On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  He had thought to kill her; it was just easier that way. But the honey had sweetened more than his tongue tonight, and he was in a good mood. While the news she bore was not good, her coming was welcomed in that the Emperor would have time to change his approach. Kayle decided that if what she had to say pleased him, he would give her what she wanted. If not, he’d carry out his original plan.

  Kayle turned to his scouts and again raised an eyebrow in question. “We have been able to verify some of what she told us, sir,” their leader replied. “And the information is valuable indeed.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Come into my tent and eat and drink your fill. And then, traitor, tell me all you know, and how best I can use this information to slaughter your people.”

  For a moment, he thought he saw hesitation flicker across her lovely features. Then her face hardened and her eyes looked bright with an emotion he recognized as pure hatred.

  “Do you have eusho?” she asked.

  The council had gone well. Not only was Kevla present, but she had insisted that all the Lorekeepers—men and women—and the Great Dragon be in attendance as well. Some of the khashims looked as if they would have seizures when she spoke her conditions, but they gave in.

  First, Melaan spoke briefly as to the history of the situation. Two others who had managed to elude the Emperor on a previous occasion told of what they saw. Each clan leader told how many men, weapons and provisions he had brought to contribute to the cause.

  Preparations for war began in earnest. While many, such as the Clan of Four Waters, had listened to Kevla’s plea and arrived ready for battle, others had simply come to hear what she had to say. Now, these clans sent out dozens of hawks, calling for reinforcements. Some would arrive in time, others would not.

  Each night, Kevla and the Dragon soared over Mount Bari to spy on the approaching troops. The army was massive, and because of its size it moved slowly. Also, the mountain chain was not forgiving, and it was difficult to move so many men, beasts and pieces of equipment up its forbidding slopes.

  On the third night, Kevla and the Dragon were returning to the clan encampments when the Dragon said, “Kevla. Look down. Do you see them?”

  “What am I looking for?” asked Kevla. There was an odd note in the Dragon’s voice and she did not think he was trying to draw her attention to a herd of liahs.

  “Men,” the Dragon said simply.

  She looked harder and then she saw them: eight or so, clad in the strange metal clothing of the Emperor’s army. They had only two horses and moved with purpose. At first, Kevla thought they were coming to attack the clans, but then she realized that they were moving up the mountain, not down it.

  “They’re a scouting party,” she said. “They’ve seen us.”

  The Dragon craned his neck to look at her, his golden eyes glowing in the darkness. “Until now, the Emperor has assumed that the clans could be picked off one by one,” he said. “If these scouts report what they have seen—”

  “They’ll know we’re waiting for them,” she finished.

  “They can’t be allowed to report back.”

  “I know, but….”

  “I understand this is difficult for you,” said the Dragon, “but you have done this before.”

  Suddenly Kevla had had her fill of these reminders of lives past. Of people she had been, who Jashemi had been, who had lived and died and still lived and—

  “No, I haven’t!” she cried. “I, Kevla Bai-sha, have killed no one! I haven’t even deliberately hurt anyone! I don’t want to kill these people, Dragon. I just want—”

  “I know what you want,” the Dragon said harshly, “who you want. But you can’t have him, Kevla. Jashemi is dead. Your old life is dead. And your new life and the lives of almost everyone else down there are going to be lost if you don’t accept the responsibility that comes with being who you are! You’re the leader, Flame Dancer, and you’ve got to be bigger now than Kevla has ever been. The boy died so you could become the Flame Dancer. Don’t let his death be in vain!”

  Kevla was as startled as if he had splashed cold water on her face. She was terribly hurt, and very angry. How dare he speak to her like this!

  “A few more moments, Flame Dancer,” said the Dragon in a soft, angry voice, “and you will lose the chance. They will be far enough up the mountain so that the enemy will see our fire.”

  Kevla’s lower lip quivered. “I can’t murder them.”

