by Ann Gimpel
“They must have chosen a different exit point. I’m far from an expert on the ruby, but it’s so excited, the dragons must nearly be here.” Her voice rang with confidence. It was contagious, and he stopped running all the reasons it wasn’t dragons through his head and glommed onto the reasons it was.
Uroborus had raised his sinuous coils a meter above the field. He was larger than he’d been before, and a ululating cry broke from his triangular mouth. Arcadia’s skies split above them, and dragons poured through the silvery veil separating the bastion of White Magic from the rest of the universe.
Fire shot from the dragons’ mouths, along with ash and smoke. He felt the heat of their anger at having to be here in the first place and at the damage Arcadia had already sustained. Keene and Eletea had given contradictory answers about whether Arcadia was linked to dragon magic. That so many dragons had shown up meant it had to be, or they wouldn’t have bothered. They’d have sent a dragon or two and called it even.
Cheers rose all along the length and breadth of the killing field, but they didn’t last long. Dragon presence didn’t eradicate the thousands of dark warriors who were still out for blood. Many Selkie allies would die today, but when the groups nearest Aegir turned back to face their adversaries, he sensed renewed vigor in their attack.
He counted fifty dragons before he stopped tallying arrivals, and they were still coming. A large, gold male swooped low. The snake-god leapt into his outstretched talons and wound himself around the dragon’s thick neck. Power gleamed around the snake as he jumped from dragon to dragon, growing more substantial with each leap.
“The dragons are his kin?” Raene asked.
“It appears so, but I had no idea. Hurry, lass. The Selkies need us.” Aegir ran into the depths of the fray with Raene right next to him. He used magic to locate his pod, ducking attacks launched at them as they skirted several spots where the fighting was intense.
The Selkies had taken up a position better than halfway down the field. They fought griffons, three Furies, and a Harpy along with assorted smaller goblins and ghouls. Someone—probably Krise—had sorted them into groups, and each group targeted a particular segment of enemies. The air, already tough to breathe, grew far worse amid dragons belching smoke, fire, and ash.
Gretta stood next to her mate. Lines of strain carved deep into her face, and she swayed on her feet. He wanted to go to her, but she wouldn’t appreciate him noticing her weakness. A dragon bugled merrily overhead and spewed a ribbon of fire in front of the Furies. Jumping back, they shook their fists at the sky. Power sheeted from them, but it wouldn’t reach so high. Intent on destruction, they took to the skies. The dragon, clearly enjoying itself, added more flames to those already blazing on the ground and cut a fiery path through the air that knocked one Fury ass over teakettle.
They were immortal, along with the Harpies. If the dragons made them miserable enough, perhaps they’d retreat to wherever they’d been before the specter of an easy victory and Arcadia’s rich magical trove had lured them here.
Raene had taken on two hobgoblins. After her fumbling efforts with the undead, she’d developed grace and a certain style. Plus, her magic was stronger. The ugly little Faeries chivied her from both sides. She leapt sideways, twisting midair with power shooting from her hands. One of the hearth Faerys clutched his chest, moaning piteously.
The other flopped atop his fallen companion, shielding him. Raene advanced on them both, grim determination stamped into her face. It turned her beauty into something harsh and threatening. “You want me to spare you? Go back to where you came from.”
“Can’t,” the hobgoblin on top wailed. “Satan will cast us into the pit.”
“Then go somewhere else,” Aegir told him.
Words in a language Aegir had never heard shot from one hobgoblin to the other. Weak power built around them, and he readied his own magic to finish them off.
“They’re leaving,” Raene told him. “Look quick! Behind you.”
He twirled in time to avoid a mace aimed at his head. A troll was advancing, but not fast. They were built from stone, and it made them clumsy. Other trolls lumbered behind it. Where had they come from? They hadn’t been here a moment before.
A quick glance unnerved him. The numbers they faced had at least doubled since the dragons arrived. As if Satan—or whoever was orchestrating this—had troops they’d held in abeyance.
