High above the gallery floor, the monstrous quartet were starting to dart downward and then flying upward again as if they were testing the defenders. The human museum guards struck out at the monsters in vain, and the troll’s blows were powerful but so clumsy that they were easy to dodge. Bayang noted with approval, though, that the Amazons and Primo did not waste their energy on the feints. These were no ceremonial guards but veterans hardened in combat.
Bayang felt someone shove her arm and looked down at the costumed Kushan hatchling glowering at her. “Go!”
Bayang was annoyed at having her concentration broken. “Do I look like a cow, little girl?”
It was the hatchling’s turn to be indignant. “Little…?” she spluttered with enough irritation to satisfy Bayang.
At that moment, one of the museum guards took out an ancient bow and quiver of arrows. From the way he held them, he was more a danger to himself than to the monsters. When he pulled it back for a test, the brittle wood snapped.
Bayang’s prey had been watching the defenders over his shoulder. When he saw the bow snap, he halted. Spinning around on his heel, he sped back into the room.
“We’re supposed to go this way,” his frustrated friend yelled as he followed. He pointed frantically in the direction of the street.
Bayang’s prey looked over his shoulder. “Primo’s right. They need weapons that can reach the monsters up there. And,” he added as he headed toward the case where more throwing stars still rested in the display case, “they’ll need all the help they can get.”
With an exasperated sound, Koko followed Bayang’s prey to the case.
“Come back here,” the hatchling commanded and ran after them.
Bayang considered the possibilities and decided to observe out of sight to see if the monsters would carry out her mission for her.
She was already turning when the gray fliers soared even higher, until their wings were brushing the dome itself, leaving room for a giant emerald creature to emerge from the hole.
About twelve feet long with a wingspan to match, he seemed as massive as a bus. The fire elementals, trembling in their globes, sent the light flickering across his scales and the bands of iron armoring his chest. When he roared, thunder rolled around the circular room and echoed from the ceiling like the trumpet of doom. His fangs were as sharp as daggers and his steel-tipped talons like short swords.
And that was when Bayang knew something even more dangerous was threatening her people than just her original prey; for she knew that dragon. He had haunted her nightmares since she was a hatchling.
Badik was his name and there had been bad blood between her people, the Clan of the Moonglow, and his, the Clan of the Fire Rings, going back to the very First Days. Their conflict had reached its deadliest peak when Badik’s people had made a pact with the Kraken, wraithlike horrors from the abyssal canyons where light never penetrated and the water hung foul and still.
Then Badik led the combined army of his people and the Kraken in an invasion—not to conquer Bayang’s people, but to exterminate them. The fight had reached the very gates of her people’s capital, where the invaders had been destroyed, but only at the cost of much misery, blood, and tears. Unfortunately, Badik had escaped and had eluded his hunters up until now.
The sight of that scarred face filled her with a dread that she thought she had put behind her long ago. She prided herself on her self-control, but suddenly she was a hatchling again, cowering as the battle raged outside in the city.
If Badik was here, then he was a worse threat to her people than her prey, for Badik would be intent on revenge. Whatever scheme Badik was up to, she was sure that it meant devastation for her home. Bayang knew he must be stopped.
But beyond the grander schemes, the fight was now personal. Badik and his army had slaughtered many of Bayang’s kin, and there was a blood debt to collect. She hated Badik far more than her original prey and rage boiled up inside her, overcoming any dread she had of the dragon.
On that terrible day when Badik had invaded, she had vowed to punish him for what he had done. Determined never to feel so helpless again, she had set about molding herself into a fighter who always won despite the odds against her, training all her life for just this opportunity.
Off to the side were some metal columns with chains attached, the kind of moveable obstacle that could shut off a doorway or help channel a crowd into a line.
She freed a length of chain about two yards long. Winding a couple of feet around her wrist, she let four feet swing loose beneath her hand.
