55: THE DRAGON OF WAR
Atrine, Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin asked questions to which he already knew the answer—actually, forget this one: that could be any day in the past twenty years
When Kihrin looked back, he realized Thurvishar hadn’t followed. He suspected the mage had opened a second gate, in a far more dangerous location, somewhere inside Atrine. Kihrin shook his head. Senera wore the Name of All Things—and as far as Kihrin knew, any Cornerstone protected its wearer from casual scrying. Which meant Kihrin had no idea how Thurvishar intended to find Senera in a city that size, let alone help the woman if she proved to be in jeopardy.
Of course, given what Kihrin had been told about Senera, he also wouldn’t have prioritized her rescue. Thurvishar clearly had differing opinions.
Then a deafening roar made the ground shake, and Kihrin put his hands over his ears, wondering how anyone closer could possibly stand it. When the sound quieted, he looked to its source, toward Atrine.
Since Thurvishar had placed them at the end of the east bridge, Kihrin had a reasonably unobstructed view of the city itself, rising too tall to be obscured by the bridge’s shanties and slums. As sunrise fast approached, the sky had begun to lighten in anticipation of dawn. He could now see what perched on top of the highest towers of the city—presumably the fast crumbling remnants of the duke’s palace.
“Taja save me,” he whispered.
Steel and iron, drussian and shanathá—every metal, a thousand metals, all twisted together in sharp swordlike tangles to form the dragon’s body. It resembled a porcupine warped into nightmare, formed by an insane and malevolent god. Morios’s wings seemed less like tools for flying than weapons to scour and excoriate, lash and annihilate. Nothing about the dragon spoke to any purpose other than slaughter and mayhem.
Morios raked and gnawed and chewed on the stone towers and walls, the duke’s palace’s spires, akin to a dog with a favorite bone. The ancient granite provided little resistance, crumbling and falling to ruin under his weight. His thrashing tail smashed buildings, and his claws left deep and horrifying grooves through entire neighborhoods.
The first time he’d seen the fire dragon, Sharanakal, he’d wondered how anyone had ever thought they could kill a creature like that. Sharanakal hadn’t seemed alive as much as an animated force of nature, a volcano brought to life.
Morios was worse.
Janel shoved Kihrin’s shoulder. “Snap out of it. Our priority is evacuating as many people as possible. The Atrine main gates aren’t designed to let more than a few people through at a time.” She pointed to the bridge, where panicked people were running from the slums.
Kihrin felt his gut twist. He remembered Janel’s description of Atrine—a place designed to trap and kill horses. It seemed to him it would do just as fine a job of trapping and killing people. The Marakori forced to live outside the city could run, but Joratese wouldn’t be able to escape quickly enough.
“How are we going to—?” Kihrin started to ask.
The firebloods trotted over.
“We’ll direct people to this side of the bridge.” Janel grabbed Arasgon’s saddle and pulled herself up. “Relos Var, follow us. I want you to pull down the wall when we reach the east gate, and open a portal leading to safety. We’ll herd people to you.”
Relos Var blinked and slowly smiled. “As you say.”
Arasgon turned and called out something to the rest of the crowd.1
“On it,” Sir Baramon responded as he mounted Arasgon’s fireblood brother Talaras. Everyone was following suit, because this was Jorat, and of course everyone had their own horses. Brother Qown had a horse. Even Star had managed to find a horse of his own from somewhere.
Kihrin felt something shove him from the side. He almost raised his sword before he realized it was Scandal, pushing him with her nose.
“Hurry!” Janel yelled. “You have ridden before, haven’t you?”
“Oh yeah, riding lessons every day when I was growing up in the slums of the Capital City.” Kihrin made a face. “Of course I’ve never ridden!”
Janel grinned. “Good thing you just need to hang on.”
Scandal shoved Kihrin again.
“Fine!” Kihrin snapped. “But don’t blame me if I fall off.” Urthaenriel murmured angry complaints as he sheathed her, but he ignored that. Kihrin grabbed a section of Scandal’s mane for leverage and jumped up on her back. Naturally, Scandal wasn’t saddled, and Kihrin felt sure that this wasn’t going to make for a fun ride.
He looked over in time to see Relos Var summon a horse out of thin air, a creature of smoke and darkness that looked ephemeral but held his weight perfectly.
“Show-off,” Kihrin muttered.
But all of them immediately perceived a problem. The narrow main path through the slums only allowed for one horse at a time, but now it was jammed with people trying to run away from the city. Some of those people were pushing others out of the way, resorting to violence in panicked fear for their lives.
“Make way!” Janel screamed, but they paid no attention. The firebloods shouted something too, but it seemed unlikely the Marakori had understood them.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Relos Var said. “We do not have time for this.”
Relos Var brought his hands together.
A portal opened on the ground ahead of them, spanning the width and length of the entire bridge.
