Know Your Place

Talor kept his hands pressed over his brother’s ears to protect his innocence. He’d long ago accepted that their mother no longer loved them, but Malor didn’t need to know that.

“Damned demon spawn are more trouble than they’re worth.” The woman who crouched at the end of the stairs like a bulbous, dirt-smeared gargoyle spit into the street and cleared her throat with a hacking, wet cough. Her audience, an older man wearing a sneer that did uncomfortable things to Talor’s insides, chortled low and deep in his throat, sounding more like a frog than a man.

“You think you’re going to be able to sell them now? They’re practically grown, but too damn scrawny to do any real work,” he said.

“Aye. I know,” she replied in a weary voice. “I should’ve just done like my pa said and tossed ‘em in the river as babes. I was too damn sentimental then. Now I’ve got two more mouths to feed and a third on the way. I can’t afford to be coddling these curses anymore.”

“Can’t think of a single soul who’d want to take them on. What with being hells touched and all.”

“Some idiot merchant will want cheap labour. If they ain’t gone by the end of the day, I’ll just send them off on their own. Already out enough money thanks to them.”

“You know that won’t get rid of the curse, aye? It’s yours until they leave by choice or by coin.”

“Oh, I can make them choose to leave. You’ll see.”

Talor glared at the back of the woman’s head.

It wasn’t fair that he could look at those red curls and remember playing with them as a toddler, wrapped up in a world of fire and laughter. It wasn’t fair that the voice that now scorned his very existence had once cooed sweet songs to him and his brother as they lay in the warm security of their own beds. It wasn’t fair that he could remember her smile, her laugh, her gentle touch, and know that nothing he did would ever bring back the person he’d loved with all his heart.

Everything had been fine until she’d gotten pregnant again. As soon as she realized she could have more children than just her two demon spawn, all that sweet care and motherly love had evaporated.

Talor hated his siblings. Despised them with a fury that would have ignited the whole town if he had an ounce of magical potential. Hated them even more because Malor still loved them and their mother, so Talor had to hate them all for both of them.

“Hello,” said a soft voice by his ear.

Talor bit down hard on his tongue to keep from jumping. Blood, sweet and metallic, tickled the roof of his mouth. He turned his glare, now flavoured with hurt, on the new intruder.

The woman was as young as he remembered his mother once being. She had a soft face and wide, bright gold eyes. Eyes the colour of newly minted coins, but with a light that shouldn’t have lingered in the shadows of the red brick hovel he called home. She smiled at him with those glowing eyes and extended a hand through the bars of the bannister at the top of the stairs.

“My name is Mystic. What’s yours?”

“Go away,” Talor spat.

The woman withdrew her hand. The smile vanished from her eyes and from her soft lips, unspoiled by the sun.

“I apologize if I was intruding. I just wanted to inquire as to why it looks like your mother is trying to sell you.”

“Because she is. Are you stupid? That’s what you do when you’ve been cursed with demon children.” The venom in Talor’s voice should have been enough to melt the woman’s pretty face off. Instead, her frown deepened.

“Hello,” Malor said, his voice a little too loud thanks to Talor’s guardianship over his ears. He stuck his hands through the bars and caught up the woman’s hand where it hovered before her. “I’m Malor. What’s your name?”

“Tsh. Stop that,” Talor snapped, giving his brother a nudge.

“What?” Malor demanded.

“Demon children?” The woman asked at the same time.

Malor batted at his brother’s hands, dislodging them from his ears. He raked a hand through his flame-red hair before turning a smile as bright as daylight on Mystic.

“Oh. Yeah. On account of our hair and us being twins. What’s your name?”

“Mystic,” she said distractedly. Then to Talor, “Is that true?”

“True or not, the idiots in this town believe it,” Talor retorted with a shrug. “Look, unless you’re willing to put in an offer on me and my brother here, I’m going to have to ask you to shove off. Mam doesn’t want us talking to anyone.”

“On account of us being demon children,” Malor quipped cheerfully.

“Not that anything you offer means a damn. Malor and I are going to run off and start our own trading business.”

“We’re going to be pirates! The best the world over.”

Talor rolled his eyes.

The woman laughed. It was a musical sound. Light and airy and somehow grounded. When she smiled, the light filled her eyes again.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of such incredible dreams. Will you be running away tonight then?”

“Oh. No. Not until mam sells us,” Malor supplied before Talor could stop him. “On account of the curse stays with the family unless we leave by choice or by coin, and we can’t leave by choice until we’ve got some savings. Right now we’ve got a whole two gold.”

“That’s quite a lot,” the woman said gravely.

Talor heard the mockery in her tone. She disguised it well, what with that serious smile and nod to his brother, but Talor was no fool.

“We’re going to do it. We just need some more time,” he said.

The woman’s attention slid past him to the man talking to his mother. The man had not, despite all hopes, taken his leave just yet. In fact, he was eyeing them up with far too much curiousity.

“Oy! You! Away from my boys,” Talor’s mother hollered. She stood, her squat, hunched body folding over itself until she looked ready to run at them on all fours. She lifted one knobbly knuckle and pointed it in Mystic’s direction. “Unless you’re here to pay, get you gone.”

“My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t mean to intrude,” Mystic said.

There was that smile again, though it appeared more like a grimace when directed at his mother. When she turned her attention back on them, Talor seethed at the pity in her eyes.

“I should be on my way then,” she said.

“Yes, you should,” Talor said.

“Okay, bye! It was nice meeting you,” Malor chirped. Without prompting, he lifted Talor’s hands and placed them over his ears again.

Talor watched the woman’s retreat. She kept looking back at them over her shoulder as she went. Though the shadows tried to cling to her, keeping her close to the edge of the buildings, they could never latch on as they did with everyone else around her. Soon she met with a man who did not stick out from his surroundings. He was like steel and ice to her fire, drawing in the shadows as much as she threw them off. At least with his dark hair and tan complexion, he looked like he belonged among the local residents. When he stared at Talor, the man’s ocean blue eyes bore straight through him.

“Give me a day. If they’re still around, I’ll get you the coin,” the greasy man speaking to their mother said.

Ice flared through Talor’s veins, freezing him from fingertips to toes despite the humid summer air.

“Aye. It’s a deal then. If no one better comes along,” his mother said.

The greasy man gave them one more lingering leer before turning around to walk away. His mother didn’t even have the decency to look at them after selling their futures. If anything, from the set of her shoulders and lift of her head, she looked relieved.

Talor didn’t have long to mull over this new source of hatred for his birth giver. His mind was overcome with confusion, and then curiousity, as the golden woman and her companion approached the bottom steps.

“Hello, ma’am. I understand you have children for sale. I would like to buy them,” Mystic said.

“Too bad. They’re already sold,” his mother spat.

“Now I know that’s not true. He won’t have the coin until tomorrow. I’m offering coin now. I’ll even go higher than his offer. Five gold.”

“Ten.”

“You accepted his offer of three.”

“How would you know that?”

“I’ve been listening, obviously. You weren’t exactly being subtle in your discussion.”

Their mother grunted, and for the first time in a long time, Talor felt hope swelling his heart. He hated the idea of being sold in general, but anyone other than that foul beast of a man was an improvement. This woman would be easy to slip away from too.

“Fine. Five. Upfront.” Their mother held out her grubby, wrinkled hand.

A look passed between the woman and her companion. His lips thinned into a tight line, and for a moment, Talor thought he might object. Then he reached for a pouch at his side and counted out five, shining gold coins. These he pressed into the waiting palm, careful not to make contact with their mother’s skin.

“Right. They’re yours. Good luck.” With a chorus of noises that betrayed her age and ill health, their mother pushed herself up to her feet and planted one hand solidly on the small of her back. She turned and marched up the stairs until she loomed over the boys sitting on the stoop. “You two get gone with that woman there. You’re not my problem anymore.”

Then she stepped past them and into the house, shutting the door with a slam behind her.

No goodbye. No hug. Not even a hint of a misty eye to show any lingering trace of the maternal love she’d once held for them. Talor didn’t know why he’d hoped for such a thing.

“Come on, Malor. We’re leaving.”

“Did we get bought? Oh hey, the nice lady is back.” Malor said as he sprang to his feet and brushed the dust off the back of his pants.

Talor looked down the steps at the woman and her companion and felt a twist of sadness he hadn’t expected. He squashed it with a scowl and took his brother’s hand. Together, they stepped down the worn stone steps to stand before their new owners.

“Hello,” the woman said again. “This is my friend, Aaron.”

“Hello, Aaron. I’m Malor, and this is Talor,” Malor said.

“Well you own us now. What’s your will?” Talor demanded.

“Oh, yes. About that.” Mystic paused and reached for a pouch hanging from her own belt. It was smaller than the one that Aaron pulled the five coins from, but instead of withdrawing any of the clinking contents from the bag, she held out the entire thing to Talor. “It’s not much, but it should help you get on your feet. Congratulations, you’re free.”

The confusion lasted only a few seconds before rage bubbled up and boiled all else away. Talor’s features screwed up into a rictus of fury, but he retained enough sense not to smack the bag of coins out of the woman’s hand.

How dare this stranger mock the goals he spent months plotting out. How dare she rip him away from the only home he’d ever known, terrible as it was, and then offer up freedom like it was some sort of prize. Malor looked thrilled at the offer, but Talor knew that a pittance of coins wouldn’t last them more than a few days. They needed months of work to build the base necessary for stable food and shelter, let alone a business, and even then, it would be years before anyone might take two red-headed boys seriously. No, this golden woman’s offer was no kindness. By sending them off on their own, she was sentencing them to death.

“You must really think we’re stupid,” Talor spat. “Keep your damn coin and your freedom. You bought us. Now it’s your responsibility to deal with us.”

The woman started, her outstretched hand and the pouch it contained withdrawing.

“I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to run away and start your own business.”

“And what kind of business do you think a couple of kids with a handful of silvers can start?”

“We could open a fruit stand,” Malor supplied. His bubbly, bright mood had dimmed somewhat, and he looked at Talor with the hurt puppy expression that he hated.

“We don’t have fruit,” Talor snapped back, raising his voice. “We don’t have a home. We don’t have food. All we’ve got is this stupid curse, which is your problem now. Leave us with that coin purse, and I swear by the Four that you’ll never know a day of peace again.” Talor stuck out his hand, pointer finger extended, in a burst of inspired retribution. “I curse you. I curse you to fail at everything you attempt to build. I curse you to never get another good night’s rest. I curse you to forever know that you are inadequate and will never be good enough for your friends and family.”

