Page 58

KION

“Never forget. Never forgive. Never free.”

—Message scrawled on a stone monolith near the destroyed dragon eyries.

The dull sky reflected a silver light that meant snow, and the forest brooded beneath the wintry promise.

I’d tracked the assassins for most of the day—a small group, only four.

Fennor tracked a second group not far from here.

The dragons, Ivar and Glaw, were on their own reconnaissance.

No one had much success; the divided enemy had formed small groups to follow the many false leads.

They hunted for the caves hidden in the high cliffs. But those caves had been abandoned centuries ago. No dragon would use an eyrie near this cursed place, or trust the mountains to protect the precious eggs and the young ones.

This was where the mage masters from Thales had attacked, deep in the night when the innocent slept and the stars shed silent tears.

A crime for which there was no redemption .

Nevertheless, dragon rumors were lucrative in the Faded Lands.

False maps were sold in the taverns or won in back-alley dice games.

Each offered wealth from liars, while na?ve believers found nothing but disappointment and poverty.

But wrinkled wise women still swore dragon eggs improved virility and extended life.

Kings still wanted the trophies, and men, like Eydis Khoth, wanted the dragons.

Dragons outweighed wyverns many times over. They were brutal and damaging, but controllable, and a dragon was a reliable weapon without the energy needs of mage magic.

I walked along the path, pulled by duty. The afternoon was silent other than the sound of my breathing. The pine scent belonged, but when the trail curved around a thick stand of trees, a chill like sorrow and regret crept beneath my leather.

The decaying husk of a dwelling waited, more hut than house, with walls that remained, although lichen and moss now covered the eroded boards. The door was missing, and the roof had become a skeleton wearing a crown of bracken ferns, brown with the coming winter and draping like a shroud.

Before the Chaos, families had flourished in this place, the guardians, the men, women, the children who protected the eyries. The humans brought food and tended the fires. The children turned the hard-shelled dragon eggs every seven days to insure they developed.

Two hundred years ago, this place had offered simplicity, a forest paradise sheltered in the northern mountains.

Now, the old ghosts lingered, filled with resentment and woe .

Old ghosts like those of my mother and younger brother. I’d sent them here for safety, and they’d been massacred by the mages together with the dragons.

Had Eydis sent his assassins here as a personal message for me? Or had they been following useless advice?

Cautiously, I approached the gaping doorway and brushed aside a clinging web on the lintel.

Taking a single step inside the house, I had to wait for my eyes to stop stinging.

The adjustment wasn’t from the gloom after the bright daylight.

Keen eyesight, along with acute hearing, superior strength and fighting ability, were a benefit of being the Draakon.

The rapid recovery from wounds, an immunity to venom and most poisons meant a certain invincibility.

My mage powers were numerous—to the dragons, I was the perfect weapon they required.

A man with a singular purpose, who wore a curse tablet around his throat.

The sting came from a loss that had not bothered me for a century or more. It shouldn’t bother me now. Dragon fire had burned away all but the dullest ache of memory, but perhaps this memory had risen too close to the surface.

Breathing in, I scanned the hut. No one had been here in decades. The collapsed floor was a heap of boards. No furniture remained. The stone fireplace held scraps from an animal’s burrow. Small bones, scattered in bits, and trampled, dried grass.

No trace of the inhabitants remained, other than a child’s artwork—a dragon. My brother had etched the shape into the wooden wall with the small knife I’d given him to remember me by…and now I struggled to remember him .

I allowed the shame, honored the memories, waited in the silence for an answer before backing outside.

I had nothing more to give to this place.

Flakes of snow were falling. Drifting puffs, melting at the first contact with the ground.

Higher on the slopes, the weather would be worse.

But here, the ground remained too warm to freeze.

I walked on, past the cliff base where signs of the old trail remained, worn into the stone.

Winding upward, spikes protruded. Once, those spikes held boards and provided footing where there was none.

The trail was steep and precarious. Even when in use centuries ago, only a few risked that climb to the top of the ridge. I doubted the enemy lurked there.

More likely, the enemy waited in the natural arena, framed by boulders and covered with soft sand.

The energy bloomed as if I was expected.

Sword in hand, I circled, anticipating the ambush.

