one gaze. They made for easier meals.
To his surprise, the now pale-faced Eldarkind recovered from his shock and stepped forward, jabbing a finger at Myrkdaga. “You! What are you doing in my cave? Get out!”
Myrkdaga could not decide whether to be surprised or impressed, but he had no intention of complying. He rumbled louder and opened his jaws so the sound swelled around them. “How dare you speak to me thus. I am Myrkdaga, son of Myrkith-visir!”
“You don’t scare me.” The Eldarkind had to shout above Myrkdaga’s rumbles. “You’re only a small dragon!”
Myrkdaga spluttered with disbelief. This pathetic worm has the nerve to call me tiny? He had never been called small by something as tiny as this being.
In Myrkdaga’s moment of distraction, the Eldarkind surveyed the landscape. “Hey, you’ve destroyed all my things!” He stepped closer to Myrkdaga, now with a snarl of his own. “This is my cave, and you—” he jabbed at Myrkdaga again, though not quite touching him, “—have no right to come here and break everything. I built all of this by hand! It’s taken me years! I didn’t create all this so some jumped up dragonet could smash it to pieces. It’s not yours to touch, or move, or break. Get out of my cave, now!” He picked up a fractured piece of wood and threw it at Myrkdaga. It bounced off Myrkdaga’s shin. There was a moment of silence.
“Make me!” Myrkdaga growled. He opened his maw and roared his loudest in the Eldarkind’s face, forcing him to clap his hands across his ears and scream a spell of protection, but, to Myrkdaga’s extreme annoyance, he did not retreat.
With a huff of annoyance, Myrkdaga retreated back into the cave, curled up, and went to sleep. Breakfast would have to wait. He had a point to make.
~
The unmistakable thud of another dragon arriving widened Myrkdaga’s smile, until he heard Farran’s voice outside.
“What is the meaning of this?” Farran snarled. “I could hear your commotion across the valley!”
As Myrkdaga poked his head out of the cave, the Eldarkind cowered before Farran, visibly shaking. Myrkdaga’s smugness increased.
“Farran-visir, thank you for your concern, but there is nothing to trouble you with. I was sleeping quite peacefully when I was disturbed and accosted by this insolent rat. I taught him not to wake a sleeping dragon.” Myrkdaga made to withdraw back inside the cave, but froze at Farran’s command.
“Is this true?” Farran’s gaze incapacitated the Eldarkind.
“N-no, sir!” he eventually said, more of a forceful squeak than anything else.
“Then tell me your version of events.” Farran shot a sidelong glare at Myrkdaga.
“My name is Lorellei, sir. This is my cave! I found this dragon sleeping in my cave, having destroyed all my possessions—” Lorellei gestured around him, and it was plain to see that seemed to be the case. “—and when I challenged him, he roared in my face and would not leave. I had to cast a spell to save my ears from bursting!” he added indignantly. He stood a little straighter, his fright forgotten in his anger. “I will not be bullied by a dragon!” He quailed however, as Farran rumbled, turning his gaze from Lorellei to Myrkdaga.
“Is this true? Did you destroy items from within this place?”
“I did,” said Myrkdaga sullenly. “I don’t know why that should be a problem. I’m a dragon! My sleeping comforts are far more important than some pieces of carved wood.”
“Enough!” snapped Farran. “This is precisely the kind of behaviour we seek to avoid. Myrkdaga, I am disappointed in you. The Eldarkind are our friends and allies, and they offer us sanctuary; you know from what. Find another place to stay, and be sure to help Lorellei restore his dwelling.”
Myrkdaga began to protest, but Farran cut him off with a sharp glare and warning growl.
As soon as Farran departed, buffeting them so hard with gusts of wind that Lorellei fell over, Myrkdaga opened his jaw and hissed at the Eldarkind, before taking to wing himself.
“Wait! You’re supposed to help me!” Lorellei shouted after him.
“Help yourself!” Myrkdaga snarled.
