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Abarōz and Shāhpuhr spent the next two days training. They practiced stabbing, lance-throwing, and more until Abarōz lost sensation in her limbs. Bükrek too was preparing by planting Archura before Sangal’s lair. In his form as a blade of grass, he made a formidable spy.
Bükrek did not tell them everything since Abarōz found her whispering to a dragon. After that, the purple ebren flew off. Where was he going? Was he the messenger to be sent to the Erbörü? The green dragon kept her own counsel, but Abarōz’s curiosity flared even while she was training.
“Shāhpuhr?” Abarōz asked after one ferocious combat. “Do you think our next battle . . . will be our last?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I saw your mother dispatch an ebren north.”
“Ah.” Shāhpuhr removed his helmet, looking down thoughtfully. “You may well be right.”
“Shāhpuhr.” Abarōz didn’t want to admit it, but if she couldn’t tell him, then who? “I–I’m afraid.”
“So am I,” he said, touching her arm. “I imagine all warriors are.”
“If they’re not foolish.”
Still, the fear of death took hold. She led him to the edge of the clearing, where they sat beneath a tree.
“Have you ever thought . . .?” she began.
“About what?”
“What happens next. After we die.”
Shāhpuhr gave a shrug.
“Not really,” he said. “As a boy of the forest, I hope to join the trees.”
Abarōz nodded, thinking of Şahmeran.
“I’m not sure what I believe,” she sighed. “Will my soul ascend to Tengri, or be condemned to fire?”
Shāhpuhr’s eyes widened.
“Where does the fire come from?”
“The new god,” said Abarōz, tearing off a handful of grass. “Either that, if you’re good, you go to a place called Heaven.”
“You are quite good,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure this heaven awaits.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then Tengri must accept you.”
“But I’m afraid both gods will reject me.”
Shāhpuhr looked puzzled.
“Why?”
“I haven’t been a good Dardan. I’ve broken every rule. I abandoned my rightful place, escaped, and as far as a husband . . . no man will take me now. My mother is right: I am stained with shame.”
Shāhpuhr gave a loud snort.
“Madness!” he cried. “When it is your time, the wind spirit will take you to rest at Tengri’s side. All else is nonsense.”
“I hope so,” sighed Abarōz, lifting the grass to smell it. In that small bundle, there was dirt, and green, and life. “Otherwise, I am in trouble.”
“I can assure you’re not,” he told her, reaching for her free hand. “Also, as for a husband . . . did I not mention I am at the head of the line?”
Abarōz sighed.
“A line of one.”
“So much the better for me.”
She wondered if he were serious.
“Really?” she asked softly.
“Of course! Who else in Gehān would have you?”
She spattered him with grass.
“Be careful what you promise. I just might hold you to it.”
Shāhpuhr narrowed his eyes, glancing around the clearing. Convinced that no one was looking, he moved closer to place a soft kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, his eyes held a question which she was quick to answer: by raking her hands through his hair and delivering her own kiss.
“I am going to Hell,” she moaned with a smile.
“Don’t worry,” said Shāhpuhr, “I will be right behind.”
He proceeded to touch her all over: her face, her chin, her neck. Just as he moved lower, they heard a woody crash.
“What was that?” Abarōz asked, pushing against his chest.
“I—”
“Bükrek!” a voice called, “I must speak to Bükrek!”
Abarōz saw a tree wildly bouncing toward them. His branches were clasped together like worried hands. Archura.
“I take it,” she said, “Sangal’s flight has returned with friends.”
“I fear so, but what manner of creatures are they?”
They both rose and ran toward Bükrek, where Archura was babbling.
“Unnatural!” he cried, “an insult to Tengri! And they are skilled archers!”
“Mother,” asked Shāhpuhr, “who is the tree man referring to?”
Bükrek looked solemn.
“Yaryonds,” she said. “They once roamed the land of the Hrōmāyīg but were thought to have died out.”
“Except in Abaxtar,” Abarōz groaned. “What are they?”
“Wild, untamed creatures, half-man and half-horse.”
Abarōz closed her eyes, wishing to drift away.
“—used to answer to Chiron—” Bükrek was saying, “—but their new master is Sangal. What he offered them in return, I do not know, but they love to indulge in wine.”
Abarōz opened her eyes. Great. These Yaryonds not only had hooves and teeth—and bows—but sounded debauched as well.
She watched Bükrek peer over their heads to the east, where Dardan and Šahr waited.
“Archura tells me,” she said, “that they already gather outside the two cities. We must engage them at present, but save our true strength for night.”
Abarōz raised a brow, looking to Shāhpuhr. His face told her that he too was puzzled. Still, Archura’s report was alarming: the fate of two zands now depended on Aswārs of Ebrens.
