She crossed her arms. “Oh?”
“Forget how he got to the ground,” Devin muttered. “How did he launch into the air? I finally get what Cornelius was hinting at: larger dragons cannot survive without magic. Their legs would snap under the weight of their bodies. Their hearts would rupture trying to pump blood to their extremities. Especially when they're flying.” Devin hissed like a dragon and started flapping his arms. “Those wings, by the gods. Those glorious, giant, impractical wings.”
“Come on, Dragon Boy.” Drusilla took the Dragon Revolution Party's glorious flapping leader by the shoulders and steered him down the hall. “Isolation makes you weird.”
Styx cheered. He began flapping his arms and mimicking his father.
“No conversation except the nightly rantings of a mad emperor makes me weird,” Devin growled as he flapped. “Would've made you weird, too.”
Drusilla clapped both father and son on the shoulders. “No more flying today.”
“You want to use those watches to shut down dragon hearts? How?” Patrice called.
Devin shrugged and kept flapping. “Well the stomach is right next to the heart. They just need to eat the watches . . . ” He turned and grinned at Drusilla, while dropping his arms, “then there's no more flying today.”
“Do you propose to serve them on a plate?” Patrice chuckled, her laughter turning grim as the group entered the throne room. “Or walk over and feed the dragons yourself?”
The other party members gently unchained Fangwaller and made a stretcher from ceremonial weapons and old banners. The man's eyes had the unblinking stare of the dead. His lips formed a continual wordless scream. The burnt, naked fingers that gripped the edges of the banners were an eruption of bleeding pus and blisters. No sooner had one healed than another formed and ruptured.
Devin patted the remaining scrap of his glove in his pocket as he set the sack of watches on the tiles and swore an oath to the living corpse then and there. I will bring you peace mage-brother even if I must dive into the dragon's maw to do it. No person in the world, even a traitor, deserves such a cruel, lingering punishment . . . well, maybe Captain Vice.
Devin smiled as Styx gently pushed the rear bearer of the stretcher aside and shouldered the burden himself. Tarbon stepped away and surrendered his pole arms to Styx while Jemmy looked over his shoulder from the front of the stretcher and nodded with approval.
No father was ever blessed with a greater son. “How will I handle the dragons, Patrice?” Devin selected a watch from the sack at his feet. He hefted the watch a moment, then twirled it over his head by the chain and threw it at the Patrice's head.
Patrice did not scream or even flinch as the object whizzed past her ear. The sconce behind her dropped off the wall and crashed to the ground as the watch landed with a dull thud beside it.
“I'll do something like that,” Devin said. “Not much else to do when you're locked up with a bunch of watches that don't even tell time. And you need to strike something every moment of every day or go mad. I used an image of the emperor for target practice. Got quite good at it.”
“Keep it down,” Drusilla said, peering through the crack between the large double doors. “I'm going to scout ahead for the enemy.” And with that, she slipped out of the throne room.
Patrice smirked and clapped her hands as Devin gave a mocking little bow. “How talented. But can you do this?” She grabbed three watches, twirled them, and in quick succession, knocked two sconces off the wall.
“Missed one.” Devin smiled.
Patrice rubbed her hands together and clacked her fingernails. “Shall we make a contest of it, then? Why should we risk our leader against dragons when I can throw these missiles better than you?”
“You're going to need to sneak up on it to have any chance at all.” Devin waved her away. “Dragons are magic creatures, remember? What if he senses the power you keep bottled inside you? Frothing, bubbling, waiting to explode. What if he can smell it on you?”
Patrice threw a watch across the room and smacked another sconce off the wall. She snorted and placed her hands on her hips. “You 'smell' just as much as I do, Mister Artifice Mage, given how long you've been back in the empire suppressing your magic. Feeling frothy, yet? Bottled up? That's not just magic you're suppressing.”
“You and me, it's not the same,” he muttered.
Her eyebrows rose.
Devin tossed his watch and missed.
