by Brandon Mull
“Yes,” Raxtus said. “The hamadryads of her line serve the unicorns. Cyllia has already been prepped to heed the orders you give.”
“Ronodin is a unicorn,” Kendra pointed out.
“But Ronodin is a disgrace,” Raxtus said. “Unicorns despise him. The power of his crown mainly influences fairies.”
Kendra slipped the ring and the seed into a pocket.
“Potion maker,” Raxtus said, turning to Tanu. “The Fairy King thought you might benefit from these ingredients.” He held up three packets the size of tea bags. “Source water, unicorn blood, and powdered horn.”
“Powdered unicorn horn?” Tanu asked, clearly excited.
“Yes,” Raxtus said. “It can only be obtained after a unicorn dies.”
“Rare ingredients,” Tanu said, his expression somewhere between wonder and delight. “Thank you.”
“Thank the Fairy King,” Raxtus said. “I’m just the messenger. And . . . I guess I’m the final gift. I’m here to help.”
“You’ll come to the Dragon Temple with us?” Kendra asked.
“The other dragons already call me a traitor,” Raxtus said. “I might as well live up to my reputation. The Harp of Ages can slow the war—let’s go get it.”
Kendra scrunched her brow. “Do we need to know how to play a harp?”
“I know some basics,” Vanessa said. “It’s possible that using the Harp has nothing to do with musical talent.”
“I hope it works like a magical music box,” Warren mused.
A moment later, the rain turned into a drenching downpour. High winds propelled some of the moisture sideways into Kendra and her friends.
“We’re not even by a window,” Warren said, wiping water off his face.
After moving away from them, Raxtus expanded into his dragon form, a sleek specimen whose silver-white scales reflected prismatic sparkles of light. His body was a little larger than a horse’s, not counting the added length from his neck and tail. By stretching his body and spreading his wings somewhat, the fairy dragon turned himself into a windbreak.
“Much appreciated,” Warren said.
Bernosh came to a standstill. Howling wind drove rain against the portable dungeon.
“We have arrived,” the giant announced. “So has the Perennial Storm. And we’re not alone.”
“Who else is here?” Warren called.
The giant turned around.
Kendra and her friends ran forward to a barred window and saw they had stopped at the mouth of a box canyon. Two hundred yards away, visible through the driving rain, the canyon dead-ended against a tall rock face made exquisite by relief carvings of dragons. Fir trees lined the base of the cliffs leading to the carved rear wall, but the middle of the canyon floor was a sloppy mix of rocks and mud.
At the base of the carved rock face waited an older man clad in black and a younger woman dressed in white. They stood unflinchingly as the rainfall doused them.
“Are those guardians?” Kendra asked.
“Not official ones,” Raxtus said. “Celebrant might have stationed them there to deny anyone entry.”
“You know them?” Warren asked.
“Purnag and Riotta,” Raxtus said. “A black dragon and a white one. Purnag has many breath weapons: fire, poison gas, or a sludge that disintegrates flesh. Riotta’s breath could freeze a pond in seconds. They have offspring together, and they like to partner in combat.”
“Why are they in human form?” Kendra asked.
“Maybe to take people by surprise?” Raxtus guessed. “Maybe it feels easier in this weather.”
“Finally,” Bernosh said, unshouldering the portable dungeon and setting it down. “Dragons who want to stand and fight.”
“Do you need help?” Tanu asked.
Bernosh gave a snort. “There are only two. You’ll be on your own inside the temple, but out here, let me do you this favor.” He drew a sword longer than most of the trees in the area, crouched to pick up a boulder the size of a car, and stomped into the box canyon.
“If he goes down, we’ll be in horrible danger,” Raxtus said.
Tanu used a key to open the door of the dungeon. “Let’s get ready to flee. Raxtus, if it comes to it, fly Kendra to safety.”
“And take Vanessa,” Warren said. “I know you can fly well with two.”
“I have my sack of gales,” Kendra said, getting it out and holding it ready.
Raxtus returned to his fairy form. “To fit through the door,” he explained.
