by Tammy Salyer
Safran’s voice came through the link. Mylla, is Knight Dondrin with you?
No, he came back with me from Ærd, but has since… gone. I honestly don’t know to where. But he’s not alone. He has a dragør of his own. He’s… well, he’s an odd one, and I don’t have a clue what he’s doing or why. I don’t even know if we’ll ever see him again.
Griggory couldn’t stay in one place if his feet were staked to the floor, Roibeard said. Do you see the northernmost tower, the one with both cannons still flanking it?
The frenzying Dyrrak fighters, battering Glisternaut ships, and billowing clouds of smoke and fire made the atmosphere over Magdaster nearly impenetrable, but with so few watchtowers atop the wall still standing tall, Mylla quickly spotted the northern one. The Weald border north of the sprawling city had fared better, as most of the fighting was still occurring over the western and southern regions. The Dyrrak fleet had arrived from the southern sea, but if the Himmingazians and Weald dragørs hadn’t arrived when they had, the city’s damage would have spread so much faster.
I see it. I’m on my way. And with one sweep of her enormous wings, Noble Inferno passed through fire and chaos and reached the tower.
Mylla looked down and saw her friends awaiting her on the wall. An oil-and-water mixture of joy and anxiety stabbed so sharply through her at the sight that she briefly thought she’d been impaled by a spear. Anticipating the landing, she began undoing the lashings holding her to Noble Inferno’s horns. Noble Inferno lowered swiftly like a hawk about to pounce, reaching with her rear talons to grip the wall. Then, with the force of a hurricane, something slammed into the beast’s flank.
Mylla screamed breathlessly as she found herself dangling by only her belt from the side of Noble Inferno’s head. Worse than the sudden impact, her carryall, only secured by one loop, opened. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Ærd Fenestros within it fall into a cloud of smoke, glint like a shooting crimson star, then disappear below.
The crimson dragør that had sideswiped Noble Inferno and nearly sent Mylla falling now tumbled beside them. Noble Inferno let out a roar, even as she regained control and checked their descent, immersing their attacker in flames. Mylla reached out and grabbed hold of a horn, wrapping her arms and legs around it like a life raft. In all her life, never had she felt so exposed.
The crimson dragør burst through the flames, and that’s when Mylla realized just how much worse things could get.
Knight Eisa Nazaria sat astride the crimson’s neck, one hand holding a set of reins, the other gripped to the haft of her hallowed glaive Fate Forger. The double blades, one on each end, gleamed despite the metal having sometime recently been burnished from their old mirror-bright silver to onyx black. It gave the appearance that whatever poison now ran through the Knight’s veins had likewise tainted her celestially consecrated weapon.
Everything about the sight of her one-time companion shook Mylla to her toes, from her ghastly paleness to her lifeless eyes to the celestial artifacts embedded and glowing with her chest. Only one word could describe the Dyrrak Knight, who had been a woman of unshakeable honor and devotion once. Now she was just a monster. A monster who rode a crimson dragør that had been made equally monstrous.
Eisa’s smooth gray eyes fell on Mylla. Did they widen? Like the other Knights, she must have believed Mylla dead, so if the woman had any of her old self still lurking in the deep cracks of her mind, she would likely be surprised to see her old trainee.
Mylla had little time to consider this, as Noble Inferno and Eisa’s crimson raged into each other, claws first. The beasts sank their talons into whatever they could grip on the other, bellowing and gnashing their teeth, locked in a midair battle. Their wings whipped cyclones of air that threatened to pull Mylla from the horn she held, but that was the least of her problems.
The crimson gave a thunderous growl and pushed away from Noble Inferno and dove. Noble Inferno, now reacting out of pure, unrelenting wrath, adjusted course to give chase, but she didn’t need to. The crimson was simply getting enough distance to take a mighty breath, pumping the bellows that created dragørfire, spin to face its pursuer, and roar straight into the oncoming Noble Inferno.
