Chapter Twenty-Nine

A Final Request

When the winged shadow fell across the village of Prillen, its people quailed in fear. Some tried to run, but there was no escape from the dragon which circled overhead.

The few who thought to escape ended up wailing in agony as a caustic mist fell upon them, gradually but inexorably reducing flesh, sinew and bone into a ruddy sludge which lay steaming upon the ground. Even the trees boiled and melted, falling as their trunks dissolved.

The ground where the mist descended sizzled and boiled, and those who remained instead chose to hide.

Their houses were nothing to the vast, iron-grey dragon. He landed atop the inn, smashing the wooden timbers and crushing the unfortunates within. He cared nothing for their lives, showing as much concern as an avalanche when it fell upon a town.

The abomination had been here, but he could not hear his note in the Thunder now. Something had muted his presence, and Vylgranox was growing angrier. Every second the abomination lived was a crime against creation itself.

'Where is it?' Vylgranox hissed mostly to himself. 'Where is the abomination?' He lowered his head and unleashed another jet of acidic mist, melting one of the houses and its occupants even as they cowered within.

A man wearing the garb of an innkeeper crawled out from the wreckage Vylgranox stood upon. Vylgranox growled and reached down, circling the man with his curved claws. 'You,' Vylgranox lowered his snake-like head. The stench coming from the man betrayed his terror. 'Where is it?'

'W-w-what?' The man could barely speak, so great was his fear. Vylgranox was trying to be patient, but he was also angry.

'The abomination.' Vylgranox leaned in closer. 'The pretender who would claim to be one with the Thunder, he who masquerades as a man but bears the blood of a dragon. Where is it?'

'I-I don't know anything about that!' The man all but screamed.

'Then you are truly useless to me, as are all of you pathetic mortals.'

'No!' the innkeeper covered his eyes, expecting to die at any moment. 'I-I… some Dragon Knights came and attacked a man and his friends. They called him a traitor. Is he the one you want?'

Vylgranox considered. When he had first laid eyes upon the abomination, it had been at a Dragon Knight outpost. Of course they would be interested in him too. 'Where did they take it?'

The man pointed vaguely with a trembling finger. 'They came from Steelpoint Vigil, up in the Sword Hills. If they've taken him anywhere, it'll be to their castle.'

Vylgranox knew that the castle would be heavily defended, equipped to fend off dragons.

It would not be enough.

Not caring about the innkeeper in the slightest as he crushed him underfoot, Vylgranox stomped forwards and looked to the so-called Sword Hills. If the abomination was there, then he would meet his end there.

Vylgranox concluded his destruction of Prillen, a just punishment for harbouring the abomination, and then he spread his colossal wings and took flight, flying towards the castle of Steelpoint Vigil.


Fymryn ducked back into the shadows as the clattering came closer. The sound of the steel sabatons on the grey flagstones was distinctive. If Trestaine's army ever marched to war, it would be heard leagues away.

Three men marched past the alleyway, halberds against their shoulders, swords slapping against their tassets, their visors up now that the immediate danger had passed.

Fymryn waited until they had passed, then darted towards the next alleyway. She was careful not to crouch. Instead, she merely kept her hood up to hide her ears and moved as if she was in a purposeful hurry.

There were too many open spaces in Trestaine for her liking. She stayed close to the buildings, moving in the shadows cast by the featureless edifices. She had lost sight of the guards hauling Davion and Marci away, but she was going to try to find them anyway.

How exactly she was going to help them escape was a mystery even to her. She would work that out later.

Fymryn walked briskly across the square, keeping her head down. The guards knew that Mirana had escaped and were perhaps expecting her to return. Yet they were not actually seeking her as far as Fymryn could tell.

It was a flyer nailed to a notice board which explained this to her. Though she could not read human words, the rough sketches were enough for her to make a guess. The guards were after Davion and Marci. They had probably been warned about Mirana too, but she obviously wasn't a priority.

Davion was the dragon-hybrid. Marci was the one who had killed a bunch of Dragon Knights, one of them highly renowned, with some sort of awesome power which made her capable of smashing plate and dragon scales. Mirana was considerably less dangerous by comparison, blessed by the Usurper or not.

Curiously, they seemed to know even less about Fymryn. This suited her just fine.

Fymryn slipped into another blanket of shadows and felt them wrap around her. She was lost, but she would find them eventually. It was a matter of time, provided they spared enough of that for Davion and Marci.


