Heir of the Dragon

by Anna Logan

  “And,” Terindi spoke tentatively, she didn’t usually contribute to planning or strategizing, “what if Wylan and the twins and Ami need our help? Maybe...we should go find them?”

  Skyve gave an apathetic sort of shrug. “It’s probably all we can do. We know they started out from Kemdaro, we can backtrack by their most likely route and see if we…” He sighed. “Happen upon them.”

  She was tempted to tell him to be optimistic, just for once in his life. Instead, she nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

  After days of simply waiting, only moving campsites, never going anywhere or doing anything, it was rather a relief to pack up their gear and set out with a goal. Any relief was squashed by the dread of what she expected to find...or not to find.

  They had been traveling for two days, taking them out of the Obsidian Woods, when a patrol of ten Kaydorian soldiers on celiths spotted them. By the time Terindi noticed and pointed them out, the patrol was already fleeing to carry the news of their location to Aydimor.

  Rikky swore. “We can’t let them get away!”

  Pulling up her hood and mask—not that it mattered much, the Tarragon had seen them without it—Talea spurred Ember after them. “Let’s go!”

  Seeing the pursuit, the group of ten soldiers split, seven in one direction, three in the other.

  “I’ve got the three!” Waving for Skyve, Rikky, and Terindi to follow the other seven, she angled Ember after the smaller group. Aiming while galloping was difficult, but after a few lightning bolts, she’d taken down two. Before she hit the third, the soldier stopped his celith and turned to face her.

  Her muscles tensed. She couldn’t kill him when he was just...sitting there.

  Slowing Ember, she approached to within thirty feet and stopped. They stared at each other, she at his iron helmet, he at her hood and mask. “I surrender,” he said after a moment. Her breath snagged. A tingling shiver washed over her entire body.

  His voice...she knew it. She knew him.

  Rando EslemDre.

  The boy in her school that at one time...years ago...she’d fancied she might marry. “Rando?” Her voice cracked.

  He went statue-still. Even under the armor, she imagined she could still see his oddly sloped shoulders. He removed his helmet, and there he was—older, less gaunt, and with less of the awkward boyishness. But the same downturned puppy-dog eyes, the same nose that was a little too big. “Are you...Talea?”

  She pulled down her hood and mask, nodding jerkily and more than necessary, unable to stop.

  Rando’s eyes, that always used to be so soft and warm, were now accusing. “You’re one of the rebels with the...witchcraft.”

  “It’s not witchcraft, I’ve had it since I was eight, I…” Now she was shaking her head. “You’re...a Kaydorian?”

  He pulled back, as if offended that she would even ask. “Yes, I am. Why shouldn’t I be? He’s made Zentyre so much better.” He spread out an arm, as if to indicate the region around them. “Do you know what it’s like back home? No one starves anymore! But you...this war...why? Why would you attack your own region?”

  There were unbidden tears on her cheeks. “For the San Quawr...my race...you know Kaydor has killed so many of them...we just want to defeat him and stop the Eradication.”

  His frown had more understanding, but it was still just as cold. “I don’t like the Eradication. But still...I never thought you were capable of…” His gaze strayed to his fallen companions. “So much killing.”

  Whatever endurance or determination or trust she’d been relying on...she was grasping for it now and it wasn’t there. Because he was right. When had she become a killer? When had she become able to slaughter thousands...and still consider herself in the right?

  She was crying, trying to explain, trying to defend what she herself couldn’t tolerate. And he was riding away. He would ride straight to Aydimor...she had to stop him…

  She couldn’t.

  And then Rikky flew by on his celith. The scream died on her tongue—Rikky had already taken Rando down with a single lightning bolt. Only then would the cry come, then, when it was too late. She kicked Ember mercilessly, racing to where he’d fallen, dismounting before the mare had even stopped. On her knees beside Rando, she lifted his head onto her lap. His breathing was ragged, his eyes darting every direction wildly. And then they landed on her. She barely heard his whisper: “Why?”

