by Meg Cowley
“Yes. Much of Ednor was destroyed, and the main buildings suffered the worst. They are much preoccupied with ensuring the injured and dead are cared for, and the living have somewhere to stay.”
There was little to say after that, and they exchanged some empty pleasantries. Eve shared her father was still ill and unable to fulfill his duties. Soren shared how his sister was flourishing in court life, sheltered from matters of state. Eve was glad, for Irumae had already suffered much beyond her years.
“I hope to see you both in the flesh soon,” she said with a smile.
“May it be so,” Soren hoped.
Soren wished her well, and she him, though they both knew it was very much against the odds with what lay ahead.
~
Awaiting her in the drawing room once she had finished was Hoarth, captain of the guard, and his deputy, Nyle. Her father was not present; still too ill to attend. It felt strange to meet people there, Eve noted as she sat in her father’s chair. This was where her father held his meetings, which she had never been allowed to attend and was instead sent to play, school, or be scolded for trying to eavesdrop. Now, she sat in his chair, conducting his business. His presence was heavy in the room, despite his absence, as if he leaned over her shoulder.
Luke entered behind her and closed the door with a soft snap, but he did not sit with them. He was there as her guard, not her confident.
Eve invited them to sit, gesturing with a bandaged hand. Their lingering glances told of their interest in her condition, as they openly stared at her shorn hair and bandages.
“My lady,” they said in unison, bowed, and took their seats.
“Forgive me the intrusion, my lady,” said Hoarth. “I do not mean to pry, but I expected you to remain abed for quite some time. You seem remarkably well given the extent of the injuries you suffered, as they were described to me.”
“I am much better than I was, thanks to the grace of Eldarkind magic,” Eve said.
Hoarth stiffened and his eyes narrowed.
“Captain, please suspend your prejudice. Nyle knows of the Eldarkind; he accompanied me once to Ednor.” Eve glanced at Nyle. His own eyes were hard. He had less than fond memories of that trip, and she hoped he still did not bear her ill-will for what had happened. “He can vouch they are a fair and noble race and their magic is a force of good. They bear no resemblance to the wives tales.” She stared pointedly at him.
“It is so,” Nyle said begrudgingly.
Eve nodded, satisfied. “By the grace of their powers, I am healed. Their blood flows in my veins,” she dared to admit, “and I am blessed with magic. I have healed myself from the gravest of my injuries, so I may help Arlyn prepare for what may come.” Ignoring their shock, she peeled back her bandage to reveal a scarred arm and hand. “This injury happened not a week ago. See how I have healed it? I will always bear these scars, but magic means I lived through them, and return whole to lead my people once more.”
They did not reply—in shock from that admission, she presumed—so she continued, knowing she now had to show her strength for them to trust and follow her.
“I thank you for joining me today. Let us return to the business at hand. We have no time to delay.” She detailed what had happened in Ednor again; her duties there, and what had befallen the Eldarkind and the dragons who allied with them and now resided there. “I witnessed this first hand. I survived. Barely,” she emphasised. “The Eldarkind and the dragons were barely a match for those that attacked. We will not be able to stand in their way. You have heard the reports from across Caledan. It is all true. They could well come here next, or soon, and we must prepare.”
Hoarth shuffled in his chair. “Surely, this is unnecessary. They would not trouble us so far west.”
Anger rose in Eve. She ripped off all her bandages and stood to show him scarred flesh on every limb. “This covers my entire body,” she said to him with bared teeth and red cheeks. “I am fortunate to have magic to be able to heal myself, but even so, I endured this for days with no ministration as I rode night and day, to return in time to warn my people. Would you like this or worse to be the fate of your wife? Your children? Parents? Friends?” she snarled.
“I do not have time to waste with disagreements. The dragons have come to the west. The Eldarkind and their dragons may yet drive them off, and then where will they go? They will not disappear. They could well come here. They will not wait on courtesy to attack. As they did at Ednor, they will come with the night and we will all be dead before we know it. I do not want to suffer what I have witnessed again, and I will protect my people from it whether you like it or not.”
