Dragon of Ash & Stars: The Autobiography of a Night Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  Swiftly, I raised my head, blinking in the blackness.

  I could see nothing. The Eyes were wide apart, casting light in different directions and I felt Rue stir as the cold air replaced my head.

  “Stormfall?” he asked.

  Wrong, wrong, something was wrong. Danger was in the water and I barked to alert the others, pushing up from the surface, wings wide, neck arched, scanning the waves for a sign.

  The dragons stirred, Ironwing lifting his majestic head, barely visible in the water’s dark sheen.

  “What is it?” asked Cirrus. “Ships?”

  “I don’t know,” said Rue and they fell silent, all ears straining to hear something, anything in the darkness. “Stormfall?”

  A splash to our left as a rolling hump crested then disappeared into the inky depths.

  “Leviathan!” shouted Markus.

  “Monitor!” shouted Rue and he grabbed my spines. “Black Monitor. Get out of the water!”

  Four sets of wings snapped open as the Shadow Flight leapt to the sky. Suddenly, Chryseum screeched, jerked downwards and the water churned as if boiling beside him. They went for the tail, I remembered and I saw his neck slap from side to side in agony. Golden wings beat the water but a massive shape surged beneath, scales glittering in the moonslight, and his body jerked lower. Red sprayed across the waves.

  His rider, Markus Platt, clambered down the heaving spines, sword drawn, hacking savagely at the Monitor’s flank. Above him, Ironwing wheeled and dove, plunging into the water like a falling star, talons extended, turning the ocean to steam with his breath. Chryseum screeched again, this time fire billowing from his mouth, illuminating the waves and the spray and the blood. A giant tail slapped the water and disappeared, tugging the thrashing drake deeper and flinging his rider into the waves.

  A second Monitor broke the surface now, its many rows of teeth flashing in the moonslight. Platt’s scream was cut short and Chryseum’s firebreath sizzled as water flooded his mouth. Ironwing leapt back into the night and from high above we watched the golden drake gurgle and lurch before being swallowed by the blood-red waves.

  The four of us hovered above, our wings beating like rip currents across the top of the water. It boiled for some time afterwards but neither dragon nor rider surfaced.

  “Black Monitors hunt at night,” Rue said quietly. “Those were big ones to take a grown dragon.”

  “We fly all night,” Cirrus snapped. “The time for sleep is done.”

  And he leaned forward, taking Ironwing up into the sky, lit on both sides by the Wide Eyes of my father, Draco Stellorum.

  How many dragons had he seen die in his lifetime? Thousands? Tens of thousands? More?

  Rue nudged me with his heels and I followed Jagerstone and Aryss into the stars. I felt nothing at the loss of Chryseum and his rider. It was the way of things, the alchemy of life and death and life. Monitors killed to live, to eat, just the same as dragons. Sticks had no power over this and were ultimately at the mercy of death, just like us. No, I admit that I felt nothing at the loss of this golden dragon.

  But as my wings took me up, up, up into the shimmering night, I also admit that I was glad it wasn’t Aryss who had fed Draco Oceanus that night.

  And perhaps that surprised me more than anything.

  ***

  We lost the Eyes during the night as the Wall of Moons settled in.

  We flew without speaking, our wings beating a steady rhythm across the water, but the dawn never broke. The sky gradually turned from black to grey to white until we could see nothing but cloud and fog. It was impossible to see the ocean. It was impossible to see the sky. It was impossible even to see the horizon that separated the two. All was white and grey and rolling, like smoke from a water-soaked fire.

  It was a very strange sensation because there were, quite simply, no sensations. Soon, my eyes became blind to anything but white, and I found my ears straining to hear any sound over the sweep of wings. Numb and senseless, even the air was an enemy. It was like flying through an endless vat of tiny needles but I was grateful for the irritation – at least it was something I could feel. I was a Night Dragon, lost in this world of white and grey, this Veil of Ruminor, this Wall of Moons. I desperately wished to settle onto the surface of the water but after the nightmare of black scales, I knew it was still safest in the skies.

