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

by H. Leighton Dickson

  This drakina I was to kill was gold.

  I moved beside Aryss to cast my eyes out over the sparkling city. An angry wind was picking up, bringing scents of arcstone, dragon and Hell Down. I could almost see her, this rogue drakina I was meant to kill, and I lashed my tail, tossed my head so that my mane of spikes slapped against my neck. Rogue dragon, indigo dragon, death dragon. No dragon could ever be understood by sticks. They laid words on us to reduce us to the size of their language. This drakina was either slave or free; trapped against her will, or simply doing what dragons did, sitting a nest and hoping for life. I could free her as easily as kill her although I had vowed to Ironwing her death. The thoughts warred within me but I was used to that.

  “We’ll do a sweep first,” said Galla. She laid out the map, was struggling to hold it down with palm and knee as the wind threatened to lift it from the rock. “Take a look at that fourth Hill where the drakina is being held.”

  “How is she being held?” asked Rue. He was hugging his knees and to me, looked very young. “In an open pen or roofed building?”

  “It doesn’t say,” she said.

  “You’d think that if the espionar actually saw her, he’d have drawn it on the map.”

  “Maybe—”

  “Is she laying or has she laid?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because if she’s laid, then we have eggs to consider. Or even hatchlings.”

  “I’m not Cirrus. I don’t know.”

  “He should have told us. That’s important information.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “And now he’s gone, leaving us with a map that answers no question but where.”

  “It’s enough.”

  “And if she’s not there?”

  Galla said nothing, looked down at the map.

  “If we can free her,” he said finally. “We free her.”

  “If,” said Galla. “And if not, Aryss and I will be decoy. The guards will think their dragon escaped and give you a better chance.”

  “To free her.”

  “Yes. Fine. Whatever you want.”

  I would kill her. I had made a vow.

  Rue staggered to his feet when a fit of coughing caused him to double up. Blood splattered on the rock at his feet. He straightened, drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  My chest tightened within me at the sight. He was dying. This boy that had saved my life, shaped me the way waves soften a stone, was dying.

  “Stormfall and I should go alone,” he said. “That was always the plan. That’s why Cirrus wanted the night dragon.”

  “You’re not well.”

  “Well enough for this.”

  “Can you even ride?”

  “I can ride,” he said and he laid a hand on my neck. It felt good, almost like the first days. Life had turned me to stone since then. Life had turned me to ash.

  He couldn’t die.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, folding the map and slipping it back into her golden leather.

  “In case we fail?”

  “To make sure you don’t.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, before he reached a hand toward her. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She reached into a leather pouch, produced three fingers of slime and wiped it across her face. It shimmered like gold in the twilight.

  Rue grunted, pulled out a pouch of his own. Soon, his face was as black as my wings and I understood their strategy. If possible, we were meant to be seen as wild dragons, not a Remoan raiding party. Lamos might think twice if wild dragons brought a rain of fire and destruction on their lands.

  I had already given them a taste of that at Atha Lamos.

  I could smell the gathering clouds, the coming storm, the fury of Hallow Fire and the terror of Hell Down. It was like a billowing wall moving from the east and as the sun fled over the mountains, I looked up at the statues that had been our guardians during the day. I hadn’t truly seen them earlier but now, on the verge of leaving, it was important to me to study them. To truly see them, mark them in my mind like a memory stone.

  They were statues of men, facing the four directions of the world. The one with face to the south was of a man with arms raised to the sky, holding the sun in his hands. The one with face to the west was the same man, holding a sword in one hand and a severed head in the other. The one with face to the north was the man stomping a dragon under his feet and the man with face to the east was holding a dead child in his arms. Such beauty in tragedy and I wondered if this were a common thread in all of life. Sacrifice and fury, death and revenge. Perhaps this was not a thread, but simply life. Perhaps there was nothing beyond these mortal things.

  I snorted as Rue climbed onto my back. I was a Flight Dragon and this was a time of war. I would kill this drakina like a nox and move on.

