by Jordan Rivet
No. Please no.
Flames rose from the Stronghold’s broken crown in the distance. The rubble from the explosion glowed as if bits of Fire were stuck to it. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.
The ground began to shake. Selivia struggled to keep her mount from bolting as loose stones skittered across the ground, and the commander’s stallion tossed his head and snorted wildly. A dull roar in the distance grew louder and louder. The sun-tinted horizon seemed to churn, and a cloud of dust billowed up from the east. Hints of silver and Fire glinted in the cloud as a vast army emerged from the haze and advanced on the Soolens.
The attackers wore the particular blue of Vertigon.
Commander Brach’s soldiers rushed to their battle formations as blazing balls of Fire streaked toward them. Wherever the Fireballs fell, they exploded in showers of liquid light. Men screamed, trying to scrape the scorching substance from their skin, but it clung to them as if it were oil. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Selivia recoiled in horror. She wanted to help, but she was powerless to stop the screams and the terrible pain.
Then a hand seized her arm. “Get to the rear!” Commander Brach hollered at her. “Now!”
Selivia obeyed, digging her heels into her horse’s flanks the instant the commander released her. He was already turning to meet the Fireworker army barreling toward them in a cloud of dust and ash. There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. How did they have no warning of this? Selivia thought the Lantern Maker was supposed to be far away in Soole.
She galloped back along the column, passing hundreds of grim-faced men who definitely hadn’t expected to fight today. Booms erupted behind her as the magical substances clashed. The Waterworkers were fighting back against the Fire Weapons. Glints of silver indicated where more Waterworkers were preparing to hurl their magic at the Fireworkers if they broke through the front lines.
The palomino mare seemed to sense Selivia’s terror, for it carried her faster than she had ever ridden before. She reached the rearguard, where the three feather-winged dragons crouched with their mouths open wide, feeding their precious Watermight cargo to their handlers. Selivia wheeled around, unsure where to go from here. What remained of the Stronghold was burning, lighting up the landscape as if it were a Fire Lantern. Selivia’s mother was in there! She had to get her out somehow—if it wasn’t too late already.
She searched for Mav, but the true dragon was nowhere to be seen. Smoke drifted overhead, obscuring her view as she scanned the sky for her giant scaly friend. Her heart pounded wildly. What if he had abandoned her entirely?
She could no longer see Commander Brach up ahead. The Vertigonians were attacking from the south and the east, forcing the Soolens to fall back toward the Rock. She stayed as close to the Cindral dragons as she could. The creatures screeched and tossed their heads as the enemy drew nearer.
Wherever the Fire Weapons struck, men exploded as if they were made of straw, spreading blood and burning flesh across the dry earth. Scarlet and brown and gray met the warm browns and yellows of the land, painting a garish picture of the horrors of battle. Selivia leaned over her saddle to throw up, her tears blinding her to the carnage.
She wiped her mouth and cast about frantically for something to do, some way to help. Could she reason with the Fireworkers? She was a princess of Vertigon, and they had to do what she said. She didn’t want them to get killed either!
It was no use. There was no reason in war. The soldiers surged around her, their movements practiced but altogether foreign. She couldn’t do a single thing to turn the tide or stop the violence. But she could tell when the Soolens started losing.
The men’s voices became frantic. Their comrades fell around them, burning and broken. They retreated wildly, panicking before the onslaught. The Fire Weapons invented by the Lantern Maker were nothing short of horrendous. He was destroying everything, ripping apart the fabric of the earth with his terrible weapons. The Soolens may have started it with their razors of Watermight and explosions of ice, but the Fire Weapons existed in a darker, red-drenched world. No one could stand against them.
Selivia ducked as a spiraling razor of Fire zipped past her and plowed into a group of soldiers near the dragons. She covered her ears, unable to fully block out their cries. One of the dragons broke loose and fled, leaving its handlers to their fate. The others thrashed about, growing increasingly agitated as the world burned.
