by Lisa McMann
“The palace,” said Astrid. “Oh yes. It’s a beautiful place. Red and purple and gold. It’s not far beyond that line of mountains. Would you like to go there?”
“Indeed I would,” said Florence.
“Then climb aboard.” Astrid dipped her wing and used her tail to help Florence climb on. When Florence was settled, Astrid turned to look at her. “Where to, madam?”
Florence and Simber exchanged a smile and nodded their good-byes. “To Ashguard’s palace, if you please,” said Florence. “It’s just over those mountains.” To Simber she said, “I’ll see you in a day or so.” She glanced at Rohan, who seemed to have pulled himself together a bit after the pep talk and was chatting with Seth while they ate dinner. “If Maiven sends Rohan to the castle, suggest someone go with him.”
Simber nodded. “I will. Be carrreful.”
“Count on it.”
By the time they headed out, it was dark. Florence sent Fifer another message to let her know she was on the way and to expect her in the morning. And then she settled back for a long ride.
* * *
In the palace library, Dev began whittling a new long spear while Fifer paged through the book about killing dragons, looking at the drawings. They discussed what to tell Florence about preparing for an attack, since they hadn’t heard any news from Thisbe.
“Are you sure the dragons can’t hurt your warrior trainer?” Dev asked.
“She’s carved from stone. Fire won’t hurt her. And she says the ghost dragons can’t get hurt. I’m not going to argue. Plus, she’s going to try to drop some components for me. When she gets closer, I’ll tell her where to aim.”
“She’s going to have to throw them from quite a height,” said Dev skeptically.
“She’s got excellent aim. I’m not worried—wait’ll you see her. You’ll get what I mean. Besides, she can’t be hurt, remember?”
“All right. If you say so.” Dev didn’t seem convinced, but he’d never met Florence before and had met only a few living statues in his life. “Why not have Simber come?”
“Simber is susceptible to very hot fires. I’m guessing that’s why.”
The most recent message from Florence came rushing up the stairwell. Fifer read it and looked up. “She’ll be here in the morning. We should probably turn in. I could use some sleep. My nap ended too quickly.”
“I guess that means I’m going to have to hide soon,” said Dev. “I’ll sleep here tonight, but then I’ll go to the alcove when Florence comes in case she gets a look inside the windows. I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Okay,” said Fifer, feeling a bit melancholy at the thought. “And I’m glad you’re feeling better… but please don’t try talking to the dragons again.”
Dev put down the long spear he was carving. He wasn’t making any promises. As he made the rounds, checking the windows for unusual sights, he stopped at the east window. “Hmm,” he said. “The fourth red dragon is back.”
Bombs Away
Once Astrid the ghost dragon cleared the mountain range and the sky began to lighten, Florence strained to see the glorious palace Astrid had spoken about. She tried to imagine Fifer living alone in such a place. It seemed strange.
“It won’t be long now,” said Astrid. She sniffed the air. “I didn’t know that Ashguard kept dragons.”
“The dragons are under the command of the Revinir,” Florence said for probably the eleventh time. “I’m pretty sure Ashguard isn’t there anymore.” Out of everyone, Florence knew the least about the history of this land, but she’d heard stories. “And from what Maiven Taveer told me, I don’t think the palace has been kept up.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Astrid. “You mentioned that once before.”
Florence blinked. “Right.” A sliver of sun appeared to their left and Florence leaned forward, eager to see what they would be going up against. Astrid pointed out the forest and crater lake in the same direction as the sun and the deserted village with the palace straight ahead. It was surrounded by overgrowth and not easy to spot at first, but then Florence spied four red dots making a square on the ground. “Those red things are the dragons,” Florence told Astrid. “Can you get a sense of how big they are? Or… how combative?”
Astrid was quiet for a long moment as she sampled the air. “They aren’t large like ghost dragons,” she said. “Maybe half the size—average for adults. A bit larger than that dark purple friend of yours, I’d say.”
“Anything else you can detect?” asked Florence, feeling relieved that the dragons weren’t as enormous as Gorgrun and Quince. Though they were still dragons. But Florence was betting on the fact that these were no different from the ones that flew aimlessly through the skies under the Revinir’s mind control and would be somewhat oblivious to things. And even though they’d attacked Fifer’s birds, perhaps they’d just seen them as food rather than intruders. Neither Astrid nor Florence looked like food.
“They seem docile,” said Astrid. “But that could change.”
Florence quickly sent a message to alert Fifer that they were approaching. Minutes later she received a response to drop the supplies through a hole in the roof if possible—that way the dragons wouldn’t torch them.
There was still something fishy about the way Fifer was behaving. Perhaps it was just communicating through messages that was hard to get used to. Not being able to hear Fifer’s voice or detect her tone made it difficult to tell how she was handling things. Her letters seemed quick and formal, and she didn’t give Florence a lot of detail. She also seemed very matter-of-fact in this odd situation, which is partly what made Florence suspicious that perhaps Fifer was being forced to write like that. She couldn’t tell what was up, and it was driving her crazy.
Where are you in the palace? Florence wrote back, and watched where the component went.
