Not even a god had been able to kill Skylan Ivorson. A mere mortal like Raegar had not stood a chance. He was alive and that was what counted, especially on this night when death was reaping a bountiful harvest.
Men tried in vain to flee the monstrous, gold-glittering, fire-raining dragon as she flew past, leaving behind a trail of blood.
Raegar cast a fearful glance over his shoulder as he limped across the beach on his wounded legs, watching the dragon swoop down on the panic-stricken troops, scattering flaming cinders like rose petals at a wedding. Her vast wings seemed to brush the stars and knock them loose, sending them cascading down around Raegar. He watched the dragon soar past, and hurried on his way, ignoring pleas for help from the wounded.
The arrival of the dragon had rallied his foes. The ogres and Vindrasi and Cyclopes, who had been standing knee-deep in seawater and their own blood, had gone on the offensive, attacking with such ferocity that his soldiers were running for their lives from them as well as from the dragon.
And where was Aelon? Raegar waited for the god to come defend her people, defend her emperor, take on the mighty dragon. But the smoke of the burning ships rising to the heavens had begun to obscure the moon’s light, giving it a blood-tinged hue. No god came.
“Why?” Raegar muttered, even as tears stung his eyes. “I loved you!”
He pushed and shoved and fought his way through the mass of panic-stricken people. He had already made his plan, knew what he was going to do. He and his son would start life anew, some place where no one knew him, far from Sinaria, for once news of this disaster reached Oran, the people would be howling to see his head on a pike.
Reaching the pavilion where he had left his son was not easy, however. The dragon was attacking the soldiers again, raining flame and spewing noxious fumes. Camp followers were shrieking, children wailing. Men threw down their weapons as they tried to flee, some running into the sea, others into the forest. Even in their panic, however, no one ventured near the plateau, where the vanished city had once stood.
Raegar stumbled over a group of priests prostrate on the ground, desperately begging Aelon to come to their aid.
“Fools!” Raegar muttered.
He had a new fear now, for many of the tents were on fire and he imagined his own pavilion in flames. He had left the child in the care of nursemaids, under guard, but he did not trust them. He knocked down any man who got in his way. When he saw his tent still standing, unharmed, he heaved a sobbing sigh of relief.
No one was around; the guards and the nursemaids must have fled. When Raegar heard a baby crying, he almost cried out a blessing to Aelon, then choked it back with a curse. His son was alive in spite of her, not because of her. By the healthy sound of his screams, the baby was unhurt.
Raegar dashed inside the pavilion, nearly taking down a post in his haste, and came to a halt. The interior was dark and smoky. He couldn’t see a thing.
He groped his way among the furniture to his desk and after a few fumbled tries due to his shaking hands, he managed to light a lantern. The baby was in a frenzy, crying and kicking his legs and flailing with his tiny fists. Raegar stared at him helplessly. He supposed the baby was hungry, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.
“We’ll soon be away from this accursed place, my son,” Raegar promised, giving the child an awkward pat. He’d think of a name for the child later. His son sure as hell wasn’t going to be named after Aelon.
Raegar examined his wounds. The cut across his right leg had struck clear to the bone and was deep and ugly. His left leg was slashed, though not as badly. He splashed wine over the wounds to stop them from putrefying, groaning at the pain, and then bandaged his leg as best he could.
After that, he stripped off his ceremonial armor. It was valuable, and he could have melted it down for the gold, but it was also heavy and he didn’t want to lug it about. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost the crown, which was a pity, for he could have sold the jewels.
In need of clothes, he hastened to the back of the pavilion, where the head priests had their quarters, and rifled among their things until he found a robe that came close to fitting his great bulk. The robe was too short, reaching only to his shins, and he covered it with a cloak with a hood, then hurried back to his quarters.
Raegar had hidden a bag of silver coins in his sea chest for use in just such an emergency. He was going to retrieve them when he caught a glimpse of something golden on his desk, shining in the lantern light.
