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“Abarōz!” Bükrek called down. “I was sorely tempted to use some blood on you.”
“Please don’t,” Abarōz begged, forcing herself to sit. “Every drop must be saved for Shāhpuhr.”
His mother smiled, then guided her back to the tree to which her poor friend was bound.
“I thought to wait for you,” said Bükrek. “It will calm him after he’s cured.”
Quite far from that now, Shāhpuhr gave Abarōz a snarl.
“Dardan harlot!” he cried, “my father will crush you!”
Abarōz turned to Bükrek.
“Has he been like this the whole time?”
“Yes,” his mother said sadly. “It’s as if he’s possessed.”
“Let’s end this now,” growled Abarōz. “How should I give him the blood?”
“He must drink it,” Bükrek answered.
“I daresay he won’t like that. How should we do it exactly?”
You must force him.”
“ME?” Abarōz cried.
“My claws are far too big for such a delicate task.”
Abarōz slumped, then crept up to her friend.
“Tengri curse you!” he shouted. “My father will see you doused in oil and burned!”
Abarōz winced.
“Shāhpuhr, you need to stop talking.”
Seeing how he was, she knew he wouldn’t listen. She grabbed the urn from her pack, approached his head, and forced a trickle of blood through his open mouth.
Nothing happened. Abarōz cast a worried glance at Bükrek. Then, Shāhpuhr’s body began to tremble, his eyes became clearer, and, upon seeing her, he gave a wide smile.
“Abarōz. Mother,” he said. “Can you tell me why I’m tied to a tree?”
“It’s a long story,” said Abarōz, taking her sword and gingerly cutting him down. “Your father the S̆āh cursed you and the only thing that could cure you was drinking a bad dragon’s blood.”
“Blech,” he spat, wiping his mouth before flexing his now-free arms.
“I think the dragon felt the same way.”
“How did you do this?” he asked.
“Well, I went to the north. Exchanged the goblet you stole for a bit of blood.”
“Yet you do not speak Dragon!”
“In this case, actions were better than words.”
“Oh.”
Shāhpuhr blinked, trying to absorb this.
“Mother,” he said, “If I did anything vile while cursed, I can only apologize.”
“My son, that’s hardly necessary. You were not in your right mind.”
He turned to Abarōz.
“The same applies to you.” He looked in her eyes, face troubled. “I hope I didn’t say anything unduly harsh.”
“Besides calling me a harlot? No.”
Shāhpuhr’s olive skin seemed to lose at least three shades. He put a hand to his eyes, stemming a flow of tears.
“How can you ever forgive me?”
Abarōz crossed her arms.
“It seems I already have.” She ran up to him, and, silencing her mother’s voice in her head, threw her arms around him. “Oh, Shāhpuhr. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re back.”
“Me too,” he grinned. “Now, let’s eat—I’m starving. Being cursed has increased my appetite!”
Abarōz broke from him reluctantly as they all trudged to the clearing’s center.
“What is your choice?” he asked his mother. “Venison, rabbit, or partridge?”
“I’m afraid,” said Bükrek, “in your ‘absence,’ there was only bread.”
Shāhpuhr strode behind a rock, picking up his bow and quiver.
“Come,” he told Abarōz, “you must join me on the hunt.”
“I’ll go as company,” she said, “but I won’t be very much help.” He smiled, setting off for the trees. Avalos sprinted behind, every two of her steps equal to one of his. “How do you feel?” she panted once she’d caught up. “Are you completely well?”
“I am. I feel just like my own self.”
Abarōz wanted to hold back but her curiosity wouldn’t let her.
“How was it?” she asked. “When you were under the curse?”
“It was strange,” Shāhpuhr said, shivering. “I wasn’t aware of anything except for a swirling black mist.”
“So you don’t remember coming from Dardan? Or anything after?”
“No. Not a thing. I can only hope I wasn’t one-tenth as bad as my father.”
“Maybe that,” confessed Abarōz.
“What did I do?” He stopped abruptly under the trees. “Please—tell me.”
“Well . . . you tried to choke me.” His face constricted with horror. “But, you also kissed me.” She blushed, turning away. “And I must say it was quite sweet.”
Shāhpuhr slung back his bow, his fingers resting on her chin before he lightly tugged her toward him.
“I cannot express my sorrow,” he said, his eyes filling again.
“You don’t have to. None of it could be helped.”
“Or this.”
