13
War
The sun rose slowly, and with it masses of shifters made their way out onto the damp fields of Scotland, preparing to wage war against one another.
For most of them the moment began as a thrill; after all, no shifter ever felt himself likely to lose a battle and they approached fights with relish. But for the leaders of the two armies, Conor Dunbar and Graeme Ramsey, it was feeling like a walk to the scaffold. The choice which lay before them was far worse than kill or be killed. It was the potential of leading an army against a beloved friend and brother.
Conor had not felt a mental connection to Graeme in some time, but this morning he knew that the dragon shifter would be anticipating movement. Graeme would know by now that Lily had escaped, and he would know the significance of such an act.
As for Lily, it was Conor’s hope that she was far away by now, safe, protected from the onslaught to come. If this was the day when he was to die, and if Graeme were to be the perpetrator, the last thing she should witness was that awful moment.
Graeme was safe: that much Conor knew. He would not so much as harm a scale on the dragon lord, and, if he could help it, neither would any of his men. He would sooner die than allow such a thing. As for the rest of the dragons, the hope was simply to fight them back; to maintain order. Extermination was not an option for either side.
And Graeme, seated still in his own domain, contemplated his friend and companion, and what sort of difficulty lay ahead for them both. He had been warned that Conor might have fallen to the corruption of power, and he knew that the man had taken Lily prisoner. But still, he reassured himself with thoughts of their bond. However he attempted to picture Conor as an ambitious warlord, he couldn’t conjure the image.
But even in the worst possible scenario, he would never harm his brother, his mate. And it was his hope that they would each end the day in one piece.
Lily awoke by the embers of the fire that had burned out over the course of the night. The air was chilly, but the heat of the dragon within her had kept her warm all night. It was only a low rumble in her belly that reminded her that she had someone to look after other than herself.
“Here,” said Merriman when he saw her stir. He handed her a bit of dried meat and some fruit. “It’s not much, but should allow you a little strength.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a cappuccino,” she said. “The modern era has its perks.”
“Yes, it does.” Merriman’s eyes smiled. “And if you so choose, you will be taking advantage of them again very soon, I’ll wager.”
“Let’s hope,” she said. Somehow, the idea of giving birth in the modern world was far nicer than the alternative.
She ate Merriman’s offerings gratefully, looking around at the woods surrounding them. Barnabas was nowhere to be seen; no doubt he was off hunting mice or scoping the landscape for signs of movement.
“Any word?” she said.
“None,” said Merriman, “though I expect our owl back at any moment. He flew towards Dunbar Castle this morning.”
“Is that safe?”
“They won’t harm him; he’s an owl. No self-respecting owl allies himself to dragons. It’s unseemly.”
“And yet here we are,” laughed Lily. “Allies.”
“You’re a special sort of dragon, as is that Graeme,” said Merriman, leaning in and speaking in his deep baritone voice. “You don’t count.”
“Well, thank you. I think,” said Lily.
A moment later the fluttering of wings caught her eye as Barnabas came to a landing on a nearby branch.
“I see that he’s decided to hang out in his feathered form for the time being,” said Lily.
“Yes. More difficult to speak, but not to communicate.”
Barnabas let out a low hoot and then went silent as Merriman stared up at him, the two locked in silent conversation. For a moment Lily considered prying, finding her mind’s way in to their discussion. But it would be rude, and besides, they would tell her anything she needed to know.
“They’re on the move,” he said. “The Beorn, from Dunbar. It’s only a matter of time before they arrive.”
“And Graeme’s side?”
“Apparently preparing as well. It seems that the battle will begin today. Whether it ends today is another matter.”
Lily wandered a little, recalling from her flight the night before that the edge of the wood wasn’t far off. Perhaps she’d be able to see what was occurring on the fields beyond the forest; be a spectator, observing the end of her world as she knew it.
As she neared the clearing she looked towards the distant western horizon, the direction where Conor’s family castle stood proud and strong.
Her heart leapt as she saw them: figures of all shapes and sizes, moving slowly in a long row, towards the very place where she stood. Some were very small; déors the size of dogs and even cats, but interspersed among them were creatures the size of elephants: the Beorn. And the largest among them would be Conor.
Above them were flyers of various sorts; mostly eagles, hawks and vultures who swooped about, scanning the horizon with their powerful eyes. The largest among them dwarfed the others.
Everything about him was familiar: he was the Roc whom she’d seen at the Old House; the shifter who had locked her into the prison in the Dunbar castle. And now he appeared as the ancient, giant bird the size of a dragon lord.
“There are so many of them,” she muttered.
“Yes, there are,” said Merriman’s voice as he came up behind her. “And yet even a few dragons could fight them. Graeme has many.”
Lily turned to him. “How will they survive?” she asked. “How can the outcome be any different from what I’ve seen in my visions?”
“You keep asking yourself that, but you will see when the time comes,” said Merriman, laying a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed gently, reassuringly, as Lily’s left hand went to her belly.
“I want my child to have parents,” she said quietly.
“I know you do. And it is my greatest hope as well, Lilliana.”