The survivalist in Mylla, with no better options, didn’t release her grip of Noble Inferno’s horn, and she clung on with redoubled intensity. Maybe dragørfire couldn’t hurt her, but being slammed by a dragør with enough velocity to turn a building into rubble still would.
Chapter Forty-One
Having as a friend a creature that can render you invisible has my highest recommendation, thought Jaemus. Especially when swimming through a sea full of people who’d sooner use you as target practice than throw you a rope. He just hoped he’d never be in another situation like this to have to recommend it.
Nature likewise decided to lend a hand in the way of an incoming tide, pushing Jaemus, Cote, and Heleina to shore shortly after narrowly escaping the crimson dragør’s detection. Immediately, Jaemus discovered another thing that was going right today, if anything could be said to be going right when a Cosmos full of celestial beings and their creations were at war. The Glisternaut ships being remote piloted from the Glistering Horizon were neatly lined up within walking distance. Unscathed and molested, they’d apparently been forgotten by the Dyrraks and dragørs once they’d settled to earth.
Jaemus had a choice now. Wait out the battle safely on the ground, doing what he could to keep Cote and Heleina safe. Or take the nearest Glisternaut ship and rejoin his companions who were still in the fight. He’d known his decision before the water had even dried from his face. He just wished he could say something to Cote before leaving him behind.
As if his lifemate could read his thoughts, even unconscious, Cote’s eyes blinked, and he jerked a little in Jaemus’s arms.
“Cote!” Jaemus crowed. “Thank the skies and sea.”
Heleina moved closer, grinning. “Knew our commander was just having a moment to himself,” she said, and the relief in her voice almost equaled Jaemus’s own.
“What happened?” Cote mumbled blearily. “Have we won?”
Jaemus reached for his wrist to check his pulse: still strong and steady. “Not exactly. How are you?”
Cote reached for his head and gingerly ran his palm over the wounded side. “I’m glad my head is still attached, but it hurts enough I almost wish it weren’t.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Heleina asked, kneeling next to him with a hand raised.
“Four, and one thumb,” Cote said, squinting.
“And where did we go for our first getaway after you made Glisternaut commander?” Jaemus, ever one to err on the side of caution—if anyone important were asking, that was—asked.
“We went to Vann because you wanted to collect some processor cores to modify. I wanted to go to somewhere else, but—”
“You’re fine,” Jaemus cut in. “I’m so glad.” One of Cote’s many qualities was to be ever so helpful in reminding Jaemus of specifics about things in their relationship that Jaemus preferred to stay a little more… vague. “Love, we’ve still got a rather fraught situation in front of us. Scintilla and Heleina can stay with you, but I’m afraid I should probably…” He drifted off, staring meaningfully toward the skies over the city.
Cote had sat up and followed his gaze, though he didn’t need to. “Of course, Jae. But I’m not about to let you do this alone.” As he spoke, he rose, but slowly. First he got to one knee, groaned as he pushed himself to standing, tried shaking Jaemus’s helping hand from his arm, then wobbled alarmingly.
“Commander,” Heleina said, beating Jaemus to the coming admonition. “I think you’re likely to hurt yourself more than help anyone else in your state.”
Cote went green, well, greener, in the face, a look that Jaemus knew was harbinger to a good spew. “Here, sit down,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere like that.”
“Okay, okay.” To his credit, Cote wasn’t obstinate in the same bu
rdensome way he occasionally accused Jaemus of being. “I think maybe I should.”
As soon as he was bum-down in the sand once more, Scintilla, who’d returned to a visible state, curled up on his lap, rubbing his fur-covered face against Cote’s chin. Absently, Cote reached into a pocket of his Glisternaut uniform and retrieved a mass of soggy veeshock. The flittercat rumbled and snagged the treat, undeterred in the slightest by its unappetizing state of near-mush. Cote’s normal color came back once he’d settled, but he was clearly shaken.
“Come back for me when it’s over, Jae. Heleina, Scintilla, and I will be waiting.”