Chapter Fifteen
The breeze blew from the north and west, and upon it, Cies could smell dragons. Familiar dragons, ones he had not smelt in quite some time. And there was something else, too. A smell he did not recognise, but one that wove strongly with the smell of Farran’s kin, and one he could identify because of that: Eldarkind. Cies opened his mouth in a hiss of delight and strained his wings to fly faster, so he could meet the cowards who had led him on this merry chase all the way to the northern reaches of the world.
The sun already slipped from its zenith, hanging low in the sky to the south. Dusk was his favourite time to attack, but he would not wait that long today. He was too eager for the taste of fire and blood and death. An almighty roar tore from his throat, and, one by one, his dragons took up his war cry. As one, they flew behind him, hugging low to the ground and racing across the grassy meadows so they could not be seen as silhouettes against the darkening sky.
Before anyone could spy them, react, or signal the alarm, Cies was upon Ednor. With the greatest grim glee, he spurted far-reaching jets of flames from his maw, mirrored by his kin. In seconds, Ednor was burning to the sound of his fires crackling, his prey screaming, and his kin roaring. This was the part Cies loved the most, picking them off one by one. He struck one Eldarkind with a swipe of his tail, sending them into a tree with a sickening crunch from which they did not rise. Another he caught with a snap of his razor sharp teeth, shaking the lifeless form for good measure and tossing it aside. A third was fried to a blackened crisp in a second of his white hot fire.
He could not enjoy himself for long, however, because the roar of his enemies heralded their arrival. In an instant, the sky was a mess of claws, teeth, fire, and wings. Dragons tore at each other with tooth and claw, sending Eldarkind fleeing for cover. Blasts of air from powerful wing-beats battered the air, and anything else that stood in their way. With the arrival of Farran and his kin, some of the Eldarkind rallied. Cies could once more feel the stinging, tingling hits of their spells upon his hide in a most peculiar way. It was a small annoyance he could withstand, and nothing more, so he dismissed their presence again until he saw the Eldarkind wielding blades that glowed with blue fire.
The magic burned his nostrils from a distance, and he wheeled up and out of their reach to assess this new threat. The blades looked insubstantial, shorter and thinner than a dragon claw, and yet this magic, he knew, was harmful. Sure enough, he could see it slicing through dragon-hide even easier than his own teeth or claws could whenever dragons were foolish enough to stray within their reach. He growled and examined the blue flames, unable to discern them. This was something to be wary of.
The shriek of a dragon distracted him from his thoughts, and as he surveyed the wider battlefield once more, he could see the tide had turned. Those who entered the reach of the blue flames fell, not to rise again, and the damage to his attack was done; the Eldarkind and Farran’s dragons surged forward in a renewed attack.
Cies was pushed back with his kin, some of whom were injured; wings rent, missing claws, and teeth wounds puncturing their hides. He attacked all the more ferociously as the fires swelled around them.
~
Myrkdaga joined the fray with fury and vengeance burning through his heart. He blasted an inferno of white-hot flames towards his enemies, and joined in fighting with tooth and claw, using his bulk to smash smaller dragons out of the way, but he was not foolish. He k
new he was not a large dragon by any means, and others larger than he would not hesitate to kill him with ease, so he stayed out of the way on the fringes of the fight, targeting the smallest and puniest of Cies’s followers. It would be many years before he could challenge the likes of Cies’s bulk and strength.
A familiar cry caught his attention, and he looked down to see Lorellei amongst the flames, cornered by a dragon of Myrkdaga’s size. The Eldarkind glowed with light and stabbed towards the dragon like lightening, but the dragon caught him, battering him with a claw. Lorellei crumpled, and the dragon closed in.
Myrkdaga dropped from the sky like a stone to intervene. He crashed onto the other dragon, snapping his jaws around his neck, but Myrkdaga’s enemy was larger than he, and Myrkdaga lost his grip. Now he was too close and too low to retreat, so he was forced to engage in close combat. Mid-air, they writhed, a flashing dance of sharp edges, attacking and retreating in a deadly dance serenaded with hisses, snarls, and roars. Pain lanced through Myrkdaga with every injury suffered, but he continued relentlessly, out of the air and onto the ground.