  “Then they will reach the Emperor, and he will learn the truth about the force that faces him, and more of your people will die.”

  Kevla swallowed hard. “What do I do? How do I fight them?”

  “Like this,” said the Dragon, and dove.

  Kayle had been more than pleased at what the Arukani woman had told him. She had a good eye for what mattered; she said she had been married to a clan leader and was familiar with such things. His luck. He was so delighted with the information that he kept his word and sent her walking off with food and gold. Privately, he thought she would die in the mountains before she reached the other side, but he didn’t care.

  He wished he’d thought to bring a hawk, so the news would reach his Emperor even more swiftly. As it was, it would take most of the night for the men to rejoin the main army.

  Parneth’s high-pitched shriek was the first warning he had of death from the sky.

  Kayle whirled, sword at the ready, to behold a sight that froze him in place. The female traitor had warned him of this, but he had only half believed her. In the sky flew an enormous beast, its huge wings bringing it closer more rapidly than he had thought possible for something so big. He put a name to it, that of a creature out of legend: Dragon. A heartbeat later the monster opened its mouth and a sheet of flame spewed forth.

  The blast of heat knocked Kayle off his feet. He could smell burning flesh and realized that some of his men had not escaped the blast. He dove for cover, frantically trying to wedge his large, muscular body in among the rocks.

  The dragon’s mouth closed and it turned, wheeling around for a second dive. Thinking he had a few moments before the next attack, Kayle got to his feet and scrambled for a more protected area.

  But more fire came. How was that possible? The dragon was facing away, it couldn’t—

  Glanced up wildly, Kayle now saw that the dragon had an ally. This, then, was the Flame Dancer the woman had warned him about. The traitor had not been exaggerating. How could the Emperor stand against this? Even as Kayle watched, motionless with fear and knowing he needed to find shelter, the figure lifted its arms. Fire came from its hands—her hands—and rushed toward him in an orange-red ball.

  In the instant before his death, Kayle did not think of his Emperor, or the warning he needed to bring him, or anything else remotely related to war or death.

  He thought about the look on his adopted mother’s face as she left him with the captain of the guards, and realized that she had loved him.

  Atop the Great Dragon out of legend, the Flame Dancer continued to hurl fireballs at the scouts of the Emperor from over the mountain. She kept up the attack until the Dragon banked sharply to the right and rose even higher.

  “It’s done now,” he said gently. “They’re all dead.”

  They’re all dead.

  “You did what you had to do to protect your people.”

  She realized that she had been holding every muscle in her body taut as a bow string. Suddenly she shivered and leaned down on the Dragon’s neck, wrapping both arms and legs about it. Kevla began to shudder and sob, hearing and feeling the Dragon utter soothing words.

  They’re all dead.

  Father says you get used to it.

  Slowly, she sat up and dried her tears. This was but a taste of what would come later. She had to be strong. She couldn’t let herself feel the enormity of what she had just done.

  “Take me back, Dragon,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The advisor pulled aside the t
ent flap cautiously. “Your Excellency,” he said, “you do not sleep?”

  The Emperor scowled at the brazier that still glowed brightly and kept the chill of the desert night at bay. That was one thing they had not counted on: how very cold it got here at night. The contrasts were startling, to say the least. The ki-lyn, too, was wide-awake, huddled and shivering, but from cold or fear, the advisor could not say. He did not care to speculate.

  “Do I look as though I am asleep?” the Emperor snapped. He glanced up, and the advisor was startled at the hollows underneath the Emperor’s eyes. “One of them is there. I know it.”

  Fear flooded the advisor. “Surely, not, Your Excellency. You are weary. Perhaps your…intuition is playing tricks on you.”

  The Emperor shook his head. “It’s faint. It shouldn’t be. I should know which one it is, who it is. I ought to be able to sense—”

  He slammed his fist down on the small table next to him and his cup of wine went flying. The ki-lyn started and tried to avoid the object. It pulled away it but was caught up short, gasping as the collar around its neck halted its movement and the ever-present chain that connected it to the Emperor pulled taut. The ceramic cup struck its head. Red wine splashed and trickled down its long neck, looking for all the world like blood. The creature folded its delicate, graceful legs beneath it again and simply sat, shivering.