Overhead, dragons bugled and trumpeted as they banked, dove, and regained lost altitude to do it all again. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, but being virtually indestructible was quite an advantage. Dragon scales were impervious to damn near everything.
Aegir assessed their corner of the field. Where they’d been holding their own, now they were badly outnumbered. He used magic to project his voice and rearranged their ranks to more effectively deal with the flood of wicked creatures. Some were truly evil. Others, like the hobgoblins, had been co-opted by darkness. Once upon a time, they’d been hearth Faeries, neither good nor bad.
He created lines, pairing weaker Selkies with stronger ones. Raene stayed near him after the troll had nearly cracked his skull open. Dark magic, some in the form of lightning bolts, some in sheets, some in darts, attacked them from all sides. Sectors of the fell host who didn’t have magic used brute force along with maces, cudgels, and batons.
Two more Selkies fell, one dead and one so near death, Aegir hastened his passing to end his misery. Trees shambled into the fray, helping groups positioned nearer where they’d been rooted.
The dragons had stopped playing and flew in tight formations, maximizing their fire and its destructiveness. Some things, like the trolls, weren’t vulnerable to fire. Stone didn’t burn, but even the trolls’ dimly lit brains would drive them back into darkness if the field turned against them.
The Furies were back, shooting their own brand of magic, red bolts coated with fire that exploded on contact. Aegir barely avoided one. He was tiring but sucked air into smoke-seared lungs and kept on slugging. When he tapped power from Arcadia, she gave what he needed, but not an iota more. A shriek from Gretta dropped him back through the lines to where she and Krise had been fighting.
Krise had fallen to his knees. A black-feathered arrow pierced his shoulder. Everything the enemy used was saturated with poison, so the arrow had to be as well.
“Da. Doona let the poison spread.”
“Trying.” He jerked weakly at the arrow.
“Stop. I’ll get it out.” Aegir had to hand it to Krise. The man was nothing if not stoic. He assessed the wicked-looking shaft. It would have to be sawed through on both ends before he could extract it. Lacking tools, he told Gretta, “Make certain he doesna move.”
“Aye.” Tight-lipped, she hunkered low enough to drape a protective arm around her mate. She followed with ropes of silver Selkie magic to hold Krise steady.
Half a dozen Selkies formed a defensive circle around them. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was all Aegir had. Focusing his magic into a thin beam, he sliced through the front end of the arrow, and then the back. As soon as he was able, he pulled it out, casting it aside. The wood burned his palm; he could only imagine what it had done to the inside of Krise’s body. Brown ichor shot from both sides of the hole that went all the way through his da’s shoulder.
“I’ll take it from here,” Gretta said.
“Ye should teleport home with him.”
“Nay. We shall remain. He’d never forgive me if he missed seeing our victory.”
“Go on. I’ll be fine now.” Krise sounded marginally stronger.
Aegir didn’t have the energy to argue with either parent. He stood and worked his way beyond the circle of Selkies.
“Look!” One of them directed his attention to the skies.
“Aye,” another chimed in. “That just happened.”
Aegir stared, fascinated and thunderstruck. Raene rode a red dragon that had to be Tarika. Uroborus was draped around her and the dragon, and a clear, white
light shimmered around the snake-god and Raene.
Tarika trumpeted. “Clear everyone off the field and into the trees.” The dragon’s voice echoed in his head.
“Do the trees know?”
“Of course.” Tarika didn’t bother to mask her irritation. “Do it. Now. This will go much faster if we doona have to worry about our aim.”
“Take care of my mate.”
“Uroborus has adopted her. And she has the ruby. She’ll be safer here than down there. Move! I willna ask again.”
Aegir wondered what the hell adopting Raene meant. If the snake-god had taken a shine to his mate—soon to be his wife—he wanted to know all the ramifications.
Later. He’d sort it out later.
He told the Selkies nearest him to clear the field, and then he ran from group to group sending delegates to make certain everyone knew. A wave of Shifters and Selkies and Witches and Druids fought their way into the protective cover of the woods.