He went to look more closely. The object was a massive ring made of gold with a square-cut ruby surrounded by diamonds.
Raegar picked it up to admire it. The ring was obviously extremely valuable and quite beautiful and he could think of only one who would have left it for him.
“Aelon, if you are trying to buy your way into my favor, you are too late,” he said aloud, thrusting the ring onto his finger. “Still, I thank you for this gift, which I am certain will fetch a fine price.”
The ring pricked his skin, as he put it on. He paid no heed, assuming it was only a flaw in the gold that would need to be smoothed down.
Raegar went to fetch his child, then he stopped, alarmed, feeling the first twinge of pain. That subsided and he took another step, then doubled over in agony, as if he were being stabbed with red-hot sword blades. He couldn’t feel his legs and he collapsed onto the desk. Chill sweat rolled down his face; he began to shake and tremble. Remembering the prick he’d felt, he fumbled at the ring and managed to yank it off. On his finger was a spot of blood and he saw the tiny needle that had popped out from the back.
Raegar cried out in pain and rage, his scream ending in a horrible gurgling sound as his body convulsed. Jerking and thrashing, he knocked over the lantern. Flaming oil spilled, setting the rug on fire. Flames licked his flesh. He tried to call for help, but his breath rattled in his throat. The last sight he saw was Aelon, standing over him.
The Norn, cackling, cut the thread.
Aelon cast a dismissive glance at Raegar’s corpse, then walked past it to the crib and the screaming child. She lifted the baby and held him close.
“You and I will find another world, little one,” said Aelon in soothing tones, rocking the child. “This world is of no more use to us. I will raise you to be a king. A far better king than your dolt of a father.”
Pulling the hood low over her face, the god held the baby close, covered him with her cloak, and slipped out of the tent and into the night.
The fire spread, eating up the rug. Hevis emerged from the darkness, where he had been hiding. The god crouched beside the body of Raegar, whose lips were frothed with foam, his eyes frozen in his head. Picking up the ring from the floor, Hevis laid it on the corpse.
“Rest easy, Treia,” Hevis said, and fanned the flames with his hand to speed them along.
CHAPTER
47
The Dragon Kahg had been served by humans for much of his three centuries of life. They ferried him in their ships while he rode at his leisure, and gifted him with the gemstones that were the progeny of Ilyrion. He would sort through the gems, finding those that were, unbeknownst to the humans, baby dragons, far more valuable than any jewel. In exchange, he would give the humans his spiritbone and perform tasks for the Bone Priestess. Generally the tasks the humans gave him were humdrum: kill some ogres, set fire to a village. He rarely enjoyed his work, as he did this night. He found something deeply satisfying in burning Aelon’s galleys to cinders.
As a dragon of air, Kahg could have blasted the ships with breath more powerful than any typhoon and completely obliterated them. He understood the need to create chaos among the troops and he privately agreed with Skylan that the sight of the emperor’s grand fleet of ships burning on the dark ocean, set ablaze by some unseen foe, would have a demoralizing effect on his army. They had won a great battle, but how were they going to get home?
The operation was not as easy as it might have seemed. Once Skylan had set the smaller ship
s on fire, Kahg was tasked with pushing the boats across the water so that they bumped up against the hulls of the galleys, then using his breath to cause the fire to spread.
The first time he blew on a ship, he blew so hard he doused the flames. The second time he was more successful, blowing gently, puffing the ship across the water. When it nestled against the galley, he used his breath to fan the flames.
He took additional pleasure in the sight of the sailors looking up to see a dragon, sleek and black, materialize out of the night air right on top of them. Most of the terrified men jumped into the water, where they were at the mercy of the oceanids.
He kept watch for Fala and her cohorts to come challenge him, but he was not particularly surprised when they didn’t appear.
Fala had thought herself very clever in taking her spiritbone from the humans, not realizing in her youth and arrogance that by doing so, she had severed all contact with the humans, who could have alerted her to Kahg’s attack. As it was, she was probably curled up in a field somewhere, sleeping soundly.
