by James Maxey
“You gotta do this just right,” said Thorny. “Lean in close.”
The valkyrie and Bigmouth leaned in. Thorny held the grenade in one twisted hand as he hooked a bony finger through the loop of wire at the end of the pin. “Step one, you pull this out.”
He pulled the pin free. The grenade sizzled, giving off smoke. “Woof,” said Thorny, as a grin played across his grizzled face.
Anza pushed the ring from her finger into her palm and twisted it once. The ring was formed by two interlocking bands. Twisting one band against the other caused a tiny blade to emerge from a groove. She sawed at the ropes that bound her wrist, though there was no way she would sever them before the grenade exploded.
To her shock, Stonewall proved to be as awake and alert as she was. He suddenly rolled from where he lay on his back to rest on top of her, crushing her with his bulk, his body a barrier between her and the grenade.
The explosion in the confined space was deafening. Anza squirmed, slipping from under Stonewall, her leg, numb only seconds ago, suddenly angry and jangling with each movement. She looked over the room as she sliced through hemp strands one by one. A few of the earth-dragons on the farther reaches of the room were stumbling around, dazed and bleeding. There were several bodies on the floor, including the valkyrie who’d been near the table. The table had been sturdy, built of oak planks, but she was surprised to see it standing, though it couldn’t be described as intact. It looked as if someone had taken out their frustrations on it with an ax.
But the thing that most caught her eye was the final valkyrie. She was bleeding from her neck as she bent down to pick up something from the floor. When she straightened again, she was holding an unexploded grenade, as well as a ranger’s belt, which still had the gunpowder pouch attached to it. The valkyrie looked around the room once more, her eyes lingering on the form of her fallen sister for only a few seconds, then she opened the door and moved out into the night.
Anza felt the hemp growing slack as strands peeled away. Straining with all her strength she snapped the rope. She rose, bracing herself against the wall, her injured leg feeling as if it was actively being chewed on my some unseen, toothy beast.
Stonewall had also survived the blast. The oak table had caught most of the shrapnel from the bottom half of the exploding grenade, making the floor the safest place in the room. Stonewall rolled over and sat up, the muscles in his shoulders and neck bulging as he expended all the pressure he could against the ropes that bound his arms. The hemp twisted and stretched under the pressure, but didn’t break. It did, however, create enough slack that Stonewall could wriggle free. He rose on trembling legs. His bare back was covered with blood, but as the blood flowed away she saw the blood wasn’t his own. Not that he was free from injury. He had a huge knot on the side of his temple and his left eye was purple and swollen shut. His lower lip was split, making his words slightly slurred as he said, “You alright?”
“No,” she said, limping along the wall toward the door. She stopped when she saw what was left of Thorny. Both arms below the elbow were gone, and his chest was bleeding from innumerable wounds. To her horror, she saw he was still alive, conscious of his fate as he stared up, blinking, his lips moving slowly.
She dropped to her knees despite the pain. “Thorny!” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Your… wings…” he wheezed. “On… the table…”
“Don’t speak,” she said. “I’ll… we’ll get you… you’ll…” She swallowed hard, words failing her.
Thorny shook his head. “It’s… fine.” Then he closed his eyes and went completely still.
“No,” whispered Anza.
But she had no time to mourn, because at that second she saw one of the wing disks rise from the cluttered floor, seemingly levitating on its own. With a second glance, she saw the truth. Bigmouth was still alive, his camouflage powers engaged, his position betrayed by his bandaged shoulder and the wing disk. With his extraordinary reflexes, he must have ducked under the table before the grenade exploded. But, at ground zero, the blast couldn’t have done his ears any good, and Bigmouth didn’t react as Stonewall charged him from behind, both fists raised, then bashed him in the back of the skull, dropping him.
Stonewall snatched up the disk and shouted, “I’m going after the valkyrie!”
“Hurry!” said Anza, once more fighting to get back on her feet.