The Fireworkers were getting closer. She should run, but fear and horror paralyzed her. She was still on horseback, but she’d lost all sense of direction. Where was Commander Brach? Would he be able to save her mother? He had sworn she wouldn’t be harmed, but the Lantern Maker had made no such promise. And this was the very same Lantern Maker who had killed her father.
Selivia looked at the burning fortress through the acrid smoke, heart shuddering like a dying sparrow. Her mother might already be gone, along with her father, her grandfather, and many of her Truren cousins. Despair filled her at the thought that she could do nothing to help any of them.
Then something wrapped around Selivia’s waist, and she was yanked straight out of her saddle.
Howling wind drowned out the sound of her scream. She was being lifted into the air! Her horse shrank beneath her as she rose up above the battlefield, unable to see anything but that deadly fall. She wanted to throw up again, but for a few horrible heartbeats, she was too scared to move.
She recovered her wits enough to twist her head. Great black wings beat on either side of her. Intense heat emanated from the green-scaled body at her back. Massive claws held her tight around the middle. Mav had appeared at last, snatching her right out of her saddle, and now he was carrying her away.
They soared over the battlefield together. The soldiers were so focused on the fiery darts being hurled at them—and the silvery ones sent in response—that they didn’t notice the huge true dragon gliding overhead. Selivia blanched at the destruction beneath her as the Vertigonian army clashed with the Soolens. They surged, blue against gray, and spread red streaks across the plains.
She spotted a tall figure, crowned in Firegold, hurling Fire faster than all the others. That had to be the Lantern Maker himself. No one could stand before him. He punched through the Soolen line, getting closer to where Selivia had been just moments ago. He was going after the dragons! They seemed to sense the approach of this terrible adversary, for another took flight and streaked toward the sun, taking its remaining Watermight supply with it. Before the dragon could get far, the Fireworker whipped a thick cord of Fire at it and yanked it back down to earth. The dragon fell in a plume of dust, smoke, and white light. The Lantern Maker laughed, his powerful voice rising above the tumult.
Mav gave a furious roar. Selivia clutched at his claws, afraid he’d drop her as he banked sharply. She feared he intended to confront the Lantern Maker, but instead he turned northward to fly away from the battle.
“Wait!” she called. “We can’t go, Mav!” Her voice sounded helplessly small, lost in the clamor of battle and the rush of the wind. “We have to get my mother!”
The dragon heard her. He circled around a second time, bringing her closer to the Stronghold. She studied the fortress for a spot where he could set her down to find her mother, but it was no use. The entire Stronghold was burning. Flames flickered from every arrow slit, and many of the flat roofs of the lower levels had caved in when the top of the tower crumbled onto them. Commander Brach had told her that when he took the Stronghold with Watermight he had tried to limit the damage so he could hold it against his enemies later. The Fireworkers showed no such reserve.
Tears fell from Selivia’s eyes and disappeared in the searing heat rising from the tower. Mav circled once more around it, as if to make sure she had gotten a good look. Then he let out a cry and soared away from the destruction. Selivia didn’t argue. Right now, she didn’t care where he carried her. Her mother must surely be dead.
Why was this happenin
g? Why was her kind, loving family falling to the forces of darkness and evil in the continent? They were supposed to be good. Would this nightmare never end?
Selivia’s tears continued to flow as they flew back over the battlefield. Commander Brach’s forces were falling, overwhelmed by the sheer power of the Fireworkers and their weapons. The Watermight defenses were weakening, sputtering out like raindrops on a bonfire. She couldn’t see Commander Brach anywhere. Despite all the horrible things he’d done, she felt sad at his loss. She had hoped he might one day make up for his actions by pursuing peace. Now she had no idea if such a thing would ever be possible.
All she knew was that the Lantern Maker had no desire for peace. Only death. And she needed to get far away from here. Apparently, Mav agreed, because he kept his grip around her middle and soared into the wilderness. This time, he flew due north.
18.
