by Devin Hanson
She struggled to her feet, careless of the tracks she left in the sand. A long, curving dagger dropped from her sleeve into her waiting palm, the other hand drew the scimitar from under her robe with a silvery ring.
In the flickering light cast by the burning brush, Iria saw two of her balai, Rajya and Yusef leap to the attack on the alchemist, their blades glinting in the firelight. Blue light flared and the alchemist spun away, unhurt. Rajya’s blow struck… something, and stopped midair while Yusef crumpled to the sand, blue glow dancing about the outline of his body. Iria screamed, a wordless howl of fury, and sprinted toward the alchemist.
The alchemist threw up a hand and Iria was ready. As he barked out a harsh string of syllables, she dived to the side and a rolling wave of fire swept past her. Rajya feinted toward the alchemist and he spun, tooth raised. Iria was close enough now to hear the single syllable crack out. “Ban!” he cried, and the air shimmered between him and Rajya. The Ranger danced back, remembering what had happened to Yusef.
Iria took the moment of distraction to finish closing the distance. She passed by the prone form of Yusef and saw at a glance that there wasn’t anything she could do for him immediately. He was spasming, rolling in the sand, limbs twitching out of control. His eyes were wide open, but opaque white. Whatever alchemy had felled him had also blinded him.
She pulled up short of the alchemist and circled warily, keeping her fury and need to do harm under a tight leash. Rajya took up station opposite the alchemist, preventing him from focusing on either one of them without presenting his back to the other.
“Not bad, sand rat,” he chuckled. “You’re a tenacious one. I’m going to enjoy killing you.”
“What are you?” Iria snarled, “What did you do to Hashim! Speak, burn you!”
“Are you sure you want me to speak? Very well. Doco’lani!” He threw out his empty hand, crooked a finger toward where Yusef lay in the sand.
Iria sensed more than saw something coming and threw herself back, scimitar coming up in a wild parry. Something metal struck the blade of the scimitar and it rang like a bell, spinning from her suddenly numbed fingers.
Rajya slipped forward, long knives in her hands. She struck, once, twice, then spun away, wetness shining down her blades. The alchemist snarled, turned his back on Iria, foreign syllables tumbling off his tongue.
Now! Iria threw her dagger – too far away to reach the man before he finished whatever alchemy he was performing – yelled in triumph as the weapon knocked the tooth from the man’s grasp. His words trailed off as his source of vitae, the dragon tooth flux, tumbled to the sand.
He turned back to face Iria as she piled into him, her hands hard as stone, fast as serpents, as she went after the nerve clusters. No time to get out another weapon. Solar plexus, thigh tendon, kidney, temple, throat, and the alchemist went down, choking and writhing in the sand.
Rajya tossed her a knife and Iria took it out of the air and rammed it deep up under the man’s ribcage. Blood sprayed from his mouth as she twisted the knife.
She leaned over him, breathing hard, “Just so you know, I’ve been killing alchemists like you for years.” She yanked the knife out. The wound was not immediately fatal, Rajya’s blades weren’t long enough for that, not at the angle she had struck at. But his diaphragm was punctured along with a lung, at the very least. If he didn’t drown in his own blood right away, it was possible he might live for a few minutes, maybe even an hour if he was especially stubborn.
It would be a very long hour for him.
Iria tossed the knife back to Rajya and found her own dagger in the sand along with the dragon tooth. Her scimitar had one of Yusef’s knives slammed halfway through along the spine. She left it where it lay, too unsettled to pick it up. It was ruined, at any rate.
She knelt by Yusef. His seizure had slowed to an occasional twitch, and she had to feel carefully to find his pulse. She thought of his eyes, how they had been blind white. She felt Rajya’s presence at her shoulder.
“We can’t carry him out,” Rajya said quietly.
“I know.” Iria flexed her wrist and the curved dagger slipped into her palm again. She touched Yusef’s cheek gently. “Go in peace,” she said, and drove the dagger into his heart.
Iria pushed herself to her feet, suddenly weary, the dagger in her hand seemingly too heavy to lift. “He dead yet?” she nodded toward the alchemist.