  So it was all I could do to keep my eyes fixed on Ironwing’s great shape flying in front of me. His silver coat reflected the fog, however, and he slipped into and out of my vision as I struggled to keep up. To my left, I could make out the Hell Down shadow of Jagerstone followed by Aryss’ sunny glow, but even those were fleeting vapours as cloud passed in between.

  I remembered this type of sea from my days as a fisher. The water beneath the fog wall would be as still as a stone, with not even a breeze to move it. It would settle over the docks for days and not a single skiff or barge would go out.

  For hours we flew, dizzy and disoriented. Dragons have an innate sense of direction – a tribute to the earth force, Cirrus had said. We can tell if we’re level or angled, veering left or veering right, but this? This was like flying without the earth force into a hole and at some point, my mind began to play tricks on me. Ironwing was above me, then below. No, above. Aryss on my left, then on my right, then on my left. I didn’t think I was flying differently; certainly Rue made no sudden shifts or leans, but I gradually became aware of the sound of water growing closer. Voices next, not from the Shadow, and I strained to make some sense of our position when suddenly, the sails of a warship appeared before my eyes.

  Someone screamed.

  Ironwing hit first, cracking the mast like an old tree. I wheeled to avoid the double sails but I struck the top of the second mast with my wing. My talons caught in the rigging and I spun violently around, flinging Rue against my neck at the impact. Jagerstone was on my tail and followed me into the wooden beam, shattering it like cannon fire. I felt Rue’s weight disappear and I knew he had been thrown.

  All this in less than a heartbeat.

  A sound from nightmares as arrows whipped through the sky. Below me, sticks raced about on the deck of the ship, shouting in a strange tongue as timbers and ropes rained down from the sails. Caught in the rigging, I blasted it with dragonfire and was free within moments. Jagerstone, however, was tangled in the canvas, suspended and thrashing above the deck. Arrows shot up at him and I saw his rider pitch backwards, only to be caught in the rigging himself as arrow after arrow thudded into stone-grey leather. Ironwing was free but I could see through the fog a jagged tear in his wing. Wheeling into the chaos, Aryss blasted archers on the deck while I flew away from it, hoping to spy Rue before the arrows did.

  There! His dark head bobbed in the water near the side of the ship. He saw me, raised his hands through the choppy surface. Arrows hissed, bringing fire of their own as they thudded into my neck, chest and side. I sprayed yellow flame across the deck before tucking my wings and diving. I caught Rue’s arms and pulled him from the water as arrows whipped past me, peppering my tail with bites. I sprayed the deck with white fire this time, noticing the large eye painted on the curved prow as I flew past.

  Lamos.

  Rue climbed to my back and I circled down. Jagerstone had broken free of the burning rigging but two barbed spears were lodged in his throat and he flailed through the flames, smashing through oars and deck planks and seamen as he went. Finally, he toppled over the side, the splash sending a wall of water up and onto the deck.

  Both Aryss and Ironwing scorched the ship in pass after pass and men leapt from the deck into the water, as if that would protect them from the kiss of dragons. I too swept downwards, setting all bobbing heads alight. Soon, the screaming died away, leaving only the crackling of the flames on canvas and wood and bone. Bits of burning debris floated in the water, and the Wall of Moons swallowed the smoke as if consuming it.

  First Ironwing, then Aryss, then I settled on to the top of the quiet water, to
wait with Jagerstone as he died. The fog was as thick as ever, but we had no fear of Monitors. We had no idea of time any more, no idea of place or war or drakinas, only a slate grey drake retching flame and blood into the ocean in equal measure. Cassien Cirrus moved his dragon closer, carefully crossed over to the grey drake’s back. He himself was bleeding from the head and arm, but he ignored it, pulling one bloody spear out Jagerstone’s leathery neck. The drake moaned as Cirrus tried to move the second.

  “Rue,” said Galla.

  “I’m fine,” said Rue. He yanked a broken arrow from his side. “Leather.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “So are you.”

  I watched as the silver rider bent, laying a hand over Jagerstone’s eye. He was asking permission and for a moment, my black heart was moved. So I raised my voice in dragonsong, my deep pure notes echoing across the still water. Aryss joined me next, then Ironwing, and we serenaded our companion into the care of Draco Mortis. Cirrus rose to his feet, picked up the first spear and crossed over to stand on the shoulders of his silver. With barely a pause, he plunged it like a harpoon deep into the grey dragon’s heart.

