HEALER, KILLER
By Amanda Swiftgold
BOOK TWO: DRAGON CAMPAIGN
Chapter Fourteen
Although the morning's practice had, thankfully, ended, Shirley remained at the makeshift archery butts about half a mile outside Vellweb's gates, loosing arrows into the wooden targets as quickly as she could. Somehow, her anger and frustration did not seem to be working itself out through the shots, despite the way her arm was beginning to ache from the draw. She briefly envied the others, who at least could hit something with their hands and call it training.
Syuveil's encounter with the Winglies who'd dragged him from the sky at Fort Magrad had inspired him to teach a similar technique to the soldiers, who otherwise were at a great disadvantage due to their enemies' ability to fly. It would take several men acting in concert to have enough weight to pull a Wingly down with a rope, and plenty of practice and timing to do so before the victim could cut himself free, but the Jade Dragoon believed it was possible. Others were experimenting with clawed chains, sturdier but harder to throw and aim, and Syuveil himself had been spending a lot of time in the air in his armor, explaining what he called 'gravity', playing Wingly for their target practice, and hoping to discover a useable method.
The energy surrounding that group had been full of excitement and possibility, and Shirley had thought that she too could contribute a useful skill, although she was not much of a teacher - she'd known that long before now, thanks to her prior attempts at helping with the children at Belzac's school. There was a knack to demonstrating a skill and then ensuring the student understood how to do it for themselves, and it was a talent she lacked, but there was no one else in the city nowadays as skilled with a bow as she was. Her own teacher, a freeman from a clan near Zieg's, had been one of the soldiers killed in the attack on Fort Magrad.
The men needed to learn archery, however, as it was one of the only ways to attack Winglies who had taken to the sky. It seemed to her that lodging arrows with attached ropes into their opponents would work just as well as the other ideas to help pull them down, but it would only be of use if those arrows could hit. With all this in mind, she'd finally simply volunteered to hold practice.
But where Syuveil's students had been eager to listen to what he had to say and to try again when their attempts failed, some of her would-be archers seemed to be of a different sort altogether. Her brother, Lyss, had gathered together a group of volunteers from among the soldiers and clansmen he knew in Vellweb, but their practices had not been very successful. And I'm going to have a talk with him about the company he keeps, Shirley thought darkly.
Perhaps it had been her short stature, perhaps it had only been because she was a woman, but some of them had refused to take her seriously from the moment she'd opened her mouth. Today she'd tried to take into consideration that it was the day after the Year Festival and there had been too much to drink, but truthfully, their rudeness had been there from the beginning, and it had now gone well beyond suffering from a hangover.
They snickered and joked and made lewd comments under their breaths, and they didn't care when their lack of focus meant their shots went wild or their arrows fell to the ground halfway to the target. Hearing what they were saying about her, she hadn't exactly wanted to get up close to adjust the bends of their arms and their grips on their bows, either. Those men had reminded her more of outlaws, bandits, than Gloriano soldiers, and she doubted that they could have been in service long. Perhaps, before Magrad, they hadn't been.
However, the entire group hadn't been a lost cause. Sage, the young archer whom Kanzas had commanded to kill the envoy, had also been there - he was apparently a friend of her brother's, and had come with him at his request. During the first practice, Sage had proven that his precision shot hadn't been a fluke, and by now even the soldiers who had been respectful of her had started asking the teenager's advice before listening to hers - no matter that her shots had never missed the target, either. As far as Shirley was concerned right now, Sage was welcome to take over completely.
She emptied her quiver of arrows, dropping them point-first into the mud of the practice field for easier access. What would Rose have done, if it had been her? She had been helping to train the soldiers in Fort Magrad almost since her arrival over five years ago; certainly some of them had to have been as troublesome as these. She probably wouldn't have even let it get this far, for one, Shirley answered herself with a sigh.
Drawing her bow yet again, she loosed her arrows as fast as she could, trying to see how many she could get in the air at once. She was so focused on counting them, on keeping her accuracy despite the speed, that she didn't see the figure move up beside her target until it was too late, reaching in as if to grab one of the arrows. She jumped in surprise, letting her currently strung dart fall to the side before she could accidentally kill whoever stood there, and cursed as her bowstring whipped her arm.
Kanzas leaned against the wooden circle, arms crossed over his chest, watching her blandly; he must have come from the direction of the trees nearby, for her to not have noticed him until now. Although it was still only just warm enough for the ground to have softened, he was wearing his black armored vest without a shirt beneath it, apparently relying on his cloak alone to keep his arms covered. "Don't stop on my account," he called to her.
"Get away from there! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she shouted angrily, storming toward the target. Soa, if just one of her shots had gone astray- "Or are you just trying to catch a chill?"
"That what you're calling arrows now?" She scowled further as she realized what she'd said, and Kanzas shrugged, idly picking at the scabs that ringed his left bicep. They itched, and it was worth the annoyed look the woman cast him as he did so. "It's fine. I don't care what the weather's like; I'm sick of sleeves. It's like having my arms half-tied."
She threw her free hand up in the air in exasperation. "Why am I even bothering? You'll do what you want regardless!"
"Glad you've finally learned that," he responded with a smirk, but it faded as he noticed the uncharacteristic way she seemed to be simmering with anger. "What's wrong with you? I didn't think you could even look that ornery."
As shortly as she could manage, she summed up her problem with the archery trainees. "Maybe I should just let the boy teach them," Shirley finished morosely. Someone would have to take over while they were on the attack, anyway, and it might as well be him.
Kanzas rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes. Giving up is sure to make them respect you."
"Then what would you have me do?" she snapped back.
"Give me a minute to figure it out," he returned, scratching his beard in thought. She tossed him a suspicious glance before moving to yank her arrows back out of the target, arraying them before her in the dirt again.
What would he tell her to do? Bandits and women were a bad mix. He'd never let his men abduct women in their raids, though occasionally they'd take in an escaped female slave, or one would beg to join them as they sacked her master's home. None of them had really interested him much, for any woman who didn't mind the company of starving, horny bandits was usually dull, withdrawn, and already broken. They had never lasted very long; it was a hard life, made more so by the inevitable pregnancies, and there had been no women in his band for over a year before they'd been wiped out. By the end he'd even taken to killing them first, if he had the chance, to keep the men's minds on their task. All things considered, it had been something of a mercy, though he knew Shirley wouldn't see it that way.
"All right," he said finally, and she lowered the bow slightly, tilting her head in a wary sort of interest. "This is what you do. Next time one of them mouths off, shoot him."
Shirley exhaled in exasperation. "I can't do that! I thought you were actually going to suggest something useful."
"You don't think I'm serious? I mean it. If they're really former bandits, like you say, then force is the only thing they'll respect. If they're just lazy and rude, you'll scare the piss out of 'em, and that'll work just as good." He waved impatiently at the target. "Shoot." Scowling, she drew up the bow, pulled back the arrow on the string, aimed and released in one motion. The dart thunked into the wood, Kanzas' hand closing behind it. He narrowed his eyes, flexing his fingers quickly as if to limber them. "Again." Another miss. "Heal 'em after, if you must," he finished with a derisive drawl. "But if you let them walk on you once, they'll take it as leave to do it again."
She turned away, pausing for a moment to stare at the city looming at the other end of the field, studying its towers and thick stone walls. " 'In our fight to be free'," she said finally, " 'we should never betray our Human nature. To do so would mean becoming the very thing we seek to destroy'."
"Sounds like Diaz," Kanzas said dryly, and she nodded. "So, what's Human nature? Do we even know?" Although she began to answer the question, he cut her off. "If it's not actually to work the land like good little worms and leave all the thinking to the Winglies, like they've been telling us, then why is it so wrong to show our strength instead?"
