Lawless

by Janeen Ippolito

  His velocity was too strong. The cloth only flew uselessly behind him.

  “Doldrums!”

  Shance released the shirt, and with it went his last vestige of hope. Death would almost be a relief. It would mean he could stop taking the lives of others. And there was a certain poetry to a captain going down with his ship. Although, in the old days, that meant drowning. Smashing into the ground would be quicker.

  His thoughts wandered, trying to avoid focusing on the ground below. He hoped the sun-dove was all right. Even if flame-cursed Fiarston wouldn’t help sailors, perhaps the god would protect small, innocent animals from dragon wrath.

  Why in the lands were the sparkers still fighting this war? Weren’t twenty years enough?

  A broad shape appeared between him and the ground. A parachute boat?

  A second later, he slammed into a lean body nearly twice as wide as his. Scales rubbed against his face, then started sliding smoothly against it as he sagged off the side.

  “Hold on!”

  Shance tried to find air to breathe, but as usual, wind eluded him this night. Only a choked gasp escaped him.

  The loud, surprisingly feminine voice shouted again, “Hold on, you fool, or all this will be for nothing! Don’t make my trouble worthless!”

  The order snapped through him, and Shance managed to swing himself over the form again. His legs barely reached either side of what looked like a strange, sinuous tube of scales. He started to edge himself forward to a narrower part.

  “Do you think to choke me? I’m not your enemy right now, Captain Windkeeper. Please don’t be mine.”

  “How are you my enemy?”

  “I would have thought the wings gave it away.”

  Shance hazarded a glance on either side of him. Through the dim starlight he could see the dark outline of wings spreading out on either side of the beast, forty or fifty feet of elegant strength and deadly power.

  A dragon. He was on the back of a dragon. This had to be a hallucination, a side effect of the foul smoke. Any moment now the scales and wings would disappear, and he would feel the pain and oblivion of bones smashing into hard ground.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  The dragon’s wings beat strongly as she descended at a sharp angle, the clawed edges waving up and down in the wind. “You allowed me to ride on your shoulder. I thought to return the favor.”

  “How did I do that?”

  She laughed. “As easily as a bird.”

  Now Shance was sure he was hallucinating. The rich, melodic voice, layered with the many tones of dragon speech, was like nothing he had heard before. His father had once likened dragon voices to the sound of a choir of winds, with the depth of gold and silver bells. And Orun Windkeeper wasn’t given to poetry.

  A cool sea breeze hit his face. They were close to the Scepter of Commerce now, and dragons were notoriously fearful of water, especially in their reptilian form. How could any of this be real?

  “Can you swim?”

  He dared to remove one hand from her back and rubbed at his eyes. “Well enough.”

  “Good. Here is where I must leave you.” Her wings beat at a curved angle now, maintaining a steady hovering position over the water. “The shore is half a league away. I think you should be able to manage.”

  “Aye.” When would this dream be over? The taste of the briny seawater on his face was all too real. Shance stroked his hand against the scales of the dragon’s back. Beneath the hard surface, there was another layer, pliable and almost soft. Details he would never have thought to make up. He could embellish a story over a few drinks, but never create one.

  “Well, off with you then.”

  Shance began sliding off the side of the dragon’s back. She certainly had a commanding edge for such a sweet voice. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Does it matter? You’re alive. That’s a comfort, I would think.”

  “True.” Such a resonant voice, like honey and rain and rose petals. Old tales said that dragon voices were able to turn the mind of any human to their will. Shance understood. He could listen to the dragon speak forever.

  He gave the dragon’s scales a pat. “Until we meet again, my fair savior.”

  He fell into the water and immediately began treading to turn, just in time to see the dragon snort a small stream of flame through her slender nostrils.

  “I hope not, for your sake, Captain Windkeeper.”

  Chapter 3

 

  Zephryn breathed a brilliant stream of fire onto the pile of wood gathered for their camp. More fire than necessary, but the cave where they took shelter was nestled deep in the northern parts of the Cloudpeaks. No one would spy them here.

  They could have continued to the Pinnacle that night, but Kesia’s unexpected charity had changed the situation. He needed to think, and so did she, even though currently it had yielded no results other than the certainty of their executions.

  She settled her wings around her, allowing her scales to heat up.

  He clicked his nails on the stone beneath him, pacing the length of the cave.
  exploded. Something was very wrong.>

 

 

  Kesia fixed her warm amber eyes on him, her slit pupils wreathed in flames. Quiet, but clever.