14
Conor’s army stood tall upon the field a mile from the Castle Ramsey, their leader resplendent in shining armor of white gold, poised at their head, his eyes fixed on the land before him.
He could hear the thoughts of the men behind him: anticipation and even apprehension as they waited for the first appearance of a dragon.
The one mind that remained partially obscured to him was that of the Roc, who seemed as always to be focused on duty and the glory of his side. The defeat of the dragons. He would be the most difficult of Conor’s allies on this day.
But it was on the castle ahead of him that he focused, seeking out the minds within: that of the elder Lord Ramsey, who watched his son amass his troops in the outer courtyard, preparing for flight.
The young, inexperienced dragons, out for their first true battle. And the seasoned fighters who had been raised in the spirit of combat and who had never lost. Barely a scratch had ever been inflicted on these soldiers, and even from a distance, Conor could feel their confidence wafting through the air over the fields as they snorted, their dragon forms ready to breathe fire on any who threatened them or their power.
At last he was able to pinpoint Graeme, to see his mind. He wanted to reach for him and reassure him, to tell him that they were on the same side. But it was too dangerous. Faith was his plan now; the faith that Graeme wanted the same life that he did for himself, for his family, and for the shifters whose lives were being risked on this day.
“You will take off in groups of three,” Graeme told his soldiers. “When you are in the air, get into formation. Do not proceed forward without my order; do not engage the enemy under any circumstances, until I have instructed you to do so. Is that clear?”
The dragons nodded assent before taking off skyward, loyally obeying the command to remain in small groups, dispersing themselves throughout the air. They trusted their commander enou
gh to take these first steps, at least, though none knew yet what might come.
Graeme’s father stood to the side, watching, glad that his fighting days had come to an end, pleased with his son’s unrelenting assertiveness. His wife stood with him, watching in tense anticipation of what her only child’s plan might be. She had only to hope that it wouldn’t result in his premature death.
After the last of the dragons had taken off, Graeme looked once at his parents before shifting into his red dragon form and flying upwards to head the war party.
All told, one-hundred and twenty dragons hovered in the sky above the castle, each set of eyes watchful as they took in the army of thousands which followed their giant leader on the ground.
Graeme could sense that a few of the younger dragons were nervous, occasionally snorting flame rather than smoke as their genes got the better of them.
Perfect, he thought. The last thing he wanted was for the men to be overly-confident. He relied upon their willingness to follow commands, whether they knew it or not.
In the air above, the dragons awaited their commander, the young Lord Ramsey. He would lead them in a triangular pattern of enormous scaled bodies, filling the sky with dark, menacing outlines.
One of their kind was enough to take down entire cities. A hundred could wipe out the army they were up against and then some. And they all knew it.
Graeme darted to the front of his pack. As he had trained them to do, they hovered in the air behind him, great wings flapping steadily, holding their position.
During their training he’d stressed the importance of formation; of not diverting from the pack.
“It’s a new strategy; one that I learned from reading twentieth-century texts on aerial battle,” he’d insisted, lying through his teeth. In truth he simply wanted to ensure that there would be no stragglers, no mutiny. They needed to believe firmly that he knew more than they did: a tough assignment for one as arrogant as a dragon.
Yet they seemed all too happy to have him lead the line of defence. The Beorn, those huge creatures from the North, were unlike anything that most of them had ever faced. And their leader seemed from a distance more like a mammoth than a bear.
Graeme signalled the dragons to hold steady and to wait for the advance of their enemy.
Even now, he wasn’t utterly certain of his own plan, and he was less so that it would work when the time came. But still, he had to try.
Conor advanced, lines of shifters behind him. Most were terrified, knowing that they were on a suicide mission. But there was no choice. It was kill or be killed with the dragons, and so confronting them was the only option.
Perhaps, if a few were lucky, they would be taken prisoner rather than burned alive on the battlefield.
Only two of their ranks seemed truly confident: Lord Dunbar and Kormag, the Roc shifter, who floated above them, his wingspan filling the sky with all the breadth of any dragon’s. He was a machine made for war, more animal than human. Between him and Conor, the men held out hope that at least a few dragons would be taken down.
From the woods, Lily and Merriman watched the advance. Lily’s heart beat so rapidly that she was certain that the marching creatures would hear her, or that the dragons in the distance would. They could light the woods on fire in an instant, she knew, scorching everything inside. And yet none of them seemed interested in her; all eyes were focused on the distant enemy: the great red dragon in the sky and the great dark bear on the ground.
She watched her two lovers move towards one another across what seemed like miles. Somehow, Graeme was holding his dragons back, moving at a snail’s pace as they remained all but frozen in the air behind him. She had no idea how, but he had taught them restraint, patience. Most dragons, confronted by such a vast horde of enemies, would attack as soon as possible, whether ordered to or not. But Graeme had proven a worthy leader, controlling them as though they were his puppets.
Conor remained at the forefront of his own army, leading them to their bloody fate without a hint of fear. As Lily attempted to read his thoughts, she was met only with a sense of determination. His plan, whatever it was, would succeed, or he would die.