  He thought she had fired the lightning bolt.

  “No, Rando, no! I didn’t…” But his eyes were rolling back, his skin becoming waxy and slack. A few more gasping breaths, and he was completely still.

  She stood up. Took a few steps back. Dizziness was making her hands shake. A hollow, airy feeling in her chest. This wasn’t real...somehow, it was all wrong…Rando wasn’t dead, he wasn’t one of the thousands of Kaydorian corpses on her conscience.

  “Lea?” Rikky appeared at her side. She couldn’t move, to answer or respond in anyway. “Hey,” he shook her arm, as if trying to wake her, “what’s wrong?”

  Everything was wrong. Rikky’s voice was fuzzy, through the pulsing in her ears. His touch was too hot, he was too close and too far away, Rando’s presence was bigger than it should have been, she could feel him lying there. It was all wrong.

  Rikky was pulling her away. She didn’t want to leave, she couldn’t resist, she followed him to their celiths. Skyve and Terindi were there, asking what was the matter. Trying to get her to respond.

  “We grew up together,” she heard herself say.

  “The Kaydorian?” Rikky blinked. “Oh. I’m...sorry.” His hand was on her arm again, he was hesitating, then he hugged her. No more tears—she lay her cheek against his chest and stared at nothing until her eyes lost focus.

  The daze passed after they’d been riding for a while...sort of. She still couldn’t grasp it. Memories of Rando, going to school together, conversations, dancing together the night she’d met Wylan...they played over and over in her mind, leaving no room for anything else. Whenever she tried to remind herself that no, he was dead—it wouldn’t stick. She’d just picture his younger self with his awkward smile and puppy-dog eyes and sloped shoulders.

  But she could answer the questions her friends asked. She could ride and analyze their surroundings and drink from a canteen and feel the chilly air contrasted by warm sunshine. Was she fine? Maybe nothing was wrong.

  It felt wrong.

  It felt mechanical. After a while she found herself standing in a fully set up camp and telling Skyve to do a perimeter check, without being able to remember having set up any tents or even dismounting Ember.

  And then, awhile after that, Skyve was racing back with the Tarragon on his heels.

  Even then, she was unphased. Stand beside Terindi and throw lightning bolts, with low enough voltage to avoid killing. Try a wave.

  Only when efforts to prevent the battle failed and the fighting actually started, did she snap.

  I can’t do this.

  Her iron sword in one hand, an electrical in the other, she had been separated from Terindi and was fighting a handful of Tarragon alone. The only reason she was managing was because they clearly wanted her alive, and that gave her an advantage. Except, she wanted them alive, too. I can’t kill them.

  Still, there were six of them and one of her. The connection to her senses returned as her muscles began to burn. Exhaustion led to lethargy. And suddenly there was an elbow flying toward her face. It felt more like a wall when it hit. She was on the ground, trying to process what had happened, and why she couldn’t see and her whole head felt swollen and pressurized and why her ears were ringing.

  Then she was looking up, through a smattering of black dots in one eye, and there was Zoper. Recognizable by the two cutlasses that gleamed in either hand. His helmet was on. He didn’t remove it like he always had in the past. He didn’t make a greeting or a joke or some other rather inappropriate remark considering the circumstances. Instead, he stepped toward her and when he spoke
, the hardness of his voice was as frightening as his words. “I have to kill you.”

  What?

  One of the Tarragon that she’d been fighting had stepped back; now he returned, head tilted. “I thought Kaydor wanted—”

  “I have to kill her!” Zoper came closer. Close enough that he could take a swing with his cutlass and slit her throat at any moment. “It’s better than delivering you to him for torture,” was his whisper.

  She blinked. Her head was so heavy...had she heard right? Zoper was going to kill her?

  He’s going to kill me.