Hoarth subsided, taken aback by her vehemence, and Nyle sat as imperturbable as ever. Eve dared not look towards Luke, who had moved to stand behind her.
Eve grasped one of her father’s blankets lying across the back of the chair and draped it across her naked legs. “Set a guard up night and day.” She softened her tone, but kept the edge so they would be in no misunderstanding that she meant what she said.
“I want our walls constantly guarded. I want alarms sounded the moment any man, woman, or child hears so much as a whisper of anything. I care not if it is a false alarm. I would much rather the entire town be roused and return to bed cold and grumpy than for the alternative, for fear of inconvenience could mean we miss our chance and all end up roasted in our beds.”
Hoarth nodded. Worry lined his face.
Good, she thought. Perhaps he begins to take me seriously. “We also need to have an evacuation plan in place. Where can our people gather if Arlyn is attacked? We must find somewhere everyone can reach quickly, without being detected, that will be safe beyond measure. Where can they go?”
Hoarth sat up, now his input was required. He stroked his beard and chewed his lip as he contemplated. “The forest?”
“Hmm,” replied Eve noncommittally and shook her head. “Even if it is wet, I’m not sure it can withstand dragon fire, or hide our people.”
“The lake?” suggested Nyle.
“Too open,” Eve dismissed the idea, as frustration grew. She did not want to alienate them with her refusal to entertain their suggestions, but the ideas they proposed would not prove fruitful solutions. “The dragons may not suffer water, but their flames can travel many hundreds of yards. We cannot outrun or outreach them.”
Behind her, Luke shuffled and coughed. “Erm.” They turned to look at him, and he coloured slightly at their attention.
“Yes?”
“I don’t mean to interrupt. What about the mines?”
Yes! Eve thought. “The old iron workings! I had not thought of that. Brilliant idea.” A brief smile flashed across her face, and Luke smiled in response as she turned back to Hoarth and Nyle. “This could be the solution we need, no? They are close, they are safe, and our people may stay there without fear of detection. The dragons attack mostly from the air, and do not land very often. Are the caves safe?”
Hoarth shrugged and grimaced. “I cannot be sure. Folk don’t go in them for good reason, but they could be shored up with ease to be sure.”
“Make it so,” Eve decided. “Send every man you have to reinforce the walls and ceilings where you can. Nyle, I want you to brief the town cryer. He must inform everyone of the danger and what to do when and if the time comes.”
“My lady,” they replied in unison, stood, bowed, and left.
Eve sat back in her chair and closed her eyes in relief. That had been both harder and easier than she had expected. I hope they have some understanding of what we face… and are committed to following my orders.
“Thank you for that,” she said to Luke, and reached out to squeeze his hand in thanks. As she saw the scars on the back of her hand once more, she faltered, and pulled her hand out of his grasp, self consciously covering it with the blanket. “You look tired,” she said. “Rest. Eat. I’ll be fine. Go.”
Luke nodded and turned away, but before he reached the door, he returned t
o stand before her. Gingerly and gently, he freed her hand from the blanket and placed a soft kiss upon the scars before he left.
She swallowed and placed her palm across the back of the hand he had kissed. The skin felt so strange and wrinkled. It would take a long time to accept her new body, but perhaps it were not so dreadful and hideous as she feared.
Shortly after he left, she followed suit, and headed in the opposite direction, out of the keep and towards the woods once more with an idea forming from her earlier spells and the works in Ednor she had read about the powers of earth magic. Could she draw upon the power of the earth again to protect her people with a ward of colossal proportion? There would only be one way to find out. I might not be able to fight dragons, but I can protect my people, she thought determinedly.
Chapter Twenty
It was clear that the gods had not been appeased. The devastation continued apace across northern Roher, and the streams of refugees flooding into the capital clogged the streets. Already, Harad had ordered the roads to be purged, with any beggars cast out into the merciless desert and stragglers flogged publicly in the squares, but it did not seem to dissuade them from arriving in ever increasing numbers, as if their king could protect them.