Rajya nudged him with a toe and grinned as the man gurgled. “Not yet. Want me to finish him?”
“Let the desert have him.” She spat. “Do not want him to have an easy death. Not after what he did.”
Rajya nodded, grimaced around at the smoking scrub. “Empty night. What a mess.”
“You see Saifu anywhere? Hashim…” Iria swallowed, forcing down the sudden rise of bile, “did not make it.”
“No,” Rajya shook her head, “I have not heard a call from him since we separated.”
Iria craned her neck as she peered about in the desert night. There was no sign of Saifu. “Give him a call, see if he responds.” Rajya complied and the two of them waited in silence for a minute before Iria gusted out a breath. “I do not like this. None of this.”
“We need to get back,” Rajya said.
Iria nodded. “If Saifu lives, he will know to make his way back.” She gave one last look at the alchemist lying in the sand, writhing slowly as he struggled to breathe, blood bubbling from his lips. “Come on, we are wasting time here. Stay close, keep your eyes open. This night is dark, and will only get darker I feel.”
Chapter 2
A Dragon’s Rage
Andrew Condign lay on his back in the grass, watching Romeda work its way up over the mountains to the east. It was nighttime, but the dark held no fear for him. Not anymore. For two thousand years, humanity had hid from the dragons that roamed the night sky. Andrew had grown up under that shadow, and it was only in the last few weeks that he had truly been able to relax at night.
“Is she here yet?”
Andrew curled up at the waist and winced at the soreness in his muscles. “Soon,” he said, waving for Jules to join him.
Jules hesitated under the shadow of the waystation, an enormous barn carefully camouflaged to look as much a part of the countryside as possible. The roof was clay tiles colored to match the surrounding rocks where it wasn’t planted with sod. Copses of trees were placed at the corners and bushes along the sides to break up the lines of the building. The waystation was built at great expense with the sole purpose of hiding it from dragons flying overhead. This waystation, and ones like it, were set along trade routes at intervals, allowing caravans and travelers to take refuge at night.
After a long look up at the sky, Jules wrapped her cloak around her and moved quickly to Andrew’s side.
“She’s still going to see you,” Andrew pointed out with a smile.
“I’m not worried about Ava,” Jules said primly. “It’s just cold.”
Andrew lay back in the grass and felt the wind ruffle his hair. It was getting shaggy again. Maybe this time he could get a proper haircut by someone who knew what he was doing. The cold wind made him shiver a little, but the thrill of being outside and free made it more than worth it. “How’s Milkin doing?”
Professor Milkin, Master of Runes, was the only member of the Alchemists Guild Andrew felt any friendship with. It was Milkin who had first introduced him to runes and alchemy, and convinced Jules to teach him the art. He was here now, with a committee of alchemists, to make Andrew’s status as a Dragon Speaker official.
Having the committee to meet them at the isolated waystation had been Jules’ idea, a clever shell game of airships and carriage rides that made it impossible for someone to report their destination. There were those in Salia who would love to interrupt the coming tests.
“He’s old,” Jules shrugged, “and complaining about the carriage ride. But for all that, he’s still having the time of his life.”
“And the others?” And
rew tried to make it sound casual, but was unable to hide the tension in his voice.
This time, Jules’s words were chosen carefully. “Also old, but not as believing as Milkin, so not having as much fun.”
“Well,” Andrew said, “that’s what tonight’s all about, isn’t it.”
Jules nodded. “You work out what you’re going to do yet?”
“Ava says she remembers the old ritual. She’ll walk me through it.”
“Not all of them are dyed-in-the-wool skeptics,” Jules assured him. “Some are, but most are giddy with the possibilities. They’ll want to run their own tests, though I imagine Ava won’t want to be out all night trotting around like a trained pony, so I’ve cut the list down to two.”
Andrew snorted. “You got that right. She’s impatient at best, but she understands it needs to be done. Will two tests be enough?”
Jules shook her head. “For the nay-sayers, it won’t matter how many tests you run. For the ones who want it done the old way, there’s only the one test, the one Ava probably knows about. And for the ones who want to believe, Ava showing up at all will be enough proof, so two tests will be enough. We’ll do the old test, and they’re in the waystation with their heads together coming up with the second one.”