By now, most of the remaining earth-dragons not killed by the blast had stumbled outside, but one had the sense of mind to place himself in the doorway, battle-axe held at the ready, eyes focused on Stonewall.
Anza glanced around the clutter of the floor. Apparently all their weapons and gear had been in the room. Her heart leapt as she caught a glimpse of silver beneath the edge of the fallen valkyrie. The second wing disk! And of even more immediate utility, she spotted what was left of her own belt, and the throwing knives it held. She leapt toward the belt, though in her present condition there was little difference between leaping and falling. With arms outstretched, she closed her fingers around the belt.
Stonewall, meanwhile, had wisely chosen not to attack the earth-dragon unarmed and had picked up the fallen valkyrie’s spear, looking ready to charge the door. Anza rolled into a sitting position. She had no doubt Stonewall could outfight the dragon in the doorway, but saw no need for him to waste time doing so. The dragon made no effort to dodge as she hurled a throwing knife. A heartbeat later and the dragon was on his back, the blade sunk to the hilt in his eye socket.
“Go!” she called to Stonewall, clenching her teeth as she crawled toward her own disk.
Stonewall went, slapping the wing disk on his back as he raced through the door. Once in the open air, his wings unfolded with a wind chime melody. He leapt into the sky and never came down.
Anza reached the second wing disk. Assuming this was the one she’d been wearing, she hoped that it was finished repairing itself. In practicing with them, she’d pushed her skills and more than once clipped her wings against branches or walls, so she’d experienced the sensation of the wings kicking into their safety mode before. She also learned that whoever had made the wings had designed them to repair themselves. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but hoped that the wings would once again carry her.
She glanced at her injured leg. The bandage was brown with dried blood. The tourniquet had lost all tension because the dragons had removed the dagger that had been used to tighten it. Blood was flowing into the leg once more. Since she wasn’t still losing blood, her wounds had likely clotted beneath the bandages. If she engaged in too much activity she would probably start bleeding again. She doubted she had much blood to spare. The prudent thing to do would be to fly back to Dragon Forge and trust that Stonewall would overtake the valkyrie.
But Thorny hadn’t died bravely for her to flee like a coward. The mission still mattered more than her life.
She put the disk on her back. There was no room to open the wings inside, so she still had to rely on her own legs to get out of the room. Fortunately, she could use the table for support. Equally fortunate, as she rose, she spotted her tomahawk among the rubble. She picked it up. The leather binding of the handle was torn by shrapnel, but the cutting edge of the head was still razor sharp. She hopped to the door, her eyes spotting fragments of guns scattered across the room. Most had been on the table when the grenade went off, and were now shattered and twisted. Then, luck delivered another gift, a single grenade still intact, resting against the wall. She groaned as she knelt to retrieve it. Finally, she made it to the door, hopped into the night air, and found herself surrounded by a mob of earth-dragons who’d gathered outside to find out what all the commotion was about.
Anza stared at the earth-dragons in silent contempt as they looked her over in confusion. One by one, she could see light flickering in their eyes that she might, possibly, be someone they were supposed to kill. A few of them lifted their battle-axes, looking ready to charge.
Anza said, “Catch,” as she pulled the pin from the grenade. She tossed it to the closest earth-dragon. He caught it.
This would be a very bad time to find out that her wings hadn’t finished repairing themselves, she thought. With a second thought, she unfolded the wings, and with a third she shot into the sky, and was a hundred yards above when the grenade finally released the fire and death within it.
She kept climbing, until the town beneath her was only a few small specks from lanterns and she no longer heard the shouts of earth-dragons. To the south, Dragon Forge glowed a hellish red, the light of countless lanterns reflecting from the smoke of the never-cooling foundries, the fart-stink of coal tainting the wind even though she was ten miles away. Off to the west, there was a faint glow on the horizon marking the location of the Nest. The silver ribbon of the winding river that connected the Nest and Dragon Forge glinted here and there through gaps in trees. With her wings, she would be faster than a valkyrie, but sky-dragons were still swift enough that she had less than an hour to find and kill her target. If the valkyrie reached the Nest, all was lost. Even in perfect health, she doubted she could penetrate far into that heavily guarded den of trained warriors.