'You should have let me kill them.'

Davion felt rather than heard the voice. It was there in the song, flowing through him like a turbulent river.

'You are meddling in matters you cannot comprehend, human.'

Davion felt a stab of anger not his own. He was somewhere between sleep and waking, somehow aware of it yet unable to fully awaken. He was cold, and his head was pounding.

'You should have left her to die in those mountains.'

Now what was he on about?

'You should have let me kill the mongrel.'

Mongrel? Why did Slyrak want to kill a dog?

He did not understand why, but Marci's face appeared in his mind's eye. He remembered the ambush in the square, he remembered that Slyrak had wanted to kill her.

Why?

'She is a distraction. A freak. Scion of the forgotten dead. You could not understand. She turns you away from the only goal which matters.'

Davion was fed up with Slyrak keeping him in the dark. He had forced his soul into Davion's body, yet he would not tell him why. He kept trying to take control. He wanted Marci dead.

'Your resentment is understandable, but irrelevant. You and I are joined for a purpose too important to be ignored. With us lies a chance of salvation for this damned world.'

If that was the case, surely Marci would help them. All they had to do was find the lotuses first. They were close now, and Marci cared. She cared too much to abandon a noble cause—assuming that Slyrak was not being dramatic.

'Forget the lotuses. Forget her. I chose you out of necessity. It was this or fall prey to a greater evil.'

Davion saw a flash of green. Vague words hissed in his mind, offers great and terrible, old fears whispering and nagging.

'He will end it all. He must be stopped, no matter the cost. Abandon the mongrel, or I will kill her.'

Davion felt his hatred swell and his resolve harden as he began to awaken at last.

He would sooner kill himself and take Slyrak with him than allow that to happen.


Davion opened his eyes. He was cold and his head swam. He groaned, lifted his manacled hands, and felt the side of his head. There was dried blood crusted close to his hairline.

He'd hit himself with his own sword, he recalled that now. To save Marci.

And now he was manacled in some gods forsaken dungeon as a result. No wonder Slyrak was pissed off.

The cell was small and dank, but at least there was light. There was a tiny slot at the top of the wall behind him. It was barred, though Davion did not understand why. It was much too narrow to crawl through. Even a rat would have struggled.

He was also alone.

Davion clambered to his feet, his head throbbing as he moved. Was he concussed? He did not seem to be. His mentors had always said that he'd had a skull made of stone. Maybe that was something else he and Marci had in common.

'Marci?' he called softly, looking for any signs of a guard.

A whistle came in answer and he smiled out of relief. Slyrak's ire simmered deep within, but he ignored it. He was just glad that Marci was still alive. 'Did they hurt you?'

A low whistle came from the cell next to his. No.

'I'm glad,' Davion approached the bars. He could have slipped his hand through, but nothing else. His arms were too thick.

Another whistle came from the neighbouring cell, this one higher. A question: What about you?

'I'll live. I've got a thick skull.'

Marci released a couple of short, trilling whistles. Just like me, then.

Davion chuckled as he leaned on the bars. 'Yeah, just like you.'

He heard chains rattling and something clinked against the other set of bars. A pale hand poked around the corner. Davion pushed his own hand through the bars closest to it and reached out. Their fingertips touched.

'Getting captured seems to be a bad habit of ours, doesn't it?'

Marci huffed lightly in response.

'It's almost as if somebody's playing a joke on us. Whoever it is, they've got a bad sense of humour.' Davion was about to ask if she could break free, but footsteps scuffing the stone silenced him. He looked up and saw a guard ambling across the stones slowly and lazily. In the shadows beyond him sat in front of the door, was another one. This one was more alert, and there was a loaded crossbow on the table before him.

Marci might have been able to bend the bars or smash the lock on her cell, but she would end up with a bolt in her eye for the trouble. She was forcing herself to be patient. She was impulsive, yes, but she was not stupid.

'Guard?' Davion called. 'What are we being held for?'

'Your trial.' The guard at the table responded, not leaving his post. 'And then you'll both swing from nooses, mark my words.' He leaned back and chortled. 'I thought about putting you two lovebirds in the same cell. You could have had a little fun before the end.' His face hardened. 'But you don't deserve it, not for killing Dragon Knights.'

Davion sighed, lowered his head and breathed out one word: 'Damn.'

The door at the end of the dungeon opened and a large man in ornate plate marched through it. 'Bring them.'

