Dragon School: Troubled War

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  Across the ring from me, Leng watched from the back of a saddle. He seemed unharmed, just as I was. He was tied, just as I was, to the back of a Silver dragon, but where Shonan seemed almost peaceful as he battled, Leng’s face was torn with anxiety. This was his brother, fighting for his life. His dragon lay out in a field, vulnerable and hurt. And there was nothing I could do for him about either of those things.

  I turned my attention back to the Pipe, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest. Where was the magic when you needed it? Where were the miracles?

  The Pipe fell loose of my collar, still hanging on the leather string Hubric had made for it. It lay in a tiny ridge on the leather saddle and I leaned the weight of my head against my cheek on the saddle and carefully edged my face closer, trying to take the mouthpiece in my lips without knocking the Pipe loose from its perch. The seconds felt too long and the delicate maneuvering made my shaking worse.

  After long seconds, I managed to grasp it, hoping beyond hope that it was still set to dragons.

  I blew as hard as I could into the Pipe, note after note after note. Any help would be appreciated!

  A rough hand yanked the pipe from my mouth and cut the leather strap.

  “All that to blow a whistle? And who do you think is coming for you? Do you have a pack of dogs out there somewhere?” My captor laughed.

  My eyes teared as I looked past him to see that he was right. No one could help us now. The air around me was filling with forest moths of every size and color. Their delicate wings were lit with gold around the edges as they flew in and out of the golden beam of light over the hill, but they brought no hope and no help.

  The Pipe, it seemed, had been reset to butterflies.

  Bitter despair filled me, as tears leaked from my eyes. Through my blurry vision, I saw Shonan look up into the sunbeam and smile at the moths above him. They swirled around him like the throngs that would hail him if they knew who he was, settling on his shoulders and the crown of his head. He looked so monarch-like in that moment that I wondered at the Silver Dragon Riders for not seeing it and bowing the knee to him.

  They didn’t.

  Instead, Iskaris leapt like a snake, his sword stinging with such speed that it was as if he had been storing it up for that moment. He plunged his sword through Shonan’s chest and as the true Dominar sank to his knees, Iskaris spun in an unfolding dance that ended when his sword swept across Shonan’s throat.

  I gasped.

  Across the hill from me, I heard Leng’s cry of despair as clearly as if he was beside me.

  Everyone was silent for a heartbeat.

  “Well, that’s done, then,” my captor said as if this shattering moment didn’t matter at all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Witness this day, that the traitor is defeated!” Iskaris called, holding his sword over his head like he thought he was a hero. “Your Dominar’s authority upheld.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of Shonan. I hadn’t ever actually believed this was possible. I hadn’t thought it could happen.

  Tears blinded me. Despite all my anxiety and worry, I had never really believed that we would fail – that Shonan wouldn’t regain his rightful crown. That Leng and I wouldn’t visit him in Dominion City and watch with pride from afar as he ruled again.

  There was no happily ever after without Shonan.

  Iskaris’ words echoed in my head as I watched the rest of their army flooding over the bridge. With every heartbeat, they pounded that nail into my heart. Defeated. Defeated. Defeated.

  Nearby the Silver Dragon Riders shifted uncomfortably, still loyal to Iskaris, but with grim expressions on their faces.

  “Gather our wounded and our captives. We march now, to rid the Dominion of the Lightbringers and their schemes!” Iskaris’ voice rang out firm.

  No more dragons filled the skies. Any still living must have fled with the death of Shonan and disappearance of Raolcan. I had no Pipe to call them back.

  Where was Ahlskibi? Had someone killed him as he lay wounded on the ground?

  Where was Raolcan? I needed him so badly and I couldn’t stop hoping ... couldn’t believe ... no! I would not give up hope for my dragon!

  Magikas swarmed across their bridge as the last of the army trickled onto the road beyond and joined the others winding their way along the twisting path. I bit my lip as I watched Ifrits go where the Magikas sent, speeding across the landscape – clouds of dusty intent.

