Dragon War

Chapter 3

“This is from Aldelphia Alderwood, Empress of Allentria,” Fletcher said as he unwrapped the mysterious object. Keriya watched with bated breath as the cloth fell away from . . . a pebble.

“Fletch?” she muttered, hoping he knew something she didn’t.

Fletcher took a silver pin from his pocket and pricked the tip of his right thumb, drawing a bubble of crimson. Cold energy seared Keriya as a memory engulfed her—a memory of a dark night that had set even darker events in motion.

Fletcher pressed his bleeding finger to the stone, and the disembodied voice of Aldelphia Alderwood filled the air: “Greetings, Eminarchs.”

The empress’s voice was coming from the stone itself, speaking in the draconic tongue. Keriya looked sharply at the dragon elders to see their reactions and was horrified to find that their eyes were glowing. One blink confirmed her own eyes were alight. Purple light rebounded against her closed lids, blinding her.

Glowing eyes meant necromagic was nearby, yet this phenomenon had happened on two other occasions when, as far as Keriya knew, no shadowbeasts were present. The most recent time had been when she’d summoned the dragons. The time before that had been when she and Thorion had exorcised the shadow-stained half of his soul. To aid in the task, he’d given Keriya a pebble very much like the one before her . . . and offered it his blood.

“As you can see,” the voice of the empress continued, “I have entrusted my ambassadors with a valestone. This gift not only shows that we are honored to have you in our world again, it also proves that Allentria has much to offer, that our empire is worth protecting.

“I’ve used the power of three valestones holding Necrovar’s forces at bay. My supply of these stones is not limitless. In fact, this is one of only two that remain. This is a leap of faith on my part, faith that you will do the right thing.

“I ask that you take this gift in the spirit in which it is offered: as the beginning of a new alliance between our nations. There are only so many threads of this stone that I wish to waste on translating my words for your ears, so I leave the decision in your capable claws.”

As Aldelphia’s voice faded on the wind, the glow faded from the dragons’ eyes.

“This is a generous offer from your empress,” said Khyvette.

“One we cannot accept,” Nordrion added, causing a surge of sickly adrenaline to crash through Keriya. “Your empress asks us to take this in the spirit in which it was offered. If we accept, we join your current war with the Shadow.”

“Well . . . yes,” said Keriya. “That’s why we arranged this meeting.”

“As we expected,” said a bony male whose scales were gray with age. Keriya remembered him as Tolbrayth, the oldest surviving dragon. “Nordrion, we should not keep these gifts, lest we give the mortals false hope or give the Shadow the wrong impression.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Keriya cut in. The Allentrians’ battle plans hinged on the dragons. She’d thought she would have to haggle, even beg for their help. She’d thought it would be a battle hard-won . . . but won nonetheless.

“If we break our edict to remain uninvolved in this conflict, Necrovar will attack us,” Nordrion explained.

“And even if we could fight him,” said Khyvette, “there is no guarantee of our victory.”

Keriya frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A war now, when our numbers are so few and our people are so weak from the ravages of the Etherworld, would mean the end of us.”

“What about your rules?” Keriya demanded. Valerion had schooled her on draconic law—what little he remembered of it—to prepare her for this meeting. “If one of your own is in danger, you must help them. Self-preservation. It’s wise to kill that which threatens your kin.”

“I do not see how your argument is meant to sway our decision,” said Nordrion.

“Because of Valerion,” she cried. “Because of me! We’re part of your family and we are in immediate danger. Necrovar wants to kill us.”

“An excellent reason for us to stay out of his way, then.”

The words sank into Keriya, eating through her flesh like drachvold acid.

“How can you say that?” she whispered, furious to hear a quaver in her voice. Saying something so hurtful required some sort of emotions, didn’t it?

“Because it is true,” said Khyvette. “We are not beholden to either of you.”

Valerion came to stand by Keriya’s side. His scales were practically bristling. “Why not?”

“Valerion, you forsook your kin ten ages ago,” said Nordrion. “You went against edict and endangered us when you joined the Great War. As for Keriya, the answer is obvious.”

“Enlighten me,” hissed Valerion.

“She is not a dragon.”

“I’m dragon enough in the way it counts,” Keriya retorted.

“We know of your unique lineage and the atypical assortment of magics you possess,” said Nordrion, “but you are human.”

Valerion bared his fangs. “Because she looks like a human?”

“No, Valerion, because she acts like a human. The two of you are a liability, and we do not claim you. You are not recognized among us.”

Keriya gaped at the looming creatures. It was odd to hear such hateful words spoken in such bland, unassuming voices. It was Aeria all over again, without the shouting. It was worse than Aeria, because Keriya had never cared about the opinions of the people there.

“I conclude that this meeting is adjourned, since we have nothing further to discuss. You should not tarry in our mountains,” Nordrion added. “You may attract unwanted dangers.”

Khyvette slid the priceless gifts toward Fletcher. He hadn’t understood the dragons’ cruel words, but he could understand that gesture. His fallow face went pale as he accepted the gifts with as much grace as he could muster. Khyvette seemed reluctant to touch the valestone, and she motioned for him to take it. He stuffed it into his pack with the other treasures.

“You’re very beautiful,” he told her in her native tongue.

Coming from Fletcher’s human mouth, the words lacked the power and resonance that sang in every syllable the dragons spoke, but his pronunciation had been flawless. Despite everything, Keriya smiled. She’d coached him on that for hours.

The green dragon lowered her head to inspect him. “Well spoken.”