The woman blinked, then looked to her companion. Aaron sighed and folded his arms across his chest.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” he said.

“Well I couldn’t just leave them there. That horrid man had unspeakable things running through his head.”

“And now what? The kid’s right. We leave them like this, they’ll waste away on the streets. We take them with us, they’ll be in danger every step of the way.”

“Someone will surely want to take them in.”

Talor scowled and opened his mouth, but he needn’t have bothered. Aaron beat him to the point.

“No, they won’t. They’re-” The dark-haired man paused and shot the twins a chagrined look. “The superstitions of this area are strong.”

“They’re idiotic.”

Aaron hissed and looked over his shoulder quickly, as if expecting the locals to suddenly converge on them in a furious mob.

Talor’s estimation of the man improved a little. At least he seemed to know the depths of the mess Mystic had dug them into.

“Could you not? Look, regardless of what we think of them, the belief system here is strong. We have to respect that,” Aaron said.

“Acknowledge it, yes, but I refuse to respect it,” Mystic muttered under her breath. With a sigh, she looked back at the two brothers. Her expression of frustration lasted less than a minute before some errant thought lit her up again. “We can send them to the Warren.”

“What?” Talor and Aaron said in chorus.

“Cool,” said Malor. “What’s a Warren?”

“It’s my home,” Mystic said. “It’s a place where creatures that people don’t understand or fear are safe.”

“Great. So now we’re pets to add to your zoo,” Talor said.

“No, you’re still quite free. You’re welcome to come and go as you please. But while you’re there, if you help tend to the creatures who already call the Warren home, I’ll pay you. Some of them are quite sick or injured and need help to get back on their feet.”

Talor chewed on the offer for a minute. In all of his planning and plotting, the one thing he’d not been able to figure out was how to get a job. No one in this town would ever hire them, even if they dyed their hair. This Warren place was not one of the nearby towns. He’d never heard of it before. More than likely, no one he knew lived there. It could be a fresh start for both of them.

“Are they dangerous?” He asked.

“No,” Mystic said.

“Yes,” Aaron said.

Mystic shot the man a dark look.

“Some of them are nervous around people because they’ve been hurt before, but they’re not bad. They’re just misunderstood. I can introduce you to them and teach you how to care for them.”

“We’re getting off track,” Aaron growled under his breath.

“A few days won’t hurt our goal. This is what the whole plan is about after all; building up our base,” Mystic retorted.

“An army of children and injured monsters. Yeah, Achille is going to laugh himself to death when he sees that.” Aaron drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it with a nod. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Mystic’s smile was radiant as she looked to the two boys once more. She crouched down as if to conspire with them on some big secret.

“Would you two like to meet some dragons?”

* * *

Fifteen years later…

“M’lor, we’re going to be late. Tally, where’s my satchel?”

T’lor stood in the kitchen of their den, which felt more like standing on the edge of a hurricane instead of the massive, open concept living space that it was. The kitchen ran along the far wall with an island to separate it from the dining room, living room, and dragon beds. What should have been a sprawling landscape of cozy furniture and loosely defined room borders had become a warzone of toys, abandoned blankets, and discarded snacks. In the midst of it, his brother charged across the floor on all fours, a pair of toddlers on his back.

“Mom! Momma! Mommy! Mom! Mom, look! Mom,” crowed the purple one.

“I’m a dragon rider! Wheeee,” giggled the golden one.

“Here’s your satchel and your brother’s. Your lunches are already packed.” Tally handed over the two well-worn leather bags then set to work straightening T’lor’s collar and adjusting his rank pins. With her inspection of his uniform complete, she stood up on tip toes and kissed his scruffy cheek. T’lor continued to scowl throughout the routine fussing, watching his brother bounce dangerously close to a coffee table that had already suffered through one too many run-ins with their rambunctious horde.

“Thank you,” T’lor murmured, pausing a moment to wrap an arm around Tally’s midsection and pull her as close as her ballooned belly would allow. “This family would fall apart without you.”

Tally smiled and leaned into his embrace for a moment. Just a moment. Then something crashed behind them and both of them turned to see what had broken this time.

Maintaining a household of three, plus four pets and four dragons, was already a tall order. Now that they had four children plus another on the way (T’lor still wasn’t convinced there wasn’t a second hiding in there somewhere), meant that peace had to be found in snatches and seconds in the midst of the endless chaos of their home. What made matters worse was that M’lor seemed perfectly content to revel in this chaos and never showed a hint of interest in growing up.

At the very least, he had enough sense to sacrifice himself rather than endangering the twins. Two giggling, unblemished toddlers sat on the floor a foot away from where M’lor sprawled in the splintered remains of the coffee table.

“M’lor, come on. Haven’t you made enough work for Tally already?”

“It’s fine, really. We should have gotten rid of that coffee table ages ago. The corners are too sharp,” Tally soothed.

T’lor didn’t miss the resignation in her tone. It seemed like they left her with some extra chore every morning. Usually due to M’lor’s antics. She already had enough to deal with given the advancement of her pregnancy. She needed them to be present caregivers. Not another couple of children.

The irritation at the edges of T’lor’s thoughts crept into the ranges of outright anger.

“He needs to grow up already. Sometimes I wonder if things would be easier if we got sent to the front lines for a time,” T’lor snapped.

“Don’t say that. I’m happy you can come home almost every night. I would be worried sick if you went that far away.”

“Well maybe he needs to see what war is really like. Knock some sense into him.”

“I’m happy that he’s always so happy.” Tally placed her hands on T’lor’s chest and drew in a breath before he could interrupt with another gripe. “And I’m happy that you’re always a little grumpy. You keep us grounded. He keeps us entertained.”

T’lor scowled. Tally kissed him. T’lor grumbled under his breath.

“I wouldn’t be so grumpy if my brother wasn’t such an idiot.” He turned then and raised his voice. “M’lor, let’s go already.”

“Hang on. They’re trying to save me,” M’lor retorted. Though his mouth moved, the rest of him remained absolutely still. He lay prone in the wreckage of the table, arms splayed and tongue lolling from his mouth.

“Nooo... Daddy-dragon hurted his wing. I will kiss it better,” said the purple toddler. With infant seriousness, she waddled over to her fallen parent and leaned down to plant a kiss on his brow, complete with “mwah” sound effect.

“You did it!” M’lor shot up from the debris of his crash site and swept the two toddlers up in his arms. He lifted the squealing, squirming children in the air and spun them around, before putting them back on their feet. “Okay, daddy has to go to work with papa now.”

“One more ride,” pleaded the golden one.

“One more,” echoed her sibling.

“When we get home, I’ll give you rides until bedtime, but only if you’re good and listen to your mom today, okay?”

“Okay,” they chorused.

M’lor planted one more kiss on each of their foreheads, then stepped past them. With a few bounding steps, he cleared the minefield of toys and blankets and swept Tally into his arms. He planted a swift, affectionate kiss on her lips as she squealed from the surprise assault. Then with speed that a man his size should not have been capable of, he snatched his satchel from T’lor’s hands and bolted for the towering double doors that led out to their dragon ledge.

“Come on, T’lor! We’re going to be late!”

T’lor rolled his eyes with such force that it was a wonder his eyes didn’t lodge in the back of his skull. With one last exasperated look at Tally, he turned to follow M’lor outside.

Though identical in most respects, T’lor and M’lor had settled into differing builds in their adult years due in large part to their hobbies. M’lor loved anything physical and often spent his free time working out with his muscle-bound friends. T’lor on the other hand, enjoyed more cerebral pursuits. While still fit from the endless hours of dragon rider training, he hadn’t bulked up like his brother. T’lor also preferred to maintain a sharp, trim goatee while M’lor remained clean shaven. Though in truth, he knew they could be physically indistinguishable and people would still tell them apart just by the expressions on their faces.

The double doors opened up to a wide, mossy ledge sheltered by the dense tree canopy that clung to the side of the Dragon Tooth Mountains like a barnacle. One had to go quite high up the range before the trees gave up their chokehold on the landscape. At their lower altitude, the trees provided just enough cover to cut the humidity of the day while permitting a wind off the ocean to perfume the air with an invigorating mix of flowers and brine.

Two dragons waited for the twins on the ledge. Both were small blues with the telltale characteristics of Denners and opposing colour schemes. Merlinth was a sky blue with night-dark wings, while Dracoth bore that twilight blue across his hide with the sky blue on his sails. Dracoth huffed as the boys approached them.

::About time,:: M’lor’s bond griped.

“He was playing games again,” T’lor said.

::He’s always playing games.::

::That’s because games are fun,:: Merlinth cut in as he dropped a shoulder to aid T’lor’s ascent.

“See? Your bond gets it. Lenoth’s not going to penalize us for a few minutes.” M’lor paused to throw a smug smile at his brother. He stood with one hand on Dracoth’s shoulder, who had lifted a foreleg to give him a leg up. M’lor barely needed it as he vaulted to his bond’s bare back.

“One of these days, she will,” T’lor vowed.

“And on that day, you can say I told you so.”

Any retort that T’lor might have given was cut off as both dragons launched themselves off the ledge. It took them only a few seconds of steering around trees and through foliage before the pair of them soared upward, above the canopy and over the lush valley that housed the Warren. They hovered there for a handful of breaths, both dragons revelling in the freedom of the open air, before they dove down again.

When T’lor and M’lor had first come to this place, the Warren had been little more than a barren rock, a cancerous growth protruding from the earth, in the midst of a dying forest. Now, that same forest flourished with life, and the Warren bore a coat of green moss and vines. Dragons of all sizes and colours dotted the field around the Warren, their shining, shimmering, vibrant hides adding to the riot of flowers that spread across every unoccupied inch of ground. When Merlinth came to a landing outside the towering tunnels that led into the Warren, he did so with mincing steps to avoid crushing a patch of tiny, white flowers. Dracoth did not practice the same care and huffed at M’lor as the twin protested his carelessness.

The twins dismounted and jogged into the tunnel as the dragons turned and lumbered off to join their wing mates. As expected, T’lor and M’lor were the last to arrive.