Bayang would have liked to take her proper form to battle Badik, but she still had her other mission to keep in mind. When Badik was stopped, perhaps there would be a chance to arrange an accident for her prey. After all, sometimes friends fell rather than foes during the excitement of a battle. She could not kill the hatchling in her true form because humans mustn’t learn that her people had agents and assassins operating in the human cities; it was important that his death not be traced back to her people. But the hatchling could wait. She had more important accounts to settle.
She straightened up, shoulders no longer hunched, head up and eyes on fire. Twirling the loose length of chain above her, she strode forward to battle Badik just as her family had many years ago.
Scirye
Angrily, Scirye chased after the brown-haired boy who had stopped in front of the shattered case with the throwing stars. “This is no place for you,” she ordered, pulling at Leech’s arm. “You’ll just get in the way.”
“Playtime’s over,” Leech snapped at her, “so take your costume and get lost. Leave this to people who know how to fight.”
The boy was holding one of the stars like a spiked baseball.
Scirye gave a snort of disgust. “You don’t even know how to use one of those,” she snapped, and plucked one from the half dozen in his other hand. “You hold it by the tip.” She held up the star between her index finger and thumb as Nishke had shown her. She had done well in practice, but she wondered how she would fare in real combat.
Leech’s face grew stormy as he snatched it back. He looked as if he were going to argue, but froze when the dragon’s laugh echoed around the dome like the rumbling of an avalanche.
The dragon’s scar twisted his smile into a menacing leer as he leaned downward. “Do you really think any of you can stop me?”
Nishke’s spear was a blur as she thrust it upward with lightning speed. If she hoped to catch him unawares, she failed. The dragon’s long neck writhed out of the way as he hissed mockingly and then dodged her back swing just as easily—until he was almost impaled by a spear thrust from Lady Sudarshane. The spear point gouged a stripe across the dragon’s scales, but the ancient wooden shaft broke before she could pierce home.
With an angry hiss, the dragon dove, feinting with his head while he struck with his claws, snapping the old wooden shaft as if it were a straw. Lady Sudarshane held the broken spear shaft like a club to defend herself.
The dragon dropped through the air again, paw upraised to smash Lady Sudarshane when Nishke darted in front of her mother and stabbed upward with her spear.
The dragon screamed in pain as he retreated upward, blood dripping from his paw; as he climbed to safety, the tip of his long tail flicked Nishke to the side.
Scirye shed her clumsy cloak. Then, with Kles still flying overhead, she ran over to her sister. Though hurting, Nishke handed Scirye the spear. “Mother needs this.”
Inside, Scirye wanted to run away, but she knew that the true answer was not escape but Tumarg: to move forward straight into the violent, bloody confusion. So, with a nod, Scirye took it and raced into the heart of the battle. Even as the dragon rose to the ceiling, the gray dragonflies—that was the only thing Scirye could call the horrors—swooped downward past him, leathery wings pulled in tight, their claws stretched out to gouge and tear.
The museum guards, including the troll, were shifting their feet as if they were havin
g second thoughts about staying. The Pippalanta and Kushan staff, however, were standing their ground.
“Yashe! Yashe!” they shouted defiantly as they thrust. “Honor! Honor!”
Several more spear and halberd shafts broke, but others remained true and whole. The metal blades forged by Kushan weapons-makers served their descendants well.
Terrified but determined, the girl dodged about until she reached her mother. Lady Sudarshane was standing with the spear shaft raised like a club.
She threw away the broken spear as she took the one from Scirye. “Thank you,” she said with her usual manners. “Now duck, dear!”
One of the gray dragonflies dropped toward them. Deadly claws sliced toward them both. When her mother parried, sparks flew as the blades met the talons.
As Scirye crouched, she could hear the dragonfly panting, smell the hot stench of its breath, feel the wind raised by its beating wings. Though her mother was using all her strength, the spear blade was being forced slowly backward. It was an unequal contest between a single human and a beast with four sets of talons.
