Bad Faith

by Jon Hollins

  Voices finally freed her from the prison of her own skull. Voices out in the hills rarely heralded good intent for a lone woman. And while Quirk was not exactly afraid of any lonely shepherds who fancied their chances, she was not in the mood for such petty encounters. She wanted to be alone.

  The voices, though, she began to realize, were pitched lower than she had anticipated. And there were more of them. And as the voices rose, she realized they were not human at all.

  The dragons, she knew, often roosted a mile or more away from the human encampment. She had encouraged it herself. The dragons were not at their best when first awoken, or when hungry. A little distance, she had reasoned, could save a lot of lives.

  This morning, though, the dragons seemed to have awoken angrier than usual. And they were farther from the camp than she would have anticipated. She must have traveled more than a mile, surely. So, what were they doing out here? Why were they shouting at each other?

  She should have no interest in such answers, of course. She was leaving this place. She was leaving everything behind. She was in mourning for a life she had imagined by Afrit’s side. She was in mourning for Afrit herself.

  And yet … what if she heard something that would let her know more about what would happen to Afrit today? What if she heard something she could use to change Afrit’s mind?

  And so she approached slowly, hunched over, until she reached the crest of a low rise and looked down on the gathered assembly of dragons below. It was still a sight that could take her breath away: the low morning sun glinting off scales and wings, the size of the beasts stomping and grunting and bellowing below her, the sinuous grace of muscles as large as houses, the twisting mass of bodies.

  Pettrax was in the center of it all, twisting back and forth, jaws open. Rothinamax was rearing back, front claws flashing. And in the thick of the scrum, in defiance of logic, Yorrax was there too.

  “We hold to the plan,” Pettrax was shouting. “We slay the god. Barph falls at our feet. We will be the ones responsible. All will see who it is who is truly victorious over the god. We shall ascend to our rightful place.”

  “You mewling idiot,” Rothinamax snarled. “You have us do as the human Fallows tells us, and the next thing he shall do is turn around and slaughter us.”

  “You were born a coward,” Pettrax called, “and you have lived all your life as one. You are an insult to all dragon kind.” He shot fire into the sky. “If Will Fallows wants to try his hand at striking me down, then I shall enjoy feasting on his heart.”

  “I am the coward?” Rothinamax roared. “You are the one who crawls and grovels at the human’s feet! You are the one who does his bidding without question!”

  “I am the one that sees beyond the limit of the human’s plans. I am—”

  “You are both fools!” Yorrax’s screech brought everything to a crashing, crawling halt. Quirk watched as both the larger dragons brought their massive ire to bear on the small blue beast.

  Yorrax was unbowed. She turned to Rothinamax. “We need Will Fallows to kill Barph. If you believe anything else you are a fool. Barph is divine. The Fallows man has tapped into divine power himself. Without it we stand no chance.”

  And Pettrax couldn’t help but preen slightly at this damning of his enemy.

  “And you”—Yorrax wheeled on Pettrax—“are a fool if you think that the Fallows man will suffer us to exist a moment beyond the defeat of Barph. He thrives on worship. If anyone threatens to steal the crowd’s adoration, then he will end them.” She stared at them both as if daring them to strike her. The whole crowd of dragons seemed to be waiting for violence. Perched above it all, Quirk waited for it. Waited to see if she still had the capacity to care if Yorrax lived or died.

  And yet Pettrax and Rothinamax seemed to be struggling to fault Yorrax’s logic. She spread her wings and launched herself into the air, flying around their heads, like a starling buzzing around a pair of eagles. She stretched her jaws and screeched fire.

  “Listen to me,” she cried. “The Fallows man would use us as tools. We must make him ours. We must use him to defeat Barph, but then we must defeat him. His power comes from the people, from the crowds. Once Barph lies dead beneath our claws, we must not stop. We must keep up the slaughter. We must remove Will Fallows’s source of power. We must kill his worshipers. Every last one.”

