Enemy of the Realm

by Wesley King

  “Not bad,” she said.

  “My entire body hurts,” he replied with a laugh.

  She climbed off him and pulled him to his feet. “Ready to give a speech?”

  “I hate speeches,” he said.

  “Me too. But I think it’s time. If we’re going to be Furies, we had better lead the way. Together.”

  Marcus smiled. “Together.” He paused. “You can do the talking, though.”

  Dree rolled her eyes and started for the tunnel. If they had to give a speech, then so be it. But they were going to need allies if they had any chance of convincing the group. And she had someone in mind.

  Chapter

  21

  Dree and Marcus found Nathaniel sitting alone in the war room, his blue eyes locked on the wall. Dree wondered if he was still thinking about their conversation. She hoped so. They needed him to be ready.

  “We need to talk,” Dree said, stopping in front of him.

  Nathaniel looked up. “Well, if it isn’t the noble Rider and her boyfriend.”

  Dree stiffened, and Marcus put a hand on her arm. “Calm,” he reminded her.

  Dree sighed. “Right. Nathaniel, the hybrid is ready. Marcus and I want to lead the attack, but we need some support in there. I can count on my dad, I think, but we would like your support too.”

  Nathaniel stood up—he was taller than both of them, and he looked down, raising his eyebrows.

  “You’ve already given away our most powerful weapon, and now you want to lead everyone?”

  Dree didn’t back down. “Yes. The Egg is gone, as it should be. We had no right to its dragon magic. Now it’s time to move forward. Together.”

  “Like how the decision to give away the Egg was made together?”

  “I was wrong to go off on my own. I should have at least made my case to you all—I should have trusted that you would do what was right. I won’t betray you again, I promise. But I need you to help me.”

  Nathaniel started to pace. “Listen, I know why you did it. And you made some fair points about our strategy. I might have been a bit too . . . eager. But I also don’t know if we have the strength to win anymore, regardless. In fact, I know we don’t. Forty war-worthy dragons perhaps, at most. Twenty humans. Against who knows how many drones? It is going to be a massacre.”

  “At this rate, yeah,” Marcus said. “But we need to stop arguing. We need to work together.”

  Nathaniel snorted. “You want to win a war by holding hands? Good luck with that.”

  “We need to try,” Dree said fiercely. “No more talks about whose strategy is better. The Egg is gone, and Teen Hybrid is finished. There is no point in waiting anymore. We need to attack tomorrow, before the drones return. We have a simple plan, but we think it might stand a chance.”

  “We’re going to call the meeting now,” Marcus said. “Will you get your men together?”

  Nathaniel turned to them, hesitating. “Fine. But you have some convincing to do.”

  Dree and Marcus stood nervously at the front of the war room as the last of the Resistance fighters and dragons shuffled into the cavern, forming a large group in front of them. Dree scanned over the faces of the human fighters—some young, some old, and many looking like she felt: tired and worn down, but determined.

  Her eyes fell on Ciaran, who stood at the front of the group, a sword sheathed to her belt. Her raven hair was tied into a severe ponytail, revealing the proud lines of her cheeks and chin. Dree wondered if the fiery girl would ever agree to follow her and Marcus, as she was a few years older. She had a lot of influence within the group.

  Abelard stood in front of Dree as well, watching her. She could see the curiosity on his face. She straightened and tried to look brave.

  “We have called this meeting because there has been some confusion lately . . . some of it caused by me. There have been arguments and debates and harsh words. We have had fighters and dragons acting on their own. Many have presented their own strategies, and there has been even more fighting.”

  She saw a lot of the fighters glancing at each other, and she knew she had guessed right. Abelard nodded.

  “The Egg is gone,” Marcus cut in, stepping up beside her. “It has been returned to the red dragons.”

  There was angry murmuring around the room, and Ciaran stepped forward, frowning. Dree noticed that her slender hand had almost subconsciously fallen on the pommel of her silver longsword.