"This has been Diaz's philosophy - and Gloriano's - for as long as it has existed as a country," Shirley pointed out. "Our strength is to be used against the Winglies only. Diplomacy is how he united the free clans, not force."
He sneered. "All well and good, but you aren't talking a bunch of dusty freeborn elders here, you're talking bandits, men who only survived because they took what they wanted from whoever had it." He sighed explosively, irritated by the fact that she didn't understand this. "Whatever, Shirley, it's your problem. I can't fix this for you, because then you'd still have it, and probably worse."
"I know that," she returned, remembering Lyss' reaction to the comments, which certainly hadn't helped anything.
She was still scowling, but she didn't say anything further; maybe she was actually thinking about what he'd said. He backed up to the target again, thumping it with the palm of his hand. "Shoot and think, Shirley," he called suddenly.
Within a few seconds, she had launched four arrows, sending them into the wood in a diamond-shaped pattern. As quickly as he'd reached out, he yanked his hand back again, unable to focus on grabbing any one in particular. He gave her a sour look, and she raised her eyebrows, feeling unusually pleased with herself. She returned to her practice, wishing he wasn't standing by the target but sure enough of her aim that she didn't demand he move.
Finally, her arms were getting sore, and her anger seemed to have dwindled at last. She loosed the last arrow she had, almost carelessly. Suddenly, Kanzas' hand snapped out in front of the target, so fast she saw only the briefest blur. "Ha!" The man broke into a slow grin, lifting the arrow, caught low by the fletching, to show her. It had skinned a good bit of the skin off his palm as it went, but although it must have stung, he acted as though he hardly noticed it. Maybe, after so long fighting with his hands, he hardly had.
Faced with his smile, Shirley felt her own lips curving upward briefly in response. "Impressive," she conceded. "Ultimately useless, but impressive."
"Besides," he said loftily as he approached again, "who cares about Human nature? You're a Dragon."
One corner of her mouth lifted at that, but the expression quickly faded. "Thanks anyway, Kanzas."
He threw the dart into the ground at her feet. "Is it really making you that upset?" he asked skeptically, wiping his bloody hand off on his pants.
"I…no." She sighed. "I think it's more about us going to…Mayfil soon." She winced slightly; it sounded even worse to say it aloud. Quite sick of target practice now, she set the end of her bow down in front of her, flexing it to allow her to unstring it. "Attacking it, I mean."
"Yeah, of course." If he'd intended it to sound sarcastic, it hadn't come through; it was more like he was as bothered by the idea as she, which was something of an unsettling thought. "Well, your festival's over, isn't it? So we could be going anytime now."
She set the bow down by the empty quiver. "Not quite over. Today's Planting Day, which still counts-" She bit off a sudden gasp and looked up to see where the sun sat in the sky. "Oh, damn! I was so annoyed by those men that I almost forgot! I should call Eremi and get going."
There was something almost cute about hearing her curse, Kanzas thought. "Going where? Not your day for patrol." He frowned. "Don't tell me you have to go plant something."
Shirley ran her hand back through her red hair, trying to calm her remaining irritation. "We don't grow much around Vellweb, as you can see. Too much rock…but in the rest of Gloriano, it's important. And since I can fly there and be back in one day, since Emperor Diaz doesn't need me now, I've promised to go visit my mother."
He was still for a moment, so much so that he realized she was looking at him in confusion. "Your mother, huh?" he finally answered.
"She lives in a small village to the southeast of Vellweb; the city makes her nervous. Really, she's too old now to work a farm, but I come for Planting Day to see everyone, help the rest of the village. Two of my brothers are here in the city, too, soldiers. Cordell's a sergeant, Lyss a city guard. They can't be excused like I can with a Dragon to ride."
Kanzas bit his lip, startled. He'd known as far back as their trip through the mountains that his mother and youngest brother were alive, but she hadn't mentioned he was here too. He and Cordell were two years apart in age, both born with thunder affinity, and had been inseparable as children. Yet now, after the passage of so many years, Cordell was as good as a stranger to him. He didn't care if he ever met him, or any of the rest of his family, again.
He glanced away to try to hide his reaction. "Brothers," he repeated, the word full of a sardonic humor only he could understand. "I have anything to worry about from them?"
The idea made her laugh a little, as well as reminding her of the relationship between them now, tentative and ever-changing. What would her family think of him, she wondered? "I doubt it. They know I can take care of myself."
"Hmm," he said, sliding his arm around her shoulders, "I don't know…"
She turned along with the motion, leaning in against him, her lips finding his so quickly he was startled. Once again he was reminded of just how far this game had gone, perhaps already too far. But she responded so eagerly to the least little touch - had the Giganto scared away every would-be lover who'd ever shown her a bit of interest? - and he was not immune to her charms, either, if it came to that. It was so tempting to just…forget…who she was, for a while…
Her body was taut and still with tension as his tongue brushed its way down her throat to the collar of her fitted tunic, tasting her pulse. She almost felt afraid to move, in case it would make him stop; he would be perverse enough, Shirley thought, to do just that. Even the realization that they were out in the middle of the practice field was not able to deter her from responding. She wished that she knew what to do in return to make him feel even slightly as tormented she was now. It would be a pleasant sort of revenge, at least.
She needn't have worried about that, as his own thoughts were doing the job just fine for her. Who would know? Kanzas demanded silently, his head swimming with the idea. If I hadn't recognized her name, the way she looks…I…
Oh, gods, what was he thinking? She'd just told him Cordell was in the city, and he had not been too young to remember. If Cordell ever saw him and recognized him for the 'lost' brother he was, the truth would come out and the game would be ruined. It would happen whether he held back or not.
So why hold back?
He gazed at her from under half-closed eyelids, feeling torn, both desperate to find a loophole in his own logic and unbearably willing to toss aside his last shreds of morality here and now. Her own eyes were shut, her lips slightly parted, her breathing faster and faster despite her obvious attempts to keep it slow and measured. His fingers ran up the curve of her back along her spine, making her shiver, until they rested ever so lightly just beneath her jaw.
He'd worked her like clay, he realized with a vague sense of awe, shaped her to his will like he shaped the figures that newly adorned the shelves of his tower - and he could make her into one of them with even more ease, couldn't he? Divine Tree, his hands were already at her neck. They were alone out in this muddy field and he could take her or kill her just as he pleased, and whatever he chose she would be saying 'yes' all the godsdamned way to the end-
Kanzas' hands flew away from her suddenly, and she swayed forward in response, her eyes opening wide. Shirley frowned in both disappointment and confusion as he stood back and half-turned away, peering across the field in a preoccupied fashion. Dear gods, she'd never been touched that way before, and here he'd gone and stopped without as much as a word. "You…what in the world…" she got out, feeling altogether too warm for her woolen clothing. "What was that all about?"
"Go see your mother," he said, his voice sounding rather strange. "That'll…keep 'til later."
"Oh, will it?" Shirley returned, annoyance flaring up in her voice. "Don't hold your breath while you're waiting, Kanzas!"
He laughed knowingly at that, giving her a flippant wave, and started for the path that would lead back to the city gates, although her vexation now was one he had also inflicted on himself. It was a dubious benefit of his age that had allowed him to stop at all; twenty years ago - hell, even ten - he would have told his doubts to go hang and thrown her down on the ground then and there. But although the fire took longer to build, nowadays, it wasn't quenched with just a thought, either. Both bloodlust and plain old-fashioned lust were warring within him now, and he wasn't sure which one he would be able to satisfy. Maybe, if he was lucky enough to find the right one amidst the teeming masses in the lower city, it would be both.