Lenoth had little care for her den, despite maintaining the prestige of still having a den in the Warren itself. Though she had a bed and a few creature comforts here, she much preferred a life on the road. More often than not, she and Aisinith were off on assignment or else wandering the countryside looking for adventure. As such, she’d turned the majority of her den into a common room for the Ranger Wing to hold their meetings.

When the twins made their entrance, the other rangers had already found their seats on the couch or the mismatched armchairs gathered in a semi-circle around the chalkboard. Lenoth stood by the board itself, a cup of coffee in one hand. She raised it in salute to the boys as they hurried to find seats on the couch.

“Thank you for joining us,” the elven woman quipped. “How many times in a row does this make it now?”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t late to your own debrief,” B’ard drawled from the armchair in which he’d settled in for half a nap.

“And yet I still beat them here. It’s bad when I’m not the last to arrive. I work hard on my entrances,” Lenoth said.

“It is your den. Why are you late to your own den?” Sa’yest, the towering, white drasis called from where she leaned against the far wall. Her mentor and friend, Illiara, let out a short snort beside her. They alone came on behalf of the drasis clan who had attached themselves to the Ranger Wing. Too many drasis in one place tended to make people uncomfortable, even if they were on the good side.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Lenoth said a little louder than necessary. Her way of redirecting people away from questions she didn’t want asked. Lenoth was good at distraction.

Placing her coffee on the side table beside the chalkboard, Lenoth reached for the chalk and directed their attention to the simple lines and swirls that represented a coastal village already drawn up on the board.

“Today’s the big day, as you all know. Before we head out, I know some people had some lingering questions about the plan. Let’s have them out now before we hit the field.”

T’lor studied the map as Lenoth spoke. They’d been working on this plan for weeks. It was a good plan. They knew the hydras were hitting coastal villages. They knew this particular village was at risk. They’d arranged with a neighbouring village to evacuate the people. All the Ranger Wing had to do was oversee evacuation day. A lot of people hitting the road at once was like a dinner bell for the hydras. Yet all intelligence reports had indicated that the main host of the hydra army was occupied elsewhere. It was a sound and safe plan. And yet T’lor hadn’t been able to shake a feeling of unease since their last meeting.

Against his better judgement, T’lor raised his hand.

Br’n groaned across from him. Yes, alright, he often raised points of contention in these meetings, but that was what they were for.

“The road between Myasy and Rovisi turns into a choke point when it dips into that forest valley. What if the evacuees get attacked there? The dragons can’t reach the valley floor.”

“This again? You brought this up the last time. The path is secured. Our people have been crawling all over it,” Br’n said.

“T’lor’s point is valid,” Sa’yest said. “A location that has already been secured provides the best opportunity for a surprise assault.”

“How are they supposed to surprise attack when we’re watching every angle?” Br’n countered.

“It is impossible to be alert to all potential attack vectors. An effective assault needs only one lapsed sentry point.”

“And that’s easy enough to secure with one sentry eliminated,” Illiara added.

A twist of something dark and suspicious crossed Br’n’s face after the second drasis spoke up. He was one of many who still considered the draconid people to be suspect until proven innocent.

T’lor didn’t blame him. Drasis were intimidating creatures before one considered the fact that they were rumoured to eat people. Even so, T’lor couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for Sa’yest’s intervention. If anyone could sniff out a weakness in a plan, it was the drasis.

“Alright, fair. This is why I wanted to have an open question period. See? We’re learning together. Let’s explore what happens if the evacuees get attacked on route,” Lenoth said as she flipped the chalkboard over, revealing a blank slate on the opposite side. With quick, sure strokes of the chalk, she sketched out Myasy as well as the valley through which the evacuees would need to travel to reach Rovisi. It was by no means a professional drawing, but it worked.

Lenoth turned back to the group, ready to launch into theoretical attack patterns. Before she could draw breath for a single word, every expression in the room went blank. As one, the Ranger Wing received the alert from their dragons while outside, a horn blared.

::Time’s up!:: Merlinth said chipperly. ::Hydras have been spotted moving up the coast. We need to move the townspeople now.::

T’lor cursed under his breath. Around the room, he watched the news leech into the faces of his friends and peers. Brows furrowed and frowns developed on every face.

“We stick to the plan,” Lenoth called over a chorus of scraping chairs and tromping boots. “Eyes in the sky. Don’t engage unless the targets are directly threatened.”

T’lor caught up to his brother as they hustled back out the tunnel to the blinding brilliance of the flight fields. In a matter of minutes, they would all be airborne. In the back of his mind, he mused on how he would get his wish in a manner of speaking. They were about to be within earshot of the front line.

* * *

Mystic stood at the back of the room, one hand looped around her staff and the other held loosely behind her back in a pose of attention that didn’t leave her muscles screaming from strain at the end of these hours-long meetings. She kept her focus on a point of the ceiling that was at once just interesting enough to keep her mind from wandering without drawing her attention away from the chatter of the men seated at the table.

Five princes sat in five ornate chairs decorated to represent their specific princelets. Behind them stood five mages, including herself. Five powerhouses with five cannons at their backs. She knew as well as the rest that the mages were not there as advisors or consultants. They existed only as a show of force. Even so, she couldn’t let bad ideas go unremarked.

“The hydras are moving up the coast, but they’ve left a significant number of units behind at every important landing site. This would suggest they’re not planning on abandoning any territory they’ve already claimed,” Aaron said.

“I feel the need to remind my esteemed brothers that (capital of Pentas) is one of those important landing sites,” Achille sneered through the forced smile quivering beneath his mustache. “We are not going to abandon the heart of our homeland to those beasts.”

“You are wasting lives, Achille,” Prince Reuss groused. “Pull back and regroup. Or hells, let the dragons help you already.”

“I would sooner see my entire army skewered and offered up as tribute to Toth himself before I allow those winged lizards to burn my city to the ground.”

“You may yet live to see that day,” Reuss said under his breath.

“You claim to fight for the preservation of your princelet, and yet you work towards ensuring that you will be left with no subjects left to enjoy it at the end of this war. Let us help,” Mystic said.

In immediate response to her words, Reuss sighed, Aaron flinched, and Andel covered a laugh by coughing into his fist. She’d gotten used to this response by this point. What still galled her was the way Achille stared her down as if she were lower than the dirt beneath his feet.

“That’s odd. Did anyone else hear the furniture speak?” He asked.

Mystic sucked a breath in through her teeth and clamped down on the first retort that came to mind.

“I meant no disrespect, my lord. I merely wished to offer a solution that would not result in the annihilation of your entire army.”

Achille held her gaze for several long seconds, his grey eyes boring straight through her. The prince of Pentas had long held a grudge against everything Lanuthan for daring to rise up and reclaim their homeland from him. He held a personal loathing for Mystic, viewing her as the font from which all of his troubles had sprouted forth.

“Prince Aaron, muzzle your magi,” he said in a low, warning growl.”

“Gentlemen, we’ve been at this for hours. I recommend a break,” Aaron offered quickly.

“Seconded,” Reuss said.

“Hear hear,” said Prince Andel of Sudland. “My old bladder can’t handle these long meetings anymore. We’ll reconvene in an hour. Agreed, gentlemen?”

A chorus of agreement went around the table. Chairs scraped back, and one by one the princes preceded the mages out of the room. Last to leave was Andel, already bowed with age and relying on the arm of his mage in white robes to see him through the door.

Only Aaron remained seated, head in his hands, until the door had shut behind them.

“Why do you have to antagonize him?” He asked.

The shock of his words robbed Mystic of her stewing anger toward Achille.

“Antagonize? I was simply offering him a solution. One he should have taken ages ago. Countless people have died because of his stubbornness.”

“And more will die still as a result of today.”

Mystic wheeled around Aaron’s chair and came to stand beside him. She placed her hands on the table and met him stare for stare when he looked up.

“Why? Because I spoke?” She demanded.

“Yes. Exactly. You know the rules.”

“And what happened to writing our own rules? Wasn’t that what you declared to me the day you asked me to be your princess?”

Aaron let out an explosive sigh and pushed himself up from the table. His chair scraped and clacked against the worn stone floor with the force of his movement. He stalked around the other side of the table, as if needing to put a physical barrier between them, and gestured wide as he spoke.

“That was different and you know it.”

“Explain it to me like I don’t, Aaron.”

Aaron pressed his hands to his face and breathed deep for a moment. When he spoke, it was with the slow, measured tone of someone who had explained this same point a dozen times before.

“In Lanutha, our word is law. We can make and unmake the rules as we need to. But when it comes to the council of princes, I am a rookie.”

“You are the rightful heir to Lanutha.”

“Lanutha didn’t exist before us,” he snapped. With each sentence that followed came a wild gesture to punctuate it. “The old Lanutha was cut up and parceled out to the other princes, and it’s only because I pulled a bloody sword out of a bloody cave that I even got the chance to plead my case before the council. And on top of that, I’m not even the oldest! My brother is. And when he challenged me for the throne, I humiliated him. We are upstarts who came out of nowhere, upset centuries old traditions, brought in dragons, kicked the proverbial hornet’s nest, and demanded respect we hadn’t earned. They have so many reasons to hate and mistrust us, Mystic. Why can’t you just cooperate for once?”

“Because he is a pig-headed fool who is getting his people killed. You know it. I know it. Everyone with half a brain cell knows it.”

“He is a prince. You are a mage. His role is to make decisions. Yours is to stand behind me silently while I do my damnedest to convince a room full of very powerful people that we deserve to be here. Stop making my job harder than it already is.”

For a short while after Aaron’s outburst, the room became eerily silent. Mystic stared at her husband, hurt and enraged all at once.

There were so many obstacles standing before them these days. So many enemies who would delight in seeing them fail. It seemed like every day, someone or something was trying to tear down what they had built together. Yet the thing that kept her going, that kept her sane and focused, was that they tackled these challenges together. Only now it seemed as if she was alone in that belief.

“I thought we were going to change the world together.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but they blew away all of Aaron’s bluster like a galeforce wind. He sagged visibly and ran his hands through his hair.

“We are. We have. We will again. But there’s a limit to how many boundaries we can push.”

“Being silenced is not a boundary I can accept.”

“Yeah, that’s loud and clear.”

It was the way he said it. The utter dismissiveness of his tone. As if her independence was the greatest inconvenience in his life.