Eydis revered snakes and used assassins who were mage shifters, capable of morphing into the reptiles, larger than a man.

It would be snakes I’d have to fight.

My heart slowed. My senses heightened. Every tumbling sand grain registered, every shift in the air current.

The susurration whispered from a deep crevice before the snake lunged, its muscular body constricting, then expanding.

Mouth gaping. I stepped in close, sliced through the thick neck behind the head.

While the body flailed, a second snake struck downward from above.

I pivoted, sword raised. Deflected, battled until I was beneath the snake’s head and slicing upward, piercing its brain through the gaping mouth .

The weight pinned me to the ground. The snake’s body whipped around my leg, constricting even without a functioning brain. Such was the mage magic. I sliced until I was free. Turned to find the next enemy waiting and ready.

As the snake struck, I countered, sliding into the rhythm. Each move was a part of me, entrenched in my muscles, my blood. Step, move, spin, swing, and parry. Close out all distractions, focus on this instant, this intake of air. Act and react. Identify the approach, change the momentum.

The snake was losing ground. Striking aimlessly. Finally, it withdrew, whipping around boulders, searching for shelter. A place where the assassin could regain his human form and run. Although that meant certain death. Eydis did not forgive cowardice.

I paused, waiting for the unexpected. My boots were silent against the soft ground. The sword was a balanced weight, an extension of my arm, my right hand. I carried a short blade in my left hand and resettled my grip when Aska stepped from behind the looming boulders.

She carried something, threw it, and as the stringy wyvern’s head thudded to the ground near my feet, she said, “Eydis sends his regrets to the Skyborne bitch. His gift to her no longer has a body. Or a life. Only this head.”

I stepped as she stepped. Aska wasn’t a mage shifter. She was a charmer, a mage who communicated with those in snake form.

“What is it you want, Aska?”

Her smile held triumph. “The next gift will be for you, Draakon. The Skyborne’s head. ”

From the side, the vanished snake returned and struck. He lost his head with a single blade stroke—so obvious when I expected more from assassins trained in Alek’sa Santeri.

Aska didn’t hesitate. She moved, and I relished the attack, letting each strike of our weapons send energy vibrating along my arm to beat through my veins.

Her dark hair was confined, but the braid whipped as she spun.

Blood spattered her face like delicate jewels.

I respected the beauty, the baring of her teeth, the pulling back of her lips, the purity in her belief that her cause was right.

She whirled and backed away. I advanced, thinking of the beauty in my cause, too. The threat to the Skyborne… Sen.

The skin of my face tightened, chilled as my energy grew dark and unrelenting. Remorseless.

Our swords battled, while death danced between us, a contest one would win and the other lose.

The blades locked. Aska’s gaze pinned mine; my muscles clenched, but I offered no mercy.

Her body jerked. Her lips drew back, almost a smile, and for a heartbeat, Aska breathed, her lungs heaving, her face registering the hope she clung to—that my dagger was not embedded in her side.

But it was, and as her life faded, as the strength ebbed, I lowered her to the ground. After the courage with which she fought, I would not discard her like the dying leaves.

Her lips moved. I leaned in.

“Eydis will not stop hunting you…hunting her.”

My jaw tightened. “Where is he?”

“Kion!” Fennor shouted from the rocks. “There’s no time. Something’s happened to Senaria.”

The castle at Samira blazed with lights. The dragons landed in the field where the ancient signal pyres flamed bright. Maia was there with her dragon, Vetra. I recognized Bailong, Renwick’s white dragon. Two other dragons, Torm and Pazu, which meant the dragon lords were coming.

I charged up the hill, racing through the castle halls; the hollow thud of my boots was empty and cold.

“Kion!” Renwick stepped in front of me. He gripped my arm, dragged me into the small salon he favored. “She’s alive, but badly injured.”

“Where? I can heal her.”

“My boy…” Renwick stumbled; I’d knocked him back when I’d turned, too eager to leave the salon and search the castle.

But I felt the thump of the sword against my back. Saw the streaks of blood and gore marring my armor. The scent of battle still clung to my body—was that it? The source of Renwick’s caution?

Stupidly, I said, “She’s seen gore—”

“Kion.”