  “Why was this done without consulting us? You were the ones who said that the Egg was our best chance,” she said angrily.

  Dree nodded. “Because I did not trust everyone to make the right choice and return the Egg to the Flames. And that was wrong.”

  Marcus held up his hands to stop any rebuttals. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s gone, and we have to discuss what to do next.”

  The low ripple of conversation became louder. Dree could feel the anger growing. She and Marcus were losing control.

  “The Egg was never ours,” she said firmly. “And it should never have been taken in the first place. Many died because of that mistake. But the point is that there is no more need to wait. Every day the drones attack us, digging ever deeper into the mountainside. The time to act is now. I vote that we attack tomorrow with our full strength. We have a simple plan, but I believe it is the right one. A joint aerial and ground attack, with our full force. The dragons and their riders—led by Teen Hybrid—will head directly for the palace, while a ground team disables the surface-to-air weapons. Teen Hybrid will engage Baby Hybrid, and the main force of dragons and riders will draw out the drones and engage. Our advantage is close combat—we want to stay on them and prevent sweeping runs or missiles. When an opening is made, a small team will head straight for the control room. If we get to the room, we may be able to deactivate the drone arm. Francis will likely be in the room, directing the battle, so we can arrest him as well.”

  “Now we’re supposed to follow these children?” one fighter scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

  Lourdvang growled and stalked up beside Dree, causing a few fighters to quickly step back again. “These two ‘children’ have done more for this war than anyone in the room. They deserve your trust.”

  “That’s fine and well,” another woman said, “coming from her dragon.”

  “Her dragon?” Lourdvang snarled, meeting the woman’s gaze. “We are not pets.”

  The woman took a step back. “I didn’t mean that, and you know it.”

  “Easy,” Dree said, resting her hand on Lourdvang’s leg. “All of this infighting helps no one.”

  She stepped forward, looking out over the assembled group.

  “Francis Xidorne kills more people every day. More dragons, more humans. Every day people starve in the ruins of their former homes. We didn’t ask for this war. Xidorne is power hungry, and the people in this room are the last defense against him. Some of you represent the last of the Dragon Riders—and your responsibility is clear: to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and to uphold justice and peace. The dragons are in danger of being wiped out, and so are we. So is our way of life. All of you have chosen to stop this. You have chosen to risk your lives to defend Dracone. That makes us brothers and sisters, and we have to work together. We have to believe that we can win, or we don’t stand a chance. I know Marcus and I are young, but we know what we’re doing. Marcus knows the drones better than anyone in this room, and we have both been in the palace and faced Francis before. Please trust that we can lead you.”

  The war room fell into silence, and Dree stood there, proud. She had felt the flames building in her as she spoke, and she knew that her eyes might have been flashing with very real fire, but she contained herself.

  “She’s right,” a loud voice said.

  Dree looked up and was shocked to see Nathaniel step forward, his face grim.

  �
��We need to attack,” he continued solemnly, “and I can think of no two people better prepared to lead us.” He stopped in front of Dree and Marcus, nodding. “I will follow you into battle tomorrow, Furies.”

  “As will I,” Abelard said, smiling at Dree. “It is time to end this war.”

  To Dree’s surprise, Ciaran nodded from the front row, as did Eria, and slowly the rest followed. The dragons at the back roared their approval as well, sending black smoke shooting across the room.

  “We leave first thing in the morning,” Dree said. “Go get some rest. We’ll review the plan before leaving at first light.”

  As the Resistance began filing out, Dree turned to Nathaniel and nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

  Nathaniel smiled. “What can I say? You convinced me. You were right about the Riders. My mother always told me the same thing. We can’t hide from it any longer—it’s time to face our destiny.”

  Chapter

  22

  Marcus turned to the others, feeling very uncomfortable. “How do I look?”

  Dree covered her mouth. “Great!” she said, trying to suppress a laugh.