Frightened, Scirye forced herself to look upward, past her mother’s straining face to the hideous gray dragonfly. The eyes glowed a brilliant red like burning coals and the mouth was drawn back in a hideous leer as saliva dripped from the sharp fangs.
Suddenly golden stars twirled overhead, their points flickering with light. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! With a screech, the dragonfly flapped upward, blood streaming from wounds where the throwing stars had embedded themselves. More stars leaped from Primo’s hands. And then even more from Leech and Koko, and for a moment all four dragonflies flew higher.
But the victory was short-lived.
The ruthless dragon grasped its own injured ally in its claws and then broke its wings. As the serpent shrieked in pain, the dragon flung it downward toward the man named Primo and the two boys.
Primo had enough time to throw himself against Leech and Koko and knock them to the side before the still writhing dragonfly fell on top of him. The floor shook and then buckled under the impact. As the dust settled there was no sign of the man, only the now dead serpentine carcass.
The three surviving serpents circled cautiously now that they were aware that these were no easy prey.
“Now go,” Lady Sudarshane said to her daughter as she kept a wary eye on their enemies.
Scirye swallowed. She would have liked nothing better than to escape this deadly chaos, but she couldn’t desert her mother and sister. “No. You need every defender you can get.”
Prince Etre was bleeding from a cut on his cheek and his gray mustache was now tan with dust. “She’s safer here with us than trying to cross the room by herself now,” he said. From his belt, he pulled out a stiletto and held it out to Scirye. Jewels gleamed on the golden hilt, but the blade looked deadly enough. “I can assure you that this is more than decorative,” he said. “Guard our backs, child.”
Her mother stepped to the side. “Then inside the circle with you,” she said.
Scirye slipped into the center of the tight ring formed by the Pippalanta and other Kushana as well as the museum guards, and her mother resumed her post.
From overhead, they heard hissing, spitting, and cursing as the dragon tried to force the three suviving dragonflies to attack again. It was only when the dragon lashed out with his claws and tail that one of them dove.
Scirye’s stomach did flip-flops as she watched the serpent shriek down toward her, but she gripped the dagger tightly.
The Pippalanta shouted their war cry and the museum guards did their best to imitate them. Spear heads stabbed upward and the dragonfly hung in the air, snapping its jaws in frustration. Strings of saliva dripped from its mouth as its claws struck at the tormenting blades.
A museum guard cried out as the saliva touched his sleeve. The cloth began to smoke as he dropped to his knees.
“Its saliva is poisonous,” Lady Sudarshane warned.
Another guard darted away from the circle. As he ran, he threw his halberd away.
“Get back in formation,” Lady Sudarshane ordered him, for that had left a gap in the circle. Bravely Scirye stepped into the space.
Instantly, the dragonfly dove, talons scything the runaways down like weeds as he swept on toward Scirye. She clutched the stiletto as the dragonfly bore down on her. He was coming so fast! He seemed to be all fangs and claws.
With a scream like a griffin ten times his size, Kles darted straight at him like a furred and feathered lightning bolt. The gray dragonfly’s claws whistled toward the pest, but Kles nimbly slipped under them. The next moment he was staring right at the monster’s snarling face.
The little griffin did not hesitate but raked its enemy’s eyes. Blinded, the giant dragonfly twisted frantically in the air as it tried to hit him. Kles, though, was as agile as a mosquito, dodging the blows as he struck its head with beak and claws. And Scirye felt her heart almost burst with pride and love, for he was her griffin and he was fighting to save her.
Finally, screeching in frustration and unable to see, the dragonfly smashed into the floor, skidding over the tiles and tossing chairs to the side in its wake.
Kles might have been trained for the niceties of court etiquette, but once again his primitive ancestry drowned out all other thought. His beak opened in the age-old scream that generations of his kind had used and he shot across the room for his opponent’s exposed throat. The big vein pulsed, drawing him like a magnet. He didn’t notice the injured dragonfly’s claws waiting to strike him when he attacked.