As Myrkdaga landed, a tree root caught him and in an instant, he was on his back. The larger dragon pinned him by his neck, constricting his breathing. He struggled futilely, as stars danced across his vision, and thrashed. Myrkdaga landed glancing blows, and some well placed scores, but it was no use, the other dragon had his weight pinned down and it was only a matter of time before Myrkdaga ran out of breath and energy.
All of a sudden, a white light so bright Myrkdaga had to close his eyes emanated from behind the dragon on top of him, silhouetting his form. The dragon released him and retreated, squealing in pain. As the bright light blinded him, Myrkdaga took his chance regardless. He sprang to all fours, and as his vision cleared, attacked with all his remaining strength.
Lorellei was beside him looking worse for wear, but fighting off the dragon with a flame-ensorcelled blade. With every strike, the metal shrieked, and skittered off the dragon’s hide in a blaze of sparks, but every hit left lingering trails of blue flames that seemed to cause the dragon growing pain. With a look and a nod to each other, Lorellei and Myrkdaga wordlessly drove into a two pronged attack, dividing and circling their enemy instinctively, to attack from two sides and conquer him.
As they converged at full speed, the dragon launched himself into the night, out of their reach and their sight, to the sound of their cheers. As they met eyes, the heat of battle faded, and they stood in silence for a moment.
“Thank you,” they muttered simultaneously with their eyes averted, but Myrkdaga could not hold back a grin, and neither, it seemed, could Lorellei. Perhaps the Eldarkind aren’t so feeble, after all, Myrkdaga pondered, and perhaps they were more alike than he cared to admit. A grudging, small respect, had formed. Very small. And very grudging. But there nonetheless.
Lorellei jumped and punched the air with a whoop, unable to contain his excitement. “I’ve never fought a dragon before!” His eyes glittered with heady excitement.
“Clear your mind,” Myrkdaga warned. Already his excitement had faded, and his eyes scanned their surroundings—out on the fringes of the battle—because he knew the fight was not over. One enemy vanquished does not mean a battle won.
With that, they dove back into the fray still erupting around them.
Chapter Sixteen
Eve had fallen asleep reading a book on earth magic in the reading room, but she awoke to a nightmare. The world had descended into a hell described straight from the book of God. Fires burned everywhere Eve could see as she stumbled out of her room, disorientated after being woken by the din in the middle of the night.
Dark smoke stung her eyes and she scrabbled to hold the door frame. It was the only way she could determine which way was up in the confusion. Choking smoke blocked the hall, and there was no sense of an exit. Black and billowing clouds made the darkness complete around her, and, unfamiliar with that part of the building, panic rose within her as the sound of crackling fires and the clashing outside deafened her.
Pushing back the panic for a moment, she checked herself over. No pain, or injuries. Her sword, which she had taken with her after a brief sparring practice, was still in its scabbard at her hip, but she had nothing else with her. No light. No water. Nothing to cover her mouth with. As if reminding her, she retched and coughed once more, but the smoke was so thick she could not rid herself of it. A fear far greater than that which she had felt even confronting Bahr of the Fire took hold of her and she shook with terror as she stumbled along with both hands pressed to the wall.
Her eyes were closed, useless as they were in the dark, and she took the tiniest breaths filtered by the cuff of her sleeve, though it didn’t seem to help. The coughing overcame her and, in a fit of dizziness, she sank to the floor to discover both visibility and breathing improved.
For a few seconds, she lay there, taking shallow breaths of the sour air, before crawling with slightly renewed vigour towards the bottom of a door. With a hard shove of her shoulders, it opened, and the breath of a breeze tickled her cheek. Her heart leapt in her chest, until she saw the way before her more clearly as the smoke shifted. Ahead, the light grew, but it was not the cold light of a starlit sky, it was the bright, hungry glow of fire.