“Well…” Heleina said, her tone apologetic. “I’m not quite done here yet. I have it in mind to make these miscreants regret what they did to Saxton and Drustim and Fex.”
Jae’s eyes cut to her, surprised at but approving in an almost avuncular way of the fight in her voice. Cote merely nodded. “Show them the Himmingazians aren’t that easy to stop, Glisternaut.”
She smiled, then looked to Jaemus, who had to take a moment to find his words. When they came, they were direct: “You take one long-ranger and I’ll take the other. We’ll both be able to control the rest of the grounded ships from those.”
With an “I’m on it,” Heleina was off to claim her ship.
Cote reached up with one hand and grasped Jaemus’s. “See you soon, Mystae.”
“Try not to let that flittercat eat you while I’m gone. I hear they like innards.” He gave Cote his bravest smile, hesitated, then scritched Scintilla briefly behind one ear before returning to battle.
Chapter Forty-Two
Noble Inferno and the crimson dragør ridden by Eisa slammed into each other with the force of continents clashing, their talons, wings, and roars churning the sky to chaos. The only thing that kept Mylla from being flung into oblivion was her celestially endowed strength that helping her hold Noble Inferno’s horn with a literal death grip.
The crimson attacking them was no slouch and fought with the same bottomless desire to rend and gouge until the opponent succumbed. In the turmoil, Mylla caught glimpses of the creature and its rider Eisa, and found it not at all surprising that her former mentor commanded the largest of the red dragørkind she’d seen. Eisa’s beast was still smaller than Noble Inferno, who outsized them all, but not by the same flea-to-bumblebee proportion, more bumblebee-to-dragørfly.
But mostly she just clenched her jaw and held her breath as the fight between the two dragørs took them on stomach-turning drops and heart-stopping upsurges through the air. Mylla’s ears had been assaulted by so much close-range roaring that, in their own defense, they now rang so loudly she could hear nothing else.
Except one small but objectionable thing—in a moment of stolen silence as Noble Inferno detached from her foe and plunged, the sound of the last piece of leather cord holding Mylla to the horn snapped with a rueful twang. Now if she lost her grip, she was going to be flying on her own.
Noble Inferno’s dive took them straight into a mass of Dyrrak fighters, and Mylla braced as tightly against the back of the horn as she could. The dragør seemed to sense her vulnerability and decimated the ships by fire instead of simply ramming them. Another nine Dyrrak craft were destroyed, falling into the city as bolides of sparking black smoke. If Mylla were not mistaken, it seemed there were fewer of the fighters now harrying Magdaster. But then she looked to the west and saw another wave of them, some hundreds on their way. The Vinnric defenders had barely made a dent against their enemy. This time her heart sank rather than stopped.
Noble Inferno kept moving. Where are we going? Mylla sent, hastening a look behind to see Eisa’s dragør closing in.
There is only one way this can end, the dragør replied. You must get that Scrylle, Knight Evernal.
Then a new voice was channeling itself to Mylla. Not a dragør’s, because she sensed it linking through her Mentalios instead of speaking directly to her mind. But the rasp of it was so foreign, so biting that she was at first unable to understand what she was hearing.
But then she remembered hearing that voice before. When looking into Balavad’s Scrylle in Himmingaze.
Why do you run, Knight? the Verity asked. Mylla shot a look behind her and knew without another doubt the Verity spoke through Eisa, using the Knights’ wystic Mentalios lens for his own foul ends. Haven’t you realized that you cannot fight forever?
Maybe it was riding on a magnificent dragør that gave her courage, or maybe she had simply had enough of this malignant Verity, but she retorted with rancor equal to his in every measure, Neither can you.
If a sneer could strike out, it would feel like the burst of stinging pressure into the very center of Mylla’s brain as Balavad responded, We shall see.
And then the crimson caught them, lunging onto Noble Inferno’s back from behind and stabbing its talons into the softer flesh of Noble Inferno’s wings. A rain of fire spread over Noble Inferno’s broad back, encompassing Mylla, who—for reasons she didn’t know—held her breath.