She remembered the day he’d fought to win her hand. How he’d ranted about the women his advisors and family had tried to set him up with. How they had acquiesced to his every whim. How they had always wanted to do what he wanted. How they had been vapid and powerless and boring. He’d sworn to her that he needed her fire in his life. That a life without the thrill of her intellect and challenge of her pride was no life at all.

And yet that tone, that bitter, disappointed edge, said that he regretted that choice today.

Mystic headed for the door without another word. She caught a glimpse of his start of surprise as she yanked the door open; a flash of his realization and dismay. Then she was in the hall and storming away.

“Mystic. Mystic, come back. Dammit, I still need you,” he called from the open doorway.

She was fully prepared to leave in a righteous huff. Screw the council, screw the protocols, and screw Aaron in particular, but the sound of rapid footsteps coming her way drew her up short.

The rider appeared at the end of the hall, red hair flying behind her as two armoured guards dogged her steps.

Ren, Mystic knew right away. One of her newer riders. A woman quickly rising up the ranks and proving herself invaluable to Mystic’s own circle of trusted advisors. She was as quick with her wit as she was on her feet. Those who knew her joked that she even slept in her riding leathers, never wanting to waste a second that could’ve been spent on an adrenaline rush instead.

Only today she wasn't wearing her riding leathers. She wore her hard-boiled and blackened battle leathers.

“Mystic,” Ren called out breathlessly as she drew within speaking range.

The guards chasing after her used her flagging speed to their advantage and caught up an arm each. Ren snarled at them like a wild beast and tried to shake them off.

“Release her,” Mystic ordered imperiously.

The guards obeyed, though not without a searching glance over Mystic’s shoulder.

Looking for Aaron’s approval. Of course. Mystic tamped down the simmering indignation at that thought.

“Hydras,” Ren spat out between gulps of great lungfuls of air. “They’re moving up the coast.”

“How many? Where?”

“A half dozen or so. They’re headed for Myasy. Lenoth and the rangers are already there taking care of the evacuation. They’re alone.”

Mystic turned, instinct driving her to look for Aaron. He stood a few feet away. His eyes met hers, and a grim determination drew lines in his brow.

“Go. I’ll handle things here.”

She didn’t need more than that. Seconds later, she and Ren were flying down the hall toward the exit.

* * *

Myasy was gone. It hadn’t stood a chance in the first place, but the swiftness with which the hydras had rained total devastation upon the place spoke to the absolute power of these ancient killing machines.

A ceiling of black smoke blotted out the sky. It rolled and boiled like ocean waves during a storm, lit from beneath by the hellish glow of red and orange flames. What had once been the Myasy port and docks, a bustling place of commerce for Lanuthan trade ships, was now no more than a half-buried skeleton of black sticks and smouldering ash. The warehouses that had once housed Myasy’s rich trade goods continued to belch sickly black streams into the sky, feeding the raging waves above. Over the remains of the town, now emptied of its inhabitants, a faintly green miasma hung like a funeral shawl.

T’lor, seated astride Merlinth, was grateful there was a sliver of space between the clouds and the acidic smog for them to hover in. He didn’t envy the evacuees streaming through the soot-blackened streets below that had to contend with breathing in that burning vapour.

They moved along in a near-single file like a horde of ants on their way to a picnic. Only there was no mountain of sweet treats for them to feast on at the end of their journey. Just an overwrought town that had grudgingly granted them temporary shelter. That and the knowledge that all that remained of their previous lives now existed in the sacks on their backs and trunks on their carts.

No, T’lor didn’t envy them one little bit.

A flare of fresh agony pulsated through his calf and up to his thigh. T’lor grimaced and adjusted his seat in the saddle, making sure never to take his eyes off the sky. How the drasis moved through those choking clouds without suffocating themselves, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to give them so much as a second of grace to come shooting down at the beleaguered evacuees below.

::Nearly done, rider mine,:: Merlinth spoke reassuringly into his mind. ::We’re at the tail end of the procession now. Then we just have to monitor them over the forest.::

::I’m fine,:: T’lor shot back. He didn’t mean the words to be snappish, but his leg hadn’t stopped aching since he’d taken that glancing blow from a hydra’s acidic spit. A touch of antidote had stopped it from burning straight through his flesh into his bone, but it hadn’t dulled the fire in his nerves.

Thank the gods that the other wings had arrived when they did. Lenoth had led a fierce first assault when they’d noticed the hydras creeping up out of the ocean, but their focus had swiftly turned to defense in an effort just to keep themselves and their charges alive. A few minutes more and they would’ve lost Myasy, its people, and the whole ranger wing in one blow.

::Myrah’Care says they’ve pushed the hydras back to the waterline. We’ve turned the tide.:: The excitement in Merlinth’s mental threads did not transfer to his rider.

::Let’s just stay focused on the task at hand. Where’s Dracoth?::

::He thinks they spotted something moving in the treeline. He’s going to check it out.::

::Tell him to get back in formation,:: T’lor snapped. He knew Dracoth was too sensible to be chasing shadows, but that sounded exactly like something M’lor would do. They were already exhausted and injured. What the hell was he thinking?

::Hang on…:: Merlinth replied, his voice trailing off as he touched a mind that wasd not his rider’s. ::Aisinith says fall in. We’re moving to the next phase.::

Thank the gods. Again. They were so close to done with this nightmarish evacuation.

Merlinth turned and angled toward the other dragons hovering in the haze like ships lost at sea. Their wings stirred the drifting smoke, sending it reeling in tiny whirlpools through the sky. The lack of sunlight had stolen the colour from their hides, but T’lor could still make out vague shapes and sizes. There was Lenoth’s tiny Aisinith and B’ard’s stocky, strong bronze Halcioth. As they moved toward each other, more details resolved themselves. Enough for T’lor to see that Dracoth was still missing.

Irrational rage boiled up inside him, quickly quelled in favour of a level head. It was up to Lenoth to keep his brother in line, not himself. Even so, he couldn’t help reliving every time he’d warned M’lor not to go off on his own. Especially now that they were this close to the action.

It was selfish, dammit. Running off after gods knew what when they had clear instructions to defend and protect the refugee line. Not only did they leave their section of the line open, but they made it infinitely more difficult for the rest of the wing to cover them should something go wrong.

Stupid, selfish, and shortsighted. T’lor would have words for his brother later.

The dragons formed a loose circle in the air, keeping enough distance not to interfere with each other’s wing beats. There was too much smoke and noise to speak across the distance, but T’lor had a good enough line of sight to see Lenoth’s hand signals. Plus he had Merlinth to pass along the commands mentally.

Lenoth had just started outlining their formation for the forest flyover when a furious bellow split through the low rumble of nearby combat. T’lor knew the voice instantly, even before it gave off another guttural and panic-striken roar. Other voices joined the dragon’s. High pitched and human, the evacuees raised their voices in a chorus of terror. T’lor turned in his saddle and spotted the blotch of dark blue powering toward them at incredible speeds.

::What is-:: His question died mid-thought as fear surged through his bond with Merlinth.

::Ambush!:: The blue cried. The mental shout was taken up by the other dragons of the ranger wing, echoed in bugles of alarm and the cries from below.

Over the sudden cacophony, Lenoth’s voice rose like a trumpet of war.

“Break!” She shouted.

But it was too late. Even as Merlinth turned, even as he started to dive, T’lor could not tear his gaze away from the brightness building behind Dracoth’s frantically pistoning wings.

Six new spots of furious, glowing orange. Six mouths opened and aimed at them. A hydra had snuck behind their line and now stood between them and the forest. And then it coughed, and the fire raced toward them.

The last thing T’lor saw before everything went dark was Dracoth’s wings enveloping his world.

* * *

There existed a single space of clean air above the burning remains of Myasy, and that was in the magically charged bubble that Mystic had wrought around herself and Myrah’Care. Within their shelter, no smoke swirled around the silver’s wings. No acid stung their lungs. Though stale and tasting of carbon, the air around them was clean and breathable. More importantly, it was not a distraction from the field below.

Dragons of every colour raced in V-formation over the frothing, mud-choked shores of the former port. Their fire fanned out, momentary spotlights against the gray world, and boiled the water from the rocky beach. Steam exploded where it hit, obscuring the great beasts. Inevitably their wings would cast the steam off as if throwing off a blanket, and Mystic would watch them ready another synchronized blast, driving their foes ever further into the waves.

Six hydras, led by a red majestic. So far neither side had suffered any losses, but one of the lesser beasts was flagging, and Mystic sent out a mental command to separate it from its companions.

This was her role in these pitched battles these days. Not leading the charge, carving up the landscape with Myrah’Care’s silver fyre. Not at the head of her formation, guiding the other magi in where to cast their offensive spells. Her role was to be the command center of the entire engagement, positioned high and far removed from the direct combat so that she might see and direct all below her. It was mentally exhausting, but their survival rate had climbed dramatically since they’d started using this methodology.

The majestic broke away from the lesser hydras and surged up the shoreline toward a gap left by the last pass of Rugan’s Sextus wing. Fire and acid alike peppered the air from its twenty some-odd heads, providing its own cover fire.

Mystic responded instantly, sending out wordless visuals and instructions to Porth, Rugan’s brown. Rugan herself was not with her dragons, but landbound and leading the charge of their foot soldiers as they attempted to sweep the hell hounds, imps and death knights from the abandoned buildings. If that majestic got to the town, Rugan’s sweep would turn into a desperate bid for survival.

Porth pivoted mid-air, releasing a resounding battle cry as he led a dive toward the majestic. At the same time, the five lesser hydras rallied around the most injured one and launched a coordinated volley of their own. Their forces were now split, and Mystic sucked in a breath over her teeth as their forward progress flagged and came to a standstill as they dealt with the new threat. Worse yet, she watched the majestic hydra slip under Porth’s ground fire and launch itself in a jog toward the town.

Tendrils of thoughts touched dozens of minds at once, conveying impressions and images rather than full sentences. Language took too much time. She needed her ideas conveyed instantly and clearly. Fan out and form a semi-circle around the retreating hydras. They could only hold their ground so far into the water. Septimus wing to break off and follow the Sextus wing’s lead, acting to pincer the majestic before it reached the town.

A red-orange glow burst in the corner of her vision, followed by the crack and boom of impact and dozens of voices raised in agony. A second later, the psychic whiplash of half a dozen dragons shouting in alarm, then falling silent, slashed through her mind.