He closed the space between them, pressing his whole body against her. A heat she’d only felt with him coursed through her like the best kind of curse.
He pulled away slightly, staring into her eyes.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He took her face in his hands, putting his lips to hers. The kiss was so soft it was like the touch of a Peril’s wings, but Shāhpuhr broke the spell.
“What am I doing?!” he cried, springing back as if she carried disease. “Abarōz, now you really can blame me.”
“Did I resist?” she asked. “Push you away? We are both guilty, but I’m no longer sure of what.”
“Very well,” he mumbled, moving off awkwardly. “Let’s see about that hunt.”
They stayed quiet as he stalked between the trees, as silent as any deer. Finally, he found one, head bent as it grazed on grass. Notching an arrow to his string, he shot, felling the buck. Abarōz flinched, but was glad it did not suffer. Shāhpuhr picked up his kill and slung it over his shoulders. Their silence continued as they tramped back to the clearing where he skinned and butchered the animal.
He took a break to start a new fire, spitting chunks of meat. Abarōz sat by the flames, hugging her knees to her chest. She felt completely ignorant: she didn’t know what her feelings were for Shāhpuhr, if he were ashamed of his, and if the rules of Dardan applied in an untamed forest.
She sighed.
Adrina had been right about one thing: Boys were nothing but trouble.
The source of hers finally stepped toward her, bearing a plate filled with meat. Abarōz happily ate, not realizing how hungry she was after her trip to the north. Shāhpuhr plopped down beside her, taking two heaping helpings. He also unveiled some bread from one of his hiding places.
After they’d finished and cleaned their plates in the Rōd, a rustling came from behind them. They both whirled to see the white dragon Az.
“Az,” said Abarōz, “you scared us.”
He and Shāhpuhr conversed in Dragon.
“He says,” said Shāhpuhr, “you must learn the difference between good dragons and bad.”
“Please tell him,” Abarōz said with a wave, “I’ve recently gained that skill.”
Az showed his teeth in a smile after Shāhpuhr’s translation. Not long after, they heard the slide of more scales. Abarōz tensed, imagining silver, but relaxed when they proved green.
“Mother,” Shāhpuhr told her, “you look concerned.”
Abarōz noticed it too.
“I am sorry to bring bad tidings to a happy occasion. But as you know, Sangal won’t rest: he never has in the past. I must ask you—all three—to return to the south. Before the next attack, we must recruit more ebrens.”
Abarōz sighed. Here in the Bērūn, there always seemed to be trouble. It reminded her in some ways of the Tree of Life.
“When shall we go?” she asked.
“Dawn,” said Bükrek. “If it weren’t for Shāhpuhr, I’d change that to now.”
“But Mother—” he protested.
“I insist. You just came out of a curse.”
Abarōz walked with Shāhpuhr back to their makeshift beds. As they soaked in the fire’s warmth, she worried about their next journey. She could only hope that most southern ebrens were as friendly as Az.
She made sure Shāhpuhr fell asleep before she shut her own her eyes. His mother had been right—he needed time to recover.
As Mihr peeked over the trees the next morning, Abarōz felt her arms being shaken.
“No,” she mumbled, “early.”
She heard a familiar laugh.
“In the forest,” said Shāhpuhr, “this is considered quite late.”
Abarōz groaned, then threw off her blanket. Her friend helped her up, and she set about—once again—filling their packs. They helped each other buckle on plate.
“The good thing about this journey,” Shāhpuhr told her, “is that it will be short.”
“What?”
Abarōz was not yet fully awake.
“It is the same distance, but this time we fly by dragon!”
“Right.”
Abarōz looked around, hoping to locate Az. They found him down by the water, snoring away with a smile.
“Sorry . . .” Shāhpuhr told him, poking his snout. After Az lifted one lid, they had a short talk in Dragon.
“What did he say?” asked Abarōz.
“That he’s not a morning dragon.”
“Tell him,” Abarōz groaned, “that I feel the same.”
Az seemed to sense this as he patted her head with a claw. Then he flattened himself on the ground, giving Shāhpuhr a chance to boost her up before he mounted behind her.
“Hold on!” he cried, and this time, thankfully, his grip on her waist was secure.
Abarōz clutched a spike as Az spread his white wings, loping on all fours before launching himself in the air. Without Shāhpuhr, Abarōz would have been terrified, but as long as he held her, she knew she wouldn’t fall.