  With the wind biting at my eyes, I leapt into the sky. The eastern statue watched as I went, dead child of stone in his arms.

  ***

  The wind was loud but my pulse was louder. Flashes of Hallow Fire split the sky and my wings strained against the clouds. I couldn’t get there fast enough. Deathstroke or Deliverance. I didn’t care which. Stormfall wasn’t flying tonight, nor was Warblood. I was Nameless like the sea and I knew it wasn’t only the drakina’s fate that would be determined tonight.

  The Second Hill of Nathens was crowned by an extensive complex of buildings. Curia, ramps, walls and agorae. It was clearly habited, with lanterns flickering between marble columns and torches whipping in the stormy wind. They had no emperor, I had heard. Not like Remus. Lamos was ruled by a council of rich and powerful citizens, and I wondered which of them had given the order to secure a dragon. A bold move, clearly inviting war. We gave it a wide berth and continued east.

  On the Third Hill of Nathens, a solitary temple rose out of the mountain, with columns and pillars, arches and gates. Smoke from incense that struck my nose like a wall. Another statue towered over the complex, this one helmed and holding a golden spear. I debated snatching it with my feet as we flew but I restrained myself and we pressed on toward the fourth.

  Below us, the city sprawled in the darkness, shutters closed over windows to keep out the wind and blowing sand. I could smell her now, dragon scent mixed with shearer blood and arcstone. I wondered if it were deliberate, masking her scent the way the Torrent coated their dragons with coal for the night raids. There would be no need to mask her, I reckoned. There were no other dragons in Lamos to hide from.

  The Fourth Hill now. It was the largest and also the hottest and I angled my wing to ride the rising air around it. The scent of arcstone was very strong and I could smell deep molten fire even in the coolness of the night. How the sacrifice of one small child had kept this mountain from blowing was entirely beyond my understanding. Stick gods were even more confounding than their sticks.

  There were no moons, only Hell Down and Hallow Fire. As I swept around the peak, I could see that this complex was in three sections. A long ramp zig-zagged its way up the hillside to enter through a façade very near the top. It looked like a temple built into the face of the mountain, complete with columns, pillars and arches but I could tell that the bulk of the habitation was within the mountain itself. In some ways, it reminded me of the buildings in the Citadel – half rock, half construct and I wondered if it were hot inside because of the arcstone. I could certainly believe these mountains had breathed flame.

  Maybe long ago these mountains had birthed dragons.

  I swept across the middle section now. Marble arches and a large stone circle opened to the night sky. I could see two torches faltering in the wind and in their light, a small gathering of men guarding an entrance that led back into the mountain like a great open mouth. One man was butchering a shearer, while the others stood and watched. I think they were soldiers but none of them were looking for enemies. None of them were expecting dragons. They were barely awake. Still, I was gratefu
l for the angry clouds and buffeting winds and I began to think how I would kill them.

  On the far side of the stone circle, a half ring of steps like a great outdoor amphitheater. It was very similar to the Citadel’s Crescent Prime and I wondered if those rich rulers ever watched their dragon fight. If so, I would gladly stop at the Second Hill and kill them on my way home.

  Dragonscent wafted on the whipping winds and I could smell gold. She was gold. Gold – rich and beautiful gold and something tugged at corner of my memory. Gold and arcstone, arcstone and gold. But as I’ve said before, dragons can sift through a skyful of smells and instantly pick out those they recognize and those they know.

  This one, I knew. Somehow, I knew.

  Rue bent, squeezing with one leg and I obeyed eagerly, wheeling in mid-air, tucking my wings and diving like a spear. I took the man with the butchered shearer first, crushing his head in my talons as I plucked him off the stone. No one heard over the roar of the winds. No one noticed, wrapped as they were against the buffeting of the clouds. Silently, I dropped the man over the side of the Fourth Hill and wheeled again, setting my sights on the next.