The Woods
DARA waited in the shadow of a huge tree, trying to keep still as her companions had instructed. Belna had woken her early, telling her there was something she might like to see not far from the village. They weren’t supposed to make a sound. Dara struggled to assume the quiet focus she used in her duels, but too many worries had plagued her since learning that her father and the bulk of his army was missing.
Berg grunted beside her. “I am hearing your heartbeat, young Dara.”
“Sorry.”
“Is it so hard to be calm for you now?”
“I’m worried about—”
“I know.” Berg chuckled. “Saying it again will not help you be calm. Remember to breathe.”
Dara sighed deeply. Berg’s steady presence helped to quiet her thoughts. She missed the days when she used to train with him. Dueling was an uncomplicated pursuit. Wielding the magical substances, on the other hand, required passion, intensity, control, and calm all at once. She had devoted so much time to studying the Work that she’d almost forgotten what it had been like to engage in a straightforward discipline as she had with Berg. But it would all be useless if she couldn’t find her father.
A branch cracked nearby, and a shape moved in the shadowy forest. Dara held her breath. This was what they were waiting for.
“Steady,” Berg said, clenching his large fists.
Belna made a tutting sound and patted her brother on the shoulder. “They are wild, but do not fear them.”
The shape moved again, shuffling toward them. Sunlight shimmered on a rippling black wing, an arched neck, a head crowned with a narrow crest of midnight-black feathers. Then the branches gave way, revealing the beast in its entirety. The Cindral dragon was beautiful and terrible, a creature of shadow and night. Sleek feathers covered its broad wings, but the fine obsidian scales on its neck were bare. The dragon pinned Dara with a steely gaze, and for a moment, she felt as if she were facing down the worthiest dueling opponent she had ever met.
More Cindral dragons were moving in the shadows, iridescent green, sun yellow, deep brown, but Dara had eyes only for the black dragon. It wasn’t quite as big as she had expected, but it could easily carry a few people on its back—if it ever deigned to do such a thing. It raised its wings and thrust forth its powerful, scaled chest, never taking its eyes off Dara.
She took a step toward it, holding its gaze.
“Not so close, Dara.”
“What?” She shook herself as if emerging from a trance.
“You are not safe near this one,” Belna said.
“Why not?”
“She’s . . . dangerous.”
Dara looked at the rippling muscles, the knife-sharp claws, the enchanting, deadly eyes. “I can see that.”
“She does not like people,” Belna said.
Dara and the dragon regarded each other, and she could have sworn that it winked at her. “Are you sure?”
“I am,” Belna said. “On this day, you must not take risks.”
Belna gestured at the other dragons, and Dara finally tore her eyes away from the black dragon to look at them too. Six Cindral dragons were prowling through the woods. They were smaller and brighter than the black dragon—younger, Dara thought—and they didn’t have the same ferocious intensity in their eyes. But they acted far more agitated, scratching at the earth with their claws, ruffling their huge feathered wings, snarling. Two began to wrestle, slamming their tails into each other and attempting to snap their jaws around each other’s necks.
“That’s not how they usually act?” Dara asked.
Belna shook her head, drawing Dara farther away from the tussling pair. “They are upset. Something is wrong, and we cannot tell what.”
The feathered dragons certainly seemed more aggressive than the cur-dragons Dara knew. They thrashed through the woods, necks arching and tails coiling. Only the black dragon held herself aloof from the churn of restless activity.
Dara and the others had been staying with the Cindral Folk for several days now, plotting what to do about Khrillin at Fort Brach and the Lantern Maker—wherever he was. Gidon still refused to let them include the dragons in their strategy, no matter how hard Siv tried to persuade him. But something had been happening with the creatures lately, and Belna and Berg had decided to show Dara.
“I have seen nothing like this in all my years,” Belna said as they watched the Cindral dragons from a safe distance. “They act as if a predator lurks nearby, but no other creature is a danger to dragons.”
“You think it has something to do with our troubles?” Dara asked.