She glanced back over her shoulder to watch him go as they parted ways, mindlessly putting her arrows back into their quiver. A woman was not supposed to be forward, even if she wanted a lover, or so she had been brought up to believe. A woman was not supposed to be an archer, either, or presume to train men in the subject - that was certainly what those soldiers had believed. Well, right now, I don't care what anyone believes. I'm a Dragoon, she told herself, drawing herself up straight and swinging the quiver onto her back. I've already been through battles they would never have been able to survive. If they don't take me seriously next time, I'll…I'll show them exactly what that means.
Shirley gave a nod, feeling pleased with her plan. And as for the rest of her frustration - maybe it was time to be forward there, too. When she came back from her mother's village…well, if she was brave enough, maybe it wouldn't be her tower she was sleeping in tonight.
Despite its biting cold sting, Belzac could appreciate the feel of the wind whipping through his hair as he hurtled through the sky, tied securely to his vassal Dragon's back. Somewhat ahead of him was the shape of the Jade Dragoon and his Dragon, Tsavor, leading the way into what was sure to be a great deal of trouble.
It was possible to see flashes of light in the distance from as far away as the former Kashua Pass, a sign of very powerful magic being released. Though it was nowhere near Gloriano, the two had decided that it would be prudent to get as close as they could and try to discover what was happening, since it might affect their country in the future.
Besides, with something important to focus on, he could more easily push aside thoughts of how miserable he was feeling. Always best to keep from being idle, he reminded himself. It was better than drinking himself sick, anyway - and he certainly didn't plan to do that again. Even now, the remnants of his headache still pounded in the back of his head, although the willowbark tea he'd had earlier had helped somewhat.
As they drew closer, the half-Giganto recognized the peak in the distance, taller than any of the others surrounding it. The entire mountain range had once been home to many different species of Dragons, from large to small, but no longer. When the Winglies had raised the Birth City into the sky nineteen years ago, their armies had killed enough of them that their bones had given a new name to the nearby mountain: the Mountain of Mortal Dragon.
There had always been one, however, that they couldn't kill, and Belzac felt his jaw drop as he saw the unmistakable seven-winged shape in the sky. The Divine Dragon released a barrage of bright red-gold energy orbs toward some of the specks converging on it, tearing a clear path through what were obviously its Wingly attackers. The surge of hatred he felt nearly overwhelmed him until he realized it wasn't his own emotion, but rather Gleam's.
The young Dragon was tense, limbs pulled in tight as he hurtled faster now toward the conflict. /Stop, calm down!/ he pleaded, trying with all his will to rein his vassal in. Just as in the Eastlands forest months ago, the presence of the giant threat was making Gleam lose control. Belzac looked ahead quickly, and it seemed to him that Syuveil was having the same problem.
Cursing, he began to work his way out from under the halter ropes. It was like a stone wall had been erected between him and the Dragon, and nothing he could do was getting through in the face of deep-rooted instinct. Calling on his Dragoon Spirit, he transformed, letting the updraft of air catch his wings and lift him free. He was relieved to see a similar shape separate from that of Tsavor as Syuveil's Dragon, too, continued to charge. Hopefully, all those Winglies were too caught up in fending off the Divine Dragon to notice they had been there.
Here, high above the ground, there were only thin wisps of cloud to provide dubious cover. However, it was enough to hide the two Dragoons as they met up, especially as all eyes were focused on the battle occurring. Even at this distance, faint shouts were audible from the Wingly platoons as they became aware of the new Dragons crashing in on the fight. This was soon drowned out by draconic roars, each challenge loud and piercing and making even Belzac and Syuveil cover their ears. The Winglies scattered as the Divine Dragon threw its head back to respond, swirling around to retake their positions against the mountain.
Wincing, Belzac finally let his hands fall, shaking his head. "I couldn't stop him," he told Syuveil unhappily, his gaze fixed on what he could see of the Dragons through the mist of cloud.
The Jade Dragoon sighed in agreement. "The same for me," he replied tersely. "We should still try to get through to them, though. They certainly haven't gotten themselves into a very good situation."
Belzac nodded, though a bit doubtfully, and moved to follow Syuveil when the other man descended toward the chaos, breaking through the clouds. He didn't take his eyes off the wildly-moving form of the Divine Dragon - didn't dare to, not when a stray bolt of the energy spraying from its chest could incinerate him, Dragoon armor or no. So many Winglies…what in the world are they trying to do here, kill the Dragon? Is it even possible?
Although the Mountain of Mortal Dragon, where the Divine Dragon nested, was rather close to the Birth City and even Kadessa, it wasn't close enough that the Dragon could attack either place from here. Since all of this wasn't exactly in defense of the cities, then, what was really going on?
The two Dragons lunged for the larger one, heads whipping and claws scraping along the Divine Dragon's scaled hide, Gleam clamping his jaws around the joint connecting one of its wings to its back. It roared again, flaring, and did a roll to try to shake him off; however, the young Golden Dragon held on tenaciously, attempting to bite past its opponent's natural armor. Tsavor went for the throat, but was knocked back by a blow from the bigger creature's huge blunt head. Righting himself, he simply went back at it, heedless of Syuveil's mental pleas to stop.
As the Dragoons drew closer, trying to break through the roil of territorial rage that weakened their bonds with their vassal Dragons, two of the Winglies rose above the rest that waited along the edge of the mountain's crater. Although normally it might have been hard to tell them apart from any of the others, the visible auras of magical energy that surrounded these two were indication enough that they were no mere soldiers, or even officers.
With his gray skin and unique features, Melbu Frahma was unmistakable, but Belzac wasn't so sure about the man with golden wings next to him. In fact, he would have thought it to be Faust if he hadn't known that the magician had gone down with his precious flying fortress. No, this older Wingly had to be one of Frahma's other subordinates, and, judging from the looks of him, a rather powerful one at that.
"Frahma - and that must be one of his Overseers. Teofilo, I think, of Aglis," Syuveil said, confirming his suspicions. He drew up closer to make himself heard over the sound of the battle, watching the motions of the Winglies closely. "He's a magician, but I don't think even they together could kill the Divine Dra-"
The scholar stopped speaking, his mouth hanging open, but before Belzac could even ask him what was wrong, he realized it for himself. The Overseer had raised the staff he was carrying into the air, its green jewel pulsing before sending out a wave of energy. The aura traveled outward in a circular pattern from the curved head of the staff, enveloping the army, the three battling Dragons, and, at its edge, the watching Dragoons as well. Although the main wave immediately dissipated, it left an emerald haze behind to tint the air around them.
Belzac tried to choke in a breath, looking around quickly. The wings of his armor seemed to flap much too slowly to keep him up, and his limbs felt as though leaden weights had suddenly been attached to them. He had to fight to keep a grip on his axe; apparently, Syuveil was feeling it too, struggling to raise his own weapon up to his shoulder. A weakness spell?
Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be affecting the Winglies, and at any rate, his own uncertainty paled in comparison to what he was feeling over the link with Gleam. The young Golden Dragon was almost frantic with confusion, struggling to disengage his claws from the Divine Dragon's scales. Tsavor, too, began to thrash away, and as their rage turned to fear, the Dragoons seized the chance to resume calling their vassal Dragons back.
It would be best to just get out of here and report what they'd seen to Diaz before they too were forced to fight, which in this state Belzac wasn't at all sure he could manage. Well, no matter if the Divine Dragon was killed here, or Frahma, or both - it would only benefit Gloriano in the end.
Frahma, too, was taking the opportunity, lifting the shimmering red and orange sword he carried and darting forward. Although wingless, he moved as easily through the air as any of his species, diving toward the gray Void Dragon with his weapon extended before him. The sound of the odd blade hitting the Dragon's head was loud and grating, almost metal against stone, and yet, much to the shock of the onlookers, great tears appeared in the supposedly impenetrable hide. In a delayed fashion, the wounds had opened up seconds after the cuts were made, and, by that time, Frahma had already moved on to the next slice.