They would think it his duty, Harad knew, yet what more could he do? He had thrown games, made sacrifices, ordered Roher to complete days of fasting and prayer, and the capital of Arrans to be purified throughout. Nay, this could not be a god, for no god would think him weak, Harad reasoned. This must be a demon. That did not make his predicament any easier; demon or god, it mattered not. He could vanquish neither.
Harad doubled the conscription rates, lowered the conscription age to twelve, and doubled the city guard to ensure his control of the army, and thus the country, was secure. To keep his citizens busy and free of dissent, he doubled the days of fasting and praying, whilst spreading news that Roher could not be forgiven by the gods until its citizens had atoned for their wrongdoings. Let the fervent punish themselves to please their gods. I pray this demon leaves us alone. Harad’s bluff would not stand to be called.
Chapter Twenty One
Farran was correct. With the night came the dragons. This time, no cacophony heralded their arrival. This time, it was a silent descent of deadly assassins from the sky. Frantic horns rang out as the first fell from the stars, and the warning keening of Farran’s watching dragons snaked through Ednor, signalling them to spring into action.
Myrkdaga met Lorellei’s eyes with grim glee, and Lorellei gave him a shaky smile before clambering up Myrkdaga’s leg to sit upon his back. He fumbled with the makeshift straps that would lash his legs in place and keep him safe during Myrkdaga’s aerial manoeuvres, and grasped the loop around one of Myrkdaga’s back spikes in front of him. Last of all, he checked his sword was accessible by both hands. Being ambidextrous would come in useful that night, he was sure.
Myrkdaga shuffled and stretched under Lorellei, testing out this new and unfamiliar weight upon his back; it would take some adjusting to ensure his flying remained stable. Though Lorellei was not heavy to him, the slightest adjustment in weight was the difference between a well-executed loop and tumbling out of the sky. Myrkdaga was ready for the challenge.
“Ready to fly, friend?” said Myrkdaga, his grin wide and toothy.
“Ready!”
Myrkdaga launched into the air. His wings snapped out and beat powerfully to speed them upwards. Lorellei whooped. Myrkdaga wobbled under his weight just a little, and shifted his wing position and tail to his new balancing position, trying small manoeuvres to test his balance.
“This is amazing!” said Lorellei into his mind. They had agreed to communicate this way throughout the battle, so the wind and din could not snatch their words away.
“Welcome to my life,” said Myrkdaga with a joyful roar. As they soared away from Ednor, Myrkdaga rose in thermals, for his strategy as a smaller dragon was to stay on the fringes of the battle and pick off those dragons he could outmatch.
“This breeze is low, which is good for stable flight,” he told Lorellei. “And yet I do not welcome it, for it stinks of dragons.” He growled.
Lorellei did not answer. All dragons smelled fairly odious to him, not just Cies.
At last, they levelled out, soaring high above Ednor valley. Lorellei struggled to look down; it was dizzying.
“Now, we are in our ideal position,” explained Myrkdaga. “Above the enemy. Best to be here, as it’s far harder to be attacked from below without warning, and far better to attack from high, approaching behind your enemy, so they cannot see you until it is too late.”
“Won’t they see us if they look up?”
“No. Look. Ednor burns.” Myrkdaga pointed his head towards Ednor, which had once again erupted in flames as dragons swarmed over it. “The night sky means little light coming from above. For us, our enemies will be silhouetted below against the fire whilst they shall be so blinded by its light we shall appear from the darkness as wraiths.” Already, his keen night vision was enhanced by the light of the flames; shapes darted thither and yon, indicating both his kin and enemy. His nostrils flared, tasting their scents upon the air.
“Wait for my direction,” warned Myrkdaga. “Attack only those I attack, for I can tell friend from foe, even in this confusion. Are you ready? I’m about to dive.” His wings fluttered as he caught himself from diving, thinking it best to warn his Eldarkind counterpart first.
Above him, Lorellei gripped him tighter between his thighs, and wound his hand into the loop. “Ready.”
“Hold on tight!” Myrkdaga shut his wings and dropped from the sky like a stone, gradually opening them to corkscrew out of the sky, faster and faster.