  But her words gnawed at him, more than the hunger in his stomach. They had no time to hunt tonight. Warming their bodies was far more important to ensure they didn’t fall into the Cold Sleep.

 

 

  Kesia was silent for a moment, her eyes distant, as if searching for an answer.

 

  she snapped.

 

 

  Meaning before he’d met her. When she had been a child who had killed her father.

  They both fell silent, staring into the mesmerising flickers of orange, red, and yellow. This entire excursion had been to satisfy Kesia’s drive—and his own, truth be told. A drive fueled by the brand burned into her underbelly.

  The mark of a murderer.

  She didn’t talk about it much, even after ten years of partnership. The label prevented them from being acknowledged as true fleetwings, with all the rights and privileges as such. Breeding. More dangerous missions. Very likely their deaths in battle for a war that seemed endless. All of these things were a prize if only they could remove the taint of Kesia’s sentence. But she freely acknowledged she had killed her father at age eleven, a year before he’d met her.

  Bitterness curled Zephryn’s tail. Yes, he was a prince—of nothing. He wanted to do more, but as it stood, he had no one, and no way of finding help while Kesia was held prisoner. Besides, what was the point of fighting to rule a kingdom that no longer existed? Why were they even returning to the Pinnacle to face judgement?

  Kesia would face judgment. Perhaps even death.

  Death was unacceptable. He ground his teeth.

  Kesia’s head lifted, her nostrils flaring in shock.

  An excellent question. Rogue dragons were liable to be targeted by both sides.

 

  Naturally, she would take up this old argument. Zephryn blew a stream of
flames into the fire.

 

 

  Her eyes gleamed, matching the intensity in her voice.

 

 

  Zephryn scoffed.

  <…no.> Kesia’s head slumped. She rested her chin on her front feet.

  A rush of resigned despair filled him through their link, softening the aggression of their argument. Zephryn sent reassurance back to Kesia.

  Her scaled face was closed, her eyes fixed on the ground.

  Studying her, curled up next to the flames, all Zephryn wanted to do was remove the frustration and self-loathing that seemed built into Kesia’s heartflame. It was easy to blame it all on guilt over killing her father, but that action didn’t fit with the fair, compassionate dragon she was. Unfortunately, she didn’t remember anything about the incident and precious few details from before it. He couldn’t fix that. But maybe finding out more information could help.

  Kesia glanced at him through eyes half-closed in sleep.

  Too late. His world had been taken over first, by Garishton Razerclaw and the other three leaders of the Pinnacle who had made his family disappear, one by one over the years. He was left alone at age ten, dreading his own disappearance with quiet certainty. Until he’d met Kesia.

  Perhaps she was right about her importance. Keeping him alive had little logic.

 

  Zephryn flicked the end of his long tail, lightly smacking hers. It was one of the few ways dragons could show affection. Once there had been other ways, but those were forbidden during wartime. Dragons had two forms: scale form as great and mighty beasts, and skin form, which was indistinguishable from humans. Far softer skin, far more vulnerable to attack. Indulging in skin form would lead to a swift death during times of war. Even swifter if the Pinnacle found out.

  Still, Zephryn remembered his parents holding him in arms of skin with warm, pulsing blood. His chest tightened, and a deep sense of protection and some other unidentifiable emotion came over him. The vague memory was one of the fragments he clung to as strongly as Kesia held to her guilt.

  Kesia edged herself closer to him, curling within the half-circle of his body. They should have remained on separate sides of the fire, but Zephryn only curled his tail around hers and rested his head on the ground.

  A smokish sigh puffed out of her.

 

 

  He chuckled in their joined minds.

 

  Zephryn shut his eyes. He recalled smooth sheets, the feeling of utter relaxation, and sleep deeper than the shallow resting periods in scale form that renewed the body but left the mind hollow. He remembered his parents retiring to the same room.

 

  Kesia shifted even closer to him.

 

  Not that he wasn’t curious. But battles had to be chosen carefully when her safety was at risk.

 

  Warmth filled him at her musings. Her optimism emerged at the oddest times.

 

  Lest in the morning the Pinnacle attempt to take it away from them.

  ***

  Kesia’s stomach roiled, the remains of the mountain grazers she’d hunted for breakfast turning violently in her gut. She swallowed and placed her hand over her belly. It was toned with muscle and as bare as the rest of her skin-covered flesh.