Of course, the fact that she could see the lights of the Nest, even dimly, meant she knew precisely where her target was heading. Even though she couldn’t see the sky-dragon or Stonewall, she knew the direction they would be flying.
She paused a moment more, confident the speed of her wings would carry her the needed distance in time, but far less confident her mind was clear and focused enough to do what must be done. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to once again box in the pain in her leg.
This proved to be a mistake. With her eyes closed, horrors spilled across the blank canvas of her mind. She could see Thorny clear as day, his arms mere stumps, his life spilling away with each heartbeat. She’d known Thorny her whole life; she’d called him uncle, though there was no blood relation between them. Her father had always treated her like a machine to be fine-tuned, had worked tirelessly to sharpen her mind and harden her body and to extinguish any capacity for fear or doubt or hesitation against a more fearsome foe. His idea of a father/daughter outing was to lurk among the trees of the Forge Road far from town and wait for a band of earth-dragons to pass, to offer her the faintest praise when she killed them all, alone, then to criticize her while she was still warm with pride, pointing out every close call, every missed opportunity, and every wasted motion that could have been avoided to accomplish her mission more swiftly and with less risk. His birthday gifts to her had been knives and swords and war paint.
If not for Thorny, she might never have tasted a piece of candy. If not for Thorny, she might never have laughed at stupid, silly jokes, or learned the words to childish songs, even if she couldn’t sing them. When every other person in the town of Burke’s Tavern had looked upon her with either fear or scorn, Thorny alone never failed to greet her with a smile and a hug.
What had her father been thinking to send an old man, barely able to use his hands, into the thick of their greatest enemies? Thorny was his best friend, perhaps his only friend. Why put him in such danger? Of course, she knew the answer. Getting information from Multon was a problem and Thorny was a tool perfectly crafted to solve that problem.
She sometimes wondered, in her father’s eyes, if people even existed. With his analytical approach to the world, he seemed to see everyone as mere gears in the vast machinery of life. He might appreciate each gear for its function in turning the wheels of the world, but, as a mechanic, he felt no great loss in tossing aside a worn gear and replacing it with another.
She clenched her fists tightly, fighting to clear her mind. What was the use of such musings? How had they wormed their way into her brain? They were cancerous, diseased thoughts. They would kill her if she let them grow. She closed her eyes again. This time, she allowed no idle thoughts. In seconds, with careful breathing, the pain of Thorny’s death had been pushed into the same cage as the agony in her leg. She closed the door on both and opened her eyes, clear-headed and free of hurt.
Ahead, unseen in the dark, flew a dragon she must kill.
She took a deep breath, held it, and willed herself in the direction of the Nest. The wind pounded her mercilessly, an invisible waterfall that would have crushed her if she hadn’t practiced how to hold her arms before her as if in a dive, aiming her body like an arrow to give as little surface as possible to the air. In seconds she traveled miles, then slowed, breathing again, searching for any hint of… there! Not the valkyrie, but a flash of silver, and the shadow of a man flying over trees. She flew down to him and called out, “Stonewall!”
He looked toward her and said, “I told you I’d handle this! You’re injured!”
“Have you looked at your face?” she asked. “You can only open one eye.”
He nodded. “And that’s not doing me any good. I haven’t seen any hint of the valkyrie. There are a thousand places she might have found cover along the way, dropping down below the treetops. I don’t see how we’ll ever find her if she’s hiding.”