Kahg was not often wrong, but he was that time. He had set the two galleys on fire and was about to start work on the smaller ships when he caught sight of movement: black wings against the stars. He swiveled his head and saw the hulking dragon Fala accompanied by the two traitors.
He had planned to flee if he saw them approach, knowing that with his swifter, sleeker body he could easily outfly them. The three dragons were far too close, however, and Kahg was forced to give Fala grudging credit for having successfully sneaked up on him. And she had caught him at a disadvantage, flying low to the water, which left him little room to maneuver.
Fala was staring in openmouthed fury at the burning ships, which she was supposed to have been guarding. The flames blazed in her bulging eyes. Drool dripping from her gaping jaws, she roared in outrage and dove for him.
Fala expected Kahg to turn tail and run, try to gain sky room. Instead, Kahg flattened his body, spread his wings and glided underneath her belly.
“I do not think your humans will pay you for this night’s work, Fala,” Kahg told her, as he flew past.
“I will roast you alive, Kahg!” Fala shrieked, giving a great belch and shooting a stream of molten magma at him.
Magma could be a deadly weapon in an earth dragon’s arsenal, for it was hot enough to melt through steel armor, kill humans in large numbers and send them fleeing in panic. Magma was not much use as a weapon against another dragon, however, as Fala would have known had she been more experienced. The heavy magma dropped in globs from her mouth.
Kahg was able to easily dodge the fiery lava, which, as luck would have it, fell onto the deck of one of the triremes, causing it to burst into flame. Kahg laughed at this, infuriating Fala to the point of madness. He was aware of the two male dragons circling around him, preparing, along with Fala, to attack him from three directions, but he feigned ignorance.
Kahg was at another disadvantage, though these dragons did not know it. He meant to keep his vow never to kill one of his own kind, no matter that they were intent on killing him. Sucking in a bellyful of air, he blew a blast of wind at Fala that caught her with her wings extended.
The gust hurled her backward and tore a hole in one of the membranes of her wing, almost sending her tumbling into the water. That would have been disastrous, for she would have sunk like a rock slide. Fala managed to remain airborne by wildly flapping her wings and flailing about with her legs and tail.
Kahg rolled and twisted, but not fast enough, and he felt searing pain run down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder to see one of the males had hit him with a stream of fire that was now smoldering on his back. Kahg sucked in a breath and saw the offending dragon fly off hurriedly, to avoid the same fate as Fala.
The third dragon was starting his attack. Fala had recovered and was returning to the fight. Kahg conceded he was beaten and, unlike humans, he cared nothing about honor. He knew when to retreat.
Kahg wondered if Aylaen had found the fifth spiritbone and the courage to use it. He had done everything in his power to aid her and he wished her well, as he wished these three reckless, vainglorious young dragons well. He hoped they lived long lives, long enough to gain some sense.
Kahg soared high into the air, moving with a speed the three heavier dragons could not hope to match and he hovered above them, flying in wide, sweeping circles.
“The Stormlords have sundered the realms,” he called down to them. “The portal back to our homeland is starting to close. Leave now and you may yet have a chance to return to the Realm of Fire. Delay and the portal will slam shut and you will be left in this world. If you want proof, look at Tsa Kerestra, fallen from the clouds. The city fell when the realms were sundered.”
The two male dragons looked at each other. They had been around Kahg during the voyage and they had come to know him. Both looked back at the city of the Stormlords that had once floated among the clouds and was now on the ground. Fala saw her friends start to doubt and turned on them in a rage.
“Kahg is trying to scare you off. Are you hatchlings to believe him?”
“I do not lie, Fala,” said Kahg. “As those who know me can attest.”
He could see that the two males were now truly concerned. The portal used by the dragons to travel between realms was located in the land of the Cyclopes—a difficult journey for these dragons, who had no ships to ferry them. The land of Cyclopes was far away and the dragons would have to stop often to rest and find food.
