Both Chryseum and Jagerstone were fine drakes, having reached perhaps eight years but I must admit it was Ironwing who impressed me the most. He was very large, easily ten to fifteen years and compared to my size, I barely came to his shoulder. He watched us with heavy eyes and I could only imagine the life he had seen. It filled me with pride and rage in equal measure – pride that he had lived so long, and rage at the fact that he lived so long because of a stick.
It took us three days to reach Terra Remus and as we flew over the land, it changed from high mountains and deep valleys to limen groves and olive firs. Cities and villages, towns and farms – I saw more of this vain land than I needed, for in every field and on every road, I saw dragons. Cart dragons, carriage dragons, plow dragons and barge. I wondered if they too looked up at us and dreamed of flying.
We also flew over an amphitheater in the middle of a plain. It looked like a small version of the Crown and those coals, long dormant, began to flicker once more. I suppose anger is a kind of fire. One breath and it kindles anew.
It was the morning of the third day when I smelled the ocean. My heart leapt into my throat, my wings beat faster and it was all Rue could do to hold me in formation. I wanted to race ahead of the Shadow Flight, soar high into the billowing sea clouds and plunge headlong into the glorious water. I kept my pace but I believe the entire Flight flew a little faster because of me.
On the third day, the city of Terra Remus grew out of the sea beneath us, with brightly coloured houses hugging its rugged shores. The streets were narrow and steeply sloped, and my heart ached for the dragons forced to pull carts up and down those roads. But it was hard to think of anything but the ocean, the vast expanse of blue stretching as far as I could see. Sea snakes rose and fell on the salt wind, catching heads of fish tossed overboard by the ships that followed the coast. Smelting fires from stone ovens billowed smoke into the sky, fashioning hooks and anchors, spears and rams for the warships. And there were hundreds of war ships, some anchored in the harbour, others docked by the piers, all flying the war flag of Remus.
The war flag of Remus. Golden drakina surrounded by aurel leaves on a blood red banner. I had known two golden drakinas in my lifetime – Summerday and Aryss. While Aryss flew at my left wing, these days she was farther from me than Summerday.
As we closed in on the city center, I was astounded by the sheer number of dragons in the sky and on the ground and on the docks. The city was preparing for war with both ships and Flight Dragons and I had never seen such numbers in all my life. I wasn’t sure which made me happier – the sight of the ocean or the sight of so many dragons.
I tore my eyes away from the glorious blue as the silver drake dipped a wing and I inclined to follow. We spiralled downwards to circle a long rectangular building at the crest of the city’s highest hill. Red tiled roof supported by marble columns carved in the shapes of rampant dragons. It was called the Curia Terra Remus, I later learned – the Senate House of the Eastern Quarter. Dozens of landing stones surrounded the Curia and on each, a waiting dragon. Cirrus motioned for us to land and we took the last five empty stones.
He leapt from his mount and disappeared up the gardened steps to the building, while a trio of soul-boys moved to work the iron water pump. A trough ran between all the landing stones and very soon, fresh water coursed through like a little river. Flying for three days is thirsty work, and I drank my fill, the little river tending all on the stones. Even Rue knelt to cup it in his hands, splashing some on his face and neck. He missed the ocean too, I knew.
Next came groomers with wooden buckets and scrubbing brushes. They picked at my teeth, sanded my talons, rubbed oil into old wounds and new calluses. It was entirely pleasant, especially with the wind strong on this high ocean hill, and salty and I dozed in the afternoon sun while they worked to polish my scales to gleaming. Dreams of Aryss and shaghorns and life in the Pits made for fitful sleep as Warblood crushed Nightshade under a roof of stones, and Hallowdown collapsed beneath a flaming cart of bones.
I roused to the sound of chains and a familiar tug at my throat.
A band.
I threw my head back, rearing to the sky and wings beating furiously to the second snap of a band around one leg. Rue bolted to his feet as I launched into the air, yanked short by a chain keeping me less than one wingspan above the ground. I roared as an entire Legion surrounded me, throwing a net of linked chain across my wings and dropping me back to the stone in a lashing, writhing mass. Spears and swords rattled before me and I called the fire inside my belly, willing it to leap out of my mouth and burn them all to cinders but the fire stalled – choked to mere smoke as it tried to leave my tongue.