Anza pressed her lips together tightly as she pondered this. He was right, the valkyrie could hide, but instinctively it made no sense. No sky-dragon would willingly travel the distance back to the Nest over ground, and why bother hiding during the night when you would be far more visible during the day? Besides, the valkyrie had fled before Stonewall had recovered his wings. The valkyrie couldn’t be certain she was being pursued. No, she had to be heading for the Nest. So why couldn’t she be spotted? It was dark, yes, with the moon only a sliver, but it was cloudless, and, unlike Bigmouth, this dragon couldn’t camouflage herself.
But she didn’t need to camouflage herself. In the moonlight, the thick canopy of the forest was an undulating surface of irregular shadows, a nearly impossible backdrop to spot something against, if you were looking down upon it. Anza had been flying high, since instinct told her that the higher she was, the more she could see. In retrospect, this was entirely the wrong strategy.
“Follow me,” said Anza, flying in the direction of the Nest, though aiming slightly to the north. Stonewall followed. She stopped moving and turned back in the direction of Dragon Forge, which still glowed in the distance. She dropped lower and lower toward the trees, until her toes brushed against the highest branches.
There, against the glow of the town, she spotted her target. Unfortunately, she found too many targets. The silhouettes of at least ten sky-dragons flapped low above the trees.
“See anything?” asked Stonewall, floating beside her.
“You don’t?” she asked.
“I am down to one eye,” he said. “Truth be told, my vision is still kind of hazy. Those dragons knocked me pretty good with the butt of an axe. I’ve got no idea how long I was out. I’m lucky they didn’t cut my damned throat.”
“Bigmouth thought I’d be useful for blackmail,” said Anza. “He probably recognized you as well, and figured that the captain of the rangers would be worth more alive than dead.”
“How would he even recognize me?” asked Stonewall.
“You are, you know, pretty much the biggest person anyone’s ever laid eyes on.”
“One day you’ll have to meet my older brother,” said Stonewall. “I’m a runt next to him.”
“Anyway, yes, I see something,” said Anza, returning to the mission at hand. “A lot of somethings. At least ten valkyrie. There must have been more waiting somewhere in the town or along the river.”
“Those aren’t great odds,” said Stonewall.
“I’ve faced worse,” said Anza. “The most dragons I’ve killed in a single fight was fifty-seven.”
“No wonder everyone’s scared of you back at the fort.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, not everyone,” he said, with a grin. “I found you a little hard to figure out at first, I admit. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Burke sending a woman into battle, esp
ecially not his own daughter. But, I guess that’s one reason Burke’s a genius and I’m not. Burke told me all about how you infiltrated the College of Spires by yourself to retrieve the gun Vulpine stole. You obviously have the fighting skills to handle anything. More than that, you’ve got grit.”
“Grit?”
“Courage. Character. It’s a good thing.”
“Grit,” she said. “I like your grit as well.”
“Why don’t we show these valkyries that they don’t own these skies?” he asked.
“Agreed. Let’s go high. They might not have spotted us yet. Sky-dragons have better vision than most humans, but they don’t have eyes in the top of their heads. I’ll get us positioned above them, and trust that once we get within a hundred feet or so you’ll be able to see them even with your impaired vision. They look like they’re flying in formation, probably a diamond shape with one guarded in the middle. I’ll aim for the center, you take out the one on point. We don’t need to fight them all. Once we find the one with the grenade and the gunpowder and retrieve those, we turn tail and head back to Dragon Forge at top speed. The air might be their natural element, but these wings give us an edge.”
Stonewall gave her the thumbs up. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Anza nodded, turning her face toward the skies, rising rapidly. The constellations were spread before her in a dazzling array. The smoke of Dragon Forge normally blotted out all but the brightest planets, but this far out from the city she could faintly make out the milky band of pale light that spilled across the heavens. She hung still for a moment, drinking in the starlight, clearing her mind of all thoughts save for the coming battle.
“It’s beautiful up here,” said Stonewall, breaking the silence.
It was the sort of small, pointless observation she found tiring when spoken by others. But, from his lips, she, too, became aware of the beauty, until a voice within her reminded her of how foolish it was to waste time contemplating such things.