Beyond the doorway they saw Bernosh throw his rock at a relatively tiny figure ahead of him. The woman in white lunged to one side, barely avoiding the boulder. Within an instant, she expanded into a magnificent white dragon with spikes down her neck, and the man enlarged into a black dragon with a bony frill just behind his fearsome head. Neither dragon carried more mass than Bernosh, but from nose to tail, the length of Purnag rivaled the height of the giant.
Wings spreading, Purnag flew upward, while Riotta attacked low. An icy spray whitened the giant’s legs, only slightly slowing his charge. Purnag sent a crop-dusting of dark gas down at the giant, but the wind and rain swiftly shredded the murky cloud.
With one hand, Bernosh caught Riotta by the neck just below the head and began to repeatedly slash her body with his sword. Purnag flew over Bernosh, swaying unsteadily in the stormy air, gliding directly toward the portable dungeon.
“I’ve got this,” Kendra said, stepping out into the full deluge, becoming almost immediately soaked as she readied the sack of gales.
As Purnag swooped down toward her, Kendra opened the mouth of the sack, and a wind even stronger than the gales of the storm gushed outward. The wings of the black dragon ballooned like overtaxed sails as the furious creature was blown violently backward. Purnag tucked his wings and fell to the ground, only to get attacked from behind by Bernosh. Roaring, the dragon turned and clamped his jaws down on the giant’s upper arm. Bernosh went down, stabbing the dragon again and again until he finally managed to sever the neck.
Kendra retreated into the shelter of the portable dungeon, where Vanessa greeted her with an embrace. “Well done,” the narcoblix whispered.
Kendra watched in horror as Bernosh rose, both lifeless dragons behind him, and staggered toward the portable dungeon. Frosty ice crystals coated his lower half, and most of the flesh was gone from one shoulder to the elbow, with only a charred black bone remaining. He coughed and stumbled, dropping to his knees.
“Now, that was a fight,” he said, his smile showing a couple of missing teeth. “More than I expected from a pair of dragons.” He blearily looked down at the fleshless portion of his arm. “Bit down and breathed right into me. Worthy beast. Might take some time to recover from this one.” From his kneeling position, using his sword like a cane, he got one foot out in front of himself and started to rise, then flopped facedown onto the rocks and mud.
The giant did not move after that.
“Is he . . . ?” Kendra asked.
“Looks that way,” Tanu said. He leaned out of the doorway, searching the skies. “We better get into the Dragon Temple before more company shows up.”
“Resolved!” Warren exclaimed. “If I am to be eaten by a dragon today, it will be indoors.”
“Would Celebrant send more dragons in this weather?” Kendra asked.
“Not normally,” Raxtus said. “But who knows? These are abnormal circumstances.”
“Plant the tree, Kendra,” Vanessa prompted. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
While the others gathered gear, Kendra ran over to the nearest fir trees, where the soil seemed rich. Rain pelting, she crouched in the mud and scooped out a goopy hole with her hand. Water flowed into it, but she pressed the seed down into the bottom and pushed mud over it.
A bolt of lightning struck a nearb
y clifftop, accompanied by an immediate explosion of thunder that made Kendra jump and shriek. “Grow quickly,” she told the seed. “Come protect me and my friends as soon as you can, Cyllia. We’ll be inside the Dragon Temple.”
A little green shoot rose out of the mud, stretching upward. It was strange to see it happening so fast, like watching a time-lapse film.
“Are you ready, Kendra?” Tanu called.
Kendra looked back to find Raxtus in his dragon shape and her three friends all waiting in the rain. Sheets of lightning strobed above, soon followed by thunder. Glancing up, Kendra glimpsed huge silhouettes of birds of prey made temporarily visible by lightning.
“Yes,” Kendra called. “Coming.”
She slogged over to her friends, who all started toward the carved cliff where they expected to find the Dragon Temple. Warren carried the key they had taken from Ptolemy.
“I’d fly us forward,” Raxtus said, “but I don’t trust my wings in this weather.”
The strongest gust yet nearly knocked Kendra off her feet before the wind subsided. Lightning blazed across the sky every few seconds, trailed by overlapping crashes of thunder.