A band.
A silver band.
I raged and roared, tossing my head and lashing my tail and the groomers toppled like tree trunks in its wake.
Kicking and fighting, Rue was dragged off the stone by centurions and higher up, a man in white robes held up a scroll.
“Warblood, Night Dragon of the Salernum Crown, you are marked for crimes against Septus Aelianus, Emperor of all the Provinces of Remus and Imperator of the Known World. Ruminor have mercy on your night-black soul.”
Chapter 21
NIGHT OF DRAGONSONG & FIRE
According to Rue, they argued for my life ’til last light of day and the better part of the night. It didn’t matter. Stormfall died under the chains and the band, while Warblood was reborn. I didn’t grieve the death so much. I think he had been dying all my life. I remembered a time when I didn’t have a name, only a starry-black coat and my pride.
So I lost the last bit of Stormfall that night as I thrashed – banded and chained – on the landing stone of Terra Remus. Warblood was whom they wanted. Warblood was whom they would have. The moment this wretched band was gone I would kill them all and burn this city to the ground. My throat was raw from the trying, my talons splintered, my hind leg torn to the bone but I would not give up. I would never give up. I would die on this cursed stone or be free and never return to the world of sticks.
All that night I raged and roared, bellowing and spitting acid at any stick who dared try quiet me. At one point, they sent Rue and then Cirrus but my eyes were filled with blood and I refused to end my struggles. I believe a centurion tried to beat me with a mace but he was hauled off and I was left to thrash in chains and links and bands. The saddle was crushed, the bridle in ribbons and the mesh was now so tangled in my scales that every movement was a fire. Blood dripped from my tongue and sprayed across the stone as accompaniment to my roars.
But I was not alone. Beside me, the Flight Dragons took up my cries, roaring and raging along with me, unappeased by their own riders. Soon, dragons on the hills joined in, then dragons in the valleys. Dragons in the streets, fields and harbours added their voices and before the first Winking Eye appeared above the ocean, every drake and drakina in the city of Terra Remus was crying into the night, drowning out the shouts of men and filling the sky with the anguish of our people. It was a shared plight and if I could have shed tears like Rue, I would have.
It was powerful and poetic and when I had no more strength in my bones, I fell quiet and listened to their cries. Finally after several hours, the night grew silent and still, as if even my father, Draco Stellorum was holding his breath. I could hear the heartbeat of every dragon on the Curia Hill, feel the fire in every scaly breast. It was life and it was death and it was everything in between. I closed my bloody eyes, took a deep ragged breath and sang.
I sang out the song of my people, the music of the stars and the lament of the waters. The song of our people, ensnared by our pride and enslaved by the vanity of men. Our majesty and grace, our ferocity and joy, I sang it all through a throat raw and bloody and I know I had never sounded so terrible and so beautiful as I did that night.
A high harmony now to my left. Aryss. I knew it because we had sung together that one night in my mountain cave. Two voices now pierced the darkness, eerie and lilting and br
utally sad. A deep rumbling chord next. Ironwing. I could have died on that rock then and there when he added his song to ours. Then Chryseum and Jagerstone. The entire Shadow Flight sang their hearts and one by one across the hillside, every dragon joined in.
No longer raging, no longer roaring; the Dragonsong raced like a mighty wave across the city and the sound threatened to call the moons down from the heavens. Glass shattered in every window, marble cracked in every wall as the sound shook Terra Remus to its very foundations. Every free Flight dragon took to the skies, singing and wailing and beating the air with a roar like Hell Down. I could feel them above me, circling above the Curia Terra Remus in the hundreds, created winds of hurricane force. At some point during the night, my throat failed me and I rested my head on the stone, overcome by the songs of my people.
We were Skyborn. We didn’t have words, but we had language. I knew it now. I would ever doubt again.