More guards approached the cells, several of them pointing crossbows and spears at the prisoners as their cells were unlocked. Davion and Marci were actually amongst several prisoners being taken up for their trials.

Marci was ahead of him, multiple weapons trained on her. They were taking no chances.

A guard gave Davion a shove and he followed Marci and her escort out of the dungeon. She managed to turn her head and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

Davion shook his head. One wrong move and they would both be killed. If they were going to be tried, then perhaps they still had a slim chance of escaping without bloodshed.


They were taken up to the castle itself, which was just as ugly, featureless and grim as the rest of Trestaine. The only colour within came from the silver banners hanging from the columns supporting the unadorned ceiling.

Sat upon an angular throne was the monarch of Kestren, King Dendrall.

Davion's heart sank as he noticed how bored the King looked. He was all but lounging upon the uncomfortable looking throne, one hand stroking his precisely trimmed beard. The other hand held a goblet of wine lazily.

This was going to be a short set of trials.

It was a shame they'd had no better opportunities to escape. If Marci could have unleashed her full strength again… but no, that would not have helped. It did not make her invincible, and she still had no idea how to control it. The same outcome would occur if Davion transformed.

Slyrak was still growling under the surface. Davion forced himself not to listen to the song, though it seemed that Slyrak was also biding his time.

What Davion did not know, since he had spent so little time in Kestren, was that King Dendrall had recently introduced a new policy. Davion also did not know this, but the new policy was one which made Eserren grind her teeth because it offended her principles.

In a bid to reduce crime in Trestaine, Dendrall had proposed that all trials be shortened as much as possible and the sentences be as harsh as possible. Trials here could last seconds.

'Name?' Dendrall's Viceroy called as the first man was shoved towards the throne. The courtiers arrayed at the long tables muttered amongst themselves.

'Gerrity,' the man whimpered.

'Charge?'

'Stealing bread.' This came from the guard at Gerrity's side.

Marci sighed, remembering how often people she had known had been forced to steal to survive. She never had, if only because she knew what punishments thieves endured.

'Cut off his left hand.' Dendrall ordered.

Gerrity was dragged away, begging and pleading.

'Name?'

'Bastlin.'

'Charge?'

'Impersonating an official representative of your highness.'

'Cut out his tongue.'

It went on, with the kindest punishment being locked in the pillories for a month, all for drunkenly urinating in a fountain. Two men and a woman were sentenced to hanging for murder, a third man was to be beheaded for treason.

This boded poorly for Davion and Marci. In Kestren, the Dragon Knights were highly respected for thinning the local dragon numbers so effectively. Would they hang him as a murderer? Or would they behead him? And what about Marci?

Marci was pushed forwards next.

'Name?' The Viceroy demanded.

Marci could not answer.

'Name?'

The soldier behind Marci cuffed the back of her head. 'State your name!'

'Wait,' Dendrall took a sip from his goblet. 'This one is clad as a member of the Dark Moon Order.'

'Indeed, your highness.' the soldier confirmed. 'But we were warned to look out for such a woman. The Dragon Knights claim that she killed several of their Knights, Sir Kaden amongst them.'

'Really?' Dendrall leaned forwards and glared at Marci. 'This kingdom owed Sir Kaden a great deal. He was one of the greatest Dragon Knights who ever lived. If you really did kill him, then you deserve to suffer for it.'

'Your highness,' Davion moved forwards, yanking his shoulder free of his guard. 'You have been misinformed.' Marci looked round at him, startled. She shook her head, but he continued regardless. 'It is me they want. I am… I was Sir Davion of the Dragon Knight Order. I betrayed my brothers. I murdered my brothers. Sir Kaden died by my hand.'

'What?' Dendrall scowled at him. 'You killed him?'

Marci whistled sharply to get the King's attention, then pointed at herself.

'Are you saying that you killed him?' Dendrall scoffed. 'I find that hard to believe!'

'Your highness, the reports warned us that she is some sort of Demon.' The soldier pointed at Davion next. 'And this one apparently made a bargain with a dragon in exchange for unnatural powers.'

'Your highness!' Davion was almost pleading now. 'I am the one who's guilty. Marci is innocent! She is a member of the Dark Moon Order. I took her as a hostage.'

Marci whistled sharply again, shook her head, and jabbed her finger into her own chest forcefully.

'Stop it, Marci!' Davion hissed. 'Listen to me, your highness! Marci serves the Princess of the Moon. Killing her would anger Selemene. Let her go and kill me instead.'