“I’m glad you’re here to negotiate all this. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Finally a worthwhile use for my court training,” Jules said wryly. “I may have never intended to become active in the royal court, but my father made sure I had tutors anyway.”
“How’s the old man doing, anyway? Any improvement on his Trent-inspired breakdown?”
“No,” Jules sighed, “I haven’t heard any new news.” Her voice hardened, “Though I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I can’t in all honesty wish someone well after he kidnaps me, even if that man is my father.”
Andrew grunted noncommittally. “New subject, then. I’m so sore.”
Jules smiled wearily at him. “You’re such a wimp. I’ve told you this a hundred times, it’s the only way you’re going to build those muscles.”
Andrew tried to kip-up, rolling his hips up toward his shoulders, then kicking out with explosive force in an attempt to spring to his feet. He managed to gain a few inches of air, then landed flat on his back again. “Ow.”
Jules coughed a laugh and tried to smother it with a hand. “Practice, Andrew. You’re trying to run before you can walk.” She casually performed the move, then, once on her feet, settled her cloak back into place. “See? Practice.”
“Oh, come now. Just like that?” Andrew sat up. He opened his mouth to say more, then closed it, tilting his head as if listening. “She comes.”
The levity dropped away from Jules and she froze for a moment before visibly forcing herself to relax. The strop of massive wings sounded in the distance and a great shadow blotted out the stars. Burnt cinnamon rolled in a wave over them, stifling and hot.
Andrew stood, his arms spread in welcome, head turned upward to the night. The ground shook as a great dragon landed next to them. Claws as long as a man’s forearm ripped into the ground, tearing up rocks and clumps of sod. The wings buffeted Andrew and Jules, making them stagger as the dragon brought its forward momentum to a halt, and the giant head swung down, one eye swiveling around to focus on Andrew.
“Avandir,” the dragon rumbled. The word came through in Andrew’s head, somehow distilled out of the thunderous growls. “Your absence has been felt.”
“Avandakossi,” Andrew cried and stepped forward to fling his arms about the muzzle of the dragon. “You remember Jules Vierra.”
The dragon swung her head around to regard Jules, who stood frozen in place, breath coming shallowly. “A friend of yours has nothing to fear from me,” Ava said.
“Relax,” Andrew told Jules, “she won’t harm you. Come here.” He reached out and grabbed Jules’s hand, pulling her closer to the dragon. “Scratch here, around the nose.”
Jules complied, hesitant at first, her eyes wide. Ava rumbled, not unlike a cat purring, and Andrew saw Jules’s fear melt away to wonder. “Seriously? She likes scratches?”
“Did I never tell you about that?”
Jules ran her fingers around the small scales, saw the runes packed in tight patterns on them, all whorls and striated clusters. Ava was hot to the touch, like the skin of a man running a fatally high fever. She listened to Ava rumbling at Andrew and his quiet replies, marveling at the immensity of the dragon.
Before Andrew had discovered he was Kossirith, a Dragon Speaker, the Alchemists Guild had assumed that dragons were dumb creatures, no more intelligent than a horse or perhaps one of those monkeys from across the seas. The truth was Ava was as intelligent as any human and exceedingly long lived, Ava herself being over two thousand years old, one of the few female dragons surviving a war that decimated humanity and nearly wiped out the dragons.
Decimated is the wrong term, as it implies one out of ten. The actual figures were more like nine out of ten humans were killed. In a cataclysmic betrayal, humans had turned against their dragon allies and slaughtered them all. It was a massive miscalculation on the part of the humans. They had killed the dragons that chose to live with humans, all of them female. With the female dragons dead, the males came down from the wastes looking for them.
Female dragons were intelligent and compassionate, but male dragons were marginally intelligent, animalistic, violent, and over twice the size of the females. Upon discovering the betrayal, the males wreaked a savage, bloody vengeance upon humanity. Millions of humans died; every city, every town, every hamlet was razed to the ground. Humanity adapted by fleeing underground and into the deserts and forests where the great dragons didn’t live or couldn’t find them. Of the betrayers, they were killed to a man.