“My mate and young are in that realm, Fala,” said one of the males.
“The city has fallen,” said the other. “And where are the Stormlords? They have returned to the Realm of Fire, and so should we.”
“You had best make haste,” Kahg suggested. “Once the portal starts to close, nothing will stop it.”
The two males exchanged alarmed glances, spread their wings and prepared to depart.
“You promised to serve me!” Fala cried.
“We have served you,” one of the males said, twisting his head to look back at her. “And we have nothing to show for our pains.”
The two flew off. Fala glowered after them, fuming, bits of molten magma drooling from her clenched jaws. Kahg watched her with a certain amount of pity. He did not fear that she would attack him. She was trying to find a way to leave while still maintaining some shred of dignity.
“What will you do, mighty Kahg?” Fala asked, sulky and sullen and grudgingly admiring.
“I haven’t made up my mind,” Kahg replied with airy nonconcern, as if both realms were his for the asking.
Kahg was in no hurry. He believed the dragon’s portal might remain open for some time, longer than he had led the naïve young males to believe. The sundered realms, with nothing to connect them, would drift apart and eventually the dragon’s portal would close.
“You should return with me, mighty Kahg,” said Fala. “We would make a good team. The Realm of Fire is your homeland.”
Kahg considered her words. He had no intention of teaming up with Fala, who was far too young and immature, but he could go back to heal his wounds.
He realized in that moment he didn’t want to go back. He had no young in the Realm of Fire. His children had long since grown up and gone out on their own. He detested that world and its brutal savagery, cruel men, and horrific monsters. Perhaps the Stormlords could bring about a change for the better, but if so, their fight would be long and hard and bitter and he wanted no part of it.
Kahg had come to like this Realm of Stone with its humans whose names he could never remember. He enjoyed observing, with a touch of sympathy, their ceaseless struggles to overcome the myriad obstacles the gods threw in their path. He even admired their vain attempts to find meaning in the meaningless until the threads of their wyrds snapped and their fleeting and fragile lives ended.
As he was thinking, pondering, he caught sight of a beam of golden light shining from the darkest part of the fallen city. Ka
hg stared at the glow in wonder and dawning hope.
The light shone brighter and brighter, so that the radiance burned his eyes and Kahg had to turn away. Suddenly the voices of the soldiers who had rushed inside the city to loot and burn, rape and steal rose in cries of terror and the light flashed and went out. The city was gone, the plateau barren and empty.
Fala gasped in shock. “The city was rich, filled with casks of jewels! Aelon promised them to me! Where did it go? What happened?”
“If it is any comfort, wretched Fala, the jewels were never there, just as the city was never truly there,” said Kahg. “It was all illusion. The jewels were no more real than Aelon’s promises.”
“I hate this world,” Fala snarled, gnashing her fangs. “I am going home.”
“You might want to hurry,” said Kahg softly.
The golden light blazed forth, as bright and hot as the sun.
Reborn, the Great Dragon Ilyrion spread her vast wings, lifted her proud and beautiful head, and sprang up off the earth, causing the ground to tremble. She soared into the sky, showering sparks of golden fire.
Fala turned tail and fled.
The Dragon Kahg stared a moment, enraptured, and then flew slowly toward the magnificent dragon, whose wings seemed to span the heavens. Her gaze turned to him.
She is not afraid, he realized. What has she to fear?
Her gaze was questioning. What do you want of me?
“It would be my honor and my joy to join you in flight, Ilyrion,” said Kahg reverently. “Just once. Before you leave.”
The dragon graciously inclined her head, then dove toward the ground, sending the terror-stricken humans into a frenzy of panic, all except a group of warriors—humans, ogres, and Cyclopes—who were gathered protectively around their fallen chief.
“Please don’t hurt them, great Ilyrion,” said Kahg, both proud and apologetic. “Those people are mine.”
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