“We must prepare to go,” said Bükrek. “Tell all Aswārs to arm themselves, mount their dragons, and be ready to fly. Though I cannot fight, I will attend this battle.”
Thanks to their recent training, Abarōz and Shāhpuhr still wore their plate. They trailed Bükrek down to the Rōd where she spoke in Dragon to the beasts lined up on both banks.
That’s when it hit Abarōz: she no longer had an ebren!
Well, that could be remedied after the Aswārs mounted. Three dragons were riderless: a purple, a silver, and a grey. She chose the purple: hadn’t Bükrek trusted his kind to wing off to Abaxter? With a nod, she strode to its side, then threw herself on its back.
“Is he trained?” she asked Shāhpuhr.
“Let me check.” He threw a leg over Catanes before they traded roars. “Yes. He knows how to take a rider. And his name is Mihrab.”
“Thanks.”
She flashed Shāhpuhr a tight grin as she bent to address her dragon.
“Well, Mihrab,” she said, “I would be appreciative if you don’t let me fall.”
The ebren shook his head violently, emitting two puffs of white smoke. Had he understood her? Though it was doubtful, she clung onto this hope.
Abarōz looked around. Their entire force was gathered. All was silent except for the river’s eddy and the dull clash of plate. Every Aswār sat their ebren with pride, swords and lances in hand. There was an air of tension also cushioned by calm as if their task were expected. Abarōz nervously checked her weapons. Of course, they were flameproof, but would that be enough against wolf heads and men who were half-horse? Abarōz pursed her lips, yearning to fly but afraid. Her impasse—and her side’s—was broken as Bükrek soared overhead.
“Let us begin!” she cried. “Aswārs, direct your ebrens to Dardan!”
Abarōz grabbed Mihrab’s spike as he took off with power. She knew she’d made the right choice once they were up in the air: Mihrab was large, bigger than Az or Iotapa, with sturdy purple wings and a tail as sharp as a spear. He flew with such speed that they were soon in front: the second dot of their flight’s “V.” Too soon, Dardan came into sight, the city clearly in trouble. Two of Sangal’s ebrens roared before the gate, their flames striking the boulder like Shāhpuhr with his two rocks. Thank Tengri! Stone didn’t burn, and the gate held fast. But, up in the sky, there was nothing but chaos.
Sangal’s horde was everywhere; flaming, screaming, and roaring. Abarōz steered Mihrab to join Shāhpuhr when they were set on by two dragons—one with the temerity to bite Catanes’ flank! The black dragon looked enraged as he twisted his coils and barraged his foe with fire. The assailant flipped upside down, thumping into the sand.
That left his friend to face Abarōz. As Mihrab soared, she hefted her gold lance, hurling it straight for the enemy’s throat. Then, he too was falling, gray scales hanging down loosely before he crashed into rock.
“Good start!” Abarōz yelled, raising a fist to Shāhpuhr.
“Tengri is on our side!”
Abarōz nodded, though she had her doubts. Still, to whatever god favored them, she bowed her head in thanks. That’s when she saw Šahr below, its peaked entrance surrounded by two sets of creatures: the wolf heads and the Yaryond. The vague thought crossed her mind that they were supposed to be foes, but now they worked together to fell that runic gate. The half-horses kicked at the stone while the wolf heads applied their sharp claws, but, so far, they were unsuccessful.
Good, she thought with a smile. Perhaps Sangal needed help when it came to picking allies . . .
Abarōz snapped back to the moment since the neighboring sky was thick with ebrens. Sangal’s horde was stubborn, coming at them full-force, and her stomach sank as they lost Aswārs and ebrens. She watched flaming figures speed downward like so many falling stars. Still, she readied herself as three dragons headed toward her. At her side, Shāhpuhr battled two more.
“Come on, Mihrab!” she yelled, kicking his purple sides. He lunged in a burst of speed, permitting her to lean over and stab an enemy wing. She tried to ignore the shrieks as Mihrab outflew his two friends and soared back over Dardan.
What Abarōz saw below had worsened. Four dragons now clawed at the boulder which had split into quarters. The gate couldn’t hold for long and the guards within would be scorched. She circled on Mihrab, wondering how she could help. But this was decided for her as the ebrens battered the stone, reworking it into shards. The Dardan gate was now open.
“Oh no,” Abarōz whispered. The dragons who flew were too big to enter, but not so the wolf heads. They swarmed inside like a pestilence, and even from this distance, Abarōz thought she heard screaming. This was soon succeeded by the sight of Dardans, threadbare, stumbling for the first time out onto the Bērūn.
Now, Abarōz thought bitterly, they would learn the truth about their enemy: not an army of men, but dragons! Shrieks reached her ears as she saw citizens—many children or barely older—erupt into flame before rolling away in agony. Abarōz knew how it felt to be put to the fire. And, if she could help it, this torture stopped now.