Marci gave him a shove, almost knocking him to the floor, stepped forwards despite the weapons pointed at her, and jabbed at her own throat.

'Marci!' Davion snapped. 'Don't do this!'

Marci gave him a withering look and shook her head. She read his face, seeing the despair hiding under his shock and anger, and her own expression softened. Slowly, she raised one finger and moved it back and forth between them.

Davion felt his eyes brim and blinked them clear. 'Marci...' He stopped. He knew what he had to say now. Marci was not going to let him die for her, and he would not let her die for him.

Ignoring his guard, he moved forwards, reached out and took Marci's manacled hands in his own. 'Together?'

She nodded.

Davion sighed, closed his eyes, and continued to hold Marci's hands. 'We are both guilty of killing Dragon Knights.' Davion announced, not looking at the King as he spoke. 'We acted in self-defence. It is true that Kaden is dead because of us. But he left us no other choice. Marci was just trying to protect me.' He looked round at the King now. 'Will you punish her for trying to do the right thing?'

Dendrall grimaced. 'This is all so nauseating. And I am bored now. If you are so desperate to die together, then I shall grant you that wish. Take them away and hang them.' Dendrall stood and finished his wine, tossing the goblet at one of his servants. 'Make sure you drop them at the same time so that they really do die together. Let it not be said that I am without mercy.'


Mirana heard the bells start to ring in the city as they neared the gates, still under the keen eyes of Caewyn. 'It's not noon yet.'

'No, it isn't.' Eserren muttered. She clucked her horse into a canter. 'Pick up the pace.' She would have spurred her horse into a gallop, but there were too many people moving through the square.

'What's happening?' Mirana demanded, fear shooting through her veins.

'The bells don't tell the time in Trestaine.' Caewyn sounded unusually grim. 'Here, they mean three things: the death of a King, war or an execution. Kestren isn't at war, as much as it would like to be, and the last I heard King Dendrall was in decent health.'

Mirana paled as the blood drained from her face. 'No…'

'It hasn't happened yet,' Caewyn assured her, that infectious optimism creeping back into her voice. 'Look! They're still gathering. We have time. And trust me, nobody clears a crowd like Mum does.'

Mirana could only pray that she was right, and that Marci and Davion still lived.

Caewyn took a moment to check that the warbler was still working, then directed her horse to follow Mirana and Sagan into the city.


Fymryn had seen the scaffold in the largest public space Trestaine had to offer, another square—this one just in front of the castle.

The bells meant nothing to her, but the eager crowds gathering told her all she needed to know: there was going to be an execution.

The concept was bizarre to Fymryn. Crime in Coedwig was not non-existent, just very unusual. The elves of her village, and many other enclaves, were encouraged to work together for the good of the community. This was part of the reason why children were raised communally, as she had been.

Her people did not execute their criminals. Thanks to Selemene, there were not that many elves left now. They could not afford to kill their own. Elves who went too far were banished, and that included the ones who turned away from Mene.

But there were so many humans in the world that they could afford to lose a few now and then, that seemed to be the opinion here.

Fymryn was going to struggle to get through the excited crowd. She could hide herself from view, but they would still feel her if she bumped into them, and they were so tightly packed together that slipping through unnoticed would be impossible. If she had possessed a glamour, they would not have helped either. The jostling would have disrupted the effect.

Fymryn swore quietly in elvish and drew one of her knives, not really knowing what to do. She needed a distraction.

Fymryn's heart began to leap as the castle doors opened and the guards led out a group of men and women, their prisoners manacled and threatened with sword, spear and crossbow.

At the end of the line, with more weapons pointed at them than any of the others, came Davion and Marci.

Fymryn nearly leapt from her position then and there, ready to attack anybody who got in her way. But that would not help them. It might even drive their guards to kill them then and there. And the people would turn on her as soon as they realised what she was. Fymryn could not help them if the crowd murdered her.

She forced herself to wait, trying to think. She couldn't even start a fire to distract the guards because every bloody building here was made of stone.

Fymryn peered at the building next to her, an idea beginning to form in her fearful mind.


They took the hand of the thief first. Davion looked away as the man who would be their executioner held up the severed hand, his victim wailing with blood spurting from his wrist.

He had grown up on a farm, far away from such spectacles. Though blood, suffering and death were not strangers to him, he had no desire to watch. The joy of the crowds at the sight, and their excitement swelling as they awaiting the coming deaths, made him feel ill.