  Without a sound, Jagerstone’s body slipped into the deep.

  We sat on the surface for a long moment, numb and pensive, until a crack shattered the silence. Still burning, the Lamoan warship had split in two, both fore and aft decks raised high in the air and the midships submerged. The aft deck disappeared swiftly, following Jagerstone with a hiss of froth and steam and snapping cables. But the foredeck, with its curved prow and great painted eye, took its time. It bobbed and groaned, rising higher into the air before sliding backward, slowly down, down, down into darkness, the Eye of Lamos watching us as it went.

  All gone in a heartbeat. In a lifetime of fire and water, ash and blood.

  And with that, the wind picked up, moving the Wall of Moons away from us, little wisps of fog spinning in its wake. It revealed a sky bluer than Skybeak over a sea still running with blood. It seemed odd, irreverent even. We had lost Chryseum and Platt, Jagerstone and Dane in less than a day and we hadn’t even reached the Lamoan shore. Sacrifices to Ruminor and his Veil.

  “One more day,” said Cirrus, examining the tear in his dragon’s silver wing. “We must push through one more day. Tell me now if you cannot.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” said Galla. “We can’t float on the sea forever. There’s blood in the water and those leviathans will feast on our bones tonight.”

  “I don’t want to fly back through that,” said Rue. “Ruminor’s Veil is for dead men.”

  There was something in his breathing and I turned my head to look at him. His eye was swollen, his lip split in two and his leather was glistening darker than dark. I knew it wasn’t from seawater. My heart of stone that had been broken by Rue’s salt tears was turning to ash.

  With bleeding limbs and charred hearts, we took to the skies.

  We were over Atha Lamos by dusk.

  Chapter 23

  LAMOS

  Atha Lamos was a port city, a ship-building city, a cannon-making city, so we made a point to fly very high above it. Below us, the lights of the city’s torches made a complex pattern like the spokes of a carriage wheel. I remember Rue had once said that Lamos was shaped like a hand and Remus like a boot. Lamos, he had said, always reached to grasp the boot of his brother Remus who, being a boot, strove to crush the hand of his brother Lamos. I wondered how a legend of brothers could cause these peoples to go to war. Then again, the war was over dragons. Of all the possible causes, I suppose only dragons would be an acceptable one.

  Atha Lamos was also an island, the largest in a chain of islands that flanked the northwestern coast of the nation. It was built around a harbour that, from the air, resembled a perfect circle. It was as if one of the Wide Eyes of my father, Draco Stellorum, had kissed the water, leaving an imprint in the ocean floor. Perhaps there had been three moons at one time, three mothers to the twins. Perhaps one had thrown herself into the sea after the battle between brothers, a sacrifice for peace in hopes for her children.

  I suppose my imagination was returning and I wondered why. There was no hope left in me, no life and my heart was as inky as my coat. But I had pride still. Perhaps there was enough of that for all of me.

  We flew silently over this ship-building city, grateful for the blanket of stars that cloaked us. I was invisible, Ironwing near so but Aryss was the sun streaking across the sky and I knew we needed to land soon. Fortunately, this set of islands was an archipelago, as craggy as the Citadel and we settled on a peak overlooking the rugged coastline. A small herd of mountain shaghorns had watched our approach with curiosity, never having seen a dragon before, and we each snagged one as we flew past. After three days of fish, I was happy to be eating meat and I let the blood run down my chin with grim pleasure.

  The leftovers we roasted for our sticks. It seemed the only blood they enjoyed was in their sport and so we sat that night with full bellies but raw bodies, numb to everything but the senses of the night. The rush of the mountain wind, the roar of the tides below. The Eyes were wide, the night was warm and while we couldn’t risk a fire, Ironwing held one in his open mouth. It was like a great kiln and the flames billowed and danced over his tongue with each breath.

  Cirrus rolled out the map.

