~PART FOUR~

Bring Down The Sky

Chapter Forty Seven

There are two kinds of assassin in the world. One who views their work as a means to an end, no more than a job to be done in the same vein as a farmer considers harvesting his crops a job. And then there are the ones who live for their work, saw it as art, lived for the thrill of handling life and death, appreciating the hunt on another level. This assassin belonged to the latter group.

Though this job was proving to be the strangest.

The assassin stared down at his new talons in quiet awe. He whipped out several of his daggers and tossed them and spun them in his claws, catching each one with the same deftness he was used to. At least that hadn't changed.

"Fly now and fly fast," whispered a voice that emanate from a shadow by the wall. "You'll catch 'em on the way back to the great ice wall - make sure you get her before then!"

The NightWing grinned. "I always do."

A talon reached out from the shadows holding a vial filled with a luminous green liquid. Even through the cork, the assassin could smell the stench of rotten eggs and rape-seed. The distinctive smell of Pufferfish poison. Usually he didn't like working with poison, it took the fun out of the kill. But he wouldn't disobey this master, not for all the gold in the world. And he was getting paid quite a lot.

The assassin took the small vial of poison and pocketed it safely in the harness wrapped around his ebony scales. No point in using it on his blades now, it would only spoil or might even cause an accident he'd rather avoid.

"And one more thing," said the voice, and the NightWing assassin could hear the grin on his employer's face. "Be sure to tell 'em who it's from."

All across Pyrrhia, word began to spread far and wide. In a matter of mere days the entire continent was told the momentous news: Blister was dead. The war of SandWing succession was finally over! It would be said in the history scrolls that every tribe celebrated as they never had before. Some mourned the dead, others drank and revelled until all partygoers fell unconscious from so much drink. The Scorpion Den, it is said, almost completely ran out of ale!

When Blaze was told in the fortress she resided in at the borders of the Ice Kingdom, some guards say that she was most surprised by the news. This was all so sudden. She almost appeared frightened as the reality of "Queen" was now upon her. They said she held a moment of silence to mourn her dead sisters, before she and her guards were packing their belongings. Until her coronation, there was still opportunity for dissenters to steal her prize. She had to claim her mother's palace (for that was what she always referred to it in her head) in order to really be considered the queen. And the sooner they did that, the better.

Of course, with the news of Blister's death came the other news that sparked much speculation. The existence of the NightWing known as Darkstalker was now confirmed, and many wondered who or what he was exactly, and what role did he have to play? One rumour whispered that he had killed Blister himself with his bare claws, another rumour said he used his magic to sway the minds and hearts of the NightWings so that they would no longer pursue war. One thing was certain: Darkstalker had led the NightWings away to their own Kingdom in the south-west, and that they would not be continuing the war.

Some whispered of vengeance, others wanted reparations. Each of the six Queens seemed to hold the same idea that those questions could come later, once their tribes had a chance to recover. So many were injured, and so much destruction had been wrought. They all needed time to tend to their wounds, consolidate their loses, remake their kingdoms whole once more. Then, and only then could the hard questions come. Though the Dragons of Destiny might like to believe that the end of a war might bring lasting peace, at this moment that reality was far from fighting had merely stopped, but tensions remained. So much death had occurred, how could any tribe forgive the other of such crimes?

What direction would this new Pyrrhia take? And who would be the talon that brought them all together at last… or the spearhead that would tear them all asunder?

Darkstalker fiddled idly with a silver coin between his claws. Flipping it over each digit, running his thumb across the flat surface, these movements served as something physical for him to do whilst his mind raced through several thoughts all at once. He stared out of the window of the Queen's study, though he looked out upon a magnificent view of the Night Kingdom, his eyes were glassy, unfocused, far away. He wasn't seeing into the future, not yet; instead visualising his thoughts as he considered every possibility laid out before him.

"You do know what it is you're asking of me?" he murmured aloud. "How this will look? I'll give you this, you certainly know how to pick your moments."

He heard the shuffle of wings, likely from nerves, and a feminine voice said, "I know. But I'm not sure I have much of a choice."

"You're the Queen." He turned and beheld her, Greatness, stood alone and fidgeting like a dragonet being forced to confess to their mother that they broke her favourite vase. "You can decide to do whatever you like."

