It became darker as he and Liana plunged into the clouds. Thunder sounded from all directions. Sheets of lightning flickered. Rain continuously pelted down, dripping from the tips of Dion’s wings.
Dion sensed the creatures’ proximity. Feeling them so close was utterly unlike the connection he had with the eldren. All he could sense was their hatred and hunger. Visions of bloody red flesh came unbidden to his mind. He gritted his teeth and thrust them away.
A dragon roared just behind him. Cold fear coursed through Dion’s body. He couldn’t stop thinking about what was in his pursuers’ minds. They wanted to devour him.
Clouds sped past, both above them and below. Liana was traveling so quickly that Dion wondered how she kept it up. She was beginning to pull away from him, and he put on another burst of effort, struggling to stay with her.
Dion glanced up and saw the blackest cloud yet overhead. It looked so thick that the idea of flying directly into it terrified him, but he knew he had no choice.
Liana! Fly straight up!
Liana flew almost vertically as she shot into the storm’s heart. Darkness enveloped them both, thick as night. Wind tossed them about, and Dion began to wonder which way was down. He lost all sight of Liana.
He heard more shrieks behind him, becoming more distant. He reached out with his eldran senses. His pursuers were still there but they were confused by the storm. Dion then reached out, and his mind connected with Liana’s. She was somewhere above him. Her thoughts were panicked.
Dion!
He cried back to her. Keep flying! Fly above it!
Suddenly the air thinned. Dark gray become pale and then white.
Dion burst free of the storm. He was high, higher than he had ever been before. The sky was blue in all directions, while, below, the storm moved on.
He felt a presence nearby and turned tightly.
There was Liana, flying toward him, regarding him with grass-green eyes.
We lost them, she said.
22
Phoebe inhaled the scent of recent rain as she walked on the hills near her village. The previous day’s storm had been frightening, but now it was gone, and the sun was shining once more.
Her father had told her to check on the herd of goats and make sure none of them were in trouble – when they panicked, they often did foolish things. With a smile to herself, she thought that perhaps if there were wolves on the island, the goats would have something bigger to worry about, and thunder wouldn’t bother them at all.
Storms were about the most interesting things that happened on Parnos. Phoebe often wondered what other places were like. Phalesia was supposed to be a beautiful city, with opulent villas, grand temples of white stone, and markets open every day, not just once a week like in her village. The women wore sleek, flowing chitons, not drab smocks like hers. Strangers visited from all over the world. If Phoebe ever traveled to Phalesia, she might even see an eldran.
She thought about Aetes, the smith’s apprentice. He was strong and handsome, with a promising future, but he had no interest in the wider world. He had asked her to dance with him at the summer fair, and she’d said yes. Her parents thought he was a good match, but was she ready to settle down and spend all day cooking and cleaning and sewing with the older women?
As she walked, a tall craggy peak loomed over her, casting the area in shade. She was glad for it; the day was uncomfortably hot. She scanned the field, looking for the goats. She couldn’t hear them bleating, but perhaps they had broken through the fence. She might even have to herd them out of the caves at the base of the peak.
Finally she reached the crest of the hill and saw the wooden fence separating the pasture from the forests and caves. Scanning the field, at first she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. There was white hair, strewn about the field. Among the white was the color red.
Confusion became panic. If something had happened to the goats, her family would be destitute. She began to run.
She stopped in shock at a scene of utter carnage. There was hardly anything left of the herd. The grass ahead was wet with crimson blood. Curved rib cages and long leg bones littered the field. It looked as if every single goat had been ripped apart and devoured.
Phoebe put a hand to her mouth. Hers legs felt weak. Her stomach churned. As far as she knew there were no wolves on Parnos. Had a pack of wild dogs passed through? Was whatever attacked the herd still in the area? She searched and spied a stick lying on the ground nearby. She hurried to pick it up. Her heart racing, Phoebe turned and scanned the hills, looking everywhere. She was on high ground and could see all the way to the sea. Her village – a collection of houses and barns and a few dirt roads – was less than a mile away, close enough for her to see people walking about. She whirled to look at the thin forest that hid the caves.