The Dragon roared in pain and rage, rows of razor-sharp teeth snapping at the Wingly leader, but Frahma quickly glided back and to the side, gesturing in an obvious signal to a waiting group of soldiers. Immediately, part of the army resumed its magical attack, the rest held back for some still-unknown purpose.
Infuriated, the Divine Dragon flapped its wings hard, pushing itself free of the two smaller reptiles. Attacked on all fronts, and weakened by the spell of the staff, it reared back, stretching out its neck almost as if exposing its throat to its enemies. Even with the spell in place, however, the feel of magic was incredible as the power it gathered seemed to travel down its spine, gray scales shimmering a bright greenish-white in sequence until it reached the point where its neck connected to its body.
Belzac only had time to see Frahma swoop far out of the way before the Dragon let its head fall sharply down past its chest. He's running? Not good- The collected energy shot out from between its shoulderblades in a thick, bright beam that seemed to split the very sky before it, the air rippling visibly. The two vassal Dragons were directly in its path, and although Gleam managed to roll his barrel-like body to one side, Tsavor was not so fast-
There was a sickening crunching sound as the beam slammed through one side of the Jade Dragon's neck, leaving a gaping semicircle dripping with thick dark blood after it passed. The beam hit a peak on the other side, the sound of the ensuing explosion drowning out everything else as its concussive blast knocked the smaller Winglies and Dragoons tumbling into the air. Shards of rock sprayed upward and outward, pelting everything in the area with tiny, sharp projectiles.
Belzac righted himself as soon as he was able to, shading his eyes with his free hand as he tried to peer through the dust and figure out what was happening. Tsavor's energy wings now extinguished, his body plummeted toward the mountain range below. Trailing streamers of blood, his head flapped backward, still fastened to his neck by the remaining ropy cords of muscle and skin.
It was inconceivable - the Dragoon felt his heart lurch once in his chest before pounding even faster, shock rendering his body numb. So intent on the appalling sight before him, he didn't realize what was happening to Syuveil until the bright flash of green-tinted light warned him. Nearby, the scholar had dropped his spear in order to clutch at his own throat, his contorted figure barely visible past the glow, and, with a sudden start, Belzac realized the man's armor was disappearing.
Rushing to catch him, he maneuvered him over his shoulderplate ridges, annoyed at how hard it was to do so. Between holding onto both Syuveil and his axe, his arms seemed strangely like they were made of clay, and he didn't like the feeling of weakness, especially when it was something he had rarely experienced before.
Worried about being spotted by either the Winglies or the vengeful Dragon, and afraid the weakness was going to get worse, he did the only thing he could think of and dived down after Tsavor's body, aiming for the small puff of snow he had seen that indicated where in the mountains it had landed. No one would be concerned about them, at least not while the Divine Dragon still raged. /Gleam, come on! Down here, quick!/ Belzac commanded, gratified to feel the Dragon's acquiescence a moment later. It was one sliver of hope in what was turning out to be a disaster.
There was a popping inside his ears as he descended, the air still thin but becoming easier to breathe. The vassal Dragon's fall had uprooted a swathe of evergreens, its body finally coming to rest in a small notch between two hills, and he touched down next to it, golden armor boots crunching down the layers of snow. Its wound was still smoking, hissing against the cold, but he didn't have any time to examine the damage, dropping his axe in order to attend to Syuveil.
The man was thrashing in pain, fighting off the half-Giganto's attempts to restrain him almost too easily, and Belzac frowned, shifting his weight to keep his balance. "Syuveil! Calm down, it's me!" Is it that damn spell, still? He shouldn't have been having trouble with this-
Wincing as he caught an elbow to the back of his head, Belzac finally twisted to one side, leaning down to let the other Dragoon fall into the snow. Syuveil hardly seemed to notice, gasping hoarsely and clawing at his own neck with crooked fingers, and Belzac banished his armor as quickly as possible before lurching to grab hold of his wrists and pull his hands away. He was relieved to find that his strength had returned to him, scowling at the long scrapes the scholar's fingernails had made before he could stop him.
"Syuveil! Syuveil, listen to me!" It was the Dragon's death affecting him, he knew it, and he also knew he had no idea what to do for the suffering man. Was he just feeling the aftershock across the link, or - his breath caught - was Tsavor still dying? "Syuveil!"
Although his agonized thrashing was as strong as ever, he was no longer any match for Belzac. Pinned down, he continued to struggle briefly before his body suddenly lost all resistance, his head lolling back into the snow. His spectacles, having been thrown off, lay half-buried nearby, and his green eyes stared upward unblinkingly.
The Golden Dragoon cursed, sitting back to look down at him. Syuveil still breathed, his chest rising and falling shallowly, but his skin was very pale, and the crusty snowdrifts and cold, thin air here were not helping the situation. He turned to glance at the great bulk of the Dragon's body. Gleam, who had landed on the other side of Tsavor, remained perched on a rocky outcropping above them, seeming to watch both them and the sky carefully in turns. Sensing his Dragoon's troubled state, he rumbled low in his chest as if in sympathy.
"What am I supposed to do now?" he asked the Dragon rhetorically, and, naturally, received no response.
However, he didn't have to wonder for long, as Syuveil began to stir, startling him. Belzac waited cautiously in case he would lash out, but the other man didn't seem to be completely awake yet, muttering softly, "Kill it kill it-"
He repeated the Jade Dragoon's name, but it didn't seem to register. "Come on," he pleaded now, "wake up. We need to get you back to Vellweb…"
"-King of Dragons - kill it kill it - seven, kill it mine not yours - seven glares - kill it now-"
"Syuveil, stop this!"
"-the soul pieces, keep them safe - kill it kill the King kill the slayers kill it - all the power the King the King the slayers slay the King slay the souls kill-"
"All right, that's enough! We're going back right-" Belzac began to shift the other Dragoon, intending to carry him back to the city if he had to, but another, familiar sound from above stopped him short, and he tilted his head toward the sky. No! No, they didn't!
The rhythmic pulsing noise of Winglies in flight met his ears, a voice following directly after: "There they are!" He barely had time to register what he was seeing as three brown-armored soldiers shot down toward him, weapons extended for the charge.
Hurriedly, he reached back for the handle of his battleaxe, which was lying behind him in the snow, taking it with him as he twisted upright. He pivoted, bringing one foot down on the other side of Syuveil in the hopes that he could shield him somehow, and then swung the blade hard sideways as the first rapidly-approaching Wingly descended at him.
Sharpened metal grated against armor, the half-moon blade embedding itself deep in the man's side, and he heard a cry from the Wingly as he jerked the axe back with a grunt, heard him hit the ground and roll downhill a ways, but he didn't have time to follow up. Jabbing the capped end of his weapon backward under his arm at the next attacker, he then stepped over the other Dragoon's prone form once more and swung the axe around and down.
The axe struck at an angle between shoulder and throat, just inside the ridged protection of his armor. Blood spurted from the severed artery, as bright as the soldier's wide crimson eyes, and Belzac kicked him back quickly so he wouldn't land or drop his sword on his friend below. Fast and precise, he shifted the waraxe to his other hand and let it fall, neatly severing the fallen Wingly's neck and ending his suffering. Flipping it back into both hands, he turned once more to meet the final one - and found nothing.
Slower than the rest, the last Wingly had been luckier as well and had avoided the slaughter his comrades had unknowingly flown right into. Muttering disbelievingly about Gigantos under his breath, he arced back up into the air behind the big fighter, coming to a halt before drawing his hand down from his forehead and tracing a shape in the air. It hung there for a moment, glowing brightly, and then the wind began to blow.