At the top of the center tower, inside the bulb, came the response. Her description of the building location matched what Florence could see. So at least that made sense.
Florence studied the broken-down palace as they drew close. It looked abandoned and unsafe. Sure enough, there were two holes in the roof, close together. Maybe there was a way to get a peek inside. “Okay, Astrid,” said Florence. “Stay nice and high as we fly over the property. I don’t think the dragons will do anything since you’re a dragon too, but we want to be very careful.”
Astrid agreed and stayed aloft. Florence could see the red dragons on the ground standing up and craning their necks to see what was flying into the airspace above the palace. They began moving but stayed primarily in their corners. Florence looked down at the roof. It was too far below them to guarantee an accurate drop of the components into one of the holes—they looked like dots from this height. Astrid sailed across the property toward the orchard. One of the red dragons took flight, then circled and settled again.
Astrid soared over the abandoned village and turned around. “Now what?” she asked.
“Let’s return. A little lower.”
Astrid flew back over the property, dropping slightly. Florence kept a close eye on the red dragons. They were definitely aware of the ghost dragon and her rider, but none of them seemed threatened enough to come for them. She took one of the ropes and tied the end around the sack of components. Perhaps lowering it would give it a better chance of hitting the right spot… and maybe Fifer could use the rope for something too.
Florence peered back at the south window of the onion-bulb tower as they crossed the property line. Sure enough, there was Fifer, pressed against the pane, seemingly alone. Florence waved, and Fifer waved back.
Once they made it without incident to the other side, Florence repeated the order, having Astrid drop a little farther and go a little slower. “I’m going to try to lower this sack of supplies through one of the holes in the roof,” she explained. “If I miss, it’ll get stuck on the rooftop and won’t do anybody any good. So we need to get it right.”
“I think we can make t
his happen,” said Astrid. “I’m not sensing any serious animosity toward me coming from below. Just a little prickliness.”
“Great. Let’s get as close as you dare, then, and circle around the roof hole.”
Astrid slowed her airspeed and dropped lower, doing her best to look casual about it to those below. Florence lay on her stomach across Astrid’s back, arms outstretched and letting down the rope with the sack of supplies. Astrid circled and Florence kept the rope dangling as she waited for the perfect moment to let go.
Just as Florence was about to make the drop, movement at the back of the property caught her eye. One of the dragons had lifted off. It let out a roar and a blast of flames as it called to the other three.
Astrid jerked upward and abandoned circling. Florence cringed, forced to make a split decision, and let go of the rope. She watched as it barely missed its mark and stuck on the roof.
The other three dragons took flight and roared back to the first. They came straight for Astrid and Florence. “Hang on!” said Astrid.
The warrior trainer scrambled to sit upright. She reached for her bow and nocked a magical arrow as the four red dragons came at them from all directions. “Go, Astrid!” Florence cried, then let the arrow fly at the nearest dragon. It missed and soared over its head. She pulled another out as Astrid flew jerkily, trying to find her best path to safety without running into one of the attackers.
But the red dragons were faster. Florence aimed for the creature’s open mouth and let loose another arrow. This time it hit, flying straight up the nostril instead and disappearing. The dragon shrieked and roared. Then its eyes rolled back into its head and it started falling, spiraling all the way down and crushing one of the corner towers. The palace shook.
Florence stared. She’d killed it with a direct hit up the nostril. Had it gone to its brain? Was that the secret? Was that the most vulnerable part of a dragon? “Move away from the palace!” Florence cried. She had to draw the dragons away from the structure so they didn’t accidentally crush Fifer if they went down. Astrid did her best as the dragons roared at them from three sides, now. Florence took aim again but held off releasing the arrow until the dragons weren’t directly above the palace. Astrid darted upward with one of the dragons on her tail. Florence, trying to keep her aim steady, took the shot and nailed the second dragon in the same place. It fell much like the first, narrowly missing the palace and landing with a hard thud on the property below.
The other two dragons were fully charged now, and they came after Astrid. One of them took the ghost dragon’s neck in its mouth and yanked her around while the other barreled for Florence. Before the warrior trainer could get off another fatal shot, the dragon plowed into her, knocking her off balance. Her bow went flying out of her hands and fell to the ground. Florence grabbed on to the red dragon’s face and pried its mouth open as its back end bucked. It roared, engulfing Florence in flames, but they only blinded her momentarily.
Then the red dragon reached out with its front claws and tried to grab the stone warrior, but its claws merely left long, shallow scratches in her. Florence hung on to it, frustrating the beast. It swung around violently, nearly throwing Florence into the air. Quickly she let go of it and grabbed for Astrid, but her fingers grasped only the ethereal cloudiness of the ghost dragon’s body, and she started sliding. Astrid tried to help, but the second remaining dragon came roaring back and head-butted Florence off.
With an angry yell, the Magical Warrior trainer dropped like a bomb to the ground and smashed into a hundred pieces.
A Giant Puzzle
Fifer gasped when she saw Florence hit the ground. “Oh my God!”
Dev, who’d begun his careful but harried return from the alcove after witnessing the first red dragon hit the corner tower on its way down, came running into the library. “We need to take cover!” he cried.