It was so much better to soar over sand than sink into it! Abarōz didn’t miss heat burning her flesh or the prospect of desert camping. Instead, Az reached the south with such speed that she gasped when he soared down.
The caves. There they were, lined up in neat rock row. Az’s riders slipped from his back as they peered into an entrance.
“Could you find out,” Abarōz asked Shāhpuhr, “if he will come with us? He did say he’s on good terms with his neighbors.”
“Sure.”
Shāhpuhr conveyed the message, and Az must have agreed since he happily took the lead. He marched them inside the cave next to his, roaring out a greeting. How different this was from the north, where she’d dreaded every step! Now, she skipped over treasure, following the bounce of Az’s tail. The dragon twisted and roared something at Shāhpuhr.
“He says to stay here,” her friend explained.
She watched Az venture deeper, then heard two sets of roars. Abarōz turned to Shāhpuhr.
“What’s going on? Is someone being murdered?”
“No, no,” he grinned. “Az is asking his friend to join Bükrek. Before Sangal destroys his cave.”
Abarōz pursed her lips, impressed.
“He should argue the law in front of your father.”
Shāhpuhr rolled his eyes.
“In Dardan, the law is my father.”
Abarōz shrugged in defeat as Az came sliding toward them, a powder-blue dragon in tow. As they entered the next cave, then the next, and finally the last, two ebrens became four until they were eight and ended in twenty-four! When Abarōz glanced down the line of dragons, each a different color, she felt a swell of pride. They had done it! Well, at least Az had . . .
The trip back home was joyful . . . even for a reluctant rider. Az led the flight over sand until Abarōz spotted green; then, he landed by the river, joined by a new scaly army!
Bükrek winged over trees before perching on a half-submerged rock. As she opened her mouth to speak, Shāhpuhr prepared to translate.
“I thank you,” Bükrek told the ebrens, “for agreeing to join our cause. If we cannot defeat Sangal, the south will be destroyed—along with all of Gehān.” From her spot beside Az, Abarōz winced. “Friends,” Bükrek continued, meeting ebren eyes one-by-one. “Your presence here tells me you’ve agreed to accept a rider, a practice we haven’t seen for thousands of years. Our first concern must be Dardan. On foot, their warriors were slaughtered. But as Aswārs of Ebrens, they will gain virtual wings.” Abarōz waited, breathless, for the next sandal to drop. “Our initial step will be to recruit other Dardans to take the place of the fallen. I ask you to entrust this task to me.”
Abarōz stepped forward.
“But Bükrek,” she asked, “how do we get them here? The S̆āh will never permit it.”
“He is not as invincible,” the green dragon smiled, “as he thinks he is.”
Although Abarōz nodded, a wave of unease swept through her. When she thought of the S̆āh, his guards—and the dragon who controlled him—she wondered how even Bükrek could soar over these obstacles.
As if reading her mind, Bükrek addressed her directly.
“Freeing the remaining warriors will be our first concern. To do so, we must fly to Dardan and frighten off Sangal’s dragons. Then you, Abarōz, demand to be let in the gate.”
“What?!”
Had she heard that quite right?
“You can’t ask her—” Shāhpuhr began.
“My son,” said Bükrek, “your compassion does you credit. But your friend will be flanked by twenty-five of us. Do you really think your father would harm a hair on her head?”
Shāhpuhr looked unconvinced.
“I will go with her,” he said in a voice that would stand no argument.
“Of course,” Bükrek smiled, “I expected no less.” She turned back to the flight. “Follow me,” she ordered. “Sangal and his tool the S̆āh have thus far proved ruthless, so, despite our numbers, we must proceed with care.”
Abarōz checked her weapon as Shāhpuhr did the same. She tried not to think of her outsized role in the upcoming skirmish. Even so, as she mounted Az, her legs trembled a little.
“You all right?” Shāhpuhr asked, swinging a leg behind her. “You’ve done much worse than this.”
“Really?” she answered, her voice ending in a squeak.
“Of course!” He put his arms around her waist. “You fled from Dardan, then prowled her stairways to reach the zarr. You found and spoke with Şahmeran, perhaps the first to do so. And you braved the north to seek the means to heal me.”
“Well,” Abarōz mumbled, “when you put it like that . . .”
“Do not be afraid,” he told her as they watched Bükrek take off. “This time, you have a force that will make my father tremble.”