She cried out in fear and exhaustion, but the only way was forwards, for now she recognised the great entrance hall, and the smoke rose to reveal the way out. Through danger. Fire encircled the space, clinging to the walls, the wooden floors, and the fabric hangings. The air, now partly cleared of smoke, burnt her lungs with its fire-fuelled heat. It seared her eyes and skin, and her lips felt like they would crack and peel with the intensity of it. Eve realised her mistake, and looked back, but now the way she had come was cut off by the fire as it devoured all in its path. A squeak escaped her lips as she looked around and realised she was surrounded by a wall of flames.
Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt both ice cold and a feverish heat as she trembled from head to toe, and looked one way and another, like a rabbit frozen in a fox’s glare.
A gap in the flames opened, and without a thought, she sprinted. Flames lashed at her, searing her skin. Sparks skittered. Flames danced across her. As she burst through the other side, she was on fire; a living flame. Locks of trailing hair were ablaze, every hair on her arms was singed off, and she screamed as the pain of the heat bit into her skin.
Hands grabbed her, patting her roughly down and cold water doused her. The shock of it made her gasp big breaths that didn’t seem to take in any air. Eve sunk, shivering, to her knees, in shock and unable to discern the muffled voices around her before she fainted.
Chapter Seventeen
Tarrell pushed forward with his kin as the dragons before them fell back from the ferocity of their attack and the strength of their magic. Together with Farran, they rallied to form an orderly and hard attack at the flagging dragons before them. They were still reeling from the ferocity and suddenness of the attack, but Tarrell pushed that deep under a layer of honed concentration and mental clarity. The result of years of meditation and control over his own mind urged him to push forward. He was determined to unify everyone in that one moment.
“We are struggling in the cold,” shouted Farran mentally to Tarrell, soaring high above the battlefield. From the heights, he could see vast swathes of Ednor aflame, and below him, both air and land was a twisted mess of battling Eldarkind and dragon, kissed here and there with the blue fire of Eldar magic. “Though we have had some time to acclimatise, which will aid us in the long term—” He broke off to smash a dragon from the sky and bathe its falling body with flames. “We tire now, and we fight dragons fresh from the warm climes of the south.”
“For us, it is the opposite!” Tarrell replied, darting in to slash at the tip of a dragon tail that slithered too close. He was rewarded with a howl as the end sliced clean off. “We are well used to the cold, but these fires; we cannot withstand their flames or their strength. Worse of a
ll, our weapons are useless unless the dragons land, for they can attack well out of our reach.”
“I fear the upper hand will slip away if we do not seize it now. We begin to hold them back. We cannot falter. We must push now!” Tarrell had the fleeting mental image of Farran saying it through gritted teeth, if that were possible for dragons.
“On your word, friend,” Tarrell shouted. Farran soared high above him, dealing crushing defeats to any dragons who fell into his path.
Farran’s roar above him signalled his acknowledgment, and suddenly the air was thick with more wing beats as dragons strove to be at the very front of the drive to push Cies and his followers sway from Ednor, and low enough to be vulnerable to the Eldarkind’s blades.
Tarrell drove his kin forward with a rallying cry, and the fire on every sword blazed brighter and stronger as the magic feeding them was reinforced.
As one, they drove forward on foot and on wing. The dragons saved their fires: to preserve themselves against the cold, and because they would not be of aid against dragonkin. The Eldarkind chanted a discordant and disjointed song that bound precision and sharpness anew into their blade.
In a moment, they met the enemy, and drove back Cies and his kin with such fierceness they were caught off guard, complacent still in their surprise attack. Farran’s dragons attacked those in the sky, diving upon them to knock them from their air, rent wings and inflict great gashes that rained purple blood on those below. On the ground, Eldarkind attacked, weaving and dodging between their enemies, striking and withdrawing beyond the flames, flailing claws, and teeth, to leave trails of blue fire lancing pain through Cies and his kin, and sword cuts nicking scales.
The organised attack made short work of Cies; and before they knew it, the night was silent. Dragons melted away into nothingness, until even their wing beats could not be heard over the raging inferno that continued to grow, feeding on Ednor.