Scirye started to run toward him. “Kles, come back! It’s a trap!”
Her mother glanced fearfully after her daughter and then too late up above her when she heard the shrieks. A third dragonfly had seized its chance and was diving toward Scirye’s unprotected back.
Stars and then spears rose into the air but the wounds only increased its rage, and the creature did not slow at all.
“Scirye!” her mother screamed.
The girl turned around in time to see the huge mouth bearing down on her, fangs ready to tear her apart.
Bayang
Bayang had seen the foolhardy Kushan girl leave the protection of the circle to chase after her lap griffin. As the winged attacker dove, the girl raised a stiletto but she was trembling so much that the point wavered. She looked like a sparrow trying to fight off a falcon.
Bayang flung the chain through the air so that it wound around one of the monster’s forelegs. Then, standing with her legs spread, she tugged with all her might. She had no hope of dragging the large attacker to the floor, but it was just enough to break its descent.
It flapped its wings frantically, screeching in anger, as it tried to free itself. The desperate girl thrust upward clumsily, the blade biting into its hind leg. The next moment a tall Pippal whipped a halberd through the air, burying the blade in the beast’s chest. The gray body crashed against the tile floor, an evil green ichor oozing from the wound as it began to thrash about wildly.
When the flying creature fell, the chain was still wrapped around its foreleg and Bayang was pulled off her feet. As she struggled to rise, she heard the last flier descending toward her for revenge.
So, she thought, this is how everything ends—I’ve failed my people.
From out of nowhere, her prey appeared next to her with a golden star in his hand. For a moment, she thought he was going to jab its sharp points into her, but he flung it up at the descending attacker. “Take that!” he yelled defiantly. His throw went wild, whizzing a yard away the creature’s head. Even so, it was enough to make the winged beast bank away from the unexpected danger and straight into a hedge of the defenders’ spears.
It shrieked as it twisted about, impaled on a half dozen spear heads.
Bayang straightened up. Dust matted her hair and clothes. “You saved me,” she said in shock. From the legends, she had believed her prey to be a vicious killer, not someone who would risk his own life to rescue a s
tranger.
“Of course.” He flashed a disarming grin at her. “We’re on the same side.”
She stood in confusion. He wasn’t acting like the evil monster of the legends who killed with such casual cruelty. While she was trying to decide if he was attempting to lull her into a false sense of security, he did something even more shocking: He turned his back on her!
As her prey craned his neck, searching for the next target, it would have been so easy to snap his neck and then rejoin the battle against Badik, but Bayang prided herself on being a warrior first and last. In carrying out her assassinations, she had never struck her targets from behind.
However, even if her assigned prey faced her again, tradition now demanded the opposite of duty. Her people lived by a complex code of honor but at its core was one basic tenet as old as her race: If someone saved your life, you must repay the debt. And her prey had just placed her under an obligation that was far older and more imperative than the elders’ commands.
She could not kill her prey until she had repaid him. And then what? Once the debt was settled, once the scale of obligations was balanced, was she going to take the life she had just saved? That seemed too absurd.
What was she to do now?
Scirye
Heart thumping, Scirye turned from the woman and the boys to see Kles flying overhead, screaming defiance. His opponent lay dead with a bloody throat. Somehow he must have evaded the trap and carried out his attack. “Stand back-to-back,” Nishke ordered.
Scirye had been staring in horrified fascination at the dying dragonfly, but her sister’s words woke her as if from a nightmare. She turned and pressed her back against her sister’s when there was a gigantic crash.
Even shatterproof glass could not stand up to a dragon’s tail. Everyone was hunching as bits of glass flew from the case that held Lady Tabiti.
As the dragon hovered, it reached a foreleg into the case. “I’ve got it!” With a cry of triumph, he held up the archer’s ring clutched between his claws. “There’s no stopping me now!”
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