Belzac, catching his breath, felt it stick in his throat as his hair and cloak suddenly began to whip around, and he looked about quickly to try to find his enemy. However, it was too hard to see, the snow that had coated the mountainside now filling the air. Cursing, he dropped down to hands and knees, using his body to protect Syuveil from the spell. The cold winds howled around him, streams of air glowing yellow-green as they whipped painfully against exposed skin. Gritting his teeth, the Dragoon tried to hide his face, waiting it out as best he could.
The air dissipated rather quickly once it had rushed through the area, the sound drifting into silence. Hovering above, the Wingly looked down at the two shapes sprawled below and noted with near-glee the fresh spatters of blood that stained what remained of the whiteness around them. Drawing his scimitar, the soldier lifted up a bit higher, preparing to dive before that Giganto could struggle back upright. Neither of them would stand a chance, and he would return to Frahma a hero-
However, he had forgotten about Gleam. All he heard was a dull low-pitched roar before the earth rumbled warningly beneath him, before he felt himself being sucked downward despite the magic of his wings that should have kept him aloft. Scrabbling frantically at nothing but thin air, the Wingly screeched in panic just seconds before several spikes of stone ripped upward out of the mountain. They drove up through his body, cutting off his scream as rock burst through his jaw, and held him impaled there briefly before crumbling and burying him beneath the rubble.
The Golden Dragon roared again, as if pleased with himself, and leapt from his outcropping with strange grace for such a bulky creature. Belzac, pulling himself up shakily, peered around to find the area much different than it had been when they'd landed. Stone was now mounded where pristine snowdrifts had been, and what snow remained was as dirty and reddened as its surroundings. Tsavor's corpse remained unmoved by the wind spell, still wedged into the cleft in the mountainside.
Despite this, he managed to laugh, though only for a moment as the expression made his torn face sting. "Thank you, Gleam," he murmured, looking down to find Syuveil mostly unhurt, although covered with streaks of blood. His eyes were still unfocused, and though he had stopped repeating nonsense, he was shivering violently. "We…need to leave," Belzac said aloud, both to the Dragon and his friend. "Before any more of them find us here. Shirley will help you." At the moment, he hardly realized that it was Planting Day, that she might have already left for her mother's home, and that he didn't want to be thinking about her anyway.
He moved to pick the man up, wincing as flayed ribbons of skin brushed against rough woolen fabric, sending a dizzy jolt of pain through him. Gritting his teeth and trying to ignore it, he turned toward his vassal Dragon, calling him to come closer. However, the brown-haired man groaned suddenly, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands and making a feeble attempt to struggle upright. "No, you…have to…"
Although quite concerned, as Syuveil was proving to be delusional, he humored him anyway; this was still the most coherent he'd been since his Dragon's death. He looked down at him, answering, "Have to do what?"
"Take him with - you have to take him with us!" He sounded so determined, even after what had happened, that the half-Giganto stopped in mid-stride. "Do not leave him here, do not - ugh, I can't see-"
Sighing, Belzac looked about quickly for the missing glasses, not holding out much hope. However, he spotted the earpiece sticking up out of a grungy snowdrift, and, gingerly helping the other man back down onto his feet, he let go of him to sweep them up. However, the moment he did so, Syuveil collapsed hard onto his knees, cursing and barely managing to catch himself with his hands.
Moving a bit too late to catch him, Belzac merely held out the glasses to him. What point was there in bringing the body of a Dragon back to Vellweb with them? He looked down toward the fallen creature, and then frowned as a flicker of movement caught his eye. "Stay here a moment," he told him, trying not to look as concerned as he felt as Syuveil took the lenses, fumbling them back onto his face. Biting his lip against another wince of pain, he leaned to take up his axe again. "I'll go have a look."
The other Dragoon nodded shortly, perturbed, and, without another word, Belzac turned and picked his way across snow-covered rocks down the hill toward Tsavor's corpse. As he neared, he could see the source of the motion, the smaller figure of the first Wingly he'd disabled. Having rolled downhill to be stopped by the Dragon's bulk, the soldier was now flailing feebly. There was a soft hissing noise, almost like breathing, which gave him pause until he saw the blood that trickled from the gaping hole in the vassal Dragon's neck. The Wingly's flesh was sizzling where the Dragon's blood touched it, and even nearly bled dry himself, he was still trying to push out of it.
He made a face of disgust tinged with horror, the fumes from the wind Dragon's venom making him cough even at this distance. Still, he continued forward, lifting the axe even as he skidded down the incline. You're too kind, he admonished himself silently, though that didn't keep him from once again bringing it down on the Wingly's neck almost before he'd come to a stop. They were his enemies, but he wasn't going to stand by and watch even an enemy die that way.
The deed done, he quickly searched the body for any potions or magical items it carried, hating himself for it as he did so. There was nothing, however, and, feeling rather light-headed, he averted his eyes from the mess and began to back away. Shaking his head sadly, he wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed the axe in the sling on his back before limping back up the hill. Tsavor's corpse was obviously poisonous even in death, and he wasn't going to force Gleam to have anything to do with it - at least, not right now.
Syuveil was still kneeling rather vacantly in the snow, but he finally tore his eyes away from his Dragon's remains when he returned. "Belzac-"
Forestalling any arguments, the larger man reached down, grabbing the scholar's wrist and dragging him to his feet. "We'll have to come back. Gleam can't carry him right now, and you need to get back to Vellweb." He could only hope that the strange reaction to the Dragon's death would end soon, and without any lasting effects. Otherwise, if this was what happened when the vassals died, what would it mean for the rest of them if-?
"No!" the brown-haired man shouted, trying to fight away from him. However, Belzac was prepared for this by now, pulling Syuveil back and pinning his arms to his sides before half-dragging him toward Gleam. "Don't leave him here! Stop! I'm not going!"
Gritting his teeth, the Golden Dragoon did his best to hold on to him, reminded oddly of having to endure one of the children's tantrums. At this rate, even if I do get him on the Dragon, he'll throw himself off before we get there! When flailing hands began to brush the raw flesh exposed by his torn skin, however, he'd had enough. The wind spell had sliced the edges of his cloak to ribbons as well, and he reached back one-handed to tear it further, yanking off several long strips of the heavy cloth. "Forgive me, my friend, but it's for your own good. And mine."
No matter how he struggled, the scholar was in no shape to resist, and in the matter of a minute the half-Giganto had his hands firmly tied behind him. No longer quite so hindered by his sudden madness, it wasn't long before they were in the air again, Tsavor's twisted bulk left behind on the mountainside.
Belzac, making sure to keep a good hold on Syuveil and ignoring his curses, glanced down at it once as they ascended before turning to look behind them. Clouds obscured his vision of what might be happening with the Winglies and the Divine Dragon, only vague flashes of light giving evidence to the fact that the fight was still going on at all. It was no matter, anyway, who won or lost; as far as he was concerned, Mayfil could take the lot of them.
Eremi flapped down toward the tower ring, her presence nearly unnoticed in the darkness above the sleeping city. Only faint flickers of torchlight indicated the night watch going about its rounds. For many years, their vassal Dragons had only been allowed to approach Vellweb at night for that very reason, and as they descended Shirley felt a brief burst of nostalgia come over her. Things were so different now, and they had changed so suddenly, but it was definitely a good change to not have to sneak around in her own home.
The Dragon landed carefully on the stone, and, after few moments, her rider slid down off her back, glad to have her feet on something solid again. /Thank you. Go, rest now!/ Briefly stroking the tiny scales on the creature's forehead, the Dragoon then stepped back into the shadow of a staircase to prevent being knocked about by the wind as Eremi took off once more. Her energy wings stirred up even stronger gusts until she had become a distant pale shape in the light of the moon.