They passed the motionless body of Bernosh. Raxtus bounded over to his head and sniffed the huge neck. “He’s dead,” the dragon confirmed.
Kendra avoided studying Bernosh. The giant had moved to protect them from the dragons so energetically, almost eagerly. And now his life had ended. She hoped it was not a sign of things to come.
The rain fell even harder and the day darkened. Little waterfalls were taking shape on the clifftops, and a stream began to flow out of the box canyon. Hair and clothes already saturated, Kendra had the mild consolation that she couldn’t get much wetter. She trudged forward and, by the pulses of lightning, caught harsh glimpses of the dragon corpses.
They paused in the lashing rain as they reached the rear of the canyon. “Where in a cliff do you insert a key?” Warren shouted.
“That’s the seal of Abraxas, the first dragon, on the key,” Raxtus said. “He’s depicted in the middle of the wall, bottom row. See the notch where his heart would be?”
“If you’re right, you just made a new best friend,” Warren said. He clambered up a slick boulder in front of the carved dragon, raised the spear-sized key over his head, and jammed it into the slot.
“Back away!” Kendra warned. “Dectus promised the storm would do the rest.”
Warren had already hopped down. “I remember,” he said. “Let’s get clear.” They all hurried sideways along the base of the cliff, squelching in mud and slipping on wet rocks. For a long moment, the wind whipped so furiously that Kendra fell to her knees and kept her head down until the gust relented.
Shortly after she stood, a searing bolt of lightning blasted the key. The deafening thunder hit like a physical blow. Kendra covered her ears too late—for a moment, all she could hear was a steady ringing.
As the ringing tone diminished and the roar of the wind became audible again, Kendra saw that the carved dragon had receded, leaving a doorway just over ten feet tall and five feet wide. Kendra and her companions scrambled back to the doorway, up the steps, and into the disquieting shelter of the Dragon Temple.
Are you sure you intend to leave the city?” the guard shouted from the top of the wall, his words barely audible over the rushing wind.
“Yes, thank you!” Seth called.
“You know the Perennial Storm is coming?” the guard checked, one hand holding his steel cap as the wind gusted. “Most folk are heading into the city and going underground.”
“We’re aware, thank you,” Merek responded.
“Gates will be locked and barred soon,” the guard called. “You may find some modest shelter on the far side of the eastern wall.”
Merek waved as they strode away from the gate. The guard squinted at the oncoming mass of dark, roiling clouds and then back at Seth and Merek, shaking his head.
Seth angled his head to keep the wind from blowing directly into his ear, because it was quite loud and uncomfortable. The relentless gale pulled at his clothing and threatened to push him off-balance. The front edge of the megastorm would be over Humburgh within minutes. Away to the north, lightning-laced thunderheads already blanketed more of the landscape, hovering above a gray blur of rainfall.
Leaving the road, Seth and Merek walked around the nearest hill outside of town. Seth knew it was crazy to brave the weather, but they needed the Unforgiving Blade and the Harp of Ages, and Merek had stressed that the Dragon Temple would only admit them during the Perennial Storm, so it was either win the Games in the next day or two or else wait seven years.
Around the backside of the hill, they found two figures huddled in oilskin coats, hoods drawn up to conceal their faces. The pair emerged from the partial shelter of a recess in the hillside to greet Seth and Merek.
“How considerate of you to show up!” Isadore yelled over the wind. “We were about to abort.”
“Serena?” Calvin called from Seth’s pocket.
“I’m here,” she answered.
“Can we fly in this mayhem?” Merek asked.
Basirus gazed up at the threatening clouds. “Into the storm? Not a chance. Away from it? I’m willing to try. It will be a rough ride. Don’t blame me if somebody gets dropped.”
“I need your word that won’t happen on purpose,” Merek said.
“You have it,” Basirus said. “Are you ready? If we’re going, it has to be now.”
“We’re ready,” Seth said.
