Music of trumpets marking a new match. My heart leapt to my throat but I steeled it, willed it to grow cold, hard, stone.
“Ruminor smiles on us all tonight,” the announcer’s voice rang through the Crown, echoing as if there were two. “For the glory of our new governor, Septus Aelianus, Primar of the Eastern Provinces, we are blessed to bring you the match to end all matches!”
I understood most stick words by now, enough to realize that the Dragon Flight was here because of an important man.
“Entering the Crown from the north gate,” echoed the announcer. “We bring you Bonesnap – the pride of the city of Belarius!”
The arena shook with the roar of a dragon and crowd went wild, drowning his war cry with their cheers. Bonesnap. I tossed my head again. I would finish him like a sinklizard.
“And from the south gate,” the announcer continued, “His twin brother Bloodtooth!”
Two?
“Bonesnap and Bloodtooth, Twin sons of Remus and the Eastern Provinces! Together, the sons of Belarius will challenge the undefeated Night Dragon, our very own Warblood, Jewel of the Crown of Salernum!”
The roar of the crowd shook the walls, rattled the wooden planks as my feet.
I growled, a deep rumbling sound in my chest that I know frightened the handlers. I didn’t care. I was angry, doubly so. Two dragons. Two dragons against one, all for the sport of sticks. I ducked my head low and narrowed my eyes, summoning the coals, willing the fury. I would kill them both before they knew I was in the arena. I would kill them as I had never killed before and I felt my blood grow hot in my veins.
“Warblood!” shouted the crowds. “Warblood! Warblood! Warblood!”
Above the crowds, I could hear the cries of the twin dragons down below, trumpeting and bellowing the challenge. From the changes in pitch, I could tell they were swinging their heads, looking between the east and west entrances and back again. They were wondering how large I was, where I would enter, how I would attack. I grunted, imagining the surprise in their faces when I swept down from the sky in the dark. It would last a heartbeat before I broke their necks, but it would be enough.
And one by one, the torches went down in the Crown.
The crowd hushed and I could hear the twins bugling to each other. They were pathetic, lost and helpless and I pulled my chin to my chest, coiling every muscle in my body. The ropes fell away, the drape was swept aside and I slipped into the Crown like a wraith.
I was night. I was darkness. I knew how to ride the air so that my wings made no sound. I was a spirit, a ghost, a shadow. There were stars and the moons, and the Wide Eyes of my father, Draco Stellorum, to guide me. I knew from experience where the mesh walls were, where the pillars and columns were that held up the stands. The Crown in darkness had been my home for months now. In fact, the Crown was more a part of me than the Anquar Cliffs and at that moment, I realized that I was no longer a wild dragon but something else entirely.
Not wild. Not a warrior. Neither and both. I could kill all or none. Dreams of nobility but my life bought and paid for in blood. The sticks hadn’t done this. Yes, they had captured me and banded me and forced me to work and now kill or starve, but ultimately, it had little to do with the sticks at all. My vanity had brought me here, to this place. I killed their dragons because I could not kill myself.
Below me, four torches flickered by the four gates and I could see the sons of Belarius, their eyes flashing like beacons on the sea as they swung their heads blindly in the dark. They were green, I realized, and both larger than me but it didn’t matter. I had killed bigger. I had killed older. I steeled my will, becoming a creature of death and blood.
I tucked my wings and dropped like a massive stone onto the first twin’s head. He crumbled beneath my weight but I did not leave it there. With his face in my talons, I immediately sprang upwards, taking him with me as we disappeared into the blackness. In several powerful strokes, I was at the Prefect’s Box where a small candle gave light to the important men. I swung the drake’s body into the mesh and with a clang, it dented inward. Inside the Box, the men shrieked and I could see both senators and soldiers shrunk back in fear.
It was a good feeling.
