Dragon War

by Shay Roberts

  Rose speaks, her voice thick with anger. “You’re right, that’s no surprise. I just want to know one thing. What are you going to do about the Romans with the guns? They killed the dragons and my people. They should be treated as anachronists.”

  Zulien nods. “Yes, they are anachronists, no question. However, early information suggests the death of those dragons had no impact on history. Apparently, the British dragons were already in the process of leaving the mortal plane. So, either way, they make no impact on history. As for your people, there’s no evidence they had any significant effect on the timeline. You’ve lost this battle, Ms. Allen. Now it’s time to leave.”

  I sit up, ignoring the fierce pain in my temples. “If she goes, I go. I’m the one who took us to 385. It’s not fair to target her. You should expel me instead.”

  Zulien’s eyes flash with anger. “I’ve seen your glasspad. What you’ve done certainly warrants expulsion. But I have been overruled. Only Ms. Allen must leave.”

  I try to force my pounding brain to think. “I want to see Professor Southam.”

  Zulien shakes his head curtly. “Not possible. He’s been suspended for giving you his glasspad permissions.”

  The news hits me like a physical blow. My head pounds hard enough to make the room dim.

  I hear Rose speak. “Then we want to talk to Professor Villalobos.”

  Zulien sounds especially pleased. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. Your mentor has been fired for inappropriate contact with students. You no longer have a defender here. Now come quietly, or you’ll regret it.”

  I take Rose’s hand as I face Zulien.

  “I have only one regret. I wish Rose and I hadn’t waited to have sex on your desk.”

  Furious, Zulien motions for his goons to grab Rose.

  Wenches Stay Young Forever

  ROSEMARIE ALLEN

  I feel a long falling sensation as Tyler jumps us millions of years in time.

  We emerge in a sparse forest. It’s night here, and the air is cold.

  Tyler crouches beside me, groaning in pain, his hand limp in my own. I kneel beside him and stroke his hair.

  “Are you hurt?”

  He rubs his temples. “Not from the jump. From Philip, the migraine machine.”

  The anima is familiar here, but I don’t recognize the area. “Where are we? When are we?”

  “I jumped us to the 400 anchor, just south of Hadrian’s Wall.”

  Using my deer eyes for night vision and my deer ears for hearing, I survey the surrounding forest. We seem to be alone here.

  Although the anima is familiar, it’s weaker. Perhaps because the dragons are dead, wiped out fifteen years ago by the Nameless Legion.

  I feel a wave of depression wash through me and turn to Tyler.

  “Do you think what Zulien said is true? The dragons and my clan meant nothing to history?”

  Tyler speaks slowly, distracted by the pain in his head. “They mean something to us. That’s all that matters.”

  I give him a kiss. We shouldn’t be talking. Tyler needs time to recover from Philip’s attack and the exhaustion of the long jump. Fortunately, he has his folded-space pouch, filled with our costumes and camping gear. I set out a bedroll for him.

  As Tyler sleeps, I change out of my Academy uniform and into my Celtic garb. My body is sore from the long jump.

  I think about the night we had planned, back before all this happened. For a long while now, I have been ready to lose my virginity. Tyler wanted to create some spectacular moment, something from one of Mrs. Allen’s romance novels. He talked about taking me to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, whatever those are. But the longer we waited, the more nervous I became that the reality would not match the fantasy. It was my idea to perform the act in Zulien’s office, a show of disrespect for the malicious man who wants me out of the Academy. The sex would be a lark, and so neither of us could be disappointed. Now it all seems like a petty prank, and I find myself wishing we had gone to Babylon.

  After I change clothes, I find my bow and quiver in Tyler’s pouch. I never replaced my lost staff, so I decide to make one. I find a tree branch that will do. I summon the power of eagle claws, hardening my fingernails so I can scratch away the bumps in the wood. A smooth staff will move more fluidly in my hands. The hard work, along with my thick cloak, keeps me warm in the predawn chill.