“Lilliana,” whispered Merriman.
“Yes,” she said, mesmerized by the surreal images unfolding before her.
“Do you recall the wall of fire that we created around the Old House, when so many shifters came at us?”
“Of course,” she said, turning her eyes to him. “Why do you ask?”
“Spanning the width of this field you will notice a long, dark line of dead grass. Would you do me a favour and light it with your fire?”
Lily could see that Conor’s army was getting close now to the row of dead foliage that Merriman had mentioned. They were only a few hundred feet away.
“But why…” she began. “Yes.” There was no point in asking questions. She had to trust in the old shifter; he’d never yet steered her wrong.
In a moment she’d shifted, her scales electric with flame dashing in every direction as she prepared to do as he’d asked.
The long row of dead grasses began near her feet and she shot a flame towards it, watching as the line caught immediately, darting upwards to form a vast barrier of fire which stretched a hundred feet in the air and as far into the distance as she could see.
“This battle can only be stopped by one person—one shifter, with skills beyond her own understanding,” said Merriman, facing her. “One with the blood of a phoenix and a dragon, who has on her side the love of a Beorn and a Dragon Lord. It is to you now, Lilliana. Go. Do what you were born to do.”
She wanted to speak now, to reply, but didn’t even attempt it; speech while shifted had never seemed possible.
Merriman threw a dark robe over her neck, the sweeping fabric unaffected by her flaming flesh, and she took off, flying towards the huge wall of fire.
The dragon army was still hovering in wait for their leader’s command. On Conor’s side, the army of shifters had stopped its advance, and they stood one hundred or so feet from the great wall of raging flame, staring at it, waiting, wondering what their commander would have them do. Most were limited to the ground, and some wondered if this was some trick of the dragons to cripple their numbers; if perhaps the fire breathers intended to fly over it and burn them as they stood in helpless ranks.
From the edge of the woods, though, another creature flew upwards: a dragon beyond description, flames of purple, gold, blue and white flickering over her form. Sounds like gasps came from all sides, within the Beorn army and that of the dragons. None knew who this shifter was; none but the two men who led their armies against one another—and Kormag, who stared at her with hatred in his sharp eyes.
The soldiers gaped, frozen and silent, staring as though caught up in a dream. She wasn’t entirely a dragon, after all; she was as graceful as a swan and as beautiful as anything they’d ever seen.
It was in this moment that Lily felt something take her over; almost as though a force from outside were guiding her, offering her aid. Had someone asked her what she was doing she couldn’t have told them, yet as she went the plan unfolded in her mind, a detailed map painting itself.
If this didn’t work, nothing would.
She flew up to the top of the fire wall and landed there, somehow knowing that it would be solid under her clawed feet, her talons holding fast to the flame as she stretched her wings, spreading them wide for all to see.
The black cloak remained around her neck as she bent her head skyward and closed her eyes. Words didn’t come to her now, but instead it was an image: that of a huge fireball atop the wall, glowing white, almost blinding.
As her wings reached outwards, the flames covering her body grew suddenly, engulfing her, white hot, a sphere of flame, beautiful, powerful and terrifying. She was like a sun which had come to earth, signalling a new morning, and no one who looked on could imagine ever seeing anything so remarkable.
Graeme and Conor watched, each frigh
tened and delighted at once. Neither had wished for their mate’s presence at this place, but each felt drawn towards her now, pulled in by love. In her was everything they’d ever wanted. In her was everything that any shifter should desire: beauty, goodness and loyalty. But there was something new, as well: an aspect to her that neither of the men had ever seen before.
Finally she let her wings come down, allowing the white fire to die away in gentle waves, and once again the onlookers could see the firebird before them, her long neck bending in each direction so that her eyes could take both armies in.
Her breath came rapidly, her heart accompanying it as she looked upon the multitude of powerful shifters, knowing that every eye was on her, waiting, hoping, fearing. Her actions in this place and time would determine the outcome of this conflict, and the very future of the world.
She wanted to reach for her mates, to take a hand in hers, to feel their reassuring touch. But this was her time, and she needed to succeed or fail alone.
As she stood, perched precariously atop the wall, she shifted, wrapping the long cloak around her form. Her human eyes now looked at the hovering dragons and the Beorn army below and once again she inhaled deeply.
In her mind an image flashed quickly: a future in which dragons were slaughtered, killed by the hundreds by weaponry unlike anything she’d seen, even in the modern era. No other shifter existed in this world, and she could feel the bleakness of a land devoid of their kind, of their sort of strength and power. A world corrupted by forces darker than anything that threatened their current lives.
And then it was gone, and her eyes once again took in the present: the two armies, one on either side of the dividing wall. Each holding onto a certain sort of hope for their own survival. Each looking to her for guidance.
“I am here to speak to you,” she called out, her voice echoing through the landscape as her head turned to each army in turn. “My name is Lilliana. I am the daughter of a dragon and of dire wolves. My mates are a dragon and a Beorn, your leaders.
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