I sank my teeth into the back of the green dragon’s neck just beneath the horns. He squealed, writhing and bending the squares of mesh with his powerful talons but the grip I had was savage and sure. With my feet on his back, I pressed him into the iron and shook my head violently, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until I heard the crack of his neck bones. Squeal became sputter but I did not stop – back and forth, back and forth – until his head came free and I felt the blood spray warm across my eyes.
Bonesnap, I thought with grim pleasure.
And suddenly, a torch crackled to life within the Box.
“Night Dragon,” someone whispered.
“Warblood,” said another.
I hovered backwards, releasing my grip on the severed head and it thudded quietly into the sand below. The body however continued to flail for several heartbeats, stuck against the mesh by its own talons and spines. Again, like the very first drake I’d killed, the tail lashed and the legs thrashed but the wings merely twitched. The exposed throat pulsed blood into the Box.
“Marvellous!” shouted a man as he rose to his feet. His white robes were splattered with red but he began to clap his ringed hands together. “He is marvellous! I salute him.”
The senator from Bangarden.
“Yes, Primar,” said another. “Truly marvellous.”
“We salute the Night Dragon!”
“Warblood, the magnificent!”
“Stormfall?”
I froze.
Suddenly, a great weight slammed into me from behind, forcing all the air out of my chest as I struck the iron.
It was the second dragon, twin to the first, and I cursed my vanity. In my lust, I had forgotten him and now, in the light of the Prefect’s Box, I was visible and therefore vulnerable. I plummeted downwards, spiralling my wings to catch the air until the darkness swallowed me once again. But he had a grip on my neck and fell with me, his back talons raking my flanks and beating my wings with his own. He was larger than me and I knew that if we hit the ground, any advantage I might have had would be lost.
His mouth was wide, dagger teeth tearing furiously and I let him, ignoring the blinding pain as his jaws gnashed and chewed because he finally struck the buckled band. As I’ve said earlier, I was not savage, I was not stronger, I was merely smarter and once I realized the killing lust was upon him, I leaned into him, pushing the band up between his teeth. He bit wildly, not realizing that it was leather and not skin he was gnawing, metal and not bone. I angled my wings and met the ground with my back feet, springing and taking him with me up, up, up to the far side of the dark arena. Above me my father called. Draco Stellorum, Dragon of the Stars, both Eyes Wide, twin moons full and beaming. I was losing blood, Warblood, but I was the Night Dragon and I would live or die because of this night.
We flew faster and faster toward the iron mesh. I knew the Crown. I knew the walls like my own scales and, pushing my banded neck into his mouth, I wheeled in midair. Backwards, we struck the mesh hard.
So hard that it dented beneath our combined weight. Behind it, the sticks screamed and bolted from their seats because, at this particular impact, the band around my throat snapped free.
Ping, ting, ting. It bounced off the mesh before hitting the sand.
The silence that fell with it was louder.
A dragon un-banded, loose in the Crown.
I threw back my head and bellowed, bringing up the acid that was always in my belly. The fire came with it, rolling off my tongue and spraying yellow-hot across the face of the green dragon. His eyes burst within his head and ooze ran down his sizzling face. I blew fire through the mesh and the sticks screamed once more. I soared through the Crown, raining fire into the stands and seats and through the arches and exits and doors. The Crown erupt
ed into chaos.
Over the din, I heard the singing of arrows, felt heat rain across my flank as they hit. I saw a torch on the ground, then a second so I circled and swept low, taking out all the torch columns with my wings as I flew. Bam, bam, bam, bam, they fell like saplings in a summer storm until there was nothing but moonslight in the Crown, and firelight on the citizens as they thrashed and howled and burned.
Still, I was trapped. There were only two ways out. I would be free through one or die fighting tonight. I flew high to the ceiling, gripping the iron mesh with my talons, spitting acid on the bars and hearing the familiar sizzle as they weakened and charred. I sprayed fire in a concentrated blast but arrows thudded along my spine and I knew this way would not work for me. I released the mesh and disappeared into the dark shadows, hovering in my night blackness and knowing I had only a few hours until daylight. The only way now was certain death and I hardened my heart for the prospect. Death for dragons was never glorious, no matter how hard we tried.