Yawning widely, Shirley laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out before moving forward again, walking slowly to be sure of her footing. Eremi had left her on the southern side of the tower ring, where there was more room for the Dragons to alight and depart, but her own tower was on the other side of it, between Syuveil's and Damia's.
It had been a while since she'd been back to the little Gloriano village where her mother had settled, and she had enjoyed seeing everyone again. At the same time, she was feeling rather glad that she hadn't been able to stay for more than the day. As Cordell had reminded her, her mother Lynae was sixty years old, quite elderly for a Human. She also had a very difficult personality, both as a mother who'd effectively lost seven of her ten children and as a thunder elemental. With all her remaining freed children in Vellweb, she had only Cordell's new young wife to care for her in her old age, and no living grandchildren to dote on - a fact she had felt compelled to point out to the Dragoon several times during her visit.
All in all, it had been a rather frustrating visit. Shirley had gotten so used to being Diaz's respected servant, so used to being someone who helped make decisions for the entire country, that it was impossible to return to being the obedient, unquestioning daughter her mother still wished her to be.
They'd asked too much about Belzac, too, which wasn't unexpected, given that his own mother lived in the same small village. It was hard to avoid letting on that they were in the midst of an argument, that she had feelings for someone they didn't know about yet. She was definitely glad to see Vellweb and the Dragoons' towers again at the end of the day. Maybe next time she went to visit, things would be easier. Maybe she wouldn't be going there alone…
As if that would stop the questions, she told herself in annoyance. If anything, it would just make them worse. Well, she wouldn't have to worry about it for few months, at least, as the Dragoons couldn't be spared from their duties to go on unnecessary visits more often than that. How strange, Shirley thought, that she could love her mother so much and yet be so glad to live apart from her.
With every attack on the Winglies, every battle she took part in, she felt herself drawing further and further away from the slave, the commoner, the farm-girl. Once, she'd wanted nothing more than to be free to have a family, work the land, live peacefully, grow old. Now, however, the world had grown so wide that she didn't know what she wanted anymore.
She turned almost unconsciously to look up toward the door of the tower just above her, the one she knew had a dome of violet marble, although it was impossible to actually make out the color in just moonlight. To be fair, it had been hard to concentrate on the work of planting or Lynae's fussing with the memory of Kanzas' touch repeating in her head. Just that had made her prior roll in the hayloft seem like hand-holding in comparison, and the anticipation of more caused a rush of butterflies in her stomach.
He wasn't normally the sort of person she would have expected to find herself attracted to - older, rough, uncouth. But Belzac's presence hadn't warned him off, as it had so many others who'd seemed to express an interest. Maybe, she told herself, that was why she'd started encouraging his interest to begin with.
Her spirit seemed to give a little tug deep inside her chest, and she jerked, startled. It had been a long time since she'd felt that sensation, that pulling feeling that had led her to the others over the years. Why would the orb want her to go up to his tower? She found it very hard to believe that the soul of the Grand White-Silver Dragon cared about what she might, ah, desire. The tugging came again, however, more insistently, and that made her mind up for her. She'd spent so long following every little nudge from the pale orb that it seemed natural to do so now as well.
She started heading upward, absently wiping her clammy hands on her pants. She hadn't seen the inside of Kanzas' tower since it had been finished, and a part of her was slightly hurt by the fact that she hadn't been invited in, although he hadn't been to hers yet, either. It was bound to be much different than that dugout by the river - the locations could hardly be more opposite. She felt more nervous than anything as she climbed the stairs, her mind racing through the myriad possibilities of what might happen when she went inside.
When she finally reached the top, she took a deep breath, raised her fist to knock, and then stopped. Don't be a coward, she scolded herself, exhaling explosively, and then pounded hard on the door. However, it wasn't latched, and her first knock pushed the door inward, making her sway forward as her second knock hit only air. Chuckling nervously at her stumbling, she took a step into the dark tower room, peering up the low stairway there. "Kanzas? Are you here?"
No answer came, and Shirley put her hand against the wall to steady herself, exhaling slowly. Perhaps he'd gone down to the city, then, but she ought to make sure. Maybe she would even wait here for him, see if he would come back soon, since she'd already drummed up enough courage to come this far. Her hand brushed a ridge on the wall, and she let her fingers trace it, feeling out the odd jagged design carved in relief from the stone. Lightning? Her lips curved into an affectionate smile, and she shook her head before taking the first two steps and looking up into the room.
The sight that greeted her made her feel suddenly lightheaded, her smile freezing into a grimace on her face. The low light of oil candles illuminated the room from the little hollows in the stone shelves they were set into, casting a flickering glow onto rows of what looked like clay figures. They were in vague Human shape, short, tall; guessing what they might signify, she refused to count how many there were. The room smelled almost spicy, perhaps from incense, though there was a strange metallic undertone to the scent.
Although instinct was telling her to turn and leave this place, to run away as fast as she could, her eyes moved as if to spite her across the room. In the center and on both sides were hearths with deep basins set into their tops, although the 'fireplaces' beneath all three were dark and void of flame. They seemed to be more altars than anything else. Before the center one sat a large, twisting sculpture of the Divine Tree, and directly in front of it was another mid-sized doll figure, the clay still soft and wet. She blinked, as if the sight would somehow change if she did, and then her gaze fell on Kanzas, who lay sprawled on the floor near the sculpture, his bare back to her, apparently asleep. The tangle of whip-scars visible on his skin there looked like a dark and thorny web in the dim light of the room.
Despite the way her heart was pounding, her mouth unpleasantly dry with fear, she walked over to him and knelt slowly at his side. Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw blood spattering the stones, which his body had hidden from view before. It was still flowing sluggishly from the shallow gashes along his palms and fingers, and the worst, a deeper cut which seemed to have been drawn along his wrist. The knife still lay by his other hand - what had he been doing? Now she understood what her spirit had wanted from her; it had been a warning that he was injured, that something was wrong.
He didn't stir as she turned him over onto his back and grabbed numbly for the orb on its chain around her neck, holding it up in front of her. "White-Silver Dragon, please-"
The brightness of the spirit's light chased back the shadows for a moment, revealing the plain, lumpy clay dolls with garish clarity. She closed her eyes tightly against the sight, missing the motion below as the magical beams woke the man she was healing.
Kanzas stirred, scrubbing at his face with one hand. So lightheaded…he knew that feeling, and why he had it now. Too much blood; I must have cut wrong. Damn it. He looked up from beneath heavy eyelids, trying to blink away the strange light. His left arm tingled sharply, full feeling returning to it as it finally finished healing. She's here? His heart skipped a beat once, a guilty reaction he tried to quash with anger. "Hey! What are you doing?" Annoyed, he swatted her hand and the Dragoon Spirit away, uncurling back up to his feet as she quickly pulled herself back a good distance across the floor.
As he was shirtless, the brief healing had made the red stains that were left behind quite apparent, spattered across tanned, unbroken skin. Shirley reluctantly let go of her spirit orb and stood again moments later, not liking the way the shadows fell across his face when she looked up at him. "Kanzas, all this blood-"
"For the clay," he said, the words slipping out so easily he was taken aback. But she knew already, she knew, he'd told her the very night they'd met again, so why should he try to protect her from the truth when the evidence was right before her eyes? "Their blood, my hands, my blood, the clay. Get out of here. I'm not going to die."
She wasn't sure what to think, her trust waning under the faceless gazes of all those…things up on the shelves, but she thought of the battles they'd been in, the slaughter there, justifying it that way. Winglies, they have to be - trophies of war, or something- "Not - not until I'm sure you're all right," she answered, lifting her chin in what she hoped was a reassuringly stubborn manner.
