War Dragons

by C. K. Rieke

  The swirling sands looked exactly like what Lilaci had hoped to form, a half-orb that was flat on the bottom like that of the top of a finely crafted wine glass, fit for a queen. The soldier was lifted a dozen feet in the air, and as Lilaci let her hands move slowly toward the other side of the river, the orb followed the path her hands were pointed in.

  This is even easier than I thought it would be, I should be able to do this with a wagon with ease. Even two at a time. I wonder if I could do the whole caravan at... Ouch!

  She felt a sudden boot heel stomping on her toes then, and as she looked down to find the boot heel being pulled back, she traced the boot up to a grin on Fewn’s face. It took Lilaci a second to realize she’d lost focus on the Sanzoral, and the heavy soldier was already tumbling down toward the water, and landed with a high-rising splash, as the sands of the spell fell to the water. The soldier found his feet and gasped for air once his head was above water.

  She looked to Alveron, who seemed unimpressed and glared at Fewn, who simply lifted her shoulders.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I just couldn’t help myself...”

  Then Lilaci looked at Burr, who started laughing, letting his head fall back and put his hands on his torso as he belted laughter.

  A half hour later all the wagons were safely and delicately laid on the other shore. She’d sent them over two at a time by half-orbs of sand, this time with no distraction from Fewn. Lilaci wouldn’t have lost her concentration this time, as she’d be expecting it, but Gogenanth ended up sending Fewn many paces back anyway.

  Now the soldiers and the Ioxi were being led across. Lilaci then gathered her friends, Alveron and Burr onto a disk of sand that stretched a dozen feet in diameter, and they rose. Levitating over the river, and watching those below watch them back, Lilaci heard Alveron whisper under his breath, Incredible.

  Hours later, as the bright yellow sun was fading to a burnt orange color, and the troops were readying themselves to let the caravan rest, pitching their tents and starting their fires. As the Ioxi slowed, and the wagon wheels creaked to a halt, Lilaci heard the murmur of Kera’s snoring, as she always seemed to awaken at that moment each day, even just at the anticipation of eating dinner. Lilaci stopped her walk next to the wagon and pulled up a linen from the pouch at her side and wiped her brow.

  Fewn dropped her back to the wagon wheel and breathed out deeply. Lilaci looked back and saw Veranor stretching out his muscles and limbs, twisting from side to side at the hip, and reaching high up toward the auburn clouds above. Then his eyes met hers, and he walked over toward her. Gogenanth appeared from out behind the back side of the wagon.

  Veranor stood before her, his gaze turning toward the lead of the army, where Alveron and Burr were, and looking out to the south. “Walk with me,” he said, his eyes still examining the dunes, rolling along the horizon, with the sharp texture of the dead trees spread throughout the desert like a prickly brush used to comb short hair.

  Lilaci was a bit surprised, if only for the fact they rarely left Kera. But she looked down to Fewn, who’d heard his request, and she simply shrugged and nodded, giving the affirmation that they’d watch after her. He noticed that and walked off, southward, and she followed.

  The soldiers noticed, but didn’t say anything, probably from their newfound respect—or fear—of Lilaci and her powers. For all they knew she could kill the entire army if she pleased. I wonder if my powers are that great now. If there was no wizard or sorceress in a battle, that I could kill that many in one battle. That truly would be a terrible gift I possess. But then again, if I can move a dune, couldn’t I topple one on top of an army, burying it until the winds decided to reveal the massacre?

  They continued through the ranks of the Whiteblades, and after ten minutes reached the outer guards, readying their posts for their lookout positions. The guards didn’t give them a second look, as they went to stoking their fires for their dinners. No need to worry about her out there on her own, they were probably thinking.

  “What is it?” Lilaci asked, slowing her walk, but looking to the southern sky.