“Not the same? Of course we're not the same.” She placed a hand on her breast. “You're the leader of the revolution, while I am merely your humble, loyal vassal who could hit a dragon's maw with her eyes closed. Direct me into the fray, my lord, and then go apologize to poor Dru.”
Apologize for what? Devin wondered. Focus. The dragons. “They might sense your magic and turn on you. Or you'll forget. You'll cast a spell to defend yourself.”
“A true mage never shies from battle,” Patrice insisted.
Devin winced. “It's better if I do it.” Why all the questions? Stop asking questions.
“But you are the Artifice Mage!”
“It's not worth the risk.” Keep calm. She's just going to keep prodding and poking and . . .
“Why are you less of a risk? Why should you lead the charge? Why are you—”
“Because I'm not a mage,” Devin screamed.
Drusilla poked her head through the doors. “Have you all gone completely witless?” she hissed. “You're going to bring the rest of the High Guards down on our heads.”
A lurching rumble echoed down the hallway. It grew louder and louder. Soon they could hear the clanky individual footfalls of High Guard armor.
“I suppose you have a point, Dru,” Patrice muttered before turning to scowl at Devin. “But I'm not done with you.”
Drusilla kicked the doors open. “Why are you all still standing here? Grab the stretcher. Grab the watches. Run, run,” she cried, ignoring the young man who had been incarcerated for days in this wretched palace and turning to the man who likely hadn't been in the building for years. “Jemmy, you know your way around these halls. Which way do we go?”
The knight frowned with concentration as they ran from the approaching guards. “Sounds like they've blocked the entrance. These hallways are too narrow. Slow as they are in those old model suits, they can still surround us. We need more room to maneuver. I say we head to the battlements. Do you approve, Devin?”
Devin nodded, his breath wheezing too hard to speak. The party raced to the battlements. The narrow hallway led up to a wide stone floor open to the elements. The battlements were shaped like a rough right triangle. Devin and his friends emerged from a door on the shortest side: the only door. The perpendicular side formed the palace walls. The hypotenuse was the parapet of the southern wall with a nasty drop into the inner city.
Devin stared down the length of the triangle. The narrow wedge was filled by a giant, red, scaly head belonging to the largest dragon Devin had ever seen. Two curled horns rose from the beast's head like tower spires. The large, red neck attached to the head disappeared over the edge of the southern wall. Apparently the dragon was resting from a morning of burning and destroying to bask against the southern side of the palace. Then the dragon noticed him staring and licked his lips.
The entire party stood transfixed, High Guards forgotten as the dragon yawned. They could have marched a train of mythological pachyderms into that maw without so much as a burp. His upper teeth were as pearly stalactites and his viscous black tongue lolling over the whitish stalagmites below was a bulging, flat monster worm, a creature of nightmares.
Patrice jabbed her elbow into Devin's ribs. “What do you mean, you're not a mage?” she whispered. “You're the mage. You're the Artifice Mage.” She quirked one eyebrow. “You're not just pretending to be him? He's real? You're real? You did all those things Jemmy told us about? You are the Artifice Mage, aren't you?”
Devin sighed. “More artifice than mage these days. An old
friend sealed away my magic to protect me from the Black Guards . . . and myself. It was too wild, too uncontrolled.”
Patrice nodded. “You and every other mage on the planet.”
“Not outside the empire.” Devin shook his head. “The Corelians seem to manage and the northern barbarians aren't known for going insane or blowing themselves up. It's not a mage problem, it's an imperial problem. Only we squash our mages into the gutters.”
“So you started the revolution to lift us up,” she said, nodding. “And you've been sitting on that secret the whole time? Glad to see you trusted us so much.”
“Fangwaller knew,” Devin whispered as a stiff breeze whipped his coat tails. “And Jemmy. And Drusilla.”
“Fangwaller?” Patrice glanced over her shoulder as the stretcher bearers laid their burden gently in the lee of a tall merion. “You didn't really betray him to the emperor, did you?”
Devin sighed as he fished a few watches from the sack and contemplated the dragon. “Glad to see the mistrust flows both ways.”