  I am not a legendary fighter. But I am competent with a staff and bow. In my childhood memories, I catch glimpses of a fat man giving me staff-fighting lessons. I can’t remember his name.

  As the sun rises, mist drifts up from the forest floor. It appears to be early fall here. I hear the call of morning birds and see a red squirrel poke his head out from a hole in a fallen tree. I smell the lovely scent of pine trees, with a musky undercurrent of something else, perhaps mushrooms.

  As the orange sunlight finds his eyes, Tyler wakes and sits up in his bedroll. I hurry over and crouch beside him.

  “How does your head feel?”

  “A lot better. But not a hundred percent.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “I was afraid of that. We have no food. I could go hunting, but we should probably stay together.”

  He rises to his feet, still wearing his school uniform. He looks wildly out of place here.

  Tyler points north. “Hadrian’s Wall is close. Let’s check that out first, in case it’s crawling with Romans. I can’t imagine they have enough men to cover every inch of the wall. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find an empty stretch. I’m more worried about Romans with guns than I am about the natives. If we can cross out of Roman territory and do our hunting there, it would be safer.”

  I nod, my body tensing at the thought of crossing that hated wall. Until the Romans came, no one had ever built such a vast structure. It stands as a testament to their knowledge and power, awing us like a fence awes the cattle within.

  “Tyler, what are we doing here? Do you really want to walk two hundred miles into Pictland?”

  He nods, his eyes intense. “Absolutely. Those assholes killed my dragon and slaughtered your people. That may not rank high on SA’s list of priorities, but it’s at the top of mine. Once we reach the right location, we can jump fifteen years back and stop the Romans before they make their initial attack.”

  “They are a legion. The Nameless Legion. There are thousands of them. How will we defeat them?”

  “We’ll figure something out. It’s not just you and me. We can get your clan to help, and any dracoforms we can find.”

  His confidence buoys me, and I give him a lingering kiss.

  “Perhaps you should change clothes.”

  He looks down at his uniform.

  “Yeah, this is a little too Robin Hood.”

  As Tyler changes clothes, I turn my thoughts to the task ahead.

  “Tyler, if we get into trouble, you won’t be able to jump. You need more rest.”

  “True, but you can jump us. Just a few hours ahead, like you did in the archive.”

  I nod, feeling the weight of this responsibility. For some reason my jumping skills are poor, well behind those of my classmates. Still, when the time comes, I am determined not to fail him.

  Tyler’s eyes focus on the thin silver chain around my neck. “Rose, before we leave, I need to ask you about something.”

  I nod, knowing his concern. “The binding pendant. You’re worried SA will track it and find us.”

  He shakes his head. “No. You were expelled, and you left the school grounds, so I don’t think they’ll be coming after you. And if they wanted to grab me, they would have done it already. The Academy is in the past, relative to us, and the past has already happened. Yet here we are, with no SA goons in sight. So clearly, they have bigger problems than chasing runaway students.”

  “Then what is your worry?”

  “I think that pendant is the reason Professor Villalobos got fired. He knew you were going to get expelled, and he
wanted to maintain a connection with you.”

  I nod. “Is that so bad?”

  “The question is, why? What is his angle?”

  I try to suppress my annoyance. “Clearly, Professor Southam helped you by sharing his glasspad permissions. Why are you not worried about his angle?”

  Tyler mulls it over. “Fair point. I guess I’m wary because I’ve never met Villalobos. What’s your take on him?”

  “He’s a complicated man. I think he does have a hidden agenda. The same is true of Southam. But Professor Villalobos means me no harm. Of that, I am certain.”

  Tyler gives me a kiss. “Right, then, I’ll drop it. Shall we get moving?”

  I nod, realizing that Tyler is jealous of my relationship with Professor Villalobos. That is both sweet and irritating, but mostly irritating.

  Tyler packs up the bedroll. He decides to travel with his buckler and axe in hand, so as to make less noise. With my bow on my shoulder and my crude staff in my right hand, we begin walking north.