Gradually, humans learned to hide from the dragons. The new cities built up over the centuries were camouflaged, hidden from aerial view. Eventually the male dragons, satisfied with their vengeance or perhaps just bored with no further prey to hunt, returned to the wastes.
Since the war two thousand years ago, there hadn’t been a single Dragon Speaker. Their existence was thought to be myth, the power they wielded hinted at in obscure and ancient lore. The Alchemists Guild had its roots back to the time when man and dragon were closely allied, and still held to laws despite their meaning lost to antiquity.
Andrew, being a Dragon Speaker, automatically had certain powers within the Guild, including the authority to banish someone and forbid their practice of alchemy on pain of death. In the waystation, a congregation of a dozen Guild professors and master alchemists had gathered to pass judgment on whether Andrew was in fact a Dragon Speaker.
Jules frowned to herself as she worked her way around Ava’s head, now scratching behind the heavy fold of the dragon’s jaw. The dragon’s heat was comfortable in the cold night breeze, like standing next to a campfire. If it were a simple empirical test, there wouldn’t be any doubt at all. Just the fact that she was out here scratching a dragon behind the jaw while Andrew talked to her was proof enough.
Unfortunately, the Alchemists Guild had more than its fair share of politics. Additionally, if Andrew was declared a Dragon Speaker, Trent Priah, the son of a powerful Salian Count, would be banned from alchemy. The Alchemists Guild had its headquarters in Andronath, a city-state independent of Salia, and was not beholden to any law or lord of that nation. Politics and reality made it a muddy topic, though. Simply put, banning Trent from the Guild would make a lot of powerful people very unhappy.
Trent was a horrible person, son of a privateer-cum-lord. The Priah family had made its wealth through legalized pirating, bought their family title and proceeded to garner power and influence through bribes, threats and a private army of airships and mercenaries. Trent himself had kidnapped Jules in an attempt to force her to marry him, and likely had a hand in murdering the Salian crown prince and princess.
The Alchemists Guild was powerful in its own righ
t, Andronath a virtual fortress that would require an army to capture. Besides that, there was the inherent difficulty of waging a war against the people that made your weapons. Alienate the alchemists, and all your war plans would come to a grinding halt as airships started to fail and mass travel became impossible.
Even so, with Salia moving toward a war footing, tensions were high and it wouldn’t be an easy decision to make. Declaring Andrew a Dragon Speaker would set the Alchemists Guild on an irreversible course.
More than the effect it had on Trent and the political scene with Salia, Andrew was in danger as well, along with Jules. If Andrew was found not to be a Dragon Speaker, he would be in violation of the laws of the Alchemists Guild, which forbid the study and use of alchemy without induction into the Guild. And Jules, as his teacher, would be put in a very tight spot. Her status as a noblewoman of Salia was only contingent on her father’s position. Since she had essentially disavowed him, that protection was moot. If Andrew was found not to be a Dragon Speaker, she would be forced to reclaim her position in the Salian court to avoid reprisals from the Guild, which would almost automatically force her to marry Trent.
A movement from the waystation pulled Jules’s attention away from her musings. Professor Milkin was standing at the edge of the overhang nearest Ava. His gossamer hair blew in the breeze, catching the light from Romeda and shining like a beacon at sea. He was leaning on his cane, cloak flapping, the point of a collection of more timid men and women.
Jules sighed. Time to go play the politician.
Andrew saw Jules turn away from Ava and he saw the cluster of alchemists, Milkin in the front. Andrew felt a surge of emotion, a mixture of pleasure at seeing the old professor again, tight fear of the coming tests, anger at the recalcitrant power-mongers who made the test weighted against him, disgust at the politics of the Guild which forced him to take the test in the first place, and a swirling eddy of lesser, related feelings.
Ava surged past his shoulder, an echoing roar booming through the night. Andrew caught the fringes of thought from Ava, rage, the desire to protect her Kossirith, uncertainty, and the echo of loss thousands of years old.