I hope so, thought Abarōz, gripping that white spine tight. Az spread his wings before soaring to the tip of their flight’s “V.” He was second in line behind Bükrek, and, at this close range, Abarōz marveled at her size.
In no time at all, they were over Dardan with ten of Sangal’s ebren already in the air. But at the sight of their massive flight, they gave out roars more like squeals, then wheeled in a body, turning tail for the north.
“Cowards,” Abarōz muttered, though she was hardly the model of courage as her legs continued to shake.
Once Bükrek gave the signal, her flight descended to land neatly by the main gate. She gave a nod to Abarōz who, not quite willingly, slid down Az’s flank.
Shāhpuhr jumped to the ground beside her.
“Remember,” he said, “I am with you, and will not let you come to harm.”
This at least gave her the strength to stride up to that towering boulder and give three sharp raps. A stone peephole shot open.
“Who goes there?” a harsh voice demanded.
“Abarōz, daughter of Pabag, former Ōšmurdan of Dardan.”
Abarōz heard a low chuckle.
“Spawn of a traitor! You must be mad to come back here!”
“Not entirely” Abarōz drawled, “for if you look behind me, I am joined by twenty-five dragons.
She stepped aside as one dark eye took in the unusual sight.
“By the new god!” cried the guard, “I–I must consult my master.”
“See that you’re quick,” said Abarōz. “On the whole, dragons are not known for patience.”
What went on behind that gate, she could only imagine. But she grinned as much faster than expected, the boulder began to slide. With the final groan of a pulley, it rolled from sight, allowing her and Shāhpuhr to enter.
“Father!” he exclaimed, putting a hand on his sword.
Abarōz did the same.
Had the hated S̆āh deigned to greet them himself?
Yet there he stood, barricaded by guards who each bore a sharp steel pike. He surveyed his visitors with contempt.
“Filth,” the ruler spat at Abarōz. “How dare you return after flouting my law?”
“I escaped,” she said calmly, “after you murdered my father.”
The S̆āh crossed his arms over his flowing robe: one, she noted, richly brocaded in gold.
“What do you want?” he growled. “A bribe? A sacrifice?”
“Our side desires neither.”
“What then?”
He bristled along with his guards’ steel.
“Simple,” Abarōz said. “Give us the warriors who shelter in the zarr.”
The S̆āh began to chuckle but no one else joined in: the sound was as hollow as he was.
“Absurd.” He flicked some dust off his sleeve. “None may leave or enter the city.”
“Yet, here we stand,” said Shāhpuhr.
The S̆āh set eyes on his son. But instead of a frown, his lips curled into a smile.
“Fourteenth son,” he said. “You have lately shown me your love. Will you permit this whore to insult me?”
Abarōz looked at her friend. Would he still pretend to be cursed? Since that wouldn’t get them far, she felt relief at his answer.
“Gladly,” Shāhpuhr answered, “and you will not insult her. He sucked in his breath. “What kind of father lays a curse on his own son?” Abarōz thought she saw the guards stiffen. “You will do as she asked,” Now Shāhpuhr crossed his arms. “Or the dragons outside might begin to feel . . . restless.”
The S̆āh tried to peek over his son’s head, but he was far too squat. Abarōz knew that he knew his refusal would mean death; but, if he agreed, he would appear weak.
As always with Al-razi, self-preservation won out. His face turned sour as he balled his many-ringed fingers.
“Bring the warriors forth,” he growled. “And banish those annoying Perils. Both factions have dared oppose me!”
Half his guards clattered off and they had a long way to go. As Abarōz waited, she openly eyed the S̆āh: How could a man so feeble wreak cruelty on so many? Torture and kill with impunity? As she looked at his guards, she found her answer: No one held onto power without a shield of the willing.
Abarōz turned around, taking comfort in the sight of the dragons as she waited to hear boots on stairs. After a long, awkward wait; the guards returned with nine warriors, each clad in precious gold plate. The nine looked well-fed and healthy, a consequence, Abarōz thought, of being cared for by Perils.
She bowed her head to each as their guard stepped aside.
“You are free,” she told them, jerking her chin at the S̆āh, “from this man’s greed and depravity.” He gave her a look shot through with hatred. “We will meet again,” she said.
“Sooner than you think! When Sangal hears of your treachery, he will rent your ebrens in two!”
“Something tells me,” answered Abarōz, “that he already knows.”