  Marcus scowled and looked down at himself. He had donned some traditional Dragon Rider armor and a long sword that hung in a bejeweled leather scabbard at his waist, dangling almost to the floor. The armor was raven black and crimson, with a helmet with two curving, winged armored plates that stretched down to his chin. It had heavy iron gauntlets and a solid chest plate that had Marcus teetering forward with every step. All of it felt unnaturally heavy and ungainly. He took off the helmet, shaking his head.

  “I’ll go without.”

  Dree shook her head. “You need the protection.”

  “But there are other people who need this more,” he said firmly. “I can ride the dragons without armor.”

  Dree picked up her own sword and swung it back and forth gracefully, the blade moving smoothly through the air like she was painting a picture. Marcus felt a surge of jealousy. Dree looked like a Dragon Rider, even though she had opted out of the armor as well. Her leather jerkin exposed her corded, muscular arms, and she held the sword like it was a natural extension of her hand. Behind her, Nathaniel had donned his armor as well; his helmet shone like a flame, and he had both a sword and a bow strapped to his back. He too looked like a Rider—strong and tall and handsome. Marcus felt like a child.

  He turned away, not wanting to practice with the sword in front of them. He just had to hope it wouldn’t come to an actual swordfight—he knew he wouldn’t last very long if it did. He had managed to survive the last attack on the palace, but only barely. Marcus watched Dree from the corner of his eye as she danced across the cavern, weighing the different swords to find one with the right heft. She had forged swords and shields for years and was an expert in honing their balance. Some of these weapons had been stolen by Resistance fighters from Wilhelm’s Forge, and it was even possible she herself had made them.

  They were soon interrupted by the whirring of motors, and Marcus turned to see Teen Hybrid sail into the armory, Jack perched atop it with a satisfied grin. The new hybrid was a bit smaller than the first but was also a sleeker design, with short, angled wings and legs that tucked into its body. Flames still shone in its black iron eyes, and the dual machine guns remained fixed ominously beneath the wings. There were two missiles as well—they were vital to the plan. But no one had actually flown the hybrid yet—they were supposed to be doing the last few tests. Obviously, Jack had decided it was time to try.

  Teen Hybrid floated to the ground, its iron legs unfurling to catch itself on the cavern floor. Jack hopped off.

  “You already tested it?” Dree asked in amazement.

  Jack nodded, grinning. He looked like a child who had just gotten a brand-new toy. “I knew you kids were busy, so I took the liberty. She flies great.” He walked around the hybrid, pointing out some changes he had made, and Dree and Marcus looked at each other incredulously. Jack had been busy. “I added a whole lot of bells and whistles in the last couple of days,” he said proudly, pointing to something beneath the chamber. “Check this out: a power amplifier. Something I was working on back at the beginning of all this but never quite managed to figure out. Well, things seem a little different in Dracone. It will only last for a minute or so, but you can now amp up the power so that this baby has increased speed and firing rate. Also, the machine guns will now alternate or fire simultaneously, and I added these.”

  He pointed to a few small nozzles on the wings.

  “Tiny accelerators I fabricated out of the leftovers. It will give us more maneuverability . . . barrel rolls, faster dives and turns, you name it. She’ll move as fast as any drone now . . . I promise you that.”

  “This is amazing,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “You actually improved our design.”

  Jack shrugged. “Figured it was the least I can do, since I helped create those cursed drones in the first place. It felt pretty cathartic, actually.” He turned to Dree. “I would like to fly her into battle.”

  Dree and Marcus looked at each other. “You’re not exactly used to flying—” Dree started.

  “I’ve piloted a plane or two in my time,” he said. “This has become my war. I saw what those drones have done. I want to help, and my place is on Teen Hybrid. You can ride Lourdvang.”

  Dree nodded. “He would like that, I suppose. What about you, Marcus?”

  “I’ll ask Erdath or Nolong,” he said. “You’re sure, Uncle Jack?”