Drusilla walked over and shooed Patrice away. “You don't have to do this. There are other ways. We can smack it with my iron fist.”
If we were suicidal. “We left the iron fist in the tower, remember? I may not be much of a mage, but I am their leader. I have a responsibility, Dru.” He touched her cheek. “I owe you a dinner when all this is over. How about roast dragon?”
She laughed and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. Then she wiped her nose on her sleeve and gently pushed him toward the dragon. “It's too big, too old. The meat will be tough and stringy. You could feed an army off it, though.”
“The army would be glad of such a feast,” Tarbon muttered.
Devin grinned and started twirling the watch over his head. “We can marinate our dragon steaks in the tears of the High Guards.”
Styx raised his metal fist and caught the watch with a loud clang. “I can't let you do this, Father. How is that poor creature any different from my babies? He is their big brother.” He glanced at the dragon again. “Their big, big brother. I love the dragons and you can't destroy them.” He spread his arms and loomed over Devin. “I won't let you!”
“I love them, too, Son. And I love you. But that dragon needs to die. And I will slaughter as many of his brothers and sisters as I must down to the tiniest hatchling until I convince them to hunt elsewhere.” Devin pushed his son aside and Styx stared, dumbfounded.
“Father,” Styx whispered. “You don't mean that . . .”
Devin turned on his son with a fierce scowl. “You don't always have the luxury of clinging to your ideals. Rigid beliefs will get you killed. Sometimes you need to bend. And this is one of those times.” He gestured to the rest of the party members. “Would you prefer that dragon kill all of our friends?”
Styx mutely shook his head as Drusilla ran up behind the automaton and wrapped her arms around him. Devin turned his back to his son and began striding across the battlements to confront the dragon.
22. DEVIN, YEAR 498
The dragon stared across the battlements and Devin felt a moment of heart-wrenching pity for the creature as he heard Styx sobbing quietly behind him.
We didn't come here to save the dragons. We came here to save the mages. Someday, I hope he can forgive me for this. Devin glanced at his adversary. All those other scaly beasts in the sky and yet here you are, alone. You hunt alone. You live alone. You fight alone. I used to be like you.
The dragon lowered his jaw and bellowed. The battlements shook.
Devin struggled to regain his footing. You may fight alone, but I'm—Devin glanced at the empty space surrounding him and chuckled as he glanced at the scaly furnace of the gods and shed his coat—not an idiot.
The dragon made a small, confused whuffing sound as Devin waved his green and gold jacket in the air like a banner. The long sleeves snapped in the breeze like two pennons.
“Dragon Party,” Devin roared, “your pathetic, lying, magic-drained leader needs help. I call upon all loyal sons and daughters of the revolution. The emperor may have fled the ball, but I've found us a new dance partner. A prettier dance partner.”
“Yes, by the five gods,” Patrice cheered. “We shall all have dragon steaks tonight.” The woman grabbed the sack of watches and strutted across the battlements.
“Don't use magic if you can help it, Patrice,” Devin begged her. “You'll miss a fantastic dragon steak dinner.”
“We shall see.” She smiled, flexing her fingers. “I imagine some of us will be supping in the city tonight while the rest of us dine together in the Black Tower. I didn't choose to follow the man who blew up half an army and tweaked the emperor's nose to be safe.”
Who's my best close range fighter? Devin raised his voice. “Jemmy, watch the door and guard our backs. Don't let any High Guards interrupt the party.”
Jemmy nodded and took up position by the door.
Devin peered over the parapet. The body of the dragon snaked along half of the wall. The beast was curled on his back, eased against the sun-baked palace stones. The scale of the creature was obscene.
Hopefully, that's to our advantage. Giant animals are slower and the larger the dragon, the better this trick should work. “Tarbon and Drusilla, grab a few watches and take up flanking positions above the creature's torso. Keep the dragon distracted as best you can. Pelt his belly with watches. He might feel that.”
“And what will we be doing?” Patrice asked as everyone took up their positions, stuffing watches under her belt.