Basirus swelled into a dark gray dragon with three rows of spikes down the back of his neck, a crown of sharp horns on his head, and a quartet of long spurs on his tail. Turning, he snatched Seth and Isadore with his forelegs and Merek with a hind leg. The scaly grip squeezed Seth’s chest tightly, but at least he felt secure. Seth couldn’t help noticing the black talons, each the length of a dagger and wickedly curved.
The dragon sprang into the air, and as his great wings unfurled, they took off like a kite in a hurricane. Twice they dipped dangerously close to the ground, but after some adjustments, Basirus stopped rocking and wobbling so much and gained altitude. Propelled by a mighty tailwind, they rocketed forward, relentlessly buffeted by crosswinds and other turbulence.
“This is an atrocious day to fly,” Basirus said. “I’ll take us high so that if I lose control, I’ll have space to recover.”
Seth could hardly believe their breathtaking speed, or the shocking turns and dives that left his dangling legs swinging in the wind. With no warning, Basirus would plunge unexpectedly, swooping out of the dive only to be blown in a new direction. Occasional updrafts elevated them at rates that made Seth’s insides lurch, and violent gusts added haphazard bursts of acceleration. Sometimes the dragon spun, wings splayed helplessly, until he fully tucked them, righted himself during the free fall, then extended them anew to resume the chaotic flight.
As the winds impelled them farther ahead of the storm, the air currents became less blustery. For longer stretches they would bullet forward instead of tumbling into wild corkscrews and pretzels. The ground below became a barren wilderness of windswept ridges and prairies. At their outrageous velocity, Seth felt sure they would all be reduced to smears if they crashed.
Sometime after Seth had given up hope that the exhausting flight would ever end, a monumental pyramid of boulders came into view up ahead, the sides too steep and the apex too lofty to seem architecturally sound. The closer they got to the pyramid, the better Seth could see that the stacked boulders were a diverse jumble of irregular shapes and sizes, puzzled together with startling cohesion.
“Is that the reliquary?” Seth called, but either his words were lost on the wind, or else nobody bothered to answer.
The lower they flew, the more aware Seth became of their breakneck speed. Basirus started banking, first left, then right, back a
nd forth, perhaps trying to slow, but whenever he turned too much, he began to lose control.
“This is going to be a difficult landing,” the dragon announced. “Wish me luck.”
Seth witnessed with horrified fascination their dive toward the ground, gaining speed when he thought they should be slowing. For a moment they skimmed above scrubby bushes and brittle grass until Basirus turned sharply into the gale, wings trimmed, and let the wind abruptly slow them. The dragon got one foot down and managed to fold his wings, flopping onto his side to avoid crushing the passengers he carried.
The huge claw gripping Seth receded as Basirus resumed his human form. Basirus stretched, rolling his shoulders. “My wings will be sore for weeks,” he said.
“Can you still feel them?” Seth asked.
“Only phantom sensation in this form,” Basirus said. “In my shoulder blades mostly. What would be the equivalent? Imagine hanging from a limb during an earthquake for an hour. No, better, imagine an hour with each wrist tied to a different horse as they run wild. How would your shoulders feel afterward?”
“Sounds painful,” Seth said.
“Good job getting here,” Merek said, gazing up at the pyramid, hair ruffled by the constant wind.
“The Reliquary of the Wandering Stones,” Isadore said.
“It looks ancient,” Seth said. “And weirdly tall. A pyramid shaped almost like an arrowhead. Who built it? Giants?”
“If so, they accomplished the feat long ago,” Isadore said. “I suspect not. Giants refuse to tread in this desolation.”
“I figured,” Merek said, hands on his hips, surveying the area. “You could have given us a clearer warning.”
“Would it have mattered?” Isadore asked.
“In truth?” Merek replied. “No.”
“We don’t relish coming here either,” Isadore said. “But since when was it easy to win the Games?”
Seth noticed many individual rocks apart from the grand pyramid, scattered on the dry plain. Some were huge monoliths standing on end, like giant dominos. Others were smooth and rounded, ranging in size from bowling balls to bulldozers. Large or small, irregular or symmetrical, the stones tended to exist alone, rather than in clusters, and many had furrows to one side of them, as if they had recently skidded to a stop.