  “I’m sure.” He folded his arms and turned to Marcus. “Now, not to sound like an uncle, but you two should probably eat something and get to bed. We kind of have a big day tomorrow.”

  The fire flickered in the middle of the cavern, and the group cast shadows against the walls like ghostly apparitions. A spit hung over the fire, where a pheasant and some corn cooked over the open flame. Marcus, Dree, Abelard, Nathaniel, Jack, and Lourdvang were gathered there, all of them lost in their thoughts.

  Marcus was eating half a pheasant, and the grease was dripping down his chin as he bit into the succulent wing meat. He hadn’t really stopped to eat a full meal since they’d been back to Dracone, and it was absolutely delicious. Dree had already devoured a whole pheasant across from him. Now she was leaning back and staring at the fire. He saw the flames in her dark eyes.

  He thought of all the Riders throughout history who had sat here in Forost, eating a meal just like this. He wondered if his mother had been here often. If she too had sat here and eaten roasted pheasant.

  “What was it like?” Marcus asked Abelard. “When the Dragon Riders protected the realm?”

  Abelard smiled, the light playing tricks on his grizzled face. “I suppose I was the only one here to remember it, wasn’t I?” He glanced at Marcus. “A king ruled then, as I’m sure you’ve heard. He was a good man . . . King Loron the Second. The Childless King, they called him. Riders had already protected the realm for centuries, and it was no different then. There were fifty Riders left before the purge. Our main headquarters were here, in Forost, though Riders and their dragons could go anywhere undisturbed. A council of five elder Dragon Riders and dragons helped lead us, though one often held the most power. We kept the wild dragons at bay, halted invaders from the south, and maintained peace. All we had to do was fly over a disturbance in the city—a fight, a crime, an angry mob—and the perpetrators would flee. None dared offend a Rider. We could keep the peace without ever shedding any blood.”

  He spoke softly, his eyes back on the fire now.

  “But our lives were not only spent as guardians. Most Riders were from ancient and wealthy families—wealth they had accumulated over many years, as naturally they were often the first to find gold and diamonds and other treasures, being explorers. Many grew jealous. I see it now—our folly in separating ourselves from the people. It was supposed to be our mandate to use the wealth to h
elp others—to build homes and feed the poor and help expand the city. Many did, including my family.”

  Marcus frowned. “What happened? Why did everyone turn on you if that was the case?”

  Abelard sighed deeply. “There were other families who grew proud. They worried more about their own fortunes than the people. They built huge mansions in the country and flaunted their gold and jewelry. Many grew vain and forgot their duties. When King Loron died, there was a fight over who would be the successor. That is when Francis Xidorne rose to power. He preached the need for a council and a true democracy—an end to our age-old monarchy. He was probably right in that regard, and he soon swept to power with ease—it was more a revolution than a vote, though.

  “A few accidents befell some of the likely heirs to the throne—I suspect through Francis’s doing. The path had been cleared for him. Francis did a few things that were very wise: He appealed to people’s fear of the wild dragons, he appealed to everyone’s desire to be wealthy, and he turned both of those emotions against us—the symbols of ancient wealth and assumed power. He sold the people on a new world of technology and expansion, where normal people could become wealthy. He said the dragons were a scourge. Everything changed almost overnight. He consolidated his power and banned the Riders and started the hunt of the dragons. He removed key members of the dragon families and seized their homes. He erased the old world and replaced it with the new.”

  “And he did it with the blood of dragons,” Lourdvang said sadly.

  “Yes,” Abelard agreed. “And now with the blood of everyone who doesn’t fit into his vision of a new Dracone.”

  Marcus hesitated. “So, say we do beat him . . . what will happen after? There are no more kings.”

  “No,” Abelard said. “We must continue with a democracy. It is fine if the Dragon Riders no longer have the wealth and privilege of yore. But with Francis gone, we will still be able to help protect this realm and maintain the peace. We can oversee the new elections and find a better leader.”