Everyone on the bridge—as well as every building, shanty, and shack—fell through. Behind them on land, farther down the road leading to the city, Kihrin heard shouts and screams and the accumulated crash of multiple objects. Presumably this was every displaced building, shanty, and shack—all hitting the ground of their new location at the same time.
Scandal said something. So did Star. Kihrin liked to imagine both cursed eloquently.2 Kihrin himself could only look, slack-jawed, aware most of the others appeared similarly stunned. Time froze for a moment as everyone stared.
Then Kihrin remembered that this was the man the Eight Immortals had said they couldn’t kill. Although technically speaking, Relos Var wasn’t a man anymore. And on the plus side, the bridge was clear, and the Marakori living there were now evacuated.
Caring not at all what everyone else thought of his sorcery, Relos Var opened a second, less trap-like portal. “To the east gate,” he announced.
After a moment’s hesitation, everyone guided their rides—whether horse or fireblood—through.
When Kihrin exited the portal and looked back toward the shore, he realized he’d underestimated the bridge’s length. Suddenly, he understood why everyone had immediately gone for their horses, even if Var had then provided a faster passage. The bridge was miles across. He suppressed a shiver, thinking of what Relos Var had done.3
Of course, that same mistake in scale meant Morios loomed even larger than he’d initially thought. Still, once in the lee of the east gate’s white quartz walls, Morios was no longer visible. The terrified guards within had little to go on, in terms of protecting their people. They’d just seen the bridge’s entire shantytown vanish before their eyes, accompanied by a roar reminiscent of an earthquake. The bridge must therefore have seemed the greatest threat, representing the most obvious and deadly use of witchcraft. So the guards had decided not to let anyone leave.
“You!” a rattled guard shouted. “Identify yourselves!” He looked like he might fire his crossbow without waiting for an answer.
Janel ignored him. “Here!” Janel said, dismounting. “Var! That wall there!” She pointed, not at the gate itself but at the wall beside it.
The wizard raised an eyebrow at her commanding tone, but regardless, he narrowed his eyes at the offending structure. It began collapsing in on itself, as if succumbing to age and the weathering of millennia in a matter of seconds. The crowd behind it pulled back, clearly terrified. Oh, and Morios became visible once more.
“Good,” Janel said. “Now I need—”
Several of the guards fired their crossbows.
Relos Var batted them out of the sky before he turned to Janel. “Enough of this! You have a job to do.” He held out his hand, and a spear appeared in it, which he tossed in her direction. Khoreval.
Janel caught it. “My job is to protect my people, Relos! I’ll deal with Morios once the city is cleared.”
“He’ll bring the city down around your ears!”
“So distract him,” Kihrin said.
Var turned his head. “What was that?”
“You’re a dragon too,” Kihrin said. “Don’t even try to pretend you’re not. Every person who participated in that ritual to create Vol Karoth was turned into a dragon, including you. So you’re more than capable of distracting Morios, until we can evacuate. Then we’ll talk about killing the damn creature.”
Relos Var stared at him, lips drawn back in a sneer. Janel watched, waiting for Var’s response.
“Well?” Kihrin said.
Relos Var turned his phantom horse around and galloped to the edge of the bridge, away from Lake Jorat and toward Demon Falls. The phantom horse jumped.
For anyone else, it would have been suicide. But Var seemed to hover for a second in the night air, the magical construct horse vanished, and his form blurred. What replaced him was an extraordinary sight—enormous and reptilian, winged and clawed. He confirmed what Kihrin had long suspected: that he was the dragon Kihrin had seen briefly in Kharas Gulgoth before Relos Var had shown in up person. That indeed, the morgage hadn’t been mistaken when they had depicted nine draconic shapes—not eight—leaving the site of the botched ritual that had created Vol Karoth. His hide glimmered with metallic rainbow shimmers in the predawn light.
Gasps and some screams echoed from those realizing two dragons were now on the scene. Relos Var was clearly smaller than Morios, but that didn’t make him small. And since there had never been such a thing as a good dragon, no one could be blamed for assuming the new dragon’s motives were equally malevolent.
Urthaenriel sang Kihrin a song of hate.
“Not yet,” Kihrin whispered to her. “Not yet.”
Relos Var banked, caught a crosswind, then turned and soared back toward the city. He was silent as he glided in toward Morios …
And slammed into the other dragon. Morios’s metal spikes screeched against Relos Var’s more elegant serpentine armor. Then both monsters tumbled backward, sailing over Atrine and splashing down into Lake Jorat, out of view.
“You know he was the only one of us here who can open a portal, now Thurvishar’s run off somewhere,” Janel pointed out.
“He was also becoming impatient with our insistence on ‘saving lives,’” Kihrin said. “Now he has something interesting to distract him, so let’s help these people, shall we?”
Ninavis trotted up next to Janel. “You have this handled?”