  I had never seen a map before and it was intriguing to me. It was drawn on oiled animal skin, so it would keep the ink if wet, and there were sketches of land, water, mountains and beasts. The Nameless Sea separated Remus from Lamos and it looked indeed as if a hand were reaching up to grasp a boot. I could see the circular harbour that was Atha Lamos and all the little islands like blobs of ink. The mapmaker had been careful to draw leviathans and the Wall of Moons in the water, dragons on Remus, cannons on Lamos and a great many ships on both sides of the sea. There were also a great many symbols and I remembered that sticks had a complex language that included the transmutation of words into ink on parchment, paper and skin.

  I growled softly. Part of the reason they ruled as they did, I supposed. Dragons could only transmute fire.

  “Here is Nathens,” said Cirrus, pointing with a grimy finger. “Two days to fly, and we’ll stay to the mountains. Less chance of being seen.”

  “We could fly at night,” said Rue. He looked very bad. His eye had swollen shut and his breathing was loud and wet.

  “We might,” said Cirrus. “But it’s hard to hide on land in the daytime. Easier to be in the sky.”

  “People don’t look up,” said Galla. “Not usually.”

  “They must expect dragons,” said Rue. “Now that they have a laying drakina. Her scent will call drakes from everywhere.”

  “They have a dragon master,” said Cirrus. “And according to the espionar, he’s Remoan.”

  Galla hissed but Rue nodded.

  “It makes sense,” said Rue. “Who in Lamos can tend and rear dragons? They have no experience.”

  “We will kill the drakina,” said Galla. “Then we will kill her master.”

  “Maybe we free the drakina and kill the master,” said Rue.

  They both looked at him.

  “Why not?” he asked and rose to his feet, laid a hand on my neck. “The orders are to keep Lamos from getting dragons.”

  “The orders are to kill her,” said Cirrus.

  “But dragons killing dragons is not the way to end a war,” Rue insisted. “It just prolongs it.”

  I looked at him now.

  Much had changed in these past weeks at the Citadel, in the Torrent then the Shadow Flight, at the Curia and in the Nameless Sea. Hope and betrayal, life and sudden death. I had changed but perhaps more importantly, so had Rue.

  “Lamos doesn’t deserve dragons,” he said and he stroked my jaw, cupped my spiny chin. “But neither does Remus. We treat our dragons very, very badly.”

  I grunted and smoke curled from one nostril.

  “We’re soldiers, Rue,” said Cirrus. “And we have ord
ers.”

  Rue didn’t turn to look at him.

  “You’ve disobeyed orders before.”

  “We’re all that stands in the face of open war,” Cirrus said. He folded the map, tied it with a leather strip. “How many of our people would you see die when the life of one dragon will stop it.”

  “Two dragons so far,” said Galla. “Chryseum and Jagerstone. This drakina will make three.”

  “And two men,” said Rue.

  “Three,” said Galla. “The espionar paid with his life. You said so yourself, Cirrus.”

  “I’m sorry Rue, but we kill the drakina and then we go home.”

  Rue sighed, stroked my face.

  “It never ends with one,” he said. “It only begins.” My heart swelled at his words. Here was the Rue who had been my kindred spirit, my stick, my fellow freed slave and I was happy to have him back. I arched my neck, pushed my long face into his body. He gasped and staggered back.

  Both Cirrus and Galla bolted to their feet.

  “I’m fine,” said Rue. “It’s nothing.”

  “Show us,” commanded Cirrus.

  Reluctantly, Rue peeled back the layers of leather that protected him, revealing a puncture wound in the middle of his chest. The bruise was the size of his fist, but the wound was puckered, round and oozing.

  It was from me.

  ***

  I remembered the instant it happened. We had been flying blind and I had struck the warship’s mast, spinning violently as the rigging caught my wing. The impact had slammed Rue forward into the spikes of my neck and punctured the leather at his chest. Cirrus was certain that there were several ribs broken, but what worried him most was the sound of Rue’s breathing. If a lung had been pierced by either spike or shattered bone, then Rue could not ride, and if Rue could not ride, then the mission, whether deliverance or deathstroke, was lost.

  While it was still deepest night, Cirrus took Ironwing to find the brine clams that lived on rocky shores and shallow reefs. They had a poisonous jelly inside their shells that could be used to slow the spread of infection and hold back the sensations of pain. He hoped the Wide Eyes would light his path but left us the map in case they didn’t.