“Say, ‘teos gratey, Khyvette,’” Keriya muttered in his ear.

“Thayus graytey, Khyvette,” Fletcher repeated haltingly.

“Farewell, Dragonspeaker,” Nordrion said as Keriya drew Sethildras and began weaving another teleport spell.

“Farewell, Eminarchs,” she managed.

She wielded, and in a flash she and her friends had returned to the palace balcony. Keriya dropped her threads at once, sagging beneath the weight of what she’d endured.

“What happened?” said Fletcher.

“They rejected our gifts,” said Viran. “I’d say it went badly.”

“They refused to join the war,” growled Valerion, his talons clacking furiously against the marble as he stalked past Keriya. “I was a fool. If my mind wasn’t half-rotted, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Viran assured him. “We’ll adjust our strategy and—”

“What strategy?” Keriya interrupted. “The dragons were our strategy.”

“That isn’t true,” Viran said in an infuriatingly steady voice. How he could be calm at a time like this, Keriya didn’t know. “We have Valerion Equilumos, legendary hero of the Second Age. We have thousands of Jidaelni reinforcements arriving soon. And we have you,” he finished, staring down at her.

“Plus, you have us,” Fletcher added. “And we’re with you til the end.”

The reassurances warmed Keriya. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such steadfast friends. “Yes, and I thank you all.”

Viran raised a brow at her heavy tone. “But?”

“But everyone is expecting me to deliver an army of dragons,” she sighed, turning toward the archway that led into the palace. A platoon of guards waited inside to escort them to Empress Aldelphia. “And now I have to tell them that we’re in this alone.”

CRACK!

An earth-shaking sound split the air, sending a rumble through Keriya’s legs.

“What was that?” said Fletcher.

“Cannon fire?” Viran suggested. He flexed his hands—the left, flesh and blood, the right, a hinged metal prosthetic controlled by an airmagic spell.

“No,” whispered Valerion, his body going rigid and his eye widening. “It’s the attack.”

Keriya stopped breathing. She was frozen. The attack.

The attack they’d been waiting for. The attack they’d known was inevitable. The attack that hadn’t come at the turn of the new year because Keriya had thwarted it by freeing the dragons.

Necrovar was invading Noryk.

CHAPTER TWO“Better to have a name that lives in infamy than a name that does not live at all.”

~ Helkryvt Moothvaler, Second Age

Keriya didn’t register the shouting of the palace guards, the buzzing din of Norythian citizens screaming from afar, or the klaxon alarm sirens that blared from the city walls. She couldn’t move, couldn’t process.

A roar shattered her numb shock. Valerion had fallen to his side and was thrashing madly, a whirlwind of limbs and scales. Fletcher was trying unsuccessfully to calm the dragon while Viran barked orders at the guards.

“Rally the loyal Imperial forces,” he was saying. “The explosion came from the south.”

The guards nodded and fled into the palace. Meanwhile, Keriya strode past Fletcher and Viran without a thought for her safety, into the path of Valerion’s flailing talons and muscular tail.

“Grandfather?” she whispered in the language of the dragons. He stilled at the sound of her voice but his single amethyst eye continued to roll madly, unable to settle. Keriya’s stomach lurched when she saw sludgy black liquid oozing from his empty socket.

“He is close.” Valerion spoke through gritted fangs. “I can sense him.”

Keriya’s gut clenched. “Valerion is reacting to Necrovar’s presence,” she informed her human friends.

“Then he should stay here,” said Viran. His hand strayed to his side, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. They’d surrendered their weapons for their meeting with the Eminarchs—all except Sethildras, which housed the severed half of Valerion’s soul. Keriya never let it out of her sight. “Fletcher, bring Valerion to the infirmary.”

Valerion’s lips curled in a displeased snarl, but he laboriously rose on trembling legs and limped into the palace after Fletcher.

For half a heartbeat, Keriya and Viran were alone.

This would be the moment for her to say something grand and noble, to offer thanks to the man who had saved her life overseas, who was risking his own life to fight for her. She should say something, but what words would be right? And if she said the wrong words—

“It’s time,” Viran whispered, interrupting Keriya’s spiral of thoughts.

No speeches, then. Just action.

Though she didn’t need physical contact with a creature to teleport them, she offered Viran her hand. Courage flowed into her when he grasped it. Whatever was coming, she wouldn’t be facing it alone.

The familiar expansion-and-contraction sensation accompanied her spell, and in a flash they were at the Southern Gate, beneath a great golden arch engraved with the city’s slogan. The words were written in Aerian runes and spelled in the draconic tongue: Keas seules endrat keas omnes.

The light of one is the light of all.

Imperial Guards—those who’d remained loyal after their brethren had joined Necrovar—were swarming like angry wasps. They had forsaken their old gray robes in favor of Imperial white, to assuage the fears of refugees whose homes had been sacked by defector guardsmen. Soldiers shouted at civilians to retreat while snipers rose in magical stone lifts—elevators, they were called—to the wall ramparts. Another siren sliced the air, its wail rising to a peak before fading.

Viran let go of Keriya. “Where’s the commanding officer?” he demanded.

A gaunt guardsman with a shaved head stepped forward. Keriya blinked when she realized this guardsman was a guardswoman. She’d never known the Imperials to be an inclusive group, but the markings on the guard’s tan face—two painted stripes across each of her jutting cheekbones—meant she was a mage, a Tier Eleven wielder, the strongest class of magic-user a mortal could be. With loyal Allentrian troops so few, Keriya supposed the Imperials could no longer be picky about who they allowed into their ranks.