"I - am - fine," he snarled, biting off each word. Agitated, he took a menacing step forward, clenching and unclenching his fists. "It's you who won't be, if you don't get out now."
Shirley choked in a deep breath, holding her ground although her mind was warning her that she ought to start backing away. "Stop trying to scare me. I was worried-" He didn't respond, continuing to advance on her, and it was the look on his face that made her retreat, stumbling back onto the low stairs. His other room hadn't been like this - he hadn't been like this, even back when they hardly knew each other. "I don't understand!"
Kanzas laughed sharply, pausing on the top step. "No, you don't. And you never will, Shirley, frightened child. I've warned you and warned you, but you never listened, and now you say you don't understand!"
She bit her lip hard, the slow boil of anger rising in her chest. Had all his soft words before meant nothing, then? She'd thought she was getting through to him, the real him, and yet now it seemed as though he was the same dangerous, violent stranger chained on the auction block, and nothing at all had changed. "Maybe I do understand! It's all - it's all about her, isn't it? The woman from Aglis - all of this," she gestured about at the crude figures, "it's all for her-"
He grabbed hold of her upper arms, whirling her away from the door before kicking it closed. She tried to keep herself from being pulled, but it only ended up making her trip on the stairs, and he half-dragged, half-shoved her back up into the tower room forcefully enough that she ended up sprawled on the stones at his feet. "That," Kanzas snarled, pointing at the middle of the three small cloth dolls set beneath the sculpture, "is Jidena. You remember her, don't you?" He turned slightly, aiming next at a random shape of clay on the highest shelf. "This one's a Wingly's bedslave." Another expressionless form on the left-hand wall. "That's a merchant's bag-carrier. And this is-"
"Kanzas!" Feeling bruised, she shoved herself back up to her feet as quickly as she could, not wanting to stay at such a disadvantage when he was like this. The realization had hit like a brick, making her stomach lurch sickeningly. "I don't want to hear it! Those aren't - Kanzas, you're talking about people you killed!"
"No," he murmured, still staring up at the display, "I saved them. You really don't know what you're talking about. I've stolen fate; I'm keeping them safe…" He whirled around, amber eyes unfocused, and then his brows knit sharply. Although she remained still, arms crossed guardedly in front of her chest, he became even more upset, reaching up to grab hold of his own hair. "Stop it, you're looking at me like they did, stop looking at me like that-"
For a moment, it was as if he was back on that island, the salt-smell of the air filling him, the constant sound of the waves on the beach ringing in his ears. The old couple who'd taken him in after he'd fallen from Aglis, had lied to the Wingly census-takers to protect him, fed and clothed and trained him for a year - he'd thought he could live there forever, have a life again, free. He'd trusted them, had tried to explain about Jidena, the failed escape, and they'd looked at him just like that before shouting about turning him in to the Winglies, his crimes and his evil, and he'd taken a knife and made them stop-
Flustered, Shirley got out, "Looking at - I'm not-" Unable to voice what she meant, she shook her head hard, her face drawn into an expression of miserable confusion.
"You are!" Kanzas shouted, taking a step forward again and watching her flinch back reflexively. "You're looking at me like…like Syuveil looks at insides!"
"Just calm down! I'm not looking at you like anything!" As if realizing the absurdity of the conversation, she half-turned away, too wary to put her back to him. "I'm not looking at you. Kanzas, please…all of this…"
The shadows flickered and danced as he moved past an oil lamp set into the shelf, reaching up to trail a finger across one of the clay figures there and leaving a reddish streak behind. That his anger had not cooled, but had only been restrained, was evident in the tone of his voice. "Huh, you think it's all some kind of trophy thing, don't you? It's not about that. If it was, there'd be so many more. All those godsdamned Winglies don't deserve this." His hand slipped back down to his side, almost as if in a caress, and she shuddered at the thought. "You know the story about the tiory-snake?"
Shirley's own voice shook, though she was trying to hold back what were threatening to be sobs of frustration. Stop it! You can't do anything about this if you can't control yourself! "Yes, you asked me before. I don't - I don't think this is the time for stories!"
"It's the perfect time." He smiled narrowly, turning from the shelf to face her again, his voice drifting softer now so she had to strain to hear it. "They say before people were born from the fruits of the Divine Tree, everything followed the plan Soa had laid for it, and by that plan they lived and died."
She knew this story as well as she knew all the rest, its events carved in neat, almost abstract designs on a panel of the Life City's temple wall. "Kanzas…"
He continued as if he hadn't heard her, nearly singsonging, "But then the tiory-snake, waiting amongst the roots, stole fate when a pair of the newest creatures born to the world came down from the Tree." He watched her expression now, gauging her reaction. "These new things, were they predator, prey? Powerful, weak? No one knows, because the snake, it wrapped itself around a neck, and dug its fangs in-"
"I know what it did!" she shouted suddenly, hands twitching upward as if to cover her ears, although she stopped herself halfway. "It doesn't have anything to do with you a-and this!"
Kanzas' eyes narrowed. "It has everything to do with it. You think Soa made that species for the tiory-snake to kill before they'd barely gotten down from the Tree? You think it's the fates of Dragons, of Humans, to be exterminated by the Winglies, Shirley? If that's true, then I was fated to kill all of them," he swung his arm out to point at the dolls along the wall, making her jump, "and they were born only to die, to be killed by me! And where's the godsdamned sense in that?"
"So why do it?" Shirley cried. "Why do it at all, then?"
"Because I took their lives," he growled, "because I stole their fates from Soa, I can decide what they'll be. And I said I'd save them, Shirley, I said I'd do it for you! They're bound to me," he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, "blood to blood to clay, and as I save them from the darkness, they'll save me."
She pressed her fist hard against her lips. It's madness! Forget the story, none of this makes any sense!
When she didn't answer, he laughed shortly, continuing, "I don't think it's right. But I'm not going to apologize. If these tombs can save them, then I'll just do what I have to. If I'm fated to be sent to Hell anyway, then I'll save them from Mayfil's false judgment, and their hate will keep the darkness away for just a while. Let them tear me to shreds, just as long as they're there…"
"And…when we destroy Mayfil, when the Winglies don't decree for us where we go…your choice will have sent you to the darkness anyway."
"How was I supposed to know it was ever possible? It's much too late now. Doesn't matter anymore. Don't feel sorry."
The White-Silver Dragoon dropped her hands, reaching out as if she wanted to grab hold of him and shake him, although he was too far away to reach. "I-I don't know what to do! Kanzas, why are you telling me this? What - do you want from me? What am I supposed to do?"
"Nothing," he snorted. "You hate it, but you can do nothing."
"I can stop you!" Shirley hissed. "I can't just turn my head and pretend I don't know you're adding more and more of those things to your wall! You're supposed to protect them!"
The russet-haired man sighed as if she was a particularly slow child, bending in a graceful motion to sweep up the knife he'd left lying near the hearth. Crossing toward her too quickly for her to even think about backing away more than a step, he grabbed one of her hands, forcing her fingers to wrap around the hilt. "All right," he near-whispered before tilting his head back. "Stop me."
Although she automatically braced her hand with the other, her fingers shook, the blade threatening to slip from them. Her vision was blurred by tears no matter how hard she fought to suppress them. "You…think that I…"
"Go on," he said casually. "It's the only way you can. I'll even let you do it. Right to left," he traced his finger across his throat, "just give it a good slash, and it'll be quick enough. Better you than Diaz, than the Winglies - only you can cast judgment on me, and I'll fight to the death anyone else who tries. That seems fair, don't you think?" He spread his hands outward in a disarming way, waiting motionlessly for her to respond.
There was a metallic ring as she let the knife clatter to the stone below, covering her face to hide the welling of her eyes. "You know I won't do it. You know it."