She beat her tail on the ground, a habit to shore up her determination, Darkstalker guessed, and she held her head a little higher. "Yes. And whilst I understand that my request is highly irregular, I am also certain that this is what is best. For the tribe, for our new start, and also… for myself."

"You truly fear insurrection that much that you'd turn to me with such a proposition?" Darkstalker turned his eyes back to his coin, casting a spell in his mind to make the coin float in the air, spinning as it went. It felt so good to have his magic back. To feel that rush as it tingled across his scales, to feel a part of his soul sour like music in his ears.

"Morrowseer… he had a talon in everything. Sometimes it seemed that there was nowhere, no secret, beyond his reach. His spies were everywhere, dragons were fiercely loyal to him. Though many of us saw what he was towards the end, those who still obeyed him were zealous and determined to make the rest of us fall in line. And because no one else had a better idea of how to save us, we just… went along with it. Now Morrowseer is dead, we are in a strange place, and the new-ness of it all, the chaos… I fear it is the perfect opportunity for those disciples to seize the moment."

"And so you want to leave."

"It is not a matter of want…" she pulled her neck back, ears flattening, alarmed he'd said the words so bluntly. "I just need to-"

"Oh, three moons, you do remember I can read minds, right? Stop skirting around the issue. I already know your big secret. Let us have an honest discussion so that we can actually get to a solution before sunrise."

"Fine." Greatness swallowed and shuffled her feet as she straightened her spine, bringing herself back to her practised poise. "For some reason I thought I would be able to tell. Maybe I'd feel something or there would be some give away on your face."

"You never imagined it would be as natural as breathing."

"How different things might've been if…" Her gaze became a little forlorn, and she sighed. "An honest discussion, then. Fine. I am with egg and I'm terrified that Morrowseer's followers will take my dragonet as their puppet. I am the queen, but everyone knows Morrowseer and I never saw eye to eye. They'll know I won't follow in his footsteps. But they might take my dragonet - especially if she's female and an heir. They'll take her and mould her into their tool."

Darkstalker shrugged. "An obvious solution would be to throw Morrowseer's lieutenants into the dungeons. But you're more worried about the not-so-obvious ones. The sleeper agents, the ones no one else would suspect."

"And I cannot have them all imprisoned. My first days as a real queen I would show myself to be a tyrant."

"Tyrants don't last very long, unless they become the worst that they can be. Even Queen Scarlet had to appease her subjects in some ways to stop all of them revolting." Darkstalker reached out and plucked the floating coin from the air, resuming his methodical flip of it between each claw. "If safety is your main concern, I can assure you I can make the palace quite safe."

"But then I would only be safe so long as I had you. And then my power would no longer be mine - my authority would only have bite because you would be the unspoken threat looming over my shoulder as if ready to strike at whomever I ordered you to. You would be my lapdog and I would be weak. That is not how I want to rule, and that is also not how you want to live. I've read the notes from past queens. I know exactly what you were made for and I can tell that you never want to live that life again."

Darkstalker's eyes snapped to hers. He had to give her credit, she had guts to say those words so plainly to his face. And she had integrity, to be able to admit to the wrongdoings of her forebears, not argue the point, and dismiss the possibility of repeating those mistakes. He was genuinely surprised, and that wasn't a usual thing. "Well, well… Queen Greatness, you are not at all the wilting flower you like others to think you are."

"Being non-threatening is what has kept me safe. From my mother, from court, from Morrowseer." Her talon drifted to her stomach, and Darkstalker could read the anxiety creeping up her spine when she thought about her future. "I no longer have that protection. So now I must find another solution."

"But you don't want to truly abdicate?"

"No… just to disappear until either the danger has passed or my dragonet has time to grow a little-"

"Dragonets." he corrected.

Greatness snapped her head towards him, eyes wide. "What?"

"Much of the future is yet to be decided but on this one thing I can see for certain. You have two eggs. Two dragonets on the way. A boy and a girl."

Inside her brain was an explosion of colours and emotions and thoughts, crashing together like waves in a storm. Darkstalker knew such a reaction was coming, but its intenseness still surprised him. The sheer joy that Greatness felt was almost overwhelming to her. Yes, she still felt anxious and frightened, but that only seemed to make her joy all the more tangible. Darkstalker was fascinated to watch these things unfold in her mind, and he wondered for a long moment… if in another life, would his mind explode with colour and happiness to hear the news he would soon have dragonets of his own?