  It was the only way one could enter the presence of the Pinnacle leaders. To ensure transparency, they claimed, a dragon must trade its scales for skin and a humanoid form and be able to walk fearlessly into the presence of the great leaders. If the dragon had nothing to fear, then being naked in front of a council of fierce, scaled dragons should arouse no concern at all.

  If only she could believe that. Even after ten years of such meetings, Kesia still trembled. Surrendering everything she had before faceless monsters. No, not monsters. These were her people, after all.

  She was the monster. She was the criminal.

  The gray, smoothed stone chilled her feet as she crept along the corridor. The walls arched into a high ceiling, and ahead of her lay the blackness of the entrance to the Judgement Hall. For thirty minutes Kesia had ascended the incline in the great tower that rose amid the ruins of an old military outpost.

  Now, there was only to enter the darkness.

  Tiny bumps prickled her skin. She rubbed her arms, trying to make the traitorous sign of fear disappear. Maybe scales were better after all. At the very least, shifting into her half-form, with scales atop her skin, might make her a little warmer.

  No. Full, bare skin only.

  Hold to your heartflame, Kesia. Zephryn’s words echoed in her memory. Never let them taste your fear. I will wait for your return. No harm will come to you.

  Zephryn never faced the Pinnacle. After the events of the previous day, she thought for sure that there would be a reckoning for him. But that was foolish to even consider. The last prince had never received a summoning. Whatever dealings the Pinnacle leaders had with him were under strict privacy.

  Fresh fear tossed her stomach. Kesia pressed her lips together, trying to distract herself with other thoughts. Like the green smoke from the explosion. It had smelled so familiar, calling up the taste of blood and death. And then the ship had gone down, even though Captain Windkeeper was supposed to have a wind Talent—it was in his name. Why hadn’t he been able to keep his ship aloft?

  They were thoughts she would share with Zephryn after this meeting. If she survived. Kesia breathed out, centering herself. She had chosen to return. Running away had been tempting, but there were answers in the Pinnacle. For the first time, she had a chance to break through her memory block and find the truth.

  Compared to that, what was another naked audience with ferocious dragons?

  She stared into the opening, wishing for the night vision of her scale form. But a true dragon warrior would walk into any situation, scales or skin.

  Kesia raised her chin and folded her loose brown hair behind her ears. She was a true warrior. She would own her actions and stand judgement for them.

  One step into the darkness and then another, her pace measured and sure. As if she saw a brilliant light in front of her.

  Keep walking. Just pretend she was as massive and dangerous as they. Keep walking—

  “STOP.”

  She halted, her feet together, arms crossed over her chest. She bowed low, each muscle tight, controlle
d. Breath faint in the echoing space that surrounded her.

  After an unknowable amount of time, light flared from four corners of the room, faint threads of illumination like the day dawning behind the mountains. The voice spoke again from the corner to her right, rich bass tones that wound their way around her heartbeat. “Rise, Kesia Ironfire. We have heard your fleetwing’s report. Your actions were unsanctioned and impetuous.”

 

  When the four Pinnacle leaders convened, they preferred to speak aloud to intimidate the dragon being interrogated. Kesia wasn’t sure what annoyed her more: that they stooped to such petty tactics, or that the tactics worked.

  The voice continued. “You were disobedient to the orders of this Pinnacle.”

  Kesia set her teeth, keeping her arms crossed in salute. It would be the flay-room and more scars upon her back. Or perhaps duties in the mines, unearthing the tepstone that shielded rooms from dragon mindspeak and the liquid slatesheen that protected dragon scales in battle. Both were toxic materials in their raw forms and had to be mined in skin form due to the delicacy of the process.

  A week of mine work took one year off a dragon’s life. As dragons only lived to one hundred years, mine work was a slow death sentence. Other criminals were sentenced to the mines as soon as they reached adulthood and could be most useful.

  A heavy certainty stilled the turmoil in her stomach.

  “Yet your excursion yielded surprising results.” A new voice came from behind her, lighter and with a precision that held each consonant an additional moment. “We are curious about the explosion and this mysterious green smoke that erases Talents. If the rebels use it against our enemies, they may well use it against us, for all governments are their target. If the Congruency acquires this weapon, it could mean the end of our people.”

  “Indeed,” replied a soft alto from a third corner. “But that is another matter. Your actions were unsanctioned and require punishment.”