  “I want to talk to you about our situation,” he said, looking at the same sky, both of their tan capes were rustling in the breeze, and their shadows were stretched long to their left. “I’ve made my point clear, but I need you to hear me this time. They are not here for us. They are here for their own ends. The Knights of the Whiteblade care no more for Kera than they do the meal they’re preparing to satiate their hunger. And you know after their supper this night, their stomachs will growl again tomorrow, and they’ll need a new meal, and the same will follow the next day and so forth. She’s just a tool for them. We can’t trust them.”

  “I trust Burr,” she said, turning to him, and they both stopped facing each other. She examined the crossing scars on his face, and his hardened eyes under dark, thick eyebrows.

  “I do not,” he said flatly. “I trust that he does care for Kera. I will give him that. But I believe he is blinded by his love of his family—this army. His pride is stealing him away from her. You know I’m right in this. He’s distracted.”

  She paused in thought, but she couldn’t refute that argument. “What if we need them just as much as they need us? Isn’t that the definition of an alliance?”

  He showed a slight grin in the corner of his mouth. “I taught you well.”

  She crossed her arms and turned back south, letting out a sigh.

  He seemed to be waiting for a response, and she began walking again, he followed.

  “So, what do you propose?” she asked.

  “We leave,” he said. “With Gogenanth’s magic, we would be able to leave in the night, perhaps paired with your own magic. In the night we could be off.”

  “What about their scouts?” she asked. “They’d spot us.”

  “We could deal with them,” he said.

  “You want to go to war again with this army?” She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable. You think it safer for Kera to not only be at war with the gods, but to be hunted by an army the size of this? You want her to be on the run again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Because you don’t like them?”

  “We did just fine on our own before,” he said.

  “What?” she said, turning to him, her temper beginning to flare up. “Being attacked out on the sands? Almost dying at the hands of Reevins? Dragons? Have you forgotten that Roren died?”

  He paused. “The Reevins are weakened; their queen dead. The only dragons are at the Dune of the Last Dragon, and we can handle any foes that creep out of the shadow, just as we always did. Remember, we are strong, we have nothing to fear out there. We will make it to Firen-ar safely. No army will help us once there anyways. The gods will easily kill them off before they even reach the castle. They are weak.”

  “I disagree with you,” she said. “Kera has far less chance of being attacked—we all do—within the middle of this army.”

  “But out there, we trust each other, we can sleep soundly. Here,” he said, “have you found a moment of sound sleep, not keeping one ear perked up, or one eye half-open?”

  She didn’t disagree.

  “Just think about it,” he said. “It's up to you, and up to Kera, but I wanted to reiterate what my soul tells me is right.”

  “Your soul?” she laughed, but then stopped, as she suddenly felt a pang of small guilt well up inside of her. Do I feel bad that I may have offended him? After all he did to me. That’s a strange feeling. Then for some reason, her past began to roll through her head again, about him taking her away from Gogenanth, about his locking her in his compound to ‘train’ her, and about the spell his mages placed on her to make her forget her family and make her a weapon. Is there a chance he’s using me now?

  “All creatures have souls,” he said. “I’m not exempt, even if mine may be more scarred than most. Just think about it. You know how I feel. We would be safer out on our own. Now, shall we be ge
tting back to the others?” He left his hands out, back north toward the caravan, ushering her to lead the way.

  She began to walk back toward the caravan and the army spread out almost a mile wide, and the thought came to her—for the first time in quite a while—Does he want us to leave the army for his own purposes... Is Veranor the one who will betray me?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Two weeks passed.

  Two dry weeks.

  Two weeks of not being attacked along the long road to Scindír—which Lilaci happily enjoyed. Especially as the pain in her joints was growing. Her ankles burned so ferociously one evening from the walk that she finally gave in to the pain and hitched herself by the driver on Kera’s cart. She said she just wanted an elevated vantage point, but she knew the truth... the curse was growing within her quickly and more rampant. She knew she needed to find a way to lift it, or who knew how many years, months or days she had left.

  She caught her reflection once in a shield one of the soldiers had propped up, laying against the wagon that rolled behind Kera’s. She tried to avoid inadvertently looking at her reflection since that time, as she saw her black hair had grown silver on the sides of her head, and the hair was much coarser. She missed her long, silky hair.