“It’s even easier, now that we don’t have to worry about the shanties blocking our way. We should be fine.” Janel gave Ninavis a significant look. “You know what you need to do.”
Ninavis waved to the riders behind her. “Come on, people, let’s move!”
The rest of her group rode with her, entering the city even as the last crumbling remains of the wall turned to dust.
Star gave Kihrin a salute as he passed.
“You lot!” Janel shouted at the guards. “Come over here and help with this. Right now!”
To Kihrin’s utter astonishment, they did. The dragon was probably just more shock than they could handle, and they would have done what anyone had ordered.
People began streaming toward the bridge from the city—not questioning their sudden lack of wall but fully willing to take advantage of it. Many were bloodied and covered in stone dust from collapsing buildings or were coughing from smoke inhalation.
Arasgon began yelling, since the Joratese at least understood him—and he sure had a set of lungs on him. Then Kihrin saw a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye and saw a second gate open. Thurvishar stepped through, holding a bleeding, unconscious Senera. Inexplicably, she was glowing brightly.
“Qown!” Thurvishar shouted. “Over here!”
The Vishai priest looked up from helping a woman with a cut on her arm. “What? Oh—” He pressed a piece of cloth over the woman’s wound. “Keep pressing, like this. But don’t stop walking until you reach the other side.” The woman nodded and quickly ran off, lost in the rapidly expanding crowd running to cross the bridge.
Kihrin rushed over to Thurvishar. “What happened?”4
Thurvishar set the woman down. Blood matted one side of her head. “She must have been struck by debris. I found her half-buried.” He waved a hand. “The glowing part will fade.”
“I didn’t know you two were lovers,” Kihrin said.
Thurvishar’s eyes widened. “We’re not.” The wizard seemed to search for words or an excuse for his actions. Something. “She has the Name of All Things. We’re going to need her.”
Kihrin nodded. “Sure. Of course. What other possible reason could there be?”
Thurvishar glared at him.
Qown knelt next to Senera. “Give me room.” He looked at the woman’s eyes, then covered the side of her head with one hand.
Thurvishar turned his head and raised a wall of solid stone ten feet in the air. It curved inward, forming a protective pocket around them.
Qown hesitated. “That works.” He returned to concentrating on Senera.
“Thurvishar,” Kihrin said, snapping his fingers. “Qown has this. You’re with me. Let’s see if we can give these people a faster way off the island.”
Thurvishar stood. “Did I just see two dragons fly overhead?”
“Yes, you did. The second one is Relos Var.”
Thurvishar blinked and then shook his head. “It’s really a pity he can’t be on our side all the time.”
“Yeah, if only human life held any value to him … He’d be great.” Kihrin forced his way through the crowds, until he reached a spot in the lee of a giant piece of masonry that used to be part of the palace. “Let’s put a gate right here. Make it as large as you safely can. And put the other side somewhere reasonably close to where Relos Var sent everyone else so families can find each other.”
Thurvishar frowned. “Wouldn’t we be better off sending them as far away as possible?”
“Do you know any spot that’s actually safe right now?”
“Good point.”
Out near the center of Lake Jorat, a searing beam of white fire soared up into the sky, turning the lake and all the surrounding land bright as day. People screamed and covered their eyes. Kihrin winced and looked away, but still saw ghosts dancing in front of his eyes. A second later, Relos Var and Morios both erupted from the water, clawing and biting at each other.
As far as Kihrin could tell, Relos Var had done no damage at all to Morios. Unfortunately, the reverse wasn’t true. Great rents in Relos Var’s hide streamed silver blood into the water, and he was clearly not doing well. Normally, Kihrin would have cheered, but …
If Morios ended up killing Relos Var, even if it was (as Var claimed) temporary, Kihrin had no idea what the rest of them were supposed to do.
Kihrin shook his head to snap himself out of it. One disaster at a time.
Janel had been working nonstop, herding people toward the now open gate, and it didn’t seem like the crowd would ever slow. Scandal and Arasgon both helped, keeping people from trampling each other in the rush to reach safety.
Every time Janel saw a Joratese soldier, no matter whose colors they wore, she pressed them into service.
Kihrin was slowly making his way over to her, when Janel froze. A group of Joratese nobles, resplendent in red and gold, were making their way in her direction with their entourage. Then Kihrin remembered what those colors meant. The Malkoessians. Markreev Aroth of Stavira. Janel’s former liege, Dorna’s ex-husband, Star’s illegitimate father.5
Kihrin picked out the Markreev easily enough. But Aroth Malkoessian was the man who did a double take when he first spotted Kihrin, probably because his coloring did indeed resemble his son Oreth’s.
The Markreev and Janel stared at each other for a silent, tense moment, then Janel motioned for him to pass through the portal with the rest of his family.
He did.
Kihrin let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Just in time to see Relos Var’s bleeding draconic form fly over the bridge, falling straight over the side of Demon Falls.