She heard people screaming.
Phoebe spun around. The screams were coming from her village.
Then she saw them. Winged creatures with red scales and wings were swooping down from the sky. There were hundreds of them, huge and monstrous, with angular heads and clawed limbs. From her vantage on the hill she saw them pluck villagers up and tear them apart, fighting over each body. As soon as one man or woman was devoured, they moved on to the next. Fleeing people ran in all directions but there was no escaping the swift death from the sky. A man sprinted in Phoebe’s direction while behind him a dragon plummeted, and its jaws opened wide as it bit his head clean off before settling to the ground and arching its neck as it gulped down the rest of him. Women sprinted with young children in their arms, but the result was always the same. A stocky lad in a leather smock ran into a house. Phoebe recognized Aetes and moaned in fear as dragons tore at the thatched roof to get to him. The roof dissolved in an instant. A dragon bent down and plucked him up in its maw, tossing him into the air before biting down on his torso. His scream was cut off as his lifeblood burst out of him in a spray.
The dragons’ shrieks became frantic. There were fewer and fewer villagers left to feast on. Occasionally the creatures cried out in savage glee when they found another warm body. But now they were rising up into the air again. Tears trickled down Phoebe’s cheeks. She had said goodbye to her mother and father before leaving. Now she would never see them again.
The dragons hovered in the sky, dark eyes sweeping in all directions; they were searching. Phoebe stood frozen in place, so horrified and uncomprehending that she couldn’t move. But then one of the nearest dragons let out a piercing shriek. It flew toward her, wings beating down as it put on speed. The rest of the group followed.
Phoebe began to breathe so rapidly that she felt light-headed. Something kicked in. An inner voice told her she had to act.
She turned and ran.
The sound of fluttering wings and dragons calling to one another came hot on her heels. They were going to catch her. She would soon feel jaws closing over her head.
She sprinted as fast as she could. When she reached the fence, she threw herself over. A raucous shriek behind her made her sob, even as she put her head down and headed for the caves.
She risked a glance over her shoulder and caught flashes of wings, leathery skin, and teeth glistening red. She kicked a rock and tripped, nearly falling over. After a frantic stumble she regained her footing. The dragons were closing in. Their cries were so loud that they hurt her ears.
A scraggly tree shot past. She was entering the thin forest near the caves. She ran between another pair of trees and then there was foliage all around her. The dragons would have difficulty coming down among the branches. She heard their cries growing more distant as they rose above the trees.
There!
At the base of the small peak, she saw the first of the caves. It was small; as a child she’d played inside, but now she wasn’t sure if she would squeeze into the tight entrance. She didn’t have a choice. She ran full tilt at the tiny opening and immediately slithered on her stomach to pull herself through. Her tunic caught on the rock, but
she ignored the ripping sound as she dragged herself farther inside and curled up as small as she could, squeezing in until she was completely hidden.
She heard branches breaking and then a series of shrieks just outside the cave’s entrance. She waited and hoped and prayed to the gods.
Eventually they left her alone.
Just off the coast of the isle of Orius, Dex the fisherman was hauling in his line. His experienced hands pulled it in slowly; the line was extremely long and his most valuable possession after his boat. A metal hook hung from the line every few feet. Some hooks still held the bait; others were empty where the sneaky fish had robbed them. Now and then a wriggling silver bass flashed in the sunlight.
The boat rocked gently as it bobbed on the waves. Dex wiped sweat from his forehead. There wasn’t much wind in the day, and he was looking forward to heading in when the work was done. He looked longingly toward land. They were a fair distance from shore, but at least without a strong current it wouldn’t be back-breaking work to row home. His vision wasn’t the best, but he imagined he could make out the white walls of the small cottage he shared with his family, near the edge of town.