Mystic whipped her head to the side, her focus on the field below broken. She watched in horror as the flickering remnants of a blazing assault revealed the ranger wing tumbling from the sky. All of them. All at once. And there in the distance, the pinprick glow of a dozen red eyes.

Her first thought was to fly to them, provide them cover and call in the wings for support.

::The wings are split. If we leave now, the hydras will come up through the town and surround us,:: Myrah’Care cautioned.

::If we leave them, they’re all dead,:: Mystic countered.

Neither of them wanted to admit the possible reality that they were dead already.

For a breath of time, neither of them spoke, or thought, or moved. Their minds were in sync. Pragmatics dictated they ignore the risk posed by rushing to the aid of the rangers and focus on the front, but when had Mystic ever cared for being pragmatic?

::Go,:: Myrah’Care said at length. ::I will maintain the field here. If you can hold it off, I will bring in the wings as soon as we’ve cleared the threat.::

Mystic laid a hand flat against the side of her bond’s neck. She felt Myrah’s pulse beneath her fingertips, felt the twitch of her muscles and the heat radiating from her hide. She felt too the shared love and respect that bound them together.

::Be safe. Be swift,:: Mystic said.

::You as well, my heart.::

Then Mystic stood, balancing atop Myrah’s flexing shoulders as the dragon maintained her position in the air. With a few whispered words, Mystic tapped into the wellspring of power that slumbered inside her and felt it spread its intoxicating presence into her limbs, veins, and very essence. She tilted forward, letting gravity take hold and pull her from her bond’s back.

In a heartbeat, she passed through the barrier that had kept her lungs free of the aerosolized debris of battle. Smoke swirled around her, tangled into her hair and nostrils and lungs. Acid stung her skin and pricked her fingertips with pins and needles. The wind howled, louder than the clash of battle below.

Mystic kept her eyes closed, focused inward. The magic did its work quickly, spilling into her extremities and taking hold of her physical form. In a matter of seconds, she went from tumbling through the air to riding upon it on golden-brown wings. She released a single screech through her newly formed beak, then arrowed toward the space where the rangers had fallen.

* * *

He’d only blinked. Just a momentary lapse of attention. Yet when he opened his eyes again, he was on the ground. Smoke coiled in his lungs, thick as tar, and heat prickled his skin. Above him roiled the endless ceiling of black smoke, lit along its edges by a red-orange glow. Over the ringing in his ears came the screams of the suffering and dying. His legs hurt too. Though he tried to wiggle his toes, he couldn’t feel a response.

T’lor sat up, gripped by the irrational fear that his legs were gone. His legs were still attached to him, but pinned beneath Merlinth’s neck. T’lor reached out mentally for his bond, confident in the knowledge that the blue was always just a fired synapse away.

Only he wasn’t this time. No amount of mental prodding or pushing roused the blue from where he lay sprawled across the ground. Now that T’lor looked, really looked, he could see the fresh scorch marks on Merlinth’s hide, and the wicked gash across his head. Something hot and wet tickled his face. T’lor reached up to touch his temple and pulled his fingers away red and glistening. He too had taken a knock to the head.

T’lor wriggled and pushed, pried and shoved, until his legs came free from beneath Merlinth’s neck. All the while he poked at his bond’s mind, urging the blue to get up again. When that failed, he smacked his neck and gripped his head knobs to give him a shake.

“Hey! Hey, Mer. Come on, buddy, get up,” he pleaded.

But the blue remained insensate. Alive, that much he could tell for certain, but unable to wake.

T’lor pushed himself to his feet and took stock of his surroundings for the first time.

Bodies lay all around him. Halcioth and Roskath and Aisinith. All of them sprawled across the scorched ground with heavy, black burn marks marring their bodies. The riders lay on the ground too, not far from their bonds. Gods, were they all dead? Was he the only survivor?

In the distance, a massive shape with six writhing heads loomed over the battlefield. It was not bearing down on them, thank the gods. It was too preoccupied with picking off the evacuees now enacting a mad dash back toward the shelter of the town. Hell hounds nipped at the heels of sobbing survivors. Drasis dove from above, picking people up and dropping them from the air just to hear the sickening thud of their impact.

His eyes strayed to a dark blue body nearer to where Merlinth lay. The dragon was almost unrecognizable beneath the still smouldering ruin of his hide. T’lor recognized the rider though. Even half-buried and badly burned, he knew that face as well as he knew his own.

“M’lor!” The cry broke from his throat in a surge of raw agony. With stumbling, uncoordinated steps, T’lor pulled himself across the wrecked landscape to his brother’s side. He collapsed to the ground beside him, heedless of the protests of his injured legs.

Only half of M’lor’s body was visible. The rest lay beneath his dragon’s burn-scarred body. M’lor’s own flesh blistered and cracked where the fire had burned away his uniform. Half his face was gone, replaced with a cracked landscape of bloody red pulp. The smell of cooked meat was so thick in the air that it replaced the acrid burn of smoke at the back of T’lor’s throat.

“M’lor, come on, get up,” T’lor pleaded, once again willing his words to reach his target. He gripped his brother’s only free arm and shook him, sickened by the way his head lolled from side to side. Panic swarmed up his throat and threatened to suffocate him. “Mal. Come on, man. Don’t do this to me.”

M’lor gave no response. T’lor slammed a fist against the ground beside his head, screamed his name, vowed on the four gods to chase him through all nine hells if he had to, but nothing stirred his brother.

Still. So still. T’lor pressed two fingers to his brother’s throat and waited. He became as still as M’lor, barely willing to breathe. And he waited.

When the hint of a pulse fluttered against T’lor’s fingertips, he nearly screamed with relief. M’lor was alive. But for how long?

Something screeched overhead. T’lor whipped around, ready to take on the hydra with his bare hands if necessary. All he saw against the pitch black sky was a bird, winking golden feathers catching the furious glow of the fires all around them.

The bird came to a landing on an overturned cart at the far end of their impact site. It spread its wings wide, and from its feathertips came a blazing light. A sun appeared on the ground. It grew and elongated until it became the shape of a person, arms raised and head held high as if worshipping the sky they couldn't see. Even after the light faded, a brightness clung to the woman left behind that had no place in this hellish landscape. Red fabric danced like flames around her legs, mocking the greedy fires chewing up the town around them. She kept her back straight, head high, and raised a hand to call a slender golden staff out of thin air. This she raised higher still, pointing the tip toward the hydra. It had taken notice of them by then. How could it not with the woman standing there like a lighthouse in a storm. It took a single step toward them before fire leapt up around its feet. Ten, twenty, thirty feet high. It roared and hissed as it surrounded the six-headed beast, who let out a challenging roar of its own. The fire formed a solid circle around the hydra, and when it tried to step through the flames, a searing white light burst from the point of contact. The hydra released a reverberating howl that shook the very ground beneath their feet. Teeth gnashed and acid dripped from its blackened gums, but it could do nothing more than glare balefully at them through the flickering prison.

The hydra was not the only one to notice them either. Dropping from the smoke like multicoloured bats, drasis arranged themselves in the skies overhead. While on the ground, dozens upon dozens of hellhounds turned their attention from the straggling survivors to the beacon on the field.

Mystic had come to save them. Despite the bodies all around. Despite the minimal chance of survival. She’d come for them. She’d come and given T’lor a chance. He could still save Merlinth. He could save his brother.

Adrenaline welled up so suddenly and fiercely in his veins that it made his head spin. T’lor threw himself across the broken landscape, scrabbling on hands and knees until his feet found purchase again. He didn’t know where he was headed at first, but the moment that the shock of white hair caught his eye, he developed a plan. If there was so much as an ounce of hope that he was not the only survivor, then he needed back up.

“Wake up,” T’lor hollered. Smoke had stolen the depth of his voice and made it hoarse and raspy instead. He levelled a kick at Br’n’s leg and mustered up all he could of his vocal range to shout again. “Get up. We need to hold the line.”

Br’n lay mere feet away from his bond, Roskath, who in turn lay beneath the bulk of Zax’s violently coloured Empyrean. For the most part, the man looked unharmed. Banged up and bloodied around the edges, but no limbs lay at odd angles.

Zax, on the other hand, lay on his stomach next to his bond with a charred timber pinning him to the ground. They must have crashed through a building on the way down.

T’lor wrapped his hands beneath the timber and lifted with all his might. All the while he screamed at them to open their eyes, move their heads, get up and help him, dammit.

The beam lifted an inch, groaning a protest as T’lor strained to lift it higher. An inch more, and he canted sideways, throwing himself and the beam in one go to clear Zax’s head. The beam crashed to the ground next to him and split down the center, but the minotaur was free of his prison.

Still he screamed. He shouted and railed at them until his throat gave out and the only sound he could make was a furious rasping noise. By then, Br’n had opened his eyes, though he remained splayed out on the ground, staring at the sky as if star gazing.

Lenoth was up though. T’lor saw her hunched over her bond just a short distance away. He abandoned the two men and charged over to her. One person had to be able to support him. Just one.

“Lenoth,” T’lor forced her name up his ravaged throat and past his dry lips. He gripped her shoulder, ready to help her focus. Not ready to see the blank-eyed zombie staring back at him.

“Ai,” she murmured in a voice like a sleepwalker’s, barely able to remember what actual words sounded like. “He won’t wake up.”

T’lor looked to the little white. The dragon who was so swift and fierce that he never balked in the face of the larger dragons in the wing now looked like a fallen tent, wings pitched at wrong angles and pristine white hide smeared in streaks of red and black. Something jutted up against the skin of his thigh in a place where nothing pointed should have been. T’lor looked away when he felt bile rising up his throat.

Looking back at Lenoth, he understood why her pupils were too large for her eyes and why a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her pallid skin. Merlinth’s silence ached inside him like a chasm just waiting to swallow him whole. Only his desperate bid to keep them all alive, himself, Merlinth, Dracoth, and his brother, prevented him from tipping into that void. Lenoth had already lost herself.

“Ai,” she said in that lost child voice again. “Ai won’t wake up.”

“You need to pull your shit together. We have to hold this position, or no one wakes up,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Then he was up, turning away from her, turning back toward Mystic.

Fine, he would hold the line on his own.