  As we move between misty shafts of dawn light, I use my deer ears and nose, and my eagle eyes to observe the area. There is nothing here but small forest creatures.

  We soon catch sight of the empty wall, and it leaves me disappointed. It’s only ten feet high, covered in patches of moss and an occasional creeping vine. I was expecting something more … imposing.

  Summoning the power of the deer, I leap to the top of the wall, then crouch down and survey the area. The wall is about eight feet wide and has a stone walkway along the top. About a hundred yards east, I see what looks like a square archer’s turret.

  There is no sign of life.

  Tyler puts on his crystal claws, jumps nine feet up the wall, and uses the claws to pull himself the rest of the way up. His claws sink into the stone like the wall is made of wood!

  He sways a little as he crouches beside me.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “You are overexerting yourself.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I can see him wincing. His head still hurts, and he should not be clawing his way up walls. But I know better than to admonish him further.

  I am growing increasingly uncomfortable. I suddenly realize the problem is not my concern for Tyler. My problem is the wall itself. The anima is barely present here, suppressed by some energy that feels … wrong.

  “Tyler, I want to get off this wall.”

  He nods.

  I use my deer legs to jump, and Tyler crawls down with his claws.

  Once clear of the wall, I feel much better. Was the wall somehow blocking the anima?

  I draw out my bow, and we begin to hunt.

  Hunting was never difficult for me and my mother. As a child, we would summon the game animals by using anima. The men said we were cheating, taking advantage of our power. But when we killed the game, it died with little fear. When chased by the men and their hounds, the animals died in terror. The women’s way is better.

  With my deer ears open, I hear a voice drifting on the breeze. It grows louder as we move farther from the wall. It’s the voice of a child, a boy perhaps. He is crying out for help.

  I turn to Tyler, who has not heard it yet.

  He looks at me, puzzled, and speaks in a whisper. “What is it?”

  “A boy in trouble.”

  Still wearing his claws, Tyler cocks his head and listens.

  “I don’t hear him. But let’s go check it out.”

  I nod, keeping my bow in hand. We move quickly through the lightly forested landscape but remain wary of an ambush.

  Before I see the boy, I catch the scent of wolves. This child is in trouble.

  Using the power of the horse, I sprint the remaining distance. Tyler struggles to keep up.

  A filthy twelve-year-old boy stands precariously on a shuddering tree limb. His hair is so dirty that I can’t determine its color.

  Below him, four Caledonian wolves circle the tree. Alarmed by our approach, the animals group together and bare their teeth.

  I reach out through the anima and give them a gentle nudge. They take a few steps back but do not leave. These beasts are hungry.

  I take Tyler’s hand and lead him in a wide circle around the wolves, placing us upwind of them.

  As I hoped, they catch a whiff of his dragon and reluctantly move on. As they disappear over a rise, one of them looks back at the boy, savoring what might have been.

  Suddenly, the branch snaps. The boy cries out as he plunges from the tree. But Tyler has already moved to catch him, as if he anticipated where the boy would drop.

  The child falls safely into Tyler’s arms, then hops free.

  He speaks to Tyler, his young voice girlish. “Thank you. Father sent me out to pick blaeberries. There aren’t supposed to be wolves this close to Lavernidd.”

  Tyler crouches down to speak at the boy’s height. “What’s your name?”

  “Drustan.”

  “That’s a fine name. My name is Tyler, and this is Rosemarie.”

  The boy looks confused. “Those aren’t real names.”

  “We come from a faraway land, where everyone has silly names. Not all of us are lucky enough to be named Drustan.”

  The boy’s half-smile shows his growing ease. Tyler is doing well with Drustan. I notice that Tyler’s voice sounds a little different. He is speaking in a way that hides the fork in his tongue. A wise idea.

  The child has not given me a second glance. No doubt he comes from a society where the men rule. It’s probably best that Tyler takes the lead here.

  Tyler wears a serious expression, as if talking to Drustan man-to-man. “I need some advice, Drustan. I want to pass through here without any trouble. Are there any Roman soldiers around?”