Questions that were best not to dwell on, he concluded sadly. Clearing his throat loudly, he tried to bring Greatness back to focus. "The predicament is a pressing one… What if we commandeered an old tradition, made it look like you're going away on official business?"

"How so?" she pressed.

"Newly crowned queens would often take a tour of their kingdom in order to see and be seen by their subjects. You could proclaim that with returning to our ancestral home, you are taking up this tradition once again - say you're trying to reconnect with NightWings of old."

"For two or three years? What about the crown?"

"Leave a council of your most trusted allies to rule in your stead - should there be an emergency, you will still be reachable. But this can give you a reasonable excuse to get lost in the wilderness for the rest of the duration of your pregnancy, then wait until the eggs hatch and then when they are around a year old. By that point, the last of Morrowseer's lackeys will have either lost their support or been rooted out."

She nodded. "I know of a few dragons I can count on." She went to leave, her mind occupied with all the things she must do before she had to leave. Darkstalker saw there was a wistful thought about her mate, but concluded he must be dead or otherwise out of the picture. Greatness paused by the door and turned back to him. "I shall have it be known that you and Moonwatcher can remain in the castle as you please. Moonwatcher can continue to stay in her current apartments until I return with my heirs, and you will be assigned the royal advisor's quarters."

Darkstalker chuckled. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but after living in this castle for so long, it hadn't even crossed my mind that I might be ousted from it."

"The pair of you are the only NightWings who truly know what it means to be what our tribe should be. I want no more guesses, no more pretentious lies to make ourselves seem more important. You and she will be the ones educating the rest of us on our heritage, on everything we've lost of ourselves. As such, I will make it known to my council that you both will have authority in helping our tribe acclimatise to our new home… our new life."

Again, she surprised him. He nodded his head in respect. "Thank you, Your Highness." Darkstalker could see a very likely future where he and Greatness could become, if not friends, then at least good acquaintances.

Once Greatness left, Darkstalker immediately went to find Moon. He'd been gone from her for hours and he wanted to check on her. In the few days since they'd returned home, she had not left her room. All she did was weep and sleep aside from when Darkstalker would bring her food and encourage her to eat. Her grief was great and her heart was heavy. She's lost both her parents, come so close to death, and had everything turned upside down. And though her pain wounded something inside Darkstalker, he wasn't trying to rush her out of this depression. It never even crossed his mind to offer a spell to make her happy again. If she had taught him anything, it was that sorrow, no matter how bitter, needed to be felt. Grief needed to be worked through, not ignored.

He came to her rooms. Before entering, he sensed the waves of her sadness emanating through the walls, strong enough to make him want to shed a tear as well. He felt a sudden sense of inadequacy, and wondered what he might do to try to lift her spirits, even if only slightly. What would make him feel better, he wondered? Snapping his claws when an idea hit him, he whispered a spell and summoned into being a mug of goat's milk. Gently blowing a tongue of fire, he heated it until the milk steamed and its comforting scent filled his nose. Then he knocked three times on the door and entered.

Moon wasn't on the bed, she had instead pulled off every pillow and blanket in the apartments and created a nest in the centre of the rooms in which she had buried herself. Her mind said it was the closest thing to the nest she had slept in when living in the rainforest, when she'd been a dragonet and waiting for her mother to come and visit her. Darkstalker's heart sank with pity every time he saw it. Moon lay in her nest, half covered in blankets, the scent of sorrow clinging to her like a second skin. Darkstalker was just large enough that he could lay beside her nest and curl himself around it and rest his head atop the end of his tail. He draped a wing over the top of them, creating the illusion that they floated in a sea of stars, drifting through space, cut off from the world and its problems.

He didn't say anything until Moon poked her head out from her nest. Her eyes were puffy and red, her voice almost constantly hoarse from crying. She sniffled. Darkstalker used the tip of his tail to push the mug of milk towards her in offering. Moon paused a moment before reaching out and taking the mug in her talons. She sipped the steaming milk for a while. When it was half empty she put it down and mumbled, "Thank you."

He didn't reply. It felt wrong to clutter the air with unnecessary words.