Every movement, every twitch of his muscles came at the behest of some part of his mind that he no longer had access to. He could only will himself to stumble forward, pick up that crossbow, jog over to the hill of discarded travel goods upon which Mystic had turned herself into a statue. She remained just as he’d last seen her; arm upraised and staff pointed at the hydra. Every now and then, her free hand twisted through a series of arcane symbols that he couldn’t begin to comprehend, and flashes of brilliant purple and pink and yellow lights exploded in the sky overhead. Yet her eyes never left the hydra, and her lips never stopped moving.

A trio of drasis dipped and dove against the backdrop of inky blackness like fish in the ocean. Two went down beneath the colourful fireworks launched by the Red Mage. The third ducked aside, then launched a spear toward them.

T’lor threw himself to the ground as the spear narrowly missed impailing him. A hiss of breath drew his attention up from the dirt, and he watched Mystic’s face contort in agony. For a second, her chant stalled. The reflected glow of the world’s largest bonfire flickered. The hydra roared. A red trickle spilled through a new slash torn through Mystic’s dress, and T’lor came to the sudden and gut-churning realization that they were one dropped syllable away from annihilation.

He moved with robotic efficiency, setting himself up behind the broken remains of a barrel and shoving his quiver between two errant bricks to keep it upright. Then he took up a kneeling position, fitted the crossbow to his shoulder, and leaned out from cover.

The drasis who had launched the spear attack was winging away from them, twisting and turning through the red-lit haze. T’lor lined up a shot, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger.

The drasis let out a single, surprised screech as the bolt buried itself between his shoulder blades. With that core muscle group out of commission, his wings became useless towels tied to his spine. He pawed desperately at his back as he tumbled toward the ground, wrapped in the appendages that had held him aloft seconds ago. T’lor reloaded.

For several long, blinkless seconds, T’lor operated on muscle memory. Aim, exhale, fire, inhale, reload. Aim, exhale, fire, inhale, reload. It was a surprisingly soothing rhythm, drilled into him through countless hours of combat practice. He sank into the automation, letting the veil of survival instincts take over his mind. No more screaming ache echoing through every thought for Merlinth. No more wrenching agony over his brother’s burned body. Just aim, exhale, fire, reload.

A shout startled T’lor out of his monotony. He jerked his head up, wondering how long he’d been in that trance. Long enough for some of his peers to put themselves back together, apparently.

B’ard, the pot-bellied former cowboy stood in the midst of the carnage of their fallen wing, brandishing two pistols at the sky. Blood had turned his silver hair brown and plastered it to his head like a helmet. It fully obscured one eye and crusted around the edges of his mouth as he rained verbal blows on the drasis circling overhead.

“Get down here you scaly sacks of shit,” he roared, punctuating his words with a blast from each pistol. “Come on and get me you winged leeches! Nothing but blood suckers you are. Mindless, soulless little slugs you are. Can’t do anything for yourselves, eh? Need the hydras to feed your fat bellies. Come on! I’m right here!”

One of the drasis took the bait. He came arrowing out of the clouds as if shot from a bow, trailing a tendril of black in his wake. His wings folded in tight to his body, and he loosed a screech like a bird of prey. He didn’t get within ten feet of B’ard.

A shot cracked through the air like a snapping branch and the drasis’ deliberate dive became an uncoordinated tumble. He landed in a heap at B’ard’s feet, who took the opportunity to pose with a boot on his horned head and let out a maddened peel of laughter.

From a few feet back, Lenoth mechanically reloaded her rifle and took aim at another target. Even from this distance, she still looked too pale and too fragile, but she was in the fight.

T’lor caught sight of Br’n and Zax shuffling toward him as well, called forward by the beacon that was Mystic and her spell casting. Neither of them looked entirely coherent, but standing and moving was all he needed. T’lor looked to Zax and pointed at Mystic.

“Shield,” he roared. Then he switched his attention to Br’n and pointed out to the field where the refugees continued to flee for their very lives. “Get them back here.”

Without a word, they bent to his will. Zax cast about for a few seconds before he spotted what he wanted. Hunching over, he wrapped his massive hands around a half-buried trunk and heaved it from the ground with a single, guttural grunt. The trunk would’ve required two people of T’lor’s size to lift it, but the minotaur wielded the chest like a child’s toy. Then, with a snarl that rolled in the depths of his chest, he ripped the thing apart at the hinges. The lid he fitted to his arm as if it had been made to brace from elbow to knuckle. The body of the trunk he gripped in one fist like a club. So outfitted, he waded forward to stand in front of Mystic’s perch and released a bellow that put the hydra to shame.

Br’n, in the meantime, charged mindlessly into the field of battle to retrieve the evacuees. T’lor hunched back behind the shelter of his barrel, then took aim to cover his back. Aim, exhale, fire, reload. He could do this.

They could do this. Survival no longer felt like such a long shot. All of the riders were up and engaged. The dragons were still down, but they would recover. They had to recover. As soon as the other wings arrived to cover them, they would all be able to get out of here.

A screech overhead drew his attention up for a moment. He feared a dive bomb attack, but the sight of a streak of white spearing through the air against the black sky flooded him with the sweet song of relief. Sa’yest had returned, and with her flew a formation of drasis ready to engage with their blood-thirsty kin.

They were going to survive. Blessed gods, they were going to survive.

T’lor reached back for another bolt. His hand met nothing but empty air. As quickly as it had arrived, the hope buoying up his heart deflated. He looked down to make sure, but yes, he was out of bolts. He looked up again and spotted Br’n in a mad dash in his direction, an unconscious body held over each shoulder and a ragged trail of survivors following behind him. And behind them, a pack of the black-skinned, fire-mouthed hellhounds.

“B’ard,” he shouted to get the big man’s attention.

B’ard’s attention swung his way for a split second. Long enough for T’lor to point at the field.

“Ye-haw, mother fuckers,” B’ard bellowed. Then he charged, guns raised and eyes glinting with an unhinged light.

T’lor didn’t have time to worry about the effectiveness of his distraction. No sooner had he sent B’ard off than he heard a strangled shout from behind him. When he turned, he saw that Zax had developed several mangy growths across his body. More hellhounds. Gods, they were everywhere now. Two had latched onto the minotaur’s arms and shoulders, while a third had its molten-hot jaws around his throat.

The bolts were gone, but the crossbow was still a heavy slab of wood. A battlecry tore from his throat as T’lor threw himself over his shelter and smashed the stringed weapon into the head of the hound on Zax’s throat. The hound let out a surprised yelp. The crossbow let out a twang and snap as the bow section broke in half. Undeterred, T’lor lifted the weapon over his head and brought it down on the hellhound’s skull again and again and again.

At last, the remains of the beast fell away from Zax, dripping blazing hot pools of blood onto the ground. More blood covered T’lor’s hands and arms. It itched with the force of a sunburn. Soon, it would begin to scald. He didn’t have time to shake it off though, as one of the other hounds that had attached itself to Zax turned and launched straight for him.

Instinctively, T’lor dropped his weapon and raised his hands to catch the emaciated hound. It bore him to the ground with its weight, slavering jaws snapping for his own throat. He brought his arm up to slow the attack, give it something to chew on.

Teeth like iron hot from the forge ripped into his flesh. A scream worked its way up his ravaged throat. He gripped his wrist with his free hand and pushed back. If he lost an arm to this thing, he could still survive.

T’lor looked past the burning ember eyes of his assailant. Up to the broken cart podium on which Mystic stood. He watched her stand tall with glowing golden staff pointed toward the hydra, bathed in the light of her own fire, uttering a never ending chant. He watched the spear pierce through her and heard the sharp intake of breath. He watched the light of her fire gutter and die. He heard the hydra’s triumphant, reverberating shriek.

They were going to die here.

T’lor’s strength flagged. He closed his eyes, but never stopped pushing against the hellhound’s hungry maw. Boiling saliva dripped onto his skin and ignited sharp points of agony across his neck.

T’lor thought of Merlinth and his brother, and poor Tally and the kids back home. He thought of all the things he didn’t want to leave behind, and he kept his eyes shut.

Another roar echoed directly overhead. T’lor was sure the hydra would snap them all up in a second. Instead, the pressure on his chest vanished and the pain in his arm eased. Fire no longer flowed into his veins. T’lor opened his eyes.

Above him stood an angel of death. Rugan in her battered armor, fanged helmet obscuring all but the twisted snarl across her lips. She raised her double bladed axe, pointed it forward, and released another howl of rage.

A wall of metal and steel and fury boiled over the miniscule barricade they’d used. Soldiers in full plate and chain mail and leather and whatever bits of protection they’d been able to scrounge up. They echoed Rugan’s cry as they charged into the field of hellhounds.

Overhead came another roar, this one beautiful in its anger. A wedge of silver blotted out the sky and filled the darkened battlefield with sudden, star-filled brilliance. Two great, silver wings curved around their space, forming a protective bubble over the fallen.

Rugan joined the charge forward, and soon T’lor was alone again. He wasn’t worried though. The sky was filled with diamonds now.

Diamonds and rubies and sapphires, all glittering and beautiful as they arched across the black expanse. Their fire lit up the clouds, brief fireworks in an otherwise lightless expanse. He smiled to himself as the world started to fade away, and thought that this was a lovely way to die.

* * *

T’lor dreamt of his brother. He dreamt of when they were young and newly relocated to the Warren, and the first day that Mystic had left them alone with the care of her odd zoo. He remembered being absolutely terrified of a mangy gryphon who looked as likely to snap one of their arms off as to take the offered bowl of food.

He dreamt of Malor’s hand in his, hot and damp with sweat. He watched his brother smile at him and hug the bowl close to his chest. He remembered Malor letting go of his hand and stepping forward to present the gryphon with its meal, and then laughing as it ate a single dainty piece of meat at a time.

T’lor dreamt of the day a few years later when Mystic had once again left them alone. This time on an asteroid in the middle of space with an oddly stern woman named Baeris. He held Malor’s hand as they stood in a sand-filled cavern before a broody dragonness and her eggs. Other people approached the dragon without fear and coaxed the hatchlings from their shells. Green and gold and bronze. Beautiful and deadly all at once.

A pair of eggs broke at the same time and spilled two blue dragons onto the sands, each a mirror to the other. Malor looked at him with absolute delight sparkling in his eyes and tugged him toward the dragons. Talor didn’t move. M’lor released his hand and moved forward anyway. He knelt before the hatchlings and laughed with utter glee as the darker of the two crawled right up to him. The lighter one looked to Talor, and suddenly he wasn’t afraid anymore.