“But look!” said Fifer, pointing out the east window to the ground. She couldn’t bear to say Florence’s name. The warrior’s body had broken into chunks, and the impact had scattered the pieces over a wide swath of the yard like some horrifying art project gone wrong. None of the pieces moved. Nearby lay a writhing, dying red dragon.
“Holy—” Dev began, then stared. “What happened? Is that Florence? Is she… dead?”
Fifer gripped her head in shock. She’d never imagined anything more horrible than seeing the iconic Magical Warrior trainer and dear friend defeated and destroyed so violently. “I don’t know,” Fifer whispered.
“We need to take cover,” Dev said again, more urgently. “The northwest tower is smashed to pieces.” When Fifer didn’t move, Dev grabbed her hand and pulled her to the stairwell. They went down a flight and crawled behind the stone and iron steps, hoping they were strong enough to protect them if anything else came slamming down from the sky.
Through the tower window, Dev and Fifer could occasionally see the remaining two dragons swoop by, and then they caught sight of the ghost dragon who was trying to fight them, knowing she wasn’t allowed to kill them. “It’s Astrid!” Dev said.
Fifer didn’t know Astrid, and she didn’t care about her either—not right now, anyway. Florence’s body was destroyed and scattered across the front lawn. The shock was so great that Fifer was having a hard time believing what she’d seen. Could Florence really be dead? The warrior trainer had said the dragons couldn’t hurt her. But she hadn’t anticipated this.
“At least she got two of them,” Dev said. “She helped us a lot.”
Fifer cringed and buried her face, not wanting to talk about anything like that. “This is horrifying,” she whispered. “Florence’s death is the end of Artimé. We’re nothing without her.”
Dev was taken aback. How could Fifer feel so strongly about a statue? And how could Florence be so important to Artimé when she hadn’t even been a part of all of the rescues the Artiméans had done in the land of the dragons? But he could see Fifer was shocked and stunned. After a while, glancing helplessly her way, he said, “This has to end soon. Let me know if I can do anything to help you.”
* * *
Eventually Astrid lost interest in fighting, or forgot what she was doing, and flew away alone. The two remaining red dragons landed, one at the front and one at the back of the property, apparently settling back in to work. When all had been quiet for some time, Fifer and Dev went downstairs to the courtyard and tentatively poked their heads out. From there they could see pieces of Florence’s body and one of the slain dragons. Fifer ventured outside a few more steps, not sure what to expect from the dragon guards at this point. She motioned for Dev to stay near the tower—she didn’t want him to get attacked in case the dragons were still riled up over him roaring. And she went alone to the yard to assess… well, everything.
Fifer gripped her head, utterly blown away. Florence, broken into a hundred pieces, was even more tragic close up. She almost didn’t want to see how strange it looked for Florence’s head to be severed from her neck and split in two halves from her headpiece to her chin. She knelt. “Is there any way to fix this?” she murmured. Could she possibly bring the statue back to life again? If so, how?
There was a time when Simber had completely disintegrated into a pile of sand, but Aaron had been able to bring him back. Panther had split in two, and Alex had brought her back. Not to mention all of the other less debilitating things that had happened to statues over the years. Even Florence had lost her lower legs once, but Ms. Octavia had been able to repair them, and the warrior woman had been as good as new.
But this was a little different. Just looking at Florence’s broken head made it obvious that Florence wasn’t “alive” at the moment. Perhaps the trauma had been so great that it immediately put the statue in a resting state, as if the world had ended, until something could be done to fix her. Fifer had no clue how to do that. But maybe Aaron could tell her.
Unfortunately, the two send spells that Fifer and Florence had sent back and forth were unusable for Aaron—try as
she might, the spell had Florence’s name assigned to it, and that couldn’t be changed. Fifer looked around the grounds, wondering if Florence had been carrying the bag of spells when she got knocked down. She didn’t see it anywhere, though it was hard to find anything in the tall brush. If it wasn’t inside the palace, she’d have to comb the entire property in case it had fallen somewhere during the fight. Hopefully, one of the dead dragons hadn’t landed on it.
That was another problem. What were they supposed to do with these slain dragons? Maybe Dev had ideas. But that was the least of her worries. Fifer looked over her shoulder and saw Dev inching his way across the pavers toward her. The living dragons didn’t seem to care a whit about him now. She motioned for him to come.
“Is it very bad?” Dev asked.
“Yes,” said Fifer. “It’s terrible. But there’s a chance I can restore her. When it first happened, I thought she was dead for good. But now that I’ve had a chance to think, I remember other statues being brought back through a specific kind of spell. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do it. But I can find out, if we only had another send spell.”
“Did Florence drop the sack of supplies?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can help look.”
“I asked her to try to drop them through the roof holes. Do you want to start there?”
Dev seemed relieved to do something. “Yes. I’ll let you know if I find them.”
“When you’re done, come back down. I’ll need some help dragging pieces of Florence to put her back together. She’s pretty heavy.” Fifer hesitated, noticing for the first time that Dev had his shirt on and buttoned today. “How are your burns feeling?”
Dev nodded. “Much better. But I’ll be careful.” He hesitated. “I hope she’ll be okay.”