  Iskaris adjusted his mask, wiping blood off his sword in the grass. He pointed to Shonan. “Someone toss this traitor into the river.”

  My heart felt like it was tearing apart as they scooped Shonan up out of the grass, dragging him across the turf toward the river. The look on Leng’s face broke me. If I was despairing, he was hopeless.

  This couldn’t be real.

  Raolcan! Please, can you hear me? Please!

  No thoughts came to me from Raolcan and I bit the inside of my cheek to try to keep from crying. He was not dead. I wouldn’t believe that.

  My mind felt thick. It was hard to think. The landscape was even shifting colors as the golden beams that pierced the clouds only moments ago disappeared now as more clouds moved in. From their dark depths, the first swirl of icy snow began to fall.

  There was a cry and I looked up to see one of the Silver Dragon Riders pointing to the land across the river. The bridge the Magikas had made faded away. On the road from the north, a swell of black figures stormed across the ground, finally reaching the river – just moments too late. Their foreign dress marked them as the armies of Baojang and their stony expressions were as grim as when they raced through the warrens unafraid of sudden death.

  They were led by a wave of creatures hovering in a uniform block – Sentries. If I still had the Pipe I could call them to come. They descended in an unsettling mass on a single Magika who had been forgotten or left for dead before the bridge was removed. He fell to the ground under the swarm and I looked quickly away. I knew how they killed their victims.

  At the head of the army, three dragons flew: White, Gold, and Purple.

  Jalla’s hand extended out as she pointed toward our hill, her bearing regal and her cold expression unconcerned about the sudden setback. Behind her, Renn rode awkwardly as if he no longer was the rider of his own dragon.

  Would they come for us? Of course not. There was an army here and only a few dragons and Sentries who could cross without a bridge. Beside her, I saw Hubric gesturing toward us as if encouraging her to fly to our rescue anyway, but Rakturan slashed a hand through the air in negation. He would never allow her to risk herself – or the army – for the two of us. His bright gaze met mine across the field and I knew for certain that there would be no rescue.

  All my hopes and plans were destroyed with my army. At least Hubric had survived it. I felt one last surge of gratitude toward Shonan as the guards Iskaris had sent with his remains hurled him over the side of the bank into the boiling river.

  Like a Purple bolt of lightning, Kyrowat leapt after him, surging upward a moment later, further down the river. In Hubric’s arms, Shonan’s corpse lay like a sleeping child. He’d be buried and his grave marked. At least he would be given that honor. Heaviness descended on my heart as if I was the one being buried, as if I was the one with a heavy stone laid over me to mark the end. It felt as if it really was me about to be buried.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Silver Rider mounted up, his body blocking my view as he strapped himself in.

  “I’ve got you until we make camp,” he said gruffly. “No squirming. It makes Yarobet nervous. He doesn’t like this whistle of yours.”

  “Who are you?” I asked. I was craning my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Leng when the dragon he was tied to leapt into the air and I lost sight of it entirely.

  “I’m Ralk Wheelspinner, Silver Dragon Rider and Guardian of the Dominar and the Dominion. Don’t mistake my civility for mercy. You deserve the punishment that all traitors to t
he throne deserve.” He said it so matter-of-factly as if it were obvious.

  “What if I told you the man in that mask isn’t the Dominar?” I asked as Yarobet’s muscles beneath me bunched and then he launched into the air with a suddenness that knocked my breath out.

  “I’d tell you that you’re a fool. The mask is the Dominar. And I’d tell you to save your treason for the Magikas. They’ll handle your imprisonment after tonight.”

  “He stole that mask from the true Dominar. He was a guard – just like you – a dragoon. Until he ripped the crown off his master’s head and tried to kill him.”

  “Tried?”

  “I stopped him.”

  He laughed. “That’s a good story. A girl who can barely walk stops a dragoon and yet somehow he still steals a kingdom. Keep telling that story and maybe someone will take pity on you for your insanity and spare your life.”