  Quirk had thought she had lost her capacity to feel. She had thought last night had eviscerated what was left of her emotions and left her hollow and heartbroken. And yet this found a chink in the shell of numbness she had built up around herself. This she felt: a sluicing blast of shock.

  Because … Kill all of Will’s followers?

  And yet this was the dragon who had wanted to burn the world with her. Perhaps she should not be surprised. Perhaps the only true surprise was how long it had taken her to realize that this was the obvious conclusion to everything.

  And apparently this plan was the obvious outcome to all the gathered dragons too, even as Pettrax and Rothinamax tried to reestablish control. The gathered dragon kin launched themselves up into the air, roaring and howling and filling the air with fire. And atop this roiling inferno, borne aloft by scale and claw, wings spread, was Yorrax. Yorrax arching and diving and reveling in this newfound moment of leadership. And as the streaming trail of dragons stretched out toward the horizon and Will’s camp, all that was left for Rothinamax and Pettrax was to take to the air and chase after their fleeing roles at the head of this army.

  Quirk was left on the hilltop, staring up at the retreating army she had brought here to Avarra. The one she had committed to Will’s troops. The one now hell-bent on betraying them all.

  Except … hadn’t she already written this battle off as a loss? Wasn’t that why she was here? Because there was no hope for this fight? Because every man, woman, and child with Will was bound to die? Weren’t all the dragons’ contingency plans for naught, because the fight would never get that far?

  Wasn’t there no reason to go back? Hadn’t she left her only reason behind?

  Quirk hesitated. She had felt hollowed out before. Now she felt cored. She had nothing left.

  And perhaps Afrit was right after all. Perhaps it wasn’t just about saving Afrit. Maybe it was about saving herself from hurt. And could she really live with the pain of knowing she could have done something, that she could have perhaps prevented the inevitable?

  Oh gods. Afrit.

  Quirk picked herself up and started running after the dragons, back toward Will and the army and her abandoned love.

  54

  The Ants Go Marching Two by Two

  Lette watched the sun rise like a blight on the day. She watched it vomit light onto the twisting mass of streets, alleys, homes, shops, stalls, temples, cathedrals, theaters, museums, livestock, and people that made up Essoa. She watched the way it reflected off windowpanes, pooled in the thoroughfares, and rendered the rooftops as a chiaroscuro of black and white lines across the city.

  It had changed, Essoa, since she had last been there. So many years ago. When she was someone very different from who she was today. Were her parents still down there? Her sisters and brothers? Aunts and cousins? What did they look like now? Who were they? How many were dead?

  She hoped Balur might seek them out. That he might ask for them, try to protect them from what was to come. She hadn’t wanted to ask it of him. Pride and embarrassment and good old-fashioned stupidity getting in her way.

  Still, among all the changes, there were familiar contours to the city as well. Rooftops that continued to conform to recognizable patterns. Routes she had scampered through as a child, her pockets full of stolen pastries and an uncle in pursuit.

  Nostalgia and dread. There was an emotional mix she didn’t get every day.

  She heard footsteps approaching, knew it had to be Will. She didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t quite. Not today.

  “I really am sorry,” he said.

  “I know.”
r />   “I wish I could see another way.”

  “I know.”

  And he did mean the words. Here. Now. When he was with her, when she was on his mind. But it was too often now that he slipped away, not just from her, but from thinking of anyone else as being truly real. When their thoughts and concerns no longer mattered. Would he be sorry five minutes from now? She didn’t think so.

  But she didn’t see another way either.

  “The dragons are hidden?” she asked him. The practicalities of the day were almost easier to deal with.

  “Yes. They arrived a few minutes ago. They’re eager for this fight.”

  “You’ll be with them?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “You should go then.” And she did glance at him then. She couldn’t quite help herself. And she could still see, in that moment—with the wind tousling his hair, and concern and love writ large in his eyes—the farm boy she had met cowering in a cave in Kondorra. And even through all the changes that time had wrought, he still looked beautiful to her.