The sun rose that morning with dragonsong still echoing across the waters. I learned later that many dragons kissed the axe that night. The dragons killed no one, however. Sticks killed. Dragons sang. Ours was the music and the power and the right.
Finally, a procession in gleaming white exited the Curia. They carried poles and banners, scrolls and shields. Rue was with them, as was Cirrus and Galla and they stood before me, waiting for the singing to cease. Ironwing barked and the Flights above the Curia fell silent, save for the thunder of their wings. Still, it was a very long time before the dragonsong died away from the city and the ocean. I was certain no one’s hearing ever returned to normal after the Night of Dragonsong.
It took them much longer to remove the mesh of linked chain. I had struggled with such savagery that the metal was embedded in my scales and spines and spikes. I was as raw as I had been after my escape from the Crown but this morning, I felt no pain. Not even when they tore pieces of hide from my flesh to remove the metal, or peeled the ragged leather of both saddle and bridle from my skin. After wearing it for so long, I felt like a newborn hatchling, wet from the shell.
Rue moved forward. He was holding a key. It was to the bands but still I growled at him.
“I hear you, Stormfall,” he said quietly. “We all hear you.”
Stormfall was gone.
His face was puffy and streaked with glistening lines. Tears. They had happened before, usually with great sadness or greater joy. I didn’t care. He was a stick to me now, nothing more. I would kill him as I would any of the others.
“We hear you, Stormfall,” he repeated and he edged closer. “The Emperor understands now. He’s agreed to lift the sentence on your head. Please let me remove your bands and he will tell you himself.”
The morning air cooled my bloodied flesh, the rising sun warmed it. The rising sun was gold. Gold like Aryss and Chryseum. Gold like Summerday the wicked. I missed her now, wished she could have been here for this most remarkable night. I hoped she was dead. Dead like Ruby, dead like Towndrell or Bonesnap or SeaTorrent, no longer victim to the service of men.
Dead like Stormfall of the Udan Shore.
Rue dropped to his knees, covered his face with his hands.
I should have been moved but I was stone. No, after this day, I was ash.
“I hear you, Stormfall,” said Cassien Cirrus and he stepped up beside Rue. “But you need to hear me. I’m am going to remove your band.”
My heart leapt into my throat. There would be fire there soon enough.
“If you kill me, they will kill Rue. If you fly, they will kill Rue. If you fly and take him with you, they will kill us – all of the Shadow Flight. So I ask you to lay aside your pride, listen to the Emperor and consider his request before you decide. Will you do this for me? Will you do this for Rue? Will you do this for these magnificent dragons who have wept and sung and bled for you tonight?”
His words, echoing like a whisper in my mind. Invasions, always invasions. A dragon was never his own unless he was free or dead.
I growled, a long rumbling sound that shook my chest. Centurions rattled their spears but Cirrus held up his hand, stopping them.
I did not kill him.
After a long moment, he reached down to Rue’s side, removed the key and approached slowly. He knelt to examine the band. It also was embedded into the scales of my throat, slippery with blood and ooze. After three good twists, it clicked and band fell away, hitting the stone with a clink.
I slid my eyes over to him.
I could turn him to ash with one breath. With one thought, he would be little more than salt at my feet, cinders floating on the wind. He laid a hand on my neck, ran it across my bloodied shoulder. I did not flinch, but neither would I admit how good it felt. I bared my teeth and snarled. He ignored me, knelt to unlock the chain around my rear leg. The flesh peeled away and it stung bitterly as he worked but soon, it too fell to the stone.
He stepped back and back again, laid a hand on Rue’s shoulder, helped pull the boy to his feet. He staggered as he rose, Rue did, and I wondered at that. But I didn’t care. I pushed myself to my own feet, the knuckle-claws of my wings bare to the bone and suddenly, there was a hush from the Flight dragons above and beside.
No more saddle. No band or chain or rider.
I threw myself back onto my hind legs, unfurled my tattered wings and blew fire, hot and white into the morning sky. It felt good; the burning breath as it scorched the back of my throat, the searing flame that rolled between my teeth and off my tongue. I sent my fire as tribute to my father, Draco Stellorum, as he closed his eyes for the night.