There were archers in the stands and others on the floor but I could see light flickering behind the large double doors where the processions came through. The army gate, I remembered. It was used for the parades and drills and I had no idea where it went but surely not to underground tunnels. When the doors swung open, the army marched out carrying spears and arrows and swords and I took a long, deep breath, steeling my will and deadening my heart. I dipped my head, angled my wing and descended like the night.
The army didn’t see me coming until I was upon them, and then I sprayed fire into them, lighting them all like torches but I didn’t stop. I flew straight into them, bowling them over as they screamed and fell and crunched beneath me. In a heartbeat, I was through to the other side. It was dark like the tunnels but in the distance, I could see a shimmer of light. Moons, I realized, the Wide Eyes of Draco Stellorum. My father was showing me the way to freedom or to death – which one I didn’t know. Regardless, I half flew, half lumbered through the dark tunnel toward it, my wings unable to fully extend. Arrows thudded into me from all angles but the light was an open arch and I was not stopping.
Swords drawn, centurions rushed from outside, not realizing that I had flame and I burned them with barely a thought. They crumpled to the stone and I felt the crush of them under my feet. Suddenly, I was through the archway into a wide exterior courtyard. Above me, the open sky.
A powerful shock to my shoulder and I staggered, looked down to see a spear protruding from my flesh. A centurion was standing in the archway and I ducked my head and blew, setting him ablaze with one breath. I paused a moment to survey the field – citizens were flooding out of many exits and soldiers were rushing in from many entrances. But there was no mesh; there was no ceiling. There were only the moons and the stars and the great expanse of night sky and my father. I heard the bugle of distant dragons and remembered the Flight.
I tossed my head and sprang into the air, my wings making huge downstrokes once, twice, three times, ignoring the blinding pain from my shoulder and dragging the long spear with me as I climbed. Finally, I was skyborne, soaring over the Crown and then the Dome and the Pits and then the roads and the foothills and the mountains and the clouds.
I looked back to see five dragons flying like an arrow in my wake.
Chapter 13
THE CRESCENT MOUNTAINS
From night to morning I flew, determined to stay airborne but feeling light-headed as the events of the battle took their toll.
Stormfall.
The spear in my shoulder was slowing me down, creating drag in the strong air currents above the mountains. Like Rue dragging an oar in the water, I found myself drifting to the side as my good wing beat stronger than my weak. Arrows in my back stung and the blood streaked along my neck from the green dragon’s teeth. But I was unbanded and free and could happily die on any one of these great mountains beneath me.
Stormfall.
The Dragon Flight was still following and this puzzled me. They could have easily overtaken me given my injuries but they didn’t and I found myself wondering what their aim was.
Someone had called me Stormfall.
I pushed it from my mind and tucked in my wings, plummeting down to skim the crests of the mountains. They looked white, these mountains, like the caps on ocean waves. I had never seen anything like them in my life. While the peaks were white, the valleys were dark and it was the darkness that I was searching for. Night dragons do not hide well in the light.
I angled my good wing, fighting the pain but letting the drag take me down, down, down into craggy valleys. It was magnificent to have the wind in my eyes once again, even if for such a sorry reason. A part of me just wished to close them and let the ground take me. Death would come mercifully quick and I would be soaring through the stars with my father before I knew it. But I was a proud dragon and if there was a way to outwit these sticks, I reckoned I owed it to myself to at least try.
There were trees lining these mountains – bank pines and larches and olive firs growing at steep angles along the slopes. I whipped between them now, knowing this was a dangerous but effective way to become lost in the night. It was very dark, with the clouds passing over the moons, and I risked a glance behind, scanning the skies above for any trace of the Flight. If I couldn’t see them, it seemed reasonable that they couldn’t see me when suddenly, a streaking branch nicked the tip of the spear and fire exploded behind my eyes. Wildly I spun, crashing into tree after tree until my wingtip struck the slate of the mountain and my belly followed suit, scraping along the stone and moss and bumping off trees and stumps and rocks. I came to rest at a cliff’s edge, wedged against a cedar that cracked at my impact but did not fall.