Kanzas chuckled, looking back down once more. "I know," he agreed simply. "But you should be careful before you get too righteous, little Shirley…or have you forgotten that slave girl? The one you-" He smacked his fist hard into his open hand, the sound making her flinch.
A sob escaped her, and she shook her head. "I haven't, but - but that was a mistake-"
"And all those Winglies?" he pressed, taking a step toward her. "Yet it's worse that I remember them? That I don't hide the memory away shamefully? How's that, Shirley?"
"Because you should be ashamed of it!" she blurted shakily. "Because you should!" Clutching hold of her own upper arms, she turned away from his cold, amused gaze as if the sight of his face hurt her. "The whole world's so dark and terrible…why does it have to be this way with the people I care about, too?"
The other Dragoon was silent for a minute, long enough that she was sure he must have gone, although she didn't want to turn and find out. Finally, Kanzas' soft, raspy voice murmured near her ear, "Yes, it's dark. It's been dark, but it has to be. Your light won't shine in a bright place…and I can't find it without you."
Shirley took a deep breath, biting her lip, and, as she considered the meaning of that, she heard the quiet noise of his bare feet on the stone and the sound of rustling as he grabbed up some clothing from the floor nearby. The door creaked open shortly afterward, and then he was gone into the chill night.
As soon as she was sure he'd left, the woman stumbled backward, sitting down hard on the rickety wooden chair next to his bed. She didn't want to stay here any longer than she had to - and she certainly wanted to leave before he returned - but she wasn't going anywhere until she'd calmed down a bit, lest she find herself walking right off the edge of some staircase.
What could she do about it, anyway? Going to Belzac, or any of the others, would only earn her a resounding 'told you so', even if they never actually said it aloud. Besides, she was unwilling to admit that his overprotectiveness was justified, or to turn everyone against Kanzas even more than they already were right before a most important battle. She would just have to deal with it on her own right now. There still had to be some kind of a chance, didn't there?
He was a Dragoon, one of them. A murderer. He thought he was saving them from the Winglies. Saving them from Hell. Maybe he even was.
So what was she supposed to do?
The setting sun tinged the sand below with deep shades of red and purple, although occasionally the rocky landscape was lit up by the last rays of gold in the sky. The desert seemed like nothing more than a blur of color to the ones who flew above it, nighttime's shadows cast ever longer across the ground. The lone Blue Sea Dragon, very out of place in these surroundings, seemed to be going as fast as he could in order to get the dry, hot place behind him as soon as possible, and his riders merely hung on, watching the horizon ahead.
Seated behind Syuveil on her vassal Dragon's back, Damia held on tightly around his waist, his new spear turned horizontally between them, still afraid she might fall off even though she had been flying many times by now. At least this way he couldn't see the scales on her face as the wind blew back her long teal hair, or even that she was blushing, her pale skin having turned a blotchy, embarrassed red at the closeness of his presence.
He'd had some time to recover from the backlash of his vassal Dragon's death while Gloriano's army moved northward to Lord General Tibero's new encampment, its dangerous job to appear as if it was preparing to attack Zenebatos and hopefully draw the Winglies' attention away from the south, from the Death City. Their scouting had indicated Frahma's fight against the Divine Dragon was, unbelievably, still ongoing even a day later, making this the perfect time for their attack.
The scholar seemed fine now for the most part - he had come back to his senses before Shirley had returned, apologizing profusely to Belzac for having lost control, even though it had hardly been his fault. He would still occasionally tremble, however, or mutter something under his breath, and Damia had the feeling that he was asked to go with her so she could look out for him as much as to keep an eye on her, a thought which unsettled her even more. As saddened as she was by the news of Tsavor's death, a little awkward part of her couldn't help but feel glad that there was a reason for him to ride with her today. Otherwise, she felt, she might just abandon the other Dragoons at the sight of Mayfil approaching and tell Stephen to turn and go back. Her face hot more from shame now, she turned her head to look to the side, although the sight of the scenery whipping by did little to calm her nerves.
After a few minutes, she could see an odd shape appear to her right; fearing it was their destination, her grip tightened around him until she could hear him take a sudden breath. Blushing ever brighter, she quickly relaxed, pointing toward it as if to distract him. "Look - Syuveil, is that it?"
Peering toward the dark shape, he finally shook his head. "No," he called back loudly, his voice a bit muffled by all the wind. "It'll be straight ahead of us! That must be…" He fell silent briefly, picturing maps and distances, and then his eyes widened. "That's the Divine Tree!"
"Right there?" She felt confident enough in her hold, at least, to lean a bit that way, picking out the gigantic trunk and the arching limbs that shot off from the center, implanted in the sandy ground. "Can't we get closer? I've only seen it in drawings before!"
"It wouldn't be a good idea," he answered. "There are a lot of Wingly soldiers guarding it, and we don't want them to see us and realize where we're going!"
She sighed a little, nodding before remembering he couldn't see the gesture. "I guess you're right!" She felt disappointed, although she had never prayed very often to the Divine Tree. It just seemed…special, somehow, to be able to see where all the species of the world had first been born, but that was just another thing the Winglies had taken away from everyone else. "We'll get that back too," she muttered, not worried about being heard.
They were not the only ones to pass the holy site, as the Dragoons had chosen to approach Mayfil from different directions in order to minimize the chances of alerting the Winglies to what was coming for them. It was the same tactic they'd used to such great success when they'd attacked the army in the valley. One Dragon passing overhead was normal enough in many parts of Endiness, but several, let alone six of them, would be a definite warning sign. And so Kanzas too saw the Divine Tree in the distance on the other side of it, its telltale shape a darker blot against the dusky sky.
He shook his head slightly, his eyes fixed on it as if it was a lit beacon instead of a mass of branches nearly too far away to make out. Even if he couldn't see it, however, he could imagine a pale shimmer surrounding it, evidence that the stories were true, that it did have the power to protect the far descendants of its children. That was what he'd always been taught, anyway, even though he'd never felt that it worked for himself. Better it than Mayfil, in any case, for those he'd saved.
As if the thought had called it up, he saw the dark mass of spires beginning to show itself on the horizon. He flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles before taking hold of the halter rope once more, leaning forward to reduce the buffeting of the wind against him. Several specks of light were growing brighter, indicating where the others were approaching. /There it is! Come on, Taranis, don't let them beat you!/
The floating city was nearing quickly, and yet none of them were able to swoop down for the attack as they had planned. One by one, the Dragons and their riders slowed to stare, watching the small wisps of light wending their way through the air into the city's high tower. Against the darkening sky, they glowed with a self-contained energy, moving in streams as they were drawn in. There was a soft, rhythmic thrumming noise coming from the city, which hovered there as if it lay in wait.
"Syuveil," Damia near-whispered near the man's ear, making herself heard despite the rush of the wind that blew billows of sand along. "Syuveil, are those - are those people's souls?"
"They are," he breathed, unable to take his eyes off them, watching the streams flow in horrified fascination.
The girl whimpered, plucking at his gray sleeve urgently. "I don't want to go in there, let's go back, please, let's go back!"
At the sound of her voice, he turned as best he could, holding on as Stephen flapped ridged wings hard to keep aloft, sprays of golden energy filling the air around them. "We have to go, Damia! Look, the others are already moving! If we can destroy it, we can prevent everyone we know and care about from ending up here like that!"
She looked up at him, piercingly, and then turned her head, ashamed of her weakness even though just the thought of the black shape ahead was making her tremble in fear. "I'm sorry…I'll be brave. For y- for everyone!"
Syuveil smiled, nodding at her, and she squeezed her eyes closed, giving her vassal Dragon the command. With a loud roar, the blue-scaled creature abruptly shot forward, taking the last two Dragoons into the looming City of Death.