  We climbed into the sky, the light snow swirling around us. Even my thick fur-lined cloak couldn’t keep the wind from making my hands and feet numb. It felt, almost, as if someone had torn the sky and snow was falling out.

  My heart lurched when we plunged through the black clouds to the bright sky above them. Kyrowat was waiting there for us, as if he expected us. All around, Silver after Silver popped through the clouds, but he stayed there, steady and solid, a cranky look in his eyes, a grizzled rider on his back and in the rider’s arms the corpse of our hopes. They were stained with soot and sweat, but they still seemed untouchable. My eyes filled with tears as I caught Hubric’s red-rimmed gaze.

  Yarobet reared, flaming a warning but Kyrowat held his place as Hubric signed rapidly to me.

  Remember the prophecies.

  He nodded briskly and then Kyrowat dropped back into the clouds and out of sight, leaving me a prisoner while he went to bury our friend. I tried to keep tears of despair from overwhelming me. What good were the prophecies now? That’s what Hubric spent his last word to me on? Tonight, when the Magikas had me, I would likely be tortured or killed and that was what he wanted to say? Not that he would save me, not that he would look for Raolcan, just to remember the prophecies?

  We were at the end of the dream, at the broken edge of the bridge of hope. I’d been such a fool to think it could turn out any other way.

  I’d been such a fool to believe in happy endings.

  All of that was done. The only ending left was the one where they made me eat my hopes and dreams like a cannibal living on her own soul until the last bite took my life with it.

  I didn’t sleep or dream, but I did fall into something other than alertness as we flew slowly south. Ralk flew circles around the army, but from my position tied to the saddle, it was hard to make out any clear sight of where we were or what we were doing.

  The hours faded and the crisp cold of a Fall night descended.

  Eventually, we were circling over dozens of tiny red flowers that multiplied new flowers every few minutes. Fires, my weary mind told me. The army is below us, lighting fires. The dragons circle to protect their Dominar below.

  Protect him from what? There was nothing left to fight him with.

  Protect him from you, my mind said.

  I laughed aloud.

  “Ready for landing?” Ralk asked, as if it mattered whether I responded, but the landing was gentler as if Yarobet was trying not to hurt me, and I realized as Ralk’s rough hands untied me that he was not intentionally harsh with me. He was just a man doing an unpleasant job, bringing a traitor to justice.

  The internal part of me that watched the world from within must have broken in the fight because it was laughing now. Laughing at the men who served traitors thinking they were defending against traitors, laughing that Ralk was probably a good man with a good dragon and yet his good actions were destroying the last shred of good in the Dominion.

  A deep voice startled him as he was finishing the job of pulling me down from Yarobet’s back. He shifted in an almost protective stance over me.

  “That’s the girl you took prisoner? The Purple?”

  “Yes, Dominar.” He saluted.

  He took my arms and turned me to show me to the Dominar. Iskaris stood in a dark shadow behind one of the pavilions. Firelight reflected on his mask, and on the helms of the five dragoons clustered around him – but faintly and from afar. We were on the far end of a dragon picket. Likely, that pavilion was his, guarded and tended by dragoons.

  “She had a pipe with her.”

  Where had Iskaris heard of the Pipe? Did he realize what it did?

  “Here, Dominar.”

  In the faint light from a nearby fire, something glimmered in the dark as it changed hands. The Pipe of Wings. In the hands, now, of one of our worst enemies.

  “Interesting. Take her to the Magikas and give them this pipe as well.” He handed back the object. “They are ready for her.”

  Fear stabbed through me as Ralk saluted and then marched me through the darkness. He stayed slow enough for me to hobble in the dark on a crutch, but kept a hand pinched uncomfortably on my shoulder.

  “Don’t risk your life in a fool’s move,” he murmured when I paused too long to catch my breath. “There’s no one on this side of the river who can help you now.”

  As if triggered by his words, a vision flashed across my mind of Hubric and Rakturan carefully laying Shonan in a freshly dug hole. They climbed out, and Enkenay lay his mighty head down beside the hole and breathed into it. Shadows danced as the fire stream seemed to go on and on and on.