“Last call!” A gold dragon shouted from the skies.
Aegir ran his gaze across the field. It looked as if everyone from their side had followed the dragons’ instructions. He dialed in his third eye and probed with magic. And then he looked again. Damn it! A group of Witches was still in the field, hidden behind an invisibility illusion.
They were on the far side of the clearing, but he’d take his chances. At least a dozen were still in harm’s way. Dragon fire rained down, annihilating everything it contacted. The dragons weren’t taking any chances and were running with their power dialed to maximum.
With all his senses—magical and physical—on full alert, he threaded his way between geysers of fire, smoke, and steam. Gasping, panting, choking, he battered his way through the Witches’ wards, slicing through them easily.
“Why are ye all still here?” he demanded.
“Our sister is hurt. We can’t move her,” a Witch with silver-and-black hair replied. She was wrapped in a black robe with runic embroidery; rings circled most of her fingers.
“Does it take twelve of you to nursemaid her?” His tone was harsh, and the women looked away. He knelt next to a Witch with blonde hair lying on her side on the ground. Still alive, but not for much longer from the looks of things.
“What happened?”
“Fire from the Furies surrounded her,” the first Witch said. “She didn’t burn, but it entered her mouth and nose. She fought the magic, but it overtook her. We’d have been too slow if we tried to carry her, so we build as strong a ward as we could. She’s pregnant. We’re dying out. We need every young Witch—”
“Drop your wards.” Aegir cut off her flow of words.
“But then we’ll all die,” another Witch protested.
“Nay. I’ll summon a dragon to take her.” He looked at the blonde Witch. “Once she’s safely away, the rest of you will follow me to the safety of the trees.
“We’ll take our chances within our wards.” The silver-and-black-haired Witch said firmly.
“Nay. Not a choice for ye to make. Drop your wards, or I shall dismantle them for you. Except if I do it, ’twill take longer and then we truly will all be in danger.”
Amid grumbling and hooked finger curses, the wards fell. While the women worked, Aegir aimed words at Tarika. “We need a dragon to transport a gravely injured Witch.”
“Where?”
“Find me, and ye’ll have it.”
A blue-scaled dragon with whirling dark eyes dove out of the sky moments afterward and gathered the prostrate Witch in its forelegs.
“Where will our sister be?” a Witch asked.
The dragon snorted steam. “With one of our healers, and not a moment too soon. Foolish humans.”
“We are not human,” another Witch countered.
“Ye may as well be.” The dragon beat its huge wings and gained elevation fast.
“Make a single file line behind me,” Aegir instructed. “Keep your eyes sharp. Use magic too. We’re headed for the distant tree line.” He extended an arm toward it.
“Why not the nearer one?” one of the Witches asked.
“Because my people are where I pointed.”
The Witch with the black-and-silver hair gripped his arm. “We’ll be all right, and we will go to the closest safe haven. Thank you so very much for rescuing Auriel.” She motioned to the other Witches and they took off, ducking and weaving, for the protection of the forest.
He watched them for a moment. Once he was confident they’d make it to the relative safety of the trees, he hustled back the way he’d come, picking his way as he jumped dead bodies and skirted fires cropping up and spreading across the clearing. The only fodder for the flames was the dead, but plenty of them littered the field.
The air was filled with smoke and the noxious stench of burning fur and flesh and spilled entrails. He all but dove past the forest perimeter, sucking air like a fish trapped out of water. What he inhaled was cleaner here. Not much, but some. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he scanned the skies. Through a rising layer of smoke, he found Tarika and Raene. Fire blasted from the dragon’s mouth as she obliterated a row of misshapen creatures with animal heads and humanlike bodies.
Next to Tarika, a formation of four dragons focused fire on a sector of the field. Working from the outside in they kept at it until naught remained but flames. A quick glance told him most of the other dragons had created similar configurations, splitting the field and methodically burning their way through it.
Once they were done, he had no doubt nothing would be left alive. Beneath him, Arcadia’s power swelled. The land was singing, rejoicing. It knew it would triumph.