“Shāhpuhr!” she called behind her. “We have to go down!”
Catanes was free, he and his rider watching as their two assailants winged north. Shāhpuhr nodded to Abarōz before directing his dragon straight down to the harried Dardans. Mihrab plummeted, leveling out his snout before it hit the sand.
“Help us!” one woman screamed as she frantically clutched her children. Mihrab knew what to do, sucking in his breath before aiming at three crawling ebrens. Their attention on the Dardans, they didn’t see his flames coming until the air around them was scented by burning scales.
Abarōz raised a fist. Maybe these beasts would think twice before they unleashed their fire . . .
As Catanes and Mihrab gained height, she stared down at the pack of wolf heads. So this was why they were here: to rip and tear helpless humans as they poured out the gate. The Yaryonds had split their herd so that some remained outside while others thundered in. They joined forces to drive out the Dardans, then promptly shot them with arrows. Sangal had chosen these allies well.
Into the late afternoon, she and Shāhpuhr worked hard to try to protect their zand. They flew so hard and low, flames bouncing off their plate, that as Mihr angled west, Abarōz felt bone tired. Even Shāhpuhr looked weary, and Catanes, though experienced, still winced from his bite. As he and Mihrab swooped over two dragons targeting men on the ground, their combined stream of fire did damage to tails and claws. Like the others before them, they fled, while the Dardans looked up in gratitude.
“Aswārs!” called a voice and it seemed to come straight from Mihr. “Pull back! To the river. We must rest for tonight.”
Abarōz recognized this order as coming straight from Bükrek. That didn’t make her glad to comply.
“What?!” she asked Shāhpuhr with a glare. “We just abandon our zand?”
He gave a shrug of apology, but still turned Catanes west. As the others followed, Abarōz fought an inner battle. With every part of her being, she did not want to obey. She was the last to leave, her reward a few clumsy fireballs. No more, she thought. She couldn’t linger alone. With a sigh, she steered Mihrab after their flight, the cries from below haunting.
As she flew over sand and then forest, Abarōz’s mouth felt bitter, as if she’d just swallowed iron. Why had they bothered to fight only to abandon the cities? She couldn’t understand it, and for the first time, she resented Bükrek.
She brought Mihrab down by the Rōd beside Catanes. Seeing Shāhpuhr’s face, she could tell he was disappointed. But before they could talk, Bükrek flew down to her rock and addressed her flight.
“You may dismount,” she said. Abarōz noticed were missing ten Aswārs and dragons—a useless sacrifice? “Do not go far,” Bükrek continued, “for we must be ready for battle at the first sign of Māh.”
Abarōz huffed, swinging to the ground along with Shāhpuhr.
“The moon!” she snorted, as if she believed it didn’t exist. “What, in the new god’s name, does Māh have to do with anything?!”
Shāhpuhr, wanting privacy, beckoned her toward the clearing.
“I can’t say,” he told her, his eyes filled with fear.
After all they’d been through, he picked today to be scared? Of what—her?
“Calm yourself,” she said. “I swear not to strike you . . . either with sword or fists.”
He still looked wary.
“I’m glad. Understand, Abarōz . . . my mother has told me much. But not why we came back, or return with moonlight.”
Abarōz turned away. It was wrong, she knew, to take out her frustration on him.
“What do you say to some bread?” she asked, trying to restore peace.
“I would say yes. I’m starving.”
He retrieved two flat cakes from his private reserve. Abarōz didn’t realize how hungry she was until he spread them with berry jam.
“Shāhpuhr,” she said as they sat on the grass. “I can’t help thinking . . .”
“What?”
“Well, it seems that Bükrek plans a surprise for Sangal. But why would she surprise us?”
“As a planner of war,” he sighed, “I rank below a tree.”
“I’m not much better.”
He touched her forearm.
“You must learn to trust my mother. She is wise in the ways of battle and would not lead us astray.” Abarōz nodded, releasing some of her anger. “Always remember that while Sangal seeks to destroy, my mother is a healer.”
She patted his hand. Trusting Bükrek in this would take a leap of faith, but she was prepared to jump. Letting doubt gnaw at her mind was the surest way to defeat.
Abarōz looked up. Mihr was at the end of her descent, lighting only the treetops. For the first time in her life, she dreaded the rise of Māh. It had always seemed so serene, but tonight promised something different. She shook out her limbs, trying to empty her mind as she followed Shāhpuhr to the Rōd.
The dragons waited in lines at the edge of each bank. Abarōz walked to her mount, Shāhpuhr doing the same. Bükrek had told them they must be ready to fly. What would they find at Dardan? Corpses scattered on sand? She expected no human survivors—either from there or Šahr.