T’lor dreamt of years later, when their dragons were grown and they’d adopted the new, elided names of dragon riders. He remembered learning to fly and not being very secure in his saddle. He remembered falling and M’lor catching him in mid-air.

M’lor smiled down at him as he held his hand, and T’lor knew he would always be safe so long as he had his brother.

M’lor looked ahead as the dragons continued to fly ever higher. Too high. Too far. Merlinth was too far away from him. T’lor looked up at his brother, pleading with him to pull him up to safety.

M’lor let go of his hand.

* * *

He’d only blinked. Just a momentary lapse of attention. Yet when he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t on the ground anymore. Something soft cushioned his back, and overhead rose a ceiling of carved stone, not the wall of black smoke he expected. The screams and cries of battle had been replaced with the soft murmur of conversation, and the smell of death that threatened to never leave his lungs had faded to a background whiff beneath the potpourri of antiseptics and cleaning agents.

The first thought that struck his reawakening mind was that the others must be dead. There was no other reason they would be so silent. The hellhounds would be on them any second now.

He shot upright, ready for a fight. His body screamed in protest, aching in every muscle and sagging with fatigue. Something gripped his shoulder and he instinctively grabbed at it, ready to rip the hound’s muzzle away. Yet when he looked to the side, he didn’t see the blazing depths of hell staring back at him. He saw Tally.

Sweet, beautiful Tally with her soft features and long, black hair. Concern etched lines into her brow and her lips moved as if speaking. It took several seconds for his mind to process the noise into words he could understand.

“You’re hurting me, T’lor. Just relax. You’re safe here.”

He jerked his hand away from where he’d gripped her wrist with crushing potential, at once shocked and ashamed. Ashamed because he never wanted to hurt Tally. Not even accidentally. Shocked because he couldn’t understand what she was doing on the battlefield.

Only she wasn’t on the battlefield, was she? Neither was he, for that matter. She continued to croon at him, offering reassuring words and gentle insistence that he relax, but the adrenaline had hold of him now. He couldn’t close his eyes. Instead, he cast about his surroundings, piecing together the events that must have happened while he’d been unconscious.

Six beds fit into the small, cozy chamber. There was scarcely enough room for each bed to have a shelf of medical necessities on one side of it, and a chair on the other, but the place felt cozy rather than cramped. People in white robes moved between the beds, tending to their occupants. There lay Kaz in one, a brace around his neck and an attendant patiently feeding him spoonfuls of soup. Br’n stood next to another, braced up by crutches while someone helped him take a few tentative steps. B’ard had several pillows propped up behind his back while he perused a book. Bandages turned his head into a flat, white q-tip atop his shoulders. Even the drasis were here. Sa’yest and Illiara and a few other members of the Light clan, though they didn’t fill any of the beds. Lenoth looked the most recovered out of all of them, sitting up in her bed and talking quietly with Sa’yest. She looked happy now, flush with life. Not at all the cracked shell of a woman he recalled from a few seconds ago.

T’lor reached inward and touched the space that Merlinth occupied in his mind. It was the steady, sleepy presence of the dragon that finally unwound the knot of anxiety in his chest. Though Merlinth didn’t respond, he was there, and he was safe.

Then T’lor looked to Tally and past her, and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat. He let out a strangled cry as he threw himself out of his bed and across to the next, wherein his brother lay.

M’lor looked like a person again. His head was as bandaged up as B’ard’s and half his chest bore enough padding and bandaging to fill one of the pillows propping him up, but when T’lor reached his bedside, he grinned from ear to ear.

“Hey brother,” M’lor slurred. “They gave me the good drugs.”

“You’re alive. Fucking hells, you’re alive.” T’lor leaned over M’lor, needing to feel the warmth of his presence and hear the air filling his lungs. He touched his forehead to his brother’s for several long seconds, then pulled back and met his gaze. “What the fuck were you thinking diving in front of me like that?”

M’lor’s brows crashed together in an expression that T’lor knew meant his brother was questioning his sanity.

“Because you were going to get hurt. I had to protect you.”

T’lor closed his eyes and breathed deep. Of course his brother put his safety first. Of course he would risk himself thoughtlessly for another. That was just how M’lor operated, and it gave him a heart attack every time.

“Hey, T’lor,” M’lor said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think… I think I lost my arm. Can you help me find it?”

T’lor opened his eyes again. His brain made the connection between the copious amounts of bandages on his chest and the lack of bandages in the space beside it. His entire left side was wrapped up tight, from shoulder to navel, leaving no space for the arm that should have been there.

T’lor remembered the way he’d found him. He remembered the blackened, charred mess of his skin and how Dracoth’s own crisped form had seemed to meld into his brother’s side. He remembered the smell of charred meat.

T’lor shoved the memories aside as his gorge rose and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, sure,” he said through a tight smile.

M’lor’s answering smile was as radiant as the sun.

Tally touched his shoulder again, her fingertips light and hesitant on his skin.

“T’lor, you need rest. So does M’lor. Come lay down.”

T’lor straightened up and nodded, but never took his eyes off his brother.

“Yeah. You should get some rest, buddy. We’ll look tomorrow, okay?”

M’lor nodded, still beaming as if he’d just woken up on a festival day. His eyelids drooped, and within seconds, he’d drifted off into a drug-induced sleep. T’lor turned around to face his own bed, but he couldn’t climb into it. There was too much going on in his mind. Too much energy itching just beneath his skin. He raised a hand to cover Tally’s as he turned instead to look around the small medical chamber once more.

They were alive. All of them. The thought ran completely counter to what he’d expected. Desperation shouldn’t have been enough to save them that day, and yet here they all were. A little banged up, missing a few pieces, but alive and whole and safe.

The wooden door to the room opened with a soft clack and admitted light from the hallway beyond. A slight figure dressed in red slipped through the door. Behind her came the tall, gangly form of their chief medical officer, E’rik. He looked irritated, brows crunched together over his bespectacled eyes and lips turned down in a fierce frown. Every time he tried to gently take Mystic’s elbow, she shooed him off. She began to visit the beds one by one, her steps slow and careful. She clearly favoured one side as she walked, but she refused any offer of aid. Instead she focused on the recovering riders, speaking with them in soft voices until they nodded that they were all good, then moving on to the next.

T’lor couldn’t name the force that compelled him forward. He ignored Tally’s calls for him to come back to bed, gently removed her hand from his shoulder, then strode across the room in a haze. It wasn’t until he stood before Mystic that he realized he’d moved at all.

“T’lor, it’s good to see you up,” she said in that warm, strong voice that echoed through so many of his memories. She was older now, marked by the stressful life they led, but no less radiant than the day he’d first met her.

“You saved us,” he murmured. The words filled in the puzzle pieces in his mind. Desperation hadn’t seen them through. She had. She’d come for them.

“I just bought us time. You saved us,” she said, catching up his hands and holding them tight between hers. “You protected me as I held back the hydra. You organized the others to save the evacuees. We lost a few that day, but we would have lost so many more if not for you. Thank you.”

The words made linguistic sense, but logically they didn’t work. He’d been acting selfishly, trying to keep himself and his brother alive. He shook his head.

“You didn’t have to come for us, but you did anyway.”

At this, Mystic’s brows came together much like M’lor’s had earlier.

“Of course I did,” she replied. “I saw you fall.”

The understanding that came over him nearly took his feet out from under him. They could have all died in that first volley, and she still would have come for them. She would have defended a heap of corpses rather than abandon them.

Years ago, she’d come back to purchase two useless, scrawny children rather than let them face an uncertain future. When she left them alone to tend to her other rescues, she’d always returned to check on them. When she left them with Baeris, she’d come back to watch them bond. Mystic always came back.

A new impulse took hold of him that refused to be pushed aside. Once upon a time, he’d raised a finger in childish indignation and cursed her name. Now he dropped to one knee and bowed his head before her.

“What are you doing?”

He spoke over her.

“I pledge myself to you. You’ve never asked for a word of fealty, but it’s yours. My life, my blood, my sword, act on your command.”

“That’s completely unnecessary,” Mystic protested.

“No, princess, I think it is. Good call, T’lor,” Lenoth said as she too pushed herself upright and out of bed. She winced in pain as she dropped to one knee and kept one hand on her bedside to stop herself from tipping over. “I pledge myself to you. My life, my blood, my sword, or gun, whatever, act on your command.”

The drasis followed. First Say’est, then Illiara.

“I pledge myself to you,” they said in unison. “My life, my blood, my claws, act on your command.”

The others followed one at a time. Br’n, already being balanced on one leg, needed the support of his attendant to get to the ground, but he managed. When his attendant knelt beside him, the other medical staff followed suit. Even E’rik, who continued to look annoyed as he went down to one knee.

“He makes a good point,” he grumbled when Mystic shot him a pleading look. “You’ve never asked for fealty. It’s high time you learned you have it anyway. I pledge myself and all that. No swords for me, but my skills and my hands are yours to command.”

T’lor didn’t look up until he heard a soft grunt from behind him. He watched Tally struggling to get to the ground and nearly leapt up to catch her, but she caught his eye and waved him off.

“I’m doing this,” she puffed. She didn’t end on one knee, but knelt on both and lowered her head. “I pledge myself to you. My life, my blood, my sword are yours to command.”

The pledge echoed around the room, from rider to medic, to drasis, until everyone had spoken their vows. All throughout, Mystic looked distraught and flustered. When the last person had spoken their piece, she dropped to her own knees as well. With her hands planted on the ground, she bowed her head to the room.

“I pledge myself to all of you. I exist to serve you. If you are ever in need, I will always come for you. I may be the princess of Lanutha, but it was you who gave me the name of caretaker, and that’s what I will always be.”

“Well then, looks like you’re stuck with us for life,” Lenoth said. Her light words broke the awkward tension left in the wake of all of the pledges of allegiance. T’lor let out a short laugh, and one by one, people returned to what they were doing before the impromptu ceremony.

Mystic caught his eye as she lifted her head and offered him a weak smile.

“Thank you,” she said, “for believing in me.”

T’lor offered her a hand as he pushed himself back to his feet. He steadied her as she rose, then stood holding her hands between his as she had done for him before.