Devin examined the terrain. A few boxes and piles of stones. Not much cover. “We're going to dance with a dragon until his heart stops. I promised you a wild party when we first met, didn't I?”
Patrice laughed. “A leader who keeps his word. How charming. You never actually claimed to be a mage, did you?”
The five gods bless you, Drusilla. Never tell a lie when the truth will do. He shook his head. “I have no claim to that title anymore.”
“Pity. I would have liked to see you stab the dragon with that molten flaming sword I've heard so much about.” Patrice whipped a watch over her head and pegged the drake in the eye. The beast roared and squinted down at the battlements. Off Devin's shocked look, she grinned. “I never wait for the gentlemen to take the lead when I go dancing.”
The dragon growled and arched his neck, drawing a deep breath. Devin and Patrice sprinted toward the beast. “That escalated faster than I had expected. Thought he'd at least try and eat us first. We'll only get two shots. If mine fails, cast yours.”
Patrice nodded. “He's about to flame, Devin,” she said calmly. “I've seen that strike pose too many times today. Almost seared into my mind.”
“It will be if we fail.” Devin stopped, planted his feet, and grabbed his watch. His whole world focused on the dragon's head. From this close distance, the beast's tongue looked like a giant strip of raw suede leather. Leather. The glove. I forgot about Fangwaller's glove.
The dragon opened his cavernous maw. His breath was the foul stench of a charred, open grave. Bits of flesh and armor and horses dangled from his teeth. The dragon's mouth opened wider and he closed his gigantic, scaled eye lids. The air in front of the dragon's head began to shimmer.
“Be at peace, Fangwaller,” Devin murmured as he tried to tie the black leather strip around the end of the brass chain. The wet, bloody leather slipped from his fingers and dropped to the ground. The wind blew it back across the battlements.
Devin cursed and turned around, chasing after it. He could feel the heat from the world's largest furnace singeing the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Devin, what are you doing?” Patrice screamed. “I can see the fire building in the back of that monster's throat. Get over here and throw a damn watch or I will!”
“Not yet,” Devin called. “I need to save Fangwaller.”
“With a strip of leather?” she screeched.
Devin double-knotted the small brass chain aro
und the oily leather strip. There. Got it. He twirled and flung the brass watch. It sailed in a shallow arc, the tiny leather strip flapping in the breeze, and vanished into the monster's throat. Patrice's missile followed a moment after.
The dragon swallowed and coughed. The massive snout closed part way and the giant furnace extinguished. A tiny trickle of smoke escaped between the beast's teeth.
Ha! Not the meal you were expecting, was it? Devin thought.
The dragon's eyes widened. Devin cursed and jumped back as the beast gave a long, loud moan. His cheeks turned a sickly gray pallor as his giant eyes rolled in the back of his skull. The dragon began to pant and thrash, scattering stones everywhere as he destroyed that section of the parapet.
Styx broke through Drusilla's embrace and ran to the creature. His gigantic head was flush against the floor of battlement. The tongue protruded and bloody froth gurgled from his lips. Devin's son screamed and tried to wrapped his arms around the beast's sticky tongue, which was taller than he was. With one last convulsive shudder, the drake lay still.
“Congratulations,” Devin panted, winded from the sprint. “We . . . just gave . . . a giant dragon . . . a heart attack.”
“You won't find that anywhere in the fairy tales,” Drusilla said smugly, counting the watches left on her belt and glancing over the parapet at the devastation below. “Still got a lot of dragons left though.”
“Haven't you done enough? How can you even consider killing any more of these magnificent creatures?” Styx cried, petting the large bumps on the dead dragon's tongue. “The Dragon Preservation Society is going to censure you, Father.”
“Is the Dragon Preservation Society offering to shoo the rest of the dragons out of the capital?” Devin held up his hands when Styx bridled. “Don't worry, Son. We would run out of watches long before we ran out of dragons. I doubt the Black Guards would surrender theirs to the cause. We might need to kill a few more, but mostly I just want them out of the city.”
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 76