Dex glanced over his shoulder to see how his son was doing. The lad’s job was to remove any fish and then see to it that every hook was baited. He frowned when he saw the line coiled up behind him on the floor of the boat; the boy was falling behind.
‘You’re doing it wrong, Arsak,’ he said.
He tied the line near the stern and then shuffled along until he was sitting next to the boy. Arsak had a wriggling bass in his hands. It was flopping about so energetically that he was struggling to free the hook.
‘Remember what I said? Use the rag.’
Dex picked up the old linen and wrapped it around his hand before taking the fish from his son. He slapped it firmly onto the deck and, once it was pinned down, used his free hand to maneuver the hook out of its mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Arsak. Stocky and curly-haired, he was a small version of his father. ‘You watching? See? Don’t pull on the hook like a fish. We’re smarter than they are. Work it backward. Got it?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘See how you get on with the next one.’
Arsak nodded.
Dex returned to his own seat and glanced back, waiting for Arsak to bait the next hook. But the boy was staring past his father, back at shore. Arsak’s mouth had dropped open. His eyes were wide.
Following his son’s gaze, Dex squinted against the sun shining off the sea. Looking past the other fishing boats, he saw more boats side by side on the shore. A flock of big birds flew in circles over the town. Smoke snaked from chimneys.
Dex shielded his eyes with his hand. The plume of smoke was growing; somewhere in the town buildings were blazing. The smoke became blacker and thicker. Fear gripped his heart. His wife was at home. How had it started? Had anyone been hurt?
‘F . . . F . . . Father!’ Arsak stammered.
Dex turned to his son. He spoke calmly but firmly. ‘Lad, throw me the buoy. Quickly now. We’ll float the line and row back to town. If they can’t put it out, they’ll need every hand.’
‘Father!’ Arsak screamed, pointing.
Whirling, Dex looked toward shore again. He saw that more and more birds were rising from the town and gathering overhead. There was something unnatural about the way they circled over the settlement. What kind of birds were they anyway? They were too big to be gulls. Arsak’s young eyes were better, but Dex could make out fluttering wings; it should be impossible to see wings at this distance.
All of a sudden the creatures began to fly with incredible speed in a group that grew wider until it was a loose wedge. Dex felt dread sink into his guts. They had a destination. They were heading out to sea, speeding directly toward Dex and his son.
‘By all the gods,’ Dex whispered.
They were to birds what a whale was to a fish. They were bright red. They flew with terrible purpose, winged monsters with tapered skulls that terminated in long, snarling jaws.
Dex was too stunned to know what to do. He glanced back at his son, who was white-faced, and then looked again at the approaching creatures. They were dragons, he knew, although he had never seen one in the flesh before.
The first dragon swooped down. It descended on the closest fishing boat to shore, reaching out with its claws to grasp a man by his shoulders and lift him into the sky. The next dragon came right behind it, settling itself on the boat’s gunwale for a few fluttering seconds while its jaw closed down on the fisherman’s companion.
Shrieking in frustration, the rest of the dragons moved on to the next fishing boat. It was the nearest to Dex’s, and there was only one occupant. The fisherman tried to leap over the side, but he wasn’t quick enough, and claws wrapped around him. The creatures started tearing at his body, their teeth flashing as he spurted red liquid.
Dex prayed to Silex harder than he’d ever prayed in his life. He didn’t know how to swim, nor did his son. They were in an open-decked rowing boat. There was no protection.
‘Take my hand, son,’ Dex said. His son clasped his palm, and Dex pulled the boy in close. ‘Close your eyes.’ Dex wrapped his arms around him. ‘Don’t look. No matter what, don’t look.’
Malik led the old mare by the reins. He was using a rusty spear as a staff, and was walking as quickly as he could, but it was the horse that was slowing him down. He and his family had fallen back to the rear of the group.
He glanced up at his dark-haired wife, Kera. She sat stoically on the mare’s back, the newborn babe in her arms. It had been barely a week since the birth, and a difficult one at that. She looked far too frail for the journey.