  Nostalgia and dread, and just a little bit of heartbreak too.

  “Go,” she told him. And he did.

  She raised her arm into the sky. “Defenders of Avarra!” she bellowed. “Are you ready?”

  The army gathered at her back bellowed.

  She stood at their head. The defenders of Essoa were gathered at base of the long slope below them. She drew her long sword, raised it to the heavens. Light gleamed off the polished blade.

  “Charge!”

  She was not up for speeches today. She was up for getting this over and done with, come what may.

  The army didn’t need speeches anyway. Will had filled them up with speeches. His words had made them into so many powder kegs ready to blow. So that a single shout from her was enough to light the fuses.

  They charged. A great flowing mass of humanity pouring down the grassy slope. Legs pumping, carrying bodies at full tilt. Weaponry and homemade banners waving in the air. Shouts emptying their lungs.

  “For Avarra! For Will! For all of us! Death to Barph! Death to Essoa!” On and on, an outpouring of love and hate, carrying Lette along, buffeting her at their head. Carrying her forward to wreak destruction on the city of her birth. Because she was their paladin.

  Essoa’s defenders were not organized. They were not allowed to be. Their god opposed such things. They did not, she thought, in the odd calm of the charge, even have captains or corporals. There were no sergeants to beat the soldiers into line.

  The defenders of Essoa, she thought, were going to fall.

  And then she was on them, hurdling one soldier’s clumsy pike thrust, planting her foot in his chest, knocking him to the ground. She stabbed down into his young face, ducked a sword blow from another, drove her blade up under her attacker’s chin. He spat his life out onto her chest in a bloody gout.

  Next to her, someone was dying on the end of a spear. Someone was bringing a shield down over and over into another man’s face. Someone else was hacking at arms with an axe. Another had found a morning star somewhere and was in the process of bringing the thing crashing into his own midriff. When he fell, he crushed a woman’s foot, sent her howling and flailing. Someone else with a short sword ended her screams.

  It was chaos and madness. No one had uniforms. No one could tell who was fighting for whom. She just kept cutting and thrusting, letting her momentum dictate her allies. Were they heading with her, toward the city? Then she would defend them. If they were not, she would kill them.

  She ran out of throwing knives, save for the two she kept for emergencies. She drew her short sword to pair with the long sword in her right hand. She carved through soldiers like a butcher on a feast day.

  The grass turned red beneath her feet, and the city of Essoa grew closer. And the defenders of Essoa fell.

  So many dead. And where was Barph? Where was he to defend his city? Was Will right? Did he care? Did he have to defend this place to stay dominant?

  And then there was laughter. And it came from all around her. It crashed into her, massive and oppressive. Her charge faltered. Everywhere the fighting faltered. Everywhere people turned, looked up, stared.

  Barph stood among them. Barph as she had never quite seen him before. Barph massive. Barph monumental. Barph truly the god that ruled all Avarra.

  He dwarfed cathedrals. He dwarfed dragons. His head must have been level with the top of the slope she had just charged down. He was as tall as the hills. A literal mountain of a man. His feet were the length of houses.

  He stood between her and Essoa. He beamed down broadly at them. He laughed.

  And now all she had to do was help kill him.

  55

  The Greatest Trick the Devil Ever Pulled …

  Will could actually feel the strain of it—the effort of will required to hide fifty dragons behind a curtain of illusion. This was not magic that was natural to him. It did not come straight from the Deep Ones that he had taken inside himself. This was magic come secondhand, via Cois, from before his death. His new almost-divine powers supplemented this magic, made it stronger, but the interaction of the two was not perfect. And he felt it.

  He felt so little these days. There had been something back when he’d been with Lette. Something nagging and sad, but also sweet for all the bitterness of it. He wasn’t sure he could capture it now. Now there was just this sense of strain, this dull ache at the back of his mind.