  Lilaci was sitting cross-legged at the fire that warmed her and the others in the cool night breeze. Kera was nestled into Ezmerelda’s side, and her eyelids looked heavy as she stared into the flickering orange fire as it popped and snapped. Ezmerelda had her head resting on Kera’s as she ran her fingers through Kera’s black hair.

  Gogenanth prodded the fire with Ezmerelda’s sword. Fewn sat next to Veranor across from the fire, and Burr sat next to Lilaci. He had seemed to make it a point to spend every night dining with them by the fire, perhaps to show his solidarity and defense of his friends. It had seemed to work as much as it needed to. They’d had very little altercations with the Knights of the Whiteblade in those two weeks. But Lilaci could tell something was brewing within their ranks.

  The knights were getting more and more rowdy every night since that incident which Burr had to intervene in. The mead and wine seemed to be flowing more easily through the camp. Perhaps it was just through their boredom, or their perceived invulnerability in their numbers, and because they’d defeated the Reevins—whose reputation had been one of infamy for at least the last hundred years. It was said their descendants were born on the continent of Sarcasus, far off to the northwest. Their elders had to flee because of a volcano eruption there a long time ago, and they found their way to the desert, eventually finding—or renewing—their taste for human flesh. Lilaci doubted anyone would miss them if they were indeed extinct now.

  Veranor and Fewn were concerning themselves with some conversation that had to do with defensive measures in the art of fighting known to the Scaethers as Jonjico. Lilaci had thought a lot about her conversation with Veranor, but he hadn’t mentioned it again since. He probably figured he’d gotten his point across, and that decision ultimately rested with her and Kera.

  She couldn’t help but shake Alveron from her mind.

  There’s something dark about him. I can’t quite place what it is, but he has spent his whole life in hiding—that would certainly do things to someone’s head. But Burr doesn’t seem like he has some secret, dark part of him. He seems hardened, maybe that’s just a shell though to hide the gentle hurt inside of him though. The Whiteblades are a group that has known more pain and loss than almost any other. They’ve been hunted for generations by us.

  Maybe the pixie was wrong.

  I’m going to keep an eye on Veranor anyways.

  “We’re only another seven days away,” Burr said, looking over at Kera as he lay back, propped up on his elbows in the firelight. He cleared his throat. “That makes you anxious, or excited?” Lilaci thought about the answer to the question, but he continued before she had the chance to speak. “Still no sign of the dragons there, last we heard they’re still up at Kôrran’s mountain. Sure would be easier if we never had to tangle with those monsters again.”

  “They’re not monsters,” Kera said, lifting her head from Ezmerelda’s side and seeming wide-awake then. “They’re... they’re just lost.”

  “They sure killed a lot of innocent people in Voru,” Burr said softly to her, not wanting to upset Kera.

  She slunk back down to Ezmerelda’s side. “I know. But they’re dragons.”

  Ezmerelda’s lips curled up, and her chest began to rattle from her refrained laughter.

  Burr and Lilaci noticed and began to laugh.

  “What do you mean?” Ezmerelda asked Kera. “Just because they’re dragons they can kill whomever they want?”

  “No,” Kera said. “You just don’t understand them like I do. The way Herradax speaks... You’d understand.”

  Everyone at the fire immediately perked up and there was a tenseness that could have been cut with a knife.

  “Kera...?” Lilaci said, leaning in toward her. “Does Herradax speak to you?”

  “Well, yeah, kind of...”

  “What does she say?” Veranor asked slowly.

  “Tough to translate,” she said, staring into the fire, seemingly trying to concentrate.

  “When does she talk to you?” Lilaci asked, with her fingers caressing her chin.

  “I guess it started a week or so ago, did I not mention it?”

  “No,” Burr, Gogenanth, and Fewn all said at once.

  “How does she speak?” Burr asked, now sitting up and leaning in. “What language? How often? Can you talk back?”

  “Slow down,” Lilaci said to him, with her fingers gently pressed against his shoulder. “Kera, tell us more please.”