Aegir grinned. Nothing for him to do here. The dragons were more than capable of finishing this fight. He hurried through substantial tree boles looking for Krise. His da was leaning against a tree with Gretta by his side. The elder Selkies looked far better than they had when Aegir left them.
Before he could get any words out, Krise shook his head. “Doona waste time on me. I’m fine. Thanks to quick thinking on your part, the poison dinna have a chance to spread. We lost four Selkies this day from our pod and three from Gregor’s. Their bodies are behind me.”
Aegir understood. “I will commit them to magefire and consecrate their passing.” He motioned to a few other Selkies, and between them they carried the bodies beyond the trees to a spot untouched by darkness. Silently, his pod and Gregor’s gathered in a ragged circle.
Aegir kept his prayer short. “We offer our fallen companions to Poseidon and Amphitrite that they may swim forever in gentle seas.”
“Gentle seas,” rose from the Selkies ranged around him, and Aegir doused the bodies in magefire. It crackled to life, fast and furious. The dead would burn quick and clean, leaving only ashes. As the fire burned itself out, the Selkies talked quietly among themselves, trading stories of the fallen.
Aegir left them to their mourning. Selkies hadn’t been the only casualties today, but Arcadia was safe. So long as she existed, their magic would prevail over evil.
He walked past Krise and Gretta and out onto the battlefield. Dragonfire had moved from actively blazing to smoldering piles. They’d run down soon enough. He picked his way through ashy heaps and stood tall, waiting.
Tarika circled to land along with several other dragons. It appeared everyone else had returned to Fire Mountain, or wherever they lived. Not all dragons chose the dragons’ ancient home for their residence.
As soon as the red dragon was on the ground, she bent and helped Raene down. She ran to Aegir and into his open arms. “We did it,” she cried.
He held her tight and stroked her hair. “Aye, lass. That we did.” He didn’t mention the dead. That part could wait. The dragon bathed them with steam. Aegir laughed and let go of Raene.
“I can take a hint,” he told Tarika and turned to face her.
The dragon’s jaws were parted in what might have been a smile. Uroborus slithered down from her bulk. The snake was enormous, ten times the size he�
��d been while he held the gateway for evil. His body shimmered and glistened, fading in and out of view as he shifted through forms.
A shiny black dragon with golden eyes and golden scales decorating his dark hide stepped from the multitude of transformations. Aegir’s eyes widened. “Oberon’s balls! Ye’re a dragon?”
Tarika blew more steam. “Aye. He is one of our First Born who was lost to us for eons. Ye have our undying gratitude for returning our brother to the fold.”
Raene’s smile was so broad, it spread from ear to ear. “No wonder the ruby was so excited it damn near jumped out of my pocket.”
“Did ye know?” Aegir asked her.
“Only at the very end. But isn’t it wonderful?”
Uroborus puffed steam until a cloud surrounded all of them.
“Gather the leaders from all the factions who fought this day,” Tarika instructed. “We must talk.”
“Where?” Aegir asked.
“The Druids’ castle has a big courtyard,” Tarika replied. “Be there in half an hour.” She bugled and rose into the air, followed by all the remaining dragons including Uroborus.
At least it explained why the snake’s cry had split Arcadia’s ether, and pulled the dragons through.
Aegir raised his mind voice and boosted it with magic to reach the farthest corners of the forest surrounding the battleground. “Pack and coven leaders are meeting at the Druid’s castle in half an hour. Honor your dead. Send your people home. See you verra soon.”
Hand in hand with Raene, he backtracked to join Krise and Gretta. Together, they’d open their hearts to Arcadia and follow the path she showed them. A path sure to lead to the castle.
“We lost some of our people today, didn’t we?” Raene asked.
“Aye, darling. That we did.”
“I’d like to pay my respects before we leave.”
“Of course.” His heart swelled with gratitude and love. “Ye’re such a treasure.” He circled deep into the trees and led her to where he’d incinerated the Selkies. Most of his pod and Gregor’s had already left.