  I was an arrow – no, a cannon ball, dropping towards the group of men at reckless speed. I could feel Rue’s knees tense as he tucked himself deep into my back. Like Celarus’ Landing, like the First Hill of Nathens, I streaked seamlessly through the stone arches, talons extended, just as a flash of Hallow Fire cracked the clouds.

  Two men looked up and I must admit I revelled in their expressions before I landed, crushing them under my weight. I snapped the third in my jaws and flung him over the open side with a toss of my head. Immediately I launched back into the air, taking the last man up with me, my talons piercing his throat as easily as a shaghorn.

  Such fragile creatures. Dragons were far superior.

  Soundlessly I released him into the night sky, the eventual thud of his body masked by the wind and Hell Down. I was Nameless of Many Names, the Night Dragon, Killer of Men and Terror of Flocks. I circled, returning to the arches and the wide circular ring of stone. My talons touched down and I dropped, head low, wings wide, waiting for more to rush from the cavern mouth. They didn’t and I could hear the faint beat of wings as Aryss landed atop the arch above me.

  “Rue!” Galla hissed down over the wind. “What in Hadys are you doing?”

  “Stay there!” he hissed back. “Guard the door!”

  “This is not the plan—”

  “Go,” said Rue.

  There were two torches struggling to hold onto their flame in the whipping winds beside me. I swung my head and closed my teeth over the first, feeling it bite the roof of my mouth before it sizzled and died. Another step and I chomped the second and the landing stone plunged into utter darkness. This was what I needed. I was the Night Dragon. The black was my father, the clouds my cloak. So many years ago, I had fallen from the storm on the shores of Remus. Now, I was falling from the storm on the peaks of Lamos. It was fitting and poetic and altogether perfect for what I would find inside.

  A doorway-without-a-door hewn directly into the mountain and I snaked carefully toward it, swinging my head with each step. I could feel Rue press down against my neck, could feel the racing of his heart against my skin. My eyes adjusted to the blackness as I moved into the cavern, seeing the chiselled walls, the bricks and beams added for reinforcement. The ceiling was very high and it carried along the same angles as the arches and the smell of drakina was very strong.

  Soon, this cavern became a great keep, a dragonhold of brick and arches and iron and mountain rock. I could smell blood and shat and I slowed as the rustle of chains echoed off the stone. There was no light but I needed none. Several wingspans ahead, I could see a pale nest of straw and sticks, the glint of her tail moving as she turned. More chains now and she lifted her great head, breathing me in with a rumble and snort. On my back, Rue was frozen, more a part of me than ever before, terrified and spellbound in equal measure. Together we watched as the drakina spread her glorious wings across the nest and stretched her head toward me, spines flattening along her neck.

  She trilled.

  My heart thudded in its cage at the sound. She was music. She was beautiful and proud and magnificent and wicked and everything I remembered and more.

  Rue let out a long, ragged, wondrous breath.

  “Summerday?”

  Chapter 25

  FACELESS

  Summerday. It was Summerday.

  My heart soared at the very memories of her. Of a wicked young fledgling perched on a bar, nibbling the weeds from my mane. Of a proud, glorious drakina pulling a pilentus under whip in Bangarden. But here, now, and very much alive, Summerday breathed in my scent. And trilled.

  Rue slid off my back, paused only to steady his legs at my side.

  “Summerday?” he repeated.

  She hissed, shrunk back onto her nest, turned her head away from him. The rustle and clink of chains made me furious and I wonder how long she had been imprisoned this way.

  She hissed again as Rue reached forward to ease a stick from the nest. He slid back and held it up to me and with a sharp puff of breath, I lit it. The new torch blazed to reveal a majestic dragonhold with a high arched ceiling and braced stone walls. Many dark doorways led into the mountain itself and I could smell men and iron and arcstone. Along the walls were carcasses of shearers and shaghorns, tallybucks and goswyrms. In one corner, tall urns stored water.