“We cannot know,” Belna said. “But great powers are at war in the land. The dragons notice.”
The black Cindral dragon tossed its head and looked at Dara again, a fierce challenge in its eyes. This dragon clearly wanted to be in the middle of the action. Dara wondered if she could communicate with it if she got close enough. Latch said the practice was like Air Sensing. That elusive discipline was a far cry from the practical, physical Work she was best at, and she’d never had an affinity with animals. Still, she needed some way to carry Watermight to use against her father—if she ever figured out where he was.
While Berg and Belna muttered to each other in the Cindral tongue, Dara edged closer to the black dragon. It kept an eye at her, casually clawing at the dirt as if trying to retrieve something from underground. Nearby, another scuffle broke out between two other dragons. The monstrous creatures thrashed about, shaking the trees as snarls and feathers filled the air. Dara fought for a meditative calm, attempting to ignore the commotion and call on the Air that had eluded her so often. She could do this. She could be as serene and receptive as Vine herself. Concentrate.
Dara’s peaceful approach didn’t last long. When she was still three paces from the black dragon, it abandoned its efforts to rip up the forest floor and looked her directly in the face. For an instant, Dara felt a connection to the creature, as if a line of Firegold had been strung between them. Then an Air message hit her so strongly it blew all thoughts of dragon taming out of her head.
Dara found Siv practicing archery with Latch and Gidon in a clearing, using a row of targets attached to one of the house-size tree trunks.
“We have a problem.”
“Dara!” Siv turned toward her with an eager smile. “How were the dragons? Did you try to ride—?”
“I’ll tell you about that later,” she interrupted. “I received a message on the Air.”
“Vine?”
“No. It was Ananova, the woman Selivia stayed with in Sunset City.”
Siv tossed his bow onto the forest floor, growing serious at once. “Tell me.”
“Ananova has been hiding at the Rock with other Far Plainsfolk. They’ve been keeping an eye on Selivia and Commander Brach from afar.” Dara glanced at Latch, who had a death grip on his own bow, and then met Siv’s eyes again. “The Soolens withdrew from Sunset City as agreed and circled the Rock to regroup at the Far Plains Stronghold. When they got there, they were attacked.” She drew a deep breath. “By an army of Fireworkers.”
&
nbsp; “Mother of a cullmoran,” Siv swore. “The Lantern Maker is in the Far Plains? How?”
“Apparently, he marched on the Stronghold after receiving a new supply of Fire from the mountain and sending that smaller force down here. Somehow, he kept the Soolen scouts from warning Commander Brach until it was too late.”
“And the outcome?” Latch said softly.
“I’m sorry.” Dara swallowed, feeling as if she had glass in her throat. “Your father’s army was defeated. Decisively. The Stronghold is a burned-out shell, and Ananova believes Commander Brach is dead.”
Latch’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, and he leaned down to set his bow on the ground, hiding his face. In that moment, Dara wished she could shrivel up and blow away. Her father had killed the father of another friend. When would it end?
Siv gripped his friend’s shoulder for a brief moment, then he turned to Dara. “And Sel?”
“She disappeared,” Dara said. “Ananova doesn’t believe she’s dead.”
“What does disappeared mean?” Siv asked. “Captured? Hiding?”
“I don’t know,” Dara said. “She just said disappeared.”
“What about her true dragon?”
“It’s gone as well.” She glanced at Gidon, who was listening closely to the exchange. Ananova had told her the Fireworkers slaughtered the Cindral dragons that had been with the Soolens. This wasn’t a good time to share that news, though. “Ananova did not see its body.”
“Let us hope they are together,” Latch said briskly. He straightened his vest, hands trembling slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk.”
Siv reached a hand toward him. “Do you—?”
“No.”
Dara watched Latch limp away sadly. There was no point in saying anything. Words wouldn’t make this better. This news was a call to action—Dara’s action. Her father’s time was done, and it was her task to make it so. And now she knew where to find him.