‘You doing all right there?’ He couldn’t hide the concern in his voice.
She managed a nod. He could see that she was trying not to grimace, and there was a tightness around her eyes that wasn’t normally there. If the situation weren’t so desperate, there was no way he would have attempted the journey.
Ahead of him were the other villagers, with the younger men up front and the boys skipping ahead as if this were a game. They were in Xanthos’s outlands, with a long march still ahead of them before they reached the city. Malik prayed that they would find refuge within the city’s stout walls. King Dion and his soldiers would protect them. Everyone was speaking in low murmurs. If they stayed quiet, and weren’t seen, they might come out of this alive.
After the dragons had ravaged Forest Hill a day ago, Malik and everyone with him knew it was a matter of time before the creatures struck their village. There hadn’t even been a debate; as soon as the news came, everyone had run to their homes and started packing. Wheat fields sat ready for the harvest and livestock needed tending, but none of that mattered now. They had to get to Xanthos before the dragons came for them too. Secondhand stories from the few survivors said that the monsters arrived quickly and without warning. They killed everyone: livestock, women, children . . . Then they were gone as swiftly as they came.
There was even a new name for them. The red dragons weren’t eldren, the ancient race who could change their forms. Nor were they wildren, eldren who had forgotten who they were. They were bloodren: creatures of blood.
Malik anxiously scanned the terrain ahead. The road followed a valley, with mountains and thick forests on all sides and a thin river flowing to his right. He then turned to gaze behind him. There were other stragglers who were having even more difficulty than him. He wished some of the younger men up front would help them. He met the eyes of old Gurn, who like Malik was carrying a rusty spear. Some of the other men carried weapons too: pitchforks, bows, even the occasional sword.
He suddenly heard screams.
The sound sent a shiver along his spine. Malik whirled, looking everywhere. People were pointing up at the sky. He spun around, and fear gripped his chest when he saw the bloodren with his own eyes.
They were distant, but approaching swiftly, appearing in ones and twos from between the mountains.
Wings beat up and down, propelling long, lithe bodies as fast as any bird. There were scores of them, too many to count. Their scales were red. Their purpose was clear. They were high in the sky, scouting like eagles. Malik saw that they were turning. Now they were heading directly for the road, approaching the column of refugees from behind.
‘They’re here!’ a man up front cried. ‘Run for your lives!’
Everyone scattered, some along the trail, others heading for the trees. Malik looked up at Kera, the woman he’d shared his life with and never regretted marrying for a moment. ‘If you make it, tell her I love her’ – he touched the babe – ‘as I love you.’
Kera reached out to grasp his hand. Malik squeezed her palm. He then gave the mare a mighty slap on the rump. The horse whinnied and put its head down as it moved into a sway-backed gallop.
Already the other refugees were rushing forward. Kera fled with them, the old mare struggling with her weight but sensing the danger of the situation and pushing on gamely. Gripping the reins, Kera glanced back and met his eyes. Malik lifted his hand and waved.
Tearing his gaze away, Malik saw that, like him, a lot of the men had chosen to remain on the road and buy time for the others. There were fifty or sixty villagers armed with a motley collection of weapons. They began to form a line, facing the dragons plunging down from the sky, and Malik hurried to join them.
‘Come on, men!’ old Gurn yelled. ‘We’ll fight them how we can. Let’s give our lives for our families!’
The dragons descended like a crashing wave, row after row of them swooping at speed. Some of the men started firing arrows, but only a few of the experienced hunters struck the creatures’ softer parts. As one, the bloodren parted their jaws and filled the air with a cacophony of piercing cries. Following the road, they were fifty paces away, and then twenty. They flew so swiftly that Malik barely had time to lift his spear when he found a dragon heading straight for him, its eyes narrowed. He tried to bring his spear up from underneath and strike at the throat. But he only scratched it as the tapered jaws opened wide and then closed over his head.
Iron Will Page 14