“Aaaaaargh!” Lorellei had to close his eyes against the sickening blur that threatened to claim the contents of his stomach
“Now!” Myrkdaga cried.
Disorientated, Lorellei struggled to draw his sword, which glowed blue, and brandished it before him, careful not to touch Myrkdaga. As he regained his composure, he had but a moment to perceive the dragon below as they approached it at breakneck pace. Lorellei focused all his attention on their foe, and his blade erupted into blue ice-fire as Myrkdaga sunk teeth and raked claws into the dragon before them. Lorellei leaned forward and slashed, catching the wing membrane. The dragon shrieked, and sped away. Myrkdaga snapped out his wings and it felt to Lorellei like they had slapped into a wall in mid air. Myrkdaga laboured, flapping his wings to gain height again.
Lorellei vomited over the side of Myrkdaga’s shoulder, and the remains of his evening meal rained on those below. He sighed with relief. At the very least, that felt better.
They repeated the tactic on another smaller dragon, and this time Lorellei kept his concentration better. He clung on for dear life and kept his eyes open with sheer determination, though they stung from the wind rushing past them. As they approached this time, his sword was already ready and aiming, and together they delivered blows that left bloodied furrows from Myrkdaga’s claws and trails of blue fire from Lorellei’s sword across their opponent.
“That was well done,” Myrkdaga grunted.
Lorellei whooped on his back, exhilarated by their success. His eyes, slowly improving in the darkness, though nowhere as sharp as Myrkdaga’s, scanned the skies for their next engagement.
All of a sudden, a great weight crashed upon them, crumpling Myrkdaga’s wings, and crushing Lorellei against Myrkdaga’s hard, sharp-edged scales.
Myrkdaga roared in frustration as a larger dragon plummeted towards the ground with Myrkdaga firmly in his grasp, and Myrkdaga knew what it was about to do. He struggled, but could not escape. Lorellei moved upon his back, wriggling free of the straps lashing him in place.
“What are you doing?” shouted Myrkdaga.
Lorellei did not answer, save with an incoherent battle cry. He freed his sword arm and began to hack with all his might at the dragon who held them, leaving rents in the dragon hide; it swirled with
blue flames that crawled into the wounds. A giant twitch of the dragon dislodged Lorellei and he fell with a high-pitched scream into the abyss. Myrkdaga roared, an ear splitting, determined roar, and pushed with all his might away from the dragon, making sure to dig his claws into the wounds Lorellei had left.
Free of his enemy, Myrkdaga fell into a dive, the fastest he had ever performed, seeking the blue blade falling beneath him. At the last second, as the ground hurtled to meet them both, he caught Lorellei and snapped his wings out to break their fall into a gliding descent that tumbled them into the tree tops. As impact approached, Myrkdaga cradled Lorellei in his claws, tipped onto his back, and broke the force of the crash landing with his own body.
After a second of allowing himself to be stunned, Myrkdaga shook his head with a growl, clearing away the stars that danced before his vision. Delicately, he opened his claws to reveal the crumpled form of Lorellei, shaking like a leaf. He set the Eldarkind on the ground, where he did not rise, but instead sat, a gibbering wreck.
Myrkdaga surveyed their surroundings whilst he waited for his companion to regain his senses. They had fallen far from the battle, it seemed. He could hardly smell fire or dragons here, and he could not see any sign of flames through the trees. They were on the outskirts of Ednor, he surmised. He looked back down at Lorellei, who was managing to clamber to his feet with the support of a tree trunk, though still shaking.
“I thought I was dead,” Lorellei stuttered. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Myrkdaga said gruffly. “Thanks for your help, too. Without your quick thinking and bravery—or foolishness—we would both be dead now.”
Lorellei nodded. His face was as pale as the moon.
“The battle is not over. Are you ready? We still have more to do.”
Lorellei straightened and coughed. He took a deep breath, and met Myrkdaga’s eyes. The fear was still there, and exhaustion was beginning to show, but there was determination, too. “I’m ready.”