I closed my eyes now. Even if the Flight hadn’t seen my undignified landing, they would have heard it and so I was doomed, too weary to hide, too bloody to fight. They would have to kill me for I would not go back to the Pits. The rules had changed and I had changed them. Any dragons I killed would be free dragons, any fight a fair fight and any sticks that got in the way would be a welcome sacrifice.
I didn’t hear it when the first dragon landed, nor the second. At some point however, I became dimly aware of voices but I shut them out, determined not to know when the sword fell across my neck. The smell of dragons was strong and I welcomed that smell, let it carry me into the stars. If I am truthful, I do think the last thing I remember was the word Stormfall, and then nothing.
***
It is a strange place, that place between Death and Dying, and it almost seems like sleep. Long, deep, dreamless sleep that is at once empty and disturbing, a twisting world of blurred space and fragmented memory, of insensate calm and unimaginable terror. I was grateful to leave that place, even if it was to hear the voices of sticks once again.
Stormfall. I had been Stormfall once.
I remembered a scrap of the dream – a stick had removed the spear and taken much of my blood with it. Men had climbed over me in my dream, pulling out barbs like nettles and rubbing pine tar into the wounds. In fact, all I could smell was pine tar. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see a great silver drake stretched out beside me, fanning his wings in the sun.
He noticed me, cocked his great head to one side and rumbled a greeting. His wings lay open across the rock, the talon-tips crossed beneath him and he looked very regal, more regal than any dragon I’d ever seen. He was easily twice my size and his hide was scarred from many battles. But still, his scales shone like silverstone and I wondered if I knew him.
“Stormfall?” came a voice and I lifted my head to see a stick walking toward me. He was wearing silver armour and a bell of memory began to take chime, calling back a time on the Udan Shore. “Do you remember me, Stormfall? Cassien Cirrus, First Wing of the Eastern Quarter Dragoneers. You saved my life and that of my dragon.”
I growled at him, low and deep in my chest. He continued towards me so I bared my teeth, my many rows of daggers that could cut him in half in one snap. The
silver dragon growled now. However, he didn’t move, didn’t change position to threaten or intimidate. The threat was in his tone and I understood it very well, despite our lack of language.
“I thought it was you,” said the stick, Cassien Cirrus. “Not too many dragons with your colouring in this region.”
He was beside me now, smelling of leather and pine tar and dragons. He reached out and touched my neck where the spear had been, ran his hand along my flank. I remembered the one of the first days in the fishing hut when Rue ran his hand along my face. It had been the first touch of a stick that had not been accompanied by bruises. Like this.
But I was not that dragon any more.
I summoned the fire, blew a curl of smoke out my nostril and the great silver dragon rose to his feet. I snapped at him and he snapped back, our teeth echoing through the quiet valley.
“Enough,” growled Cirrus and the dragon lowered his head. “I told you he’d be hard as stone, Ironwing. He wasn’t as lucky as you.”
The silver drake grumbled and I noticed that he had no band around his throat. Come to think of it, he never had. Of course they were allowed to harness their fire, these Flight Dragons and for the first time in a very long time, my imagination struggled to raise its broken head.
“The others have gone,” said Cirrus. “They’ve returned to the Citadel so it’s just us here. You, me and Ironwing.”
And he held up a piece of charred meat. It looked like a skoat, a small tree lizard known for sharp teeth and tasty flesh and he peeled a strip for me. I clenched my jaws tight, unwilling to play this game. First Rue, then Junias, then all of the handlers in the Pits. The lure of food, traded for a silver band and work. Or in the Pits – for blood. I was no fool. I would take nothing from this man’s hand.
Dragon of Ash & Stars: The Autobiography of a Night Dragon Page 12