  Ralk’s grip tightened. “Come on.”

  I stumbled after him to the perimeter of a brightly colored orange silk tent. A pair of Magikas stood at the door, their ostentatious robes road worn and grimy. Around us were the sounds of tired soldiers pitching camp – eating, tired, tending wounded, tending horses, snoring.

  “Special Delivery,” Ralk said, pushing me forward and shoving the Pipe into the hand of one of the Magikas.

  I gasped as they opened the door of the pavilion, so I could stumble in.

  Inside the tent, a dark figure in a cloak stood, back turned to me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The pavilion was too opulent for something thrown together in a hurry. From the silk tent to the patterned rugs laid over the dirt of the floor to the folding chairs and tables, I couldn’t help but think that I hadn’t seen pack horses or wagon trains to carry this much stuff. There were even a chest and a large mirror on one side of the tent. Was it possible that someone had met the army coming from the other direction?

  Tall candelabras stood around the pavilion, lighting the tent brightly despite nightfall and Magikas stood quietly around the perimeter. Their sharp eyes watched me as I stumbled into the tent, but none of them spoke or moved to intercept me. Were they busy connecting to the veins of magic in the earth underneath me? Or were they waiting for the dark figure to turn?

  I swallowed. Leng was not here. I would have thought that if they were going to interrogate me, they would interrogate him, too.

  “I’m not going to interrogate you,” the figure said, turning, finally, and lowering the hood of her cloak.

  My mouth felt dry. Why was my good leg so weak? It felt as if it wouldn’t hold my weight and my arm holding my crutch trembled.

  I fought to remain in control as Starie Atrelan ran her hands through her long red hair to push it out of her face. Her black blindfold was not comforting to me. Darkness still escaped around the edges of it and seemed to pierce right through the cloth so that I could feel the oily touch of it on my skin.

  I cleared my throat and glanced around to where the Magikas shifted uncomfortably, their faces white and eyes wide.

  “I came to rein in a troublesome gelding, only to find an old friend was here.” Starie smiled and I felt my own lips turning down in horror. Her smile was as wrong as a flower growing out of a corpse. “So, of course, I had to invite you to my tent.”

  My mind was racing. A troublesome gelding? Did she mean Iskaris? Had she traveled
north to bring him back to Dominion City? But why would she leave her armies behind?

  “They are in competent hands,” she said.

  Could she read my mind now?

  Starie took a step forward, and the Magikas on either side flinched. She waved a hand, dismissively.

  “I’ll send for you when I need you. Stay close.”

  They scurried from the tent like mice from an opened box and I felt my jaw drop. Magikas – the most powerful people of the Dominion – scurried when Starie spoke?

  “They fear me with good reason.”

  She really could read my mind.

  “You should practice better mental discipline. Your thoughts are not hard to read.” She gestured to one of the folding chairs. “Sit. Before you fall over. I don’t want you dead before your time.”

  I sat carefully. Did she mean she didn’t want to harm me, or that she didn’t want to harm me yet?

  “Yet. I have plans for you. Have you lost your voice? Or has fear made off with it?”

  I cleared my throat as Starie sat regally in the folding chair opposite to me. Her smile had morphed into the grin of a cat playing with its food.

  “I don’t fear you,” I said.

  “Don’t lie to me.” But her words sounded like she was enjoying the lie. “I will know.”

  “Why are you here?” I tried. After all, if I could get her talking, perhaps I could find a weakness.

  “There are no weaknesses to find. But I am happy to talk. It’s why I called for you. Oh! And for one other thing.”

  She snapped her fingers and a Magika ducked his head into the tent. Starie held out a hand, palm up, and he rushed forward, placed the Pipe of Wings in her hand and then bowed low before striding out. He walked with dignity, but even I noticed his steps were too quick. He was afraid.

  “An interesting trinket,” Starie said, playing with the Pipe in her hands. She moved the lever from where it was set to butterflies. “And you called butterflies with it. Appropriate. You’re a butterfly kind of girl.”