  Talea scrambled to get up, exactly as he attacked. Raw, frantic fear made her movements swift, but his blade still tore a gash in her thigh. A scream escaped the lungs that she thought were too tight to make a sound. Muscle memory took over. She spun the long way around and jumped, tucking herself momentarily into a much smaller target and dodging his next swing. When she landed, the momentum carried her into a series of offensive strikes. Except the cut to her leg must have been as bad as it felt—her knee buckled. It threw off her aim. He had to parry a couple of sloppy slices, and then she was on the ground again. His cutlass was cold against her neck.

  Rikky had called her name. He’d heard her scream, he would be forcing his way through however many enemies necessary to get to her.

  Not quick enough. Zoper could kill her at any second he chose—unless she killed him first.

  And that she couldn’t do.

  He drew in a long breath. It shook. Her hood had fallen down and she stared at the eyes she couldn’t quite see under his dragon helmet, and knew he was staring back.

  The cool steel of his blade left her skin. He was pulling it back for the strike. A deep, uncontrollable terror had settled over her. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to die, but she couldn’t stop it. She squeezed her eyes shut...blackness.

  Was that what awaited her?

  Void?

  “Captain!” It was the same Tarragon that had questioned him earlier.

  She opened her eyes. Zoper was walking away. He made a vague gesture with his cutlass. “You do it.”

  The men that had disengaged to let their captain have the kill came forward again. The void was gone, and she wasn’t letting it come back. Talea sprang to her feet, mindful to keep her weight on her good leg, to receive their swords.

  Except now they were fighting to kill her. She was on a constant retreat to keep from being surrounded, until she backed right into another Tarragon. He took advantage of her surprise to wrap his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Before she could respond with her electricity, two of the men she’d been fighting had grabbed her hands and held them tightly with their leather gloves. When she made too much of a struggle, one kicked the gash in her thigh. The pain took her breath away.

  With her subdued and at their mercy, they seemed unsure what to do.

  “Umm…” one looked at each of his companions, “does he really want us to kill her?”

  The pain was still fiery and throbbing through her entire leg, and her head felt like a rock. She couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid, even as they discussed whether to kill her.

  They didn’t get the chance to make the decision. Rikky appeared with his swords a constant blur of silver and glowing blue. Within seconds he had freed Talea so that they could fight the Tarragon together. She heard Terindi cry out. There were Tarragon everywhere—defeating them was seeming like less and less of an option. They would have to abandon their camp and all the gear that they didn’t have on their persons to retreat. It was better than dying.

  Rather than announce the plan to the other wards and risk the Tarragon trying to thwart it, she trusted her friends to catch on. She disengaged the men she fought to run to the celiths. The Tarragon were close behind, but she had enough time to turn and throw a series of orbs at them. Unable to dodge all of them, they fell. More would take their place any second. It was time to escape.

  Talea closed her eyes for concentration and pictured the men surrounding each of the other wards. Twenty total. She focused on the weakest point in their armor, lifted her hands, and aimed twenty beams of electricity.

  Unsuspecting, the Tarragon weren’t able to dodge or deflect, and all but four beams found their marks.

  Ignoring the resulting dizziness, she stumbled her way to each of the celiths and untied them. “Come on!” The sixteen Tarragon she’d taken down were only about a quarter of the men remaining, still, it gave the wards enough of an opening to make a dash for their celiths, narrowly making it before they were swarmed again. They rode away, the Tarragon unable to stop them.

  17

  Betrayal

  L ET me see.” Skyve knelt beside Talea, twirling his hand for her to move her leg where he could see it.

  Terindi, sitting beside her with a couple shallower wounds, winced on her behalf. “He got you good.”

  Rikky brought over Skyve’s medical kit at his request, scowling. Skyve was the only one who had any medical supplies with him—the rest was back at the camp they had abandoned. “He was trying to kill her, the blasted—”

  “Really?” Skyve was far more intrigued than concerned, in his usual way. “That’s new. They’ve always been trying to take us alive. Did he say anything?”