  He shakes his head. “Most of them left before I was born. There’s only my father. He stayed behind to marry Mama. But now they hate each other, and he lives in a shelter behind the house.”

  “Your father is a Roman soldier?”

  “He was, years ago. Now he’s just an old drunk. Every day he tells the same stories about the dragon war.”

  My skin prickles. Tyler turns to make eye contact with me.

  “Rosemarie, do you think we should talk to his father and hear some of these stories?”

  I have no wish to hear the details of the dragons’ demise. But on the other hand, if we want to prevent it, such information could be valuable.

  I reluctantly nod.

  Tyler turns back to the child. “We’ve never heard these stories. Do you think we could meet your father?”

  “Yes. We’re not far from there. Mother is making breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

  “I’m starving, Drustan. Lead the way.”

  Relishing his role as guide, Drustan leads us nearly a mile east, traveling alongside Hadrian’s Wall.

  When we enter the village, I notice that it’s been built around a Roman fortress attached to the wall. The Romans may have abandoned their creations, but the local people have found a use for them.

  We pass circular houses made of mud and straw, topped with overhanging thatched roofs. Many have vegetable gardens nearby, growing winter lettuce, onions, and sparrowgrass.

  Drustan runs into one of the houses. As we follow him inside, we find him clutching his mother’s arm and recounting his harrowing escape from the wolves.

  She turns to us with weary gray eyes and thanks us for helping her son. Her emotions are muted, as if the world has beaten her down.

  She has a pot boiling on an open fire, under a hole in the roof at the center of the house. We sit on a long wooden bench as she serves us a gruel mixed with a meat I can’t identify. To be polite, I force it down. But Tyler loves it and asks for a second helping.

  Drustan’s mother doesn’t ask any questions about who we are or why we are here. Perhaps she knows our answers would overwhelm her. The only time she shows any emotion is when Drustan tells her we want to hear his father’s war stories. She’s not happy about that, but says nothing.


  After breakfast, Drustan takes us behind the circular house, to a low shelter built of hides and branches. A weathered man sits on a stump, using a small fire to roast what looks like a rat on a stick.

  As we approach, he seems unaware of us. He dips a wooden mug into a small barrel filled with a foul-smelling alcohol and shouts at Drustan.

  “You’re late, boy. Where are my blaeberries? You know I need those for my ale.”

  Drustan recounts his escape from the wolves. The boy’s father listens patiently while scratching beneath his tangled beard, a monstrosity that covers much of his sickly yellow face.

  At the end of the story, his father has but one question.

  “You didn’t get my berries?”

  That poor child. A boy in this family has little chance in this world.

  Tyler introduces himself, and the man, named Caratacus, gives grudging thanks for saving Drustan.

  Caratacus casts a lecherous glance at me, but his focus is on Tyler, who quickly brings the conversation around to the dragon war. Caratacus is thrilled to talk about it.

  He reaches for a leather cord around his neck and pulls a necklace from under his rags. From the end of it dangles a dark wyrm scale.

  “You see this? It’s a genuine dragon scale. My own cohort brought this beastie down. We lost over three hundred men.”

  Anger burns my face as Caratacus details how the Nameless Legion killed this dragon using rifles. The soldiers protected themselves from its dragonfire by smearing a green ointment on their skin. But even so, between the dragons and the Draig, they lost half a legion during the war.

  I wish they had lost one more. I want to use my staff to crack the Roman’s skull, but Tyler does a good job of playing along and drawing him out.

  Tyler shakes his head in apparent wonder. “What an amazing tale! Hey, why do they call it the Nameless Legion?”

  Caratacus burps, revealing brown teeth. “Because we didn’t carry a banner. General Argyros kept saying ‘we’re not here,’ ‘this isn’t happening,’ ‘tell no one of this.’ Hard bastard, that one. Saw him kill a centurion for bragging to a whore that we were dragon hunters.”

  For a moment, his eyes flick to me. Something about me bothers him.