  And then Barph appeared, massive beyond imagining. His shadow blotting out a full third of the city. His face like a sun in the sky, full of teeth and curving lips.

  And Will felt hatred. Will felt rage. Will felt savage.

  He felt the dragons at his back. Their joy that this fight had come to them, that they were finally about to slip the leash he had put on them. He felt the wind of their wings spreading, the downdrafts as they beat at the air.

  All around him the dragons ran at the crest of the slope leading down to Essoa, leading to Barph, to the fight for Avarra, to glory, and to death.

  The dragons—hidden, invisible, deadly—took to the air, and Will felt himself smile.

  56

  All the News That’s Fit to Shout Semiarticulately

  Quirk felt as if she’d been running for days. Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. The final uphill slope almost defeated her. But she struggled and heaved and cursed at her aching legs until they moved.

  But as she penetrated the first layers of the camp, she realized that it was empty, just a shell village of tents and bedrolls. Abandoned wagons and livestock surrounded her. Food left half-eaten.

  No. No. Let me not be too late. Please let me not be too late.

  “Afrit!” she screamed. There was no answer.

  Then she heard the sound of fighting, and she knew she was too late.

  “No. No.” The word was a power unto itself, self-generating. Unstoppable.

  She was still moving, still stumbling forward. “Afrit!” she called again. But there was no reply. And gods. Oh gods. Afrit was over that hill. She was in that thunderclap of violence.

  And still … she didn’t hear the roar of dragons. Not yet. So maybe there was some time left to her. Maybe if she could find Will, she could still warn him.

  She staggered past the places where people had slept, the grass still flattened where they had lain. She passed their still-smoking campfires. She could smell their cooking. The density of their bodies. The sense of life just gone was heavy in the place.

  And then she saw—at the crest of the hill—a lone figure. A man standing, looking down on the scene beyond.

  “Will!” she called out, trying to convince her legs to break out into a run again. “Will!”

  He didn’t turn around. But it had to be him. She knew him too well to be mistaken.

  “Will!” She was a step behind him, reached out, put a hand on his shoulder. And then she was on the crest of the hill, seeing what he saw, and all her words died on her lips.


  A great slope of grass stretched out below her, acres and acres of meadowland sweeping down to a bustling cosmopolitan metropolis. And on that field, two armies clashed. One small and ferocious. Another large and bewildered. The former was on the attack. Will’s army, she realized now. Her army too, she supposed.

  And …

  And also …

  How had Barph gotten so large? How was that possible? Had any of the other divinities ever manifested at that size? Gods, his head was almost level with her, and he stood at the base of the valley.

  Barph’s foot came down. Fifty lives ended. He was laughing.

  “He’s going to kill everyone,” she said.

  “That’s his aim, yes,” said Will. And, finally, it was Will’s utter lack of concern that snapped her out of her horrified trance.

  “Afrit’s down there!” She was almost screaming. “We have to save them!” And gods. Gods … that was why she was here. And then the absurdity of her saving an army from … from … from the thing Barph was hit her. “You have to save them,” she said. It was all she could think of.

  “That,” Will said, “would take a miracle.” And could it be that there was a hint of a smile playing around his lips? It suddenly felt to Quirk that something was very wrong with Will.

  “We … we …” She grasped at straws. Everything was a tumult in her mind. She had to go down there. She had to save Afrit. There was no way to save Afrit. No one could save anyone from this. From Barph. Not even the dragons.

  The dragons!

  “The dragons,” she said, trying to crack Will’s shell of indifference with her urgency. “Where are they?”

  “Close,” Will said.

  “Well, if you’re relying on them to save those people,” she snapped, “then they’re about to betray you.”

  “I know.”

  For a moment Quirk couldn’t even process this answer. It was too far from the realm of possibility for her. And Afrit … Afrit …

  Except …