Above and beside and all around, the last of the night lit up like Hallow Fire. Down the hillside and across the city, through the docks and for as far as anyone could see, plumes sprayed the dawn like a hail of arrows as every unbanded dragon in Terra Remus trumpeted with fiery breath.
Finally, I returned to the stone, shook my mane of spikes and turned my weary eyes upon the riders, one in silver, one in black. They had come to take me to their Emperor, the man who had once been senator of Bangarden then Primar of the Eastern Provinces, now Emperor of all Remus. The man that had me kill two dragons for sport; the man that sentenced me to death for trying to escape his prison of savagery and for treating sticks the way they treated us. The way they treated my people.
My people. The Skyborn.
So in the name of the Skyborn, I would.
I took a lumbering step and the legions of centurions raised their swords, rattled their spears. I took another and then another, finding my one raw leg unsteady but I moved forward. Rue fell in step on one side, Cirrus on the other and together we exchanged the landing stone for the stair leading to the Curia. I left a trail behind me however, a slick of ooze and blood up the travertine steps.
Aryss called as I disappeared beneath the portico.
I did not look back.
***
The Curia Terra Remus was not a fishing hut. It was not a labyrinth of stone tunnels like the Pits, or mesh domes like the Crown, or hewn rock like Celarus’ Landing. This was unlike any place I’d seen and it was as beautiful as it was imposing. They could fit many dragons in here.
Marble columns lined the way, easily ten wingspans high and polished to gleaming. The ceiling was plaster, carved with dragons, aurel leaves and scenes from history. The floors were travertine ice and cool to the touch. They echoed with every footfall, hissed as my tail dragged along behind. I felt very small as I made my way through these vast halls, passing one huge alcove after another toward a line of centurions at the far wall.
They stood around a large wooden table that was covered with parchments and papers. I smelled ink and wax and iron and I knew that these were generals in the Emperor’s army, poring over maps and agonizing over strategies. They turned to stare at me as I lumbered in, and amongst them, a man in white robes trimmed with gold.
I recognized him.
He turned to face us, said nothing for a long moment. Rue dropped to one knee while Cirrus stood like a statue, eyes fixe
d on a relief at the far end of the curia.
“Cassien Cirrus, I should have you flogged,” said the man, his voice echoing through the marble. “I told you I did not want this dragon here without a band.”
“Forgive me, Imperator Augustus,” said Cirrus. “But he would not come with one.”
“He could kill us all with one breath.”
“And you could kill him with one centurion.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Here, you are equals.”
The generals growled now but the thin man raised a brow.
Cirrus took a deep breath, eyes still fixed on the end of the hall.
“You are the Emperor of all Remus,” he said. “After last night, the Night of Dragonsong and Fire, perhaps he is the Emperor of all Dragons?”
Emperor of the Skyborn.
It took a moment, but a smile spread across the thin man’s face. It was like a knife.
“That is the second act of insubordination, Cirrus. You will not be granted a third.”
“Yes, Imperator Augustus,” said Cirrus. “Thank you for your patience.”
The man stepped forward. Centurions snapped their swords across their chests, generals moved to stand in front but he waved them all away with a bare arm. Fabric swept the floor as he moved toward us, stopping not an arm’s length away from my jaws. I noticed the gleam of a golden aurel circlet in his thinning hair.
But I was the Emperor of the Skyborn.
“I’ve met you twice, Night Dragon,” he said. “First, back in Bangarden just before you destroyed my cousin’s gate. Then in Salernum just before you destroyed the Crown. I am Septus Aelianus, Emperor of Remus, Divine First of the Sons of Ruminor. I have the power of life and death over all the men and dragons in this province.”
He inclined his chin.
“Including you, Warblood of the Crown.”
“He is not here as Warblood of the Crown,” said Cirrus. “He is here as Stormfall of the Citadel.”
Dragon of Ash & Stars: The Autobiography of a Night Dragon Page 20