  “It’s stopping me, somehow,” said the Emperor, glaring at the ki-lyn. “It hates me. It wants me to fail.” The creature shrank back from the loathing in that gaze.

  “Why must you keep it?” asked the advisor. “If you just had it killed—”

  The look the Emperor gave him made his legs quiver. “If you suggest that again,” the Emperor said with deceptive calm, “I’ll cut off your head myself and stick it on a pike.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” stammered the advisor.

  The Emperor sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I imagine you had a reason for coming here?”

  “Yes, of course. We have had several desertions.”

  “That’s to be expected, this close to their homes.”

  “It’s not helping morale, Your Excellency. Should I make an example of the ones who remain?”

  “Did they try to desert?”

  The advisor was flustered. “Well, no, but they are Arukani and—”

  “And we need every one of them right now. We don’t know what’s going to greet us on the other side of the mountains.”

  The advisor swallowed hard. “Speaking of that, Your Excellency….the scouts have not yet returned.”

  The Emperor stared at him. “No, of course they haven’t,” he said softly. “He’s gotten to them. That’s how I knew he was here—he attacked.” Harshly, he jerked the golden chain and the ki-lyn made a strangled sound. “Why won’t you let me see him?”

  The advisor eyed the creature with distaste. “Your powers will grow with time, Your Excellency. Surely, even that creature will not be able to hold you back much longer.”

  “That is true,” said the Emperor thoughtfully. “Go to bed. We will march in the morning. I still have the advantage of numbers, even if my magic is stifled. We will hurt the Arukani badly and take their country. If one of them is there, I will deal with him when I see him, this pathetic thing be damned.”

  Kevla kept her face as calm as possible when she told the khashims about the attack on the scouts. They were alarmed that the enemy had gotten this far, but praised her and the Dragon for their quick thinking in destroying the threat.

  “There is more,” she said, trying not to curl protectively in on herself. On the way back, something had brushed her thoughts that still made her quail. Something that was angry, and dark, and powerful.

  “I do not think we are dealing with an ordinary army. I sense…I sense that there is magic here as well. Abilities that haven’t shown themselves yet.”

  “We cannot fight magic,” protested young Raka.

  Kevla turned to him. “Yes, we can,” she insisted. “There are many toiling up the sides of these mountains now who eat, sleep, sweat, and bleed just like you do.” Just like the scouts did. “If you deal them a lethal blow, they will most certainly die.”

  The words came easily out of her mouth, but inwardly she grieved their utterance. It was so strange, to be talking so comfortably about killing. Only a few weeks ago, she was merely a servant in a great house, her only concern when she would next see Jashemi. Now, she rode the Great Dragon of story and song as comfortably as she had ridden a sa’abah, and had used her fire skills to take lives. The love and light of her life was dead by the same magic that now needed to be turned against the advancing army, and all the leaders of all the clans were looking to her to save them.

  Her power was great. Startling, wondrous, amazing, and she knew she had not begun to probe its limits. But she would have traded it all for one more conversation with Jashemi, alone in the cavern at the House of Four Waters, ignorant of the blood bond between them and feeling only a deep and profound connection.

  She blinked and came out of her reverie as one of the khashims was speaking and, blushing, had to ask him to repeat his question.

  “When will they arrive?”

  She and the Dragon had discussed this. “Judging by the progress they have made so far, we have until the day after tomorrow.”

  “Then we must make haste,” said Tahmu, “to get everything in place. We must be ready for them.”

  That night, Kevla curled up close to the Dragon, and away from the prying eyes of the clansmen of Arukan grieved for all that she had lost.