The bellow Noble Inferno gave could have cracked the sky. Her tail came whipping over her back, trying to dislodge the crimson, unsuccessfully. Mylla held on, stealing looks over her shoulder, with no idea what to do but wanting nothing more than to reach for Star Spark hanging at her waist. But if she relaxed one finger, she was doomed.
She had her klinkí stones, however, and what little good they would do. Mentally withdrawing them from her pocket, where she’d unconsciously stashed them, she shot them one by one into the crimson, hearing them plink uselessly against its armored hide. The beleaguered onslaught did have one effect though. It diverted the creature’s focus from dodging Noble Inferno’s thrashing tail and drew it to her.
Before the crimson’s jaws could dart in and remove parts of Mylla, Noble Inferno showcased a new aerobatic maneuver. Ears, legs, and wings tucked against her body, her enormous aerodynamic bulk screamed like a missile straight ahead, a maneuver that enhanced their speed so much that Mylla’s grip began to slip. Behind her, the crimson hunkered down against Noble Inferno’s back, barely maintaining its own grasp.
Master Inferno, you must slow down. I’m slipping.
When I tell you, let go.
Let go?! I’ll be smashed to a pulp.
At that moment, Noble Inferno turned in a barrel roll. Immediately, Mylla, now upside down, slipped from her perch and was left dangling by only her hands from the horn. She didn’t even have time to scream before Noble Inferno growled, NOW!
If she’d had a choice in the matter, she might have hesitated, but her hands had already given up. Down she fell, the empty air streaming past her becoming the coolest thing she’d felt since her first immersion in dragørfire. With her eyes shut, she called on her klinkí stones to form a net around her but had little hope they’d protect her from such a high-velocity impact as hers was sure to be.
Her internal timing was spot on, and she hit the ground precisely when she expected to. Except—the earth’s hardness had sometime in the recent past transformed from unforgivably solid to decidedly puffy, like a feather pillow. Her eyes shot open, and she found herself cocooned in a watery blue glow, the cerulean hearts of more than two dozen other klinkí stones pulsing like heartbeats within the envelope.
Her friends had caught her, and now they lowered her not to the ground but to the city wall by the north tower. She’d lost all sense of where she was in the sky as the dragørs battled, but Noble Inferno had brought her to the exact place she needed to be.
When her feet touched down and the Knights withdrew their wystic stones, Mylla practically fell into Safran’s embrace.
“How did you know?!” Mylla nearly wept with relief.
Noble Inferno told us to prepare, Safran assured her, hugging her tightly.
“Though she was a bit scant on the details,” Stave barked vexedly.
“It’s not over,” Roibeard, ever the pragmatist, stated. “The starpaths, we need to open them now. The city is almost lost.”
As her hand closed on the cool star-forged scepter, it was abruptly winged aside. Something had struck it, something too fast for Mylla’s regular eyes to see, but with her Knight’s senses, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a klinkí stone strike it, but bloodred.
The Knights, all stunned, looked in the direction the projectile had come from, and beheld their former member.
“Eisa,” Stave growled, his axes already drawn.
“No, she’s not Eisa. She’s Balavad now,” Mylla said, not with fear or anger, but with profound numbness. Eisa had never been kind to her, but she had been a Knight, and Mylla’s respect for and loyalty to those of her Order were unshakeable. Would nothing she valued be left uncorrupted?
The top of the stone wall was six yards wide and three hundred feet from the city floor. A narrow and treacherous place for hand-to-hand, or Knight-to-Knight, combat. Yet it seemed it would end here, by Balavad’s reckoning. The Knights under other circumstances would have liked their odds of five to one, but these were not other circumstances.
“Bring it round, bring it round,” one of the Magdastervian soldiers yelled behind Mylla. She heard it distantly, her mind too focused on the nemesis approaching from down the wall to pay much attention. Following this came the creaking of metal, something that sounded heavy. What were the Magdastervians doing?