  She wanted to curl up in a ball, or disappear...she did not want to relive any part of the day. “Well he...he said it was better to kill me than let Kaydor torture me.”

  “No doubt true, but,” Skyve forgot about her thigh to take on a contemplative air, “why should he care? Is he disloyal to Kaydor? If so, why? Or, is he playing some intricate game...trying to make us think he’s disloyal, when really—”

  Rikky plopped down beside her. “Who cares?”

  Skyve’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “Just because you don’t think farther than what’s two feet ahead of you, doesn’t mean—”

  “Oh for Ema’s sake!” Talea’s eyes widened a bit when she heard her own words. She tried not to swear by the Irlaish gods in front of the other wards—as far as they were concerned, she was supposed to be a good Xanyte, not have any adherence to the Irlaish religion. “Sorry. But can we not argue?”

  Fidgeting, both young men fell silent. Skyve remembered he was supposed to be dressing her leg, and perked up. “This is deep. You’re going to have to move it as little as possible for several days, otherwise it’ll just keep reopening. Since we have hardly any bandaging to deal with that, we’ll have to stay clear of Tarragon, and—”

  Once again, Rikky interrupted, his frown sour. “You don’t give the commands. She does.”

  Fortunately, Skyve had the patience to simply glare at him, stand up, and say, “Clearly we all need to cool off. We don’t have any envrig and that probably hurts, so I’m going to look for some. Talea, keep pressure on your leg.” He stalked off, scrutinizing the ground for the weed they used as a painkiller.

  Terindi cleared her throat. “I’m going to help.” She limped away, holding a small wad of cloth to her bleeding arm.

  Rikky relaxed, moving closer to apply pressure to the bandages on Talea’s thigh.

  She rubbed her eyes with her palms, then slid them back to push a few strands of hair out of her face. “Why are you mad at Skyve?”

  “I just don’t like the way he talks over you and cares more about his theories than the Tarragon wanting to kill you.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “One of these days, I’m going to get one-on-one with Zoper, and then he won’t be trying to kill you anymore. That Kaydorian piece of—”

  “He tried, but he didn’t follow through, even though he had the opportunity.”

  “Then he’s a coward, too.” Apparently it didn’t strike Rikky as irrational to hate the man both for trying to kill her and for not actually doing so. “And did he give you the black eye?”

  “No,” she gingerly touched her swollen cheek, “looks as bad as it feels, then.”

  “It doesn’t look bad. You uh, well…” All the hostility had mel
ted from his features. He was smiling at the ground, sheepishly. “Well...you always look beautiful.”

  Barbsit tails. Her cheeks were flaming, and she had to duck her head, unable to hold eye contact. What was she supposed to say? Part of her was excited, warmed by his words, and by what she knew would follow if she allowed it...the other part of her was still just tired. Empty.

  But she didn’t want to be those things. She was sick of being tired, of feeling dead to everything, unable to think of anything but this wretched war. So she met his hopeful gaze and mustered a welcoming smile.

  Grinning, Rikky lifted his hand to delicately stroke back her hair—not really accomplishing anything, but the simple touch made her skin tingle. His gaze had fallen, landing on her mouth, staying there...he was leaning forward. Half of her demanded that she get up and flee. The other half was pushing her toward him. She needed this. Something other than death and violence and despair. His lips pressed to hers, tentatively...more passionately, his hand was in her hair, his arm around her waist, holding her close. Rikky didn’t seem to plan on stopping now that he’d started. She didn’t mind.

  Finally, he pulled back, barely—their foreheads were still touching, his body close to hers. When they did separate, her breath was coming fast and her thoughts were all askew. She was smiling even if she wasn’t sure she should be and simultaneously feeling like they shouldn’t have done it and that they should do it again. “That was…”

  “Amazing.” Rikky apparently felt the latter, since he kissed her again, hungrily. She felt like she would melt with the heat of it, no longer in a pleasant way. Not sure if or when he would stop, she pulled back, as she began feeling dizzy. And a little queasy.