  The day of the battle dawned clear and bright, one of the loveliest mornings Kevla had ever seen. She had been awake for some time, addressing each of the separate forces in turn, sending them off to fight with inspirational words that she wasn’t sure she believed. Her exchange with her father, who was leading one group, had been stiff and formal. She was not sure that was how she wanted it, but any conversation with him would be highly emotional, and instinctively she knew she needed to guard against that right now. She needed to keep everything tightly in check, or else, like Mount Bari, she would erupt.

  Melaan accompanied her as she walked to where the Dragon waited. At one point, he said, “It was supposed to be Jashemi, wasn’t it?”

  Color rushed to her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

  “Over these last few days, I have become the closest Lorekeeper to you. I’m the one you turn to when you need information, when you need to have word spread among the Lorekeepers. You have trusted me, and you honor me beyond words with that trust. But it wasn’t supposed to be me. It was supposed to be Jashemi.”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “Kevla—how did he die?”

  She didn’t want to answer, but she looked at him with such a stricken expression that she felt sure he guessed at some of the truth. His face softened and he reached to squeeze her arm. “Be careful, Flame Dancer. Any of us is expendable. Even Jashemi was. But you aren’t.”

  His words were obviously meant to comfort, but they had the opposite effect. Kevla didn’t want any of this. She didn’t want to be the leader of a force of armed men more than three thousand strong. She didn’t want to be perched atop a dragon, knowing that she had almost unimaginable power at her fingertips, getting ready to use that magic to kill.

  But she had to be here. She had to do what she didn’t want to do, so that her people would survive. This strange Emperor had little mercy, and she harbored no illusions that he would accept anything other than complete victory.

  She was shaking and her stomach roiled as she mounted the Dragon. Her mouth was dry as the sand, and no amount of liquid from a waterskin eased it.

  The Dragon crouched, then leaped into the sky. The earth fell away from them. Kevla looked down, watching as the tents grew smaller, and the warriors looked like small white dots on the sand. As they went higher, Kevla was able to see all four of the separate fronts the gathered clans had formed standing ready to meet the enem
y. The Dragon’s wings beat the air steadily and they flew even higher. The faint sunlight touched the white stuff on the top of the mountains, turning it a delicate shade of rose-gold. Kevla laughed aloud at the thought of such a pretty color heralding a morning that would end with blood spilled on the sands. She clapped her hand to her mouth, stifling the hysteria.

  It was at that moment that the first wave of soldiers crested the mountain ridge.

  The Dragon said nothing; he must have felt her subtly tighten her legs as she sat astride him. For a long moment, Kevla looked at the men as she and the khashims had discussed. She was trying to guess their numbers, but the sheer mass of them was so great it overwhelmed her senses. It was like a flood, a river, a—

  “At least five thousand in this first wave,” came the Dragon’s calm, deep voice, cutting through her shock. “They are the vanguard, making preparations for the second, third and fourth waves.”

  Twenty thousand men to the Arukani’s three thousand, then. Kevla took a deep breath and tried not to give in to despair and panic.

  As she and the khashims had discussed in their strategy sessions, the Emperor’s army was using the only pass between the mountains. It curved around the peak of Mount Bari, creating a flat saddle for a few leagues, and then wound down through the jutting, raw-looking areas of the mountain and into the softer, swelling foothills.

  The first line of Arukan’s defense was waiting along that pass. Kevla could not see them now, but she knew they were there. They had taken position well before dawn, and would stay in hiding until the moment was right to attack. The enemy was approaching slowly, about ten abreast through the narrow passage. The ones in front had long, sharp spears. The ones who followed managed horses which pulled wagons covered with blankets to conceal their cargo. Other machines of war came into sight now, cresting the mountain and moving along the flat part of the pass. Many of them she could not put names to. One looked like a giant bow, lying flat across the wagon instead of being held properly upright, the arrows which were lashed to it twice the length of ordinary ones. For an instant, Kevla let herself wonder how such a thing could be aimed and released.