For once, he would have liked Slyrak to take over. Slyrak could have provided ample opportunity for Marci to escape. Yet he knew that she would not have abandoned him, even if Slyrak tried to kill her. She was just too stubborn, too loyal, to abandon a friend.

Slyrak was oddly subdued now. Davion could hear a strange ululating blotting out the song, a weird din he thought he knew.

Their epitaphs would be simple. Before being walked to their deaths, each prisoner had written their names upon a crier's scroll. Their bodies would be burnt, tipped into a shallow grave outside the city, and left with a marker bearing their names and crimes.

As the hooded executioner lifted his axe to behead one of the prisoners, he felt something warm brush his hand: Marci's fingers.

Davion turned his own hand and clasped hers. He felt her fingers intertwining with his. Though he felt terrible for dragging Marci to the grave with him, he took a small measure of comfort in knowing that he would not die alone.

He had always expected to die fighting a dragon, left broken and bloodied in some forest, cave, valley or canyon, maybe with Bram as the only witness. He should have felt shame at the idea of being hung like a common murderer. He had been a Dragon Knight once, an end in battle was the noblest of deaths for such a man.

There was no shame, though. What occurred to him then was simple: if he was going to die now, he could think of no-one else he would rather face the end with.

It had not been terrible, their time together. There may have been danger, fear, horror, sadness. But there had also been laughter, joy, hope, friendship.

Perhaps more.

His memory drifted to those moments with Marci. That first meeting in Barreltown. Her becoming embarrassed after being caught watching him bathe. Her coming to his rescue when he had been injured. Learning how she communicated. Holding her close in the mountains. The touch of her lips against his when she had kissed him.

He looked down at Marci, and though she made no sign as she looked into his eyes, he had the feeling that she was thinking the same thoughts as he was.

It was a shame they had not had more time.

As the next man was hung, he did not register the cheering of the crowds. Instead, he wondered about what could have been. Marci and Mirana had offered him the hope of a new life with the Dark Moon Order. He could hardly claim to be devout, but he could have learned how to be if only for their sakes.

What would it have been like? This life he would never have? The Nightsilver Woods had always sounded peaceful to him, and he would have had friends in Marci and Mirana to experience it with. Maybe, just maybe, he and Marci could have become more than friends.

He would have liked that. He had wanted that. She would have too.

The executioner moved to them next and the crier hollered with an increasingly hoarse voice: 'For the murder of noble Dragon Knights, Davion of the Redlands and Marci of Barreltown will be hung by the neck until dead. May the gods render just sentences upon your souls.'

Davion almost smiled. Even facing the end, Marci chose to protect Mirana by lying about her true birthplace and even the place she had called home for the last five years.

He was going to die now. They both were. Escape was impossible, yet he took a strange comfort in knowing this certainty.

If he could have had one wish, he knew what it would be. It was an impossible wish now though. Instead, he would settle for one small thing, one act which would make the passing easier. It would remove one regret before his world faded away.

'I have a request.'

'Let me take a wild guess,' the executioner sneered. 'You want to go free? Can't do that. Could have gotten you a drink if you'd asked sooner, but we're in a hurry.'

Davion sighed. 'I could murder a beer right now. But what I would ask is not something you can grant me.'

From what he could see of the man's face, Davion could tell that the executioner was puzzled. He ignored him and simply turned to Marci, now reaching out to hold both of her hands.

There was a small tear in the clouds overhead, a shaft of sunlight lancing through into the square. It settled across Marci's pale skin and made her auburn hair glow softly. Her eyes went from pale brown to amber as she looked up at him, understanding passing between them.

She had never looked more beautiful.

Davion closed his eyes and leaned down as she stood on tip-toes, and he pressed his lips to hers. He felt her respond to him, and a soft warmth spread through him as time seemed to slow around them. For just a moment, for an eternity, there was only this, only her, only Marci.

If they'd had more time, if things had gone differently in Barreltown... who knew? But they were out of time now.

The executioner groaned and moved them apart. 'Hope you enjoyed that, 'cause I didn't.'

Davion did not hear him. His eyes were still locked on Marci's. He was going to take the memory of that kiss to his grave. As memories went, it was the best he was going to have.

Marci smiled at him, a smile which lifted his spirits and touched his heart even now, here, at the end of their lives.

Davion closed his eyes as they prepared to tie the noose around his neck. He could still taste Marci's kiss on his lips.

He was ready now.

It was time to face the end.