  I studied her now, my glorious Summerday. A great wide leather collar bound her throat, keeping her tethered by a long chain to the wall. Beneath it, I could see the requisite silver band, her scales almost grown around it and I wondered how she was even able to eat. There were perhaps four eggs cradled beneath her legs, all speckled like large pebbles. One leg was chained as well and while she could move about the nest area, I noticed claw marks on the stone floor.

  Life turned dragons to stone. Stars to ash, gold to coal.

  She hissed again and coiled back on the nest, teeth bared, tail lashing. She was as blind as ever but I wondered if that had made her senses sharper, keener.

  And then Rue reached into his satchel and did something I hadn’t expected. He pulled out the pipes and began to play.

  I watched Summerday carefully. Watched her head lower, watched her eyes close. She was back in happier times on the shores of Udan of Venitus, when she fished like the rest of us and was queen of the docks. She grumbled deep in her chest and finally, turned to face to him, reaching out her beak and breathing him in.

  Summerday.

  He lowered the pipes, laid a hand on her muzzle, ran it under to scratch her chin. She purred and my heart leapt at the sound.

  His hands deftly moved to the collar and the large buckle there, dropping it to the floor with a thunk. She shook her mane of golden spines, snapped her beak in satisfaction. He lowered the torch to study the chain at her leg when suddenly, her head lilted in the direction of the cave. She trilled.

  “Gods be damned,” came a voice from a dark doorway. “The soul-boy and his black snake.”

  My head snapped up as the no-faced man stepped into the light.

  ***

  His voice was the echo of nightmares.

  I boiled the acid in my belly. I willed the arcstone into my crop. Master Fisher Brazza Serkus. There would be dragonfire tonight or I would die trying.

  Master Fisher Brazza Serkus. I hated Master Fisher Brazza Serkus. Every scale on my night-black hide hated Master Fisher Brazza Serkus.

  He lit a torch on the side of the wall and the dragonhold was bathed in warm, radiant gold.

  Two guards accompanied him, with helms, breastplates, greaves and shields. With a hiss, I dropped my head low and raised my wings, lashing my tail behind me. I revelled in their faces. I filled them with terror.

  They hesitated only a moment before fanning, pointing spears toward me as if that might stop me. Most likely, they had never seen a drake before, certainly never a war dragon and I did not
need my vanity to know I was surely an impressive sight. In three strides, they could be dinner. In one breath, they would be char. “I would never ever, in all of my years, have thought of this,” Serkus said, stepping into the room. “That your snake would have survived for so long. I did tell the old man he was a slippery one. I did say.”

  His face was no longer raw, but puckered and tight. One eye was pure white, while one ear gone altogether. He had no hair on one side of his head.

  Tonight, I vowed I would finish the job the pirates had started.

  “It was him on the docks the other night, wasn’t it? The ‘wild dragon’ that torched Atha Lamos. He’s already a legend in Nathens. But you, soul-boy? A dragon rider? That’s comedy. Or is it tragedy? Lamos does love its theatre.”

  “You?”

  I didn’t need to look at Rue. He had frozen in place, eyes fixed on his one-time master.

  “What?” said Serkus. “You so surprised?”

  “Why did you do this?” Rue gasped. “You sold your dragons! You sold your ships! You lost everything to the pirates!”

  “I lost everything because of you!”

  “Me? What are you saying?”

  Summerday trilled and Serkus moved over to her, took her face into his arms. It was as big as he was.

  “That’s my beauty,” he said. “You caught that big, black snake again, didn’t you? You a fine girl, you are.”

  He didn’t look up at us, continued to stroke her elegant face.

  “They were coming for my dragons, you shathole. I made a deal with them – ten thousand denari for three young dragons. But you and that damned Flight ruined everything.”

  “That’s not true. Their cannons—”

  “Greedy,” he snapped. “Thought they’d just take what they wanted, cut me out of the deal and pocket the coin. Lamoans are greedy that way. I’ve learned that by now.”