  “It’s not like she speaks a language,” Kera said, trying to find the right words. “She doesn’t have to move her lips, her thoughts just kind of come to me, even when she’s flying. It’s just bits and pieces of her thoughts and feelings, but they can be... vivid.”

  “How so?” Lilaci asked.

  “She thinks about eating a lot,” Kera said. “It's not like she said to me, ‘I’m hungry.’ I just feel her hunger, and I get really hungry then. Last time I ate until my belly was out to here.” She held her hand out a couple of inches off her stomach.

  “Can you hear her now?” Veranor asked, his eyes were wide and wild with the reflection of the fire.

  Kera closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “What’s she doing?” Burr asked hastily.

  “She’s... she’s flying.”

  “What else?” Ezmerelda asked. “Do you know where she is?”

  “She’s flying high, really high up, and Kôrran is with her, flying behind. It’s dark, and there aren’t many clouds.” Kera’s eyes seemed to be moving around behind her closed eyelids. “There’s something off in the distance though, it's really dark, and it’s hard to see, but it's like a big mountain. It looks familiar, but it's dark and foggy. Wait, there’s something behind it... water... It's the sea. They are by the sea!”

  “Kera,” Lilaci said slowly, as if what she was about to say was of great importance, and she wanted Kera to hear every syllable distinctly. “Do you see a great dragon carved in the mountain? Are you seeing Duen Utülm Drakon?”

  “That’s it! Now I remember it, we went there together Fewn...” Then Kera’s eyes shot wide open, staring at the fire, then getting up from Ezmerelda’s side and standing up, turning and facing up to the north.

  “What is it?” Fewn asked, standing too. All of them around the fire were watching Kera, and a nervousness fell over all of them.

  “A dragon, one of them we fought before, it's bigger and meaner now. Its soul feels dark. It was flying, and I felt Herradax, she was... not afraid... that’s not the right word. She was nervous, I think for Kôrran. The dragon is mad all right. It had death on its mind as it flew off the cliff of the mountain.”

  “Which direction was it flying?” Gogenanth asked.

  “Along the
seashore. To the right.”

  “Scindír,” Burr said, looking back at Lilaci.

  “Or it could be out after us,” Veranor said, standing suddenly.

  “Do you know where it's going?” Lilaci asked Kera.

  “No, its mind is like a fog, almost simple in its thought, it just wants to burn.”

  “Whether it is out after us, or out to destroy Scindír,” Veranor said, “we are still many days out from the city. The dragon will get there well before us.”

  “So many will die,” Ezmerelda said, covering her mouth. “And we won’t get there in time to stop it. Dânoz just wants blood now. He doesn’t care whose it is.”

  Burr rose to his feet then, “I’ve got to speak at once with Alveron about this. Thank you Kera.” And he ran off quickly.

  “There’s nothing we can do, is there?” Kera asked her friends, and not one of them had an answer for the girl who stood in front of the fire with her skinny arms hanging loosely at her sides, and her lips began to quiver.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Over the next week Kera grew more and more upset by the dragon’s flight from the mountain carved with the Great Dragon Kôrran to Scindír. Lilaci had been growing worried for her, but she also had to admit to herself there was no good end in sight. A dragon could fly at great speed, and their caravan had to trudge along slowly between the dunes.

  That week passed nonetheless, and every single person in the caravan was growing eager—and anxious to see the city. They were close now, very close. Less than a day away, Veranor had reckoned. They knew what Scindír would behold to them once they finally arrived; it was bound to be wrought with death, and a ferocious dragon, hungry for blood.

  It was just after midday, Lilaci and Fewn walked hand in hand next to Kera’s wagon. Which Kera was sitting up at the front of the wagon next to the soldier who clenched onto the reins a little too tightly. The caravan was silent, and all that was heard was the creaking of the wagon wheels grinding on the axles, and the wind—the hot wind blowing in their faces from the east. Kera stared eastward with an intensity that even surprised Lilaci.