“Thanks for believing in us.”

“Right, now, if that’s done, can I please escort you back to your chambers, Your Grace?” E’rik asked. “You need to rest, dammit.”

“Very well, E’rik. You are an incessant nag, you know that?”

“A necessary skill developed to deal with bull-headed monarchs. Now please,” he said, offering her his arm.

She took it, smiled once more at T’lor, then turned and allowed E’rik to escort her from the chamber. No sooner had the door shut behind them than Lenoth was beckoning T’lor over to her own bedside.

He moved in a daze, light headed and wobbly now that the adrenaline had worn off. His limbs begged for a reprieve from standing, but first he had to answer his wing leader.

“You did real good out there the other day,” she said once he’d come up beside her.

Sa’yest and Illiara had moved off, gathering the other drasis to start clearing out the room. Many of their injuries were superficial, but T’lor was silently grateful to recognize a number of the faces among the scaly dragonkin. It seemed they too had mostly survived the nightmarish encounter.

“I did what I had to,” he replied.

Lenoth shook her head.

“You took the lead. I couldn’t think past Ai being unconscious, but you got everyone up and moving and held the position. I know you and your brother like being tandem partners, but I’m in need of a wing second. B’ard won’t do it because he’s a goddamn pussy who can’t deal with paperwork.” On the last part, she raised her voice a little and shot a look at her long-time companion, who’d gone back to his book.

“You give me paperwork and I’ll wipe my ass with it,” he griped back.

Lenoth chuckled and looked back up at T’lor.

“You’d be flying tandem with that old fossil instead. You’d also have to do a lot of training with Merlinth and Halcioth to teach them how to fly together. If you’re up for it, the position’s yours.”

For the first time in his life, no thoughts filtered through T’lor’s mind. He stared blankly at Lenoth for several long seconds, processing the words he knew he heard, but struggled to comprehend.

It was emotion that finally spurred him into responding. A deep and long ignored sentiment welling up from the depths of his chest that encouraged him to act in his own interests. For once.

“Yeah. I want it,” he said.

Lenoth smiled and lifted a hand to pat his arm.

“Good man. We’ll get the details sorted out later. The whole wing is grounded for the next week at least. I know I’ll be sleeping for most of it.”

“Um… excuse me?” Interrupted a timid voice from behind them. “If you’re done, I could use your help now.”

T’lor turned to see Tally still on the ground, trapped by her oversized belly. He let out a curse under his breath and rushed over to her, offering her his hands to help her back up to her feet. Once standing, he guided her back to her seat and offered her one of his pillows to soften the wooden surface.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, pushing the pillow back at him. “But please, go back to bed. I can’t rest until you are.”

At last, T’lor acknowledged the fatigue dragging at his muscles and fogging his mind. His brother slept peacefully beside him. Merlinth was a warm, reassuring presence in his mind. He was safe and secure and, gods, dare he admit it to himself? A little hopeful for the future.

T’lor crawled back into bed and sank into the soft covers. Sleep came up on him like a tide, and he welcomed its embrace. Yet before he drifted off, he held out his hand to Tally.

“Could you hold my hand? Just until I’m asleep,” he said.

Tally scooted her chair closer and wrapped his hand in both of hers. She lifted his knuckles to her lips, and then settled in with her shoulder touching the bed next to his head.

“Until you wake up,” she promised.

Within seconds, he was asleep.

* * *

Mystic stood behind Aaron’s chair, staff in hand and eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling that was neither too captivating or too boring. The air was sticky today, heavy with humidity and the promise of an oncoming storm. It had made the princes extra irritable as they came together for their afternoon meeting.

“With the loss of Myasy, the Pentas coastline has been completely surrounded by hydras. At this point, they can attack from North or South. We need to give a response. Either we abandon Pentas entirely, or we go on the offensive and try to retake the coast. If we leave it, they’ll run straight through the rest of the princelet and into Antiem.”

“I’m not bloody well allowing that,” Prince Reuss snarled. “Burn them out.”

“Mind yourself, Reuss, or I might take that as a threat of invasion.” Achille’s voice was a low, gravelly landslide of sound.

“Maybe if you acted in defense of your people instead of sitting here whining all the time, I wouldn’t have to threaten,” Reuss snapped back.

“I would rather see my people die honourably in battle than under the flame of their flying lizards,” Achille retorted, his voice rising to a thunder.

“Gentleman, enough,” Aaron said, his voice maintaining an even tone.

A breath of silence followed. Mystic knew they were waiting for something. With a start, she realized they were waiting on her. This is typically where she’d admonish Achille for being so eager to sacrifice his own people.

She felt no urge to respond though. Let him throw his tantrums. When it mattered, she knew she would take to the field and defend those who could not defend themselves. No matter Achille’s thoughts on the matter.

After nearly a minute of silence, Achille let out a disgruntled noise.

“We need to retake the coast,” he grumbled. “Reclaim the islands first. You can set up a forward base from there. I don’t want a single scale landing in my cities though.”

“Very well. We’ll see it done.”

“Finally, progress,” Reuss said. He pushed his chair back from the table with a sharp scrape and got to his feet. “And with that, I’m done with this meeting, brothers. I have to get back to my lands and secure the borders. Prince Aaron, Antiem stands ready to help you.”

“Thank you, brother,” Aaron replied.

The other princes stood one by one. Andel and Lothair both offered their support as well. Only Achille left without uttering a single other word. And yet, it was progress.

When they were alone, Aaron stood and turned around to face his wife. Amused curiosity put lines in his brow.

“You were quiet today,” he said.

“You are the voice of Lanutha in these meetings,” Mystic replied.

“Are you really okay with that?” There was a hesitance in his voice as he spoke.

“I am. I trust you. Besides,” she paused as a knock came at the door. A second later, it opened a crack and Myia stuck her head into the room. At a nod from Mystic, she withdrew and shut the door behind her. Mystic turned back to Aaron, smiling up at him. “I know my voice is heard when it matters. Now if you’ll excuse me, love, I need to meet with my advisors.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips for a kiss. “You know I couldn’t do this without you.”

“I know,” she replied, laughing at his eye roll. She leaned in to give him a gentle and lingering kiss, then pulled away and headed toward the door. “I’ll see you later, Your Grace. We’ll talk troop movements over wine and cheese.”

“Sounds like a perfect evening,” he said.

Mystic exited the room, catching up with her wing second in the hall. As Myia filled her in on the latest report, Mystic couldn’t help but smile. She finally felt at peace.

* * *

T’lor stood in the kitchen of their den, trying not to fidget as Tally affixed his pins of rank to his uniform. The last pin, a shiny silver set of wings, glittered as she set it just under his wing designation pin.

“There you go. All set, wing second,” she said. There was pride in her voice and shining in her eyes as she stepped back to let him admire the pin in a little handheld mirror. He took a good look at it, liking the way it caught the light. All his other pins were identical to his brother’s, but this one was his alone. He smiled, set the mirror down, then swept Tally up in his arms.

She squealed in delight as he kissed her cheek and neck and finally her lips. She was much easier to hold now that her belly no longer got in the way, and he held on a few seconds longer than usual just to enjoy the way she fit so perfectly against him.

“All I did was put on your pin. You’re acting like I just got you a new puppy,” she teased, laughter in her voice.

“Gods, no more pets,” T’lor pleaded. “I’m just happy.”

“I can see that.” For a few precious seconds, they remained that way, holding onto each other and enjoying the moment. Then something crashed behind them.

“Oops,” said a small voice.

Tally untangled herself and went to retrieve the purple toddler, who’d just spilled a full pitcher of juice across the floor.

“It’s okay, sweetie, but now you’re getting a bath. Go sit down while mommy cleans this up.”

“I can help,” M’lor offered. He rose from the couch where he’d been laying with a newborn on his chest. Now he cradled the newborn in his one remaining arm and moved toward Tally.

“No. What were you planning on doing? Mopping it up with Aliantha? Let me hold her. You’re going to fall,” T’lor protested. He intercepted M’lor and gently extracted the newborn from his grasp.

“I lost my arm, not my sense of balance,” M’lor griped back. Yet with his hand now free, he wasted no time in helping Tally pick up the shards of broken pottery and mop up the mess with a nearby towel. There were always nearby towels in the chaos that was their home.

“You two don’t need to stay and help me. In fact, you’re going to be late. Let me have her,” Tally insisted. She scooped Aliantha from T’lor’s hands and tucked the newborn securely against her chest. “Go on. I’ve got this.”

T’lor looked uncertainly at her, at the mess of toys and discarded food on the floor, at the sticky toddler now sucking grape juice off her own hands. Yet when she made a shoo’ing motion at him, he shoo’ed.

“Are you sure you’re up to this today? You can take more time to rest, you know,” T’lor said as he joined his brother in the kitchen. M’lor tossed the last of the shards in the bin, then caught up his satchel from where it lay on the counter.

“I’m sure. I need to get out there again. Besides, Dracoth has a new tandem partner he needs to fly with.”

At T’lor’s suspicious side eye, M’lor clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m good. I promise. Let’s go.”

T’lor relented at last and swung his own bag over his shoulder.

“Fine, but I won’t go easy on you in drills just because you’re my brother.”

M’lor raised his good arm, elbow akimbo, and touched his extended fingers to his forehead in a salute.

“Yes, sir, Mister Wing Second, sir!”

“Shut up and move,” T’lor growled.

The two brothers moved toward the dragon doors, not without giving Tally a goodbye kiss each, and out onto the ledge where their bonds waited. Both dragons bore new scars from the attack, but the scorched flesh and bloody wounds were gone. They were whole and hearty and clearly engaged in a private argument. As the twins emerged, Merlinth swung his attention to his rider.

::Dracoth says I’m going to slow the wing down because I’m not as big as Halcioth, but that’s not true! I’m the fastest flyer in the whole wing, right?::

::You’re pretty fast,:: T’lor replied.

::I’m not just pretty fast. I’m the fastest! I’ll prove it to you today. Make sure you strap in tight.::

“Are we racing? Dracoth says we’re racing,” M’lor said.

“We don’t need to race.”

“Yes, we do.”

::Yes, we do!::

T’lor sighed as he pulled himself up to his saddle. He double and triple checked his straps as he tied himself in. Today was going to be a trial of his patience.

But by the gods, he was happy to be alive.