With a big breath like she was trying to take all the bad feelings inside her and empty them out, Moon deflated and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her mind tentatively reaching out for his, and he welcomed her. Drawing her in, wrapping his consciousness around hers, he let her feel the warmth of his mind, filled with love and the need to care and make sure she was alright. And laced amongst it he hummed the music that was always in his head, the music that he always sang to her. She was grateful for it.

"Am I…" she began in a wobbly voice. "Am I the worst dragon to have ever lived? A part of me is relieved by what happened."

"Do you remember seeing in my memories that I once made an enchanted object for Fathom that could measure the evilness in the soul of whomever it was pointed at?" his words were slow and soft. "It counted every selfish deed, every poisonous thought, every act of maliciousness, and it tallied it up against all the good actions and pure intentions you ever did. Fathom was always so terrified he would end up like his grandfather. I wanted to give him something to prove he wouldn't."

"What happened to it?"

"Likely either stolen or smashed by the harsh conditions of time."

"I wonder what it might make of me…" she whispered.

Darkstalker couldn't help but chuckle quietly. "Moon, you are a dragon that always thinks of others before yourself. You do everything for others. You've done so much good I don't think there is any evil deed in this world that you could commit that would bring your tally even close to equal, let alone 'the worst dragon to have ever lived'."

"Despite everything that happened, he was still my father. And yet I grieve more for what could have been rather than what was."

"You are allowed to feel whatever way you please about your father. What he did was awful - to you and to others. But you can choose to mourn him or not. No one can tell you either option is wrong."

"And my mother…" her voice cracked, and Darkstalker felt her hot tears fall onto his scales. "I never… I n-never got to see her and-"

He shifted enough to take her into his arms, and she welcomed his embrace. "And for that, I am sorry. I am so sorry, Moon."

"If I had given you your power sooner," she tried to say between her hyperventilating breaths. "Or if I had asked you to use it… I might have - I might-!"

"Don't say such things," he whispered fiercely. "Don't even think it. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't your fault."

He let her cry into him for a while longer, singing to her all the while. After a time she exhausted herself, becoming limp in his arms and her eyelids heavy. Darkstalker helped to put her back into her nest. As he was tucking the blankets back over her, her talon snaked out and grasped hold of his wrist. "Thank you… for everything. I-I promise I'll get out soon and-"

"Take your time," he soothed. "When you're ready, we can go wherever you want. Even if only for a walk for five minutes. Just call for me and I will be here."

Her mind struggled to form words, so all she mumbled was a small "thank you".

Darkstalker offered her a smile. "And maybe, when you're feeling up to it, we can invite your RainWing friend to stay for a while? I know she never failed to make you smile."

The smile that grew on her face was not wide, but it was felt deep in her soul. Darkstalker bid her good-day and sweet dreams and left her to have time on her own to rest. Always with the promise to return again soon.

He wasn't at all surprised to find Vulture on the other side of the door as he left Moon's rooms. The SandWing had a practised diplomatic smile, and his thoughts were quiet and only wondering if Darkstalker had managed to sooth Moon at all. It was beginning to get quite unnerving how good Vulture was at thinking exactly what he meant to. Their usual games of attempting to figure the other out were becoming tiring, and the urge to send him away was very real. Closing the door quietly, Darkstalker took a deep breath before he finally addressed the old SandWing. "What is your report?"

"The NightWings have settled in nicely," said Vulture evenly. "Most are staying close to the diamond quarter, but there are some who are now living in the homes within the canyons."

"Find out if any of them require repairs. I will make it my priority." Darkstalker turned and began to walk down the hall without a look towards Vulture.

But the SandWing followed him anyway, his voice at Darkstalker's flank without missing a beat. "Their Queen has also managed to address them. She is taking a pilgrimage and has appointed a council to rule in her stead whilst she is away. Will you be on that council?"

"And be accused of implanting myself in a position of governance?" the NightWing snorted. "If I wished for a sure-fire way to be exiled from my tribe once again, I would have seized rulership over them back in the rainforest."

"But you could still do it," Vulture urged, but his tone and thoughts made it seem like it was just a pondering said aloud, making Darkstalker second-guess his initial instinct that the SandWing was baiting him. "No one else amongst them has the will that you do. No one else can see the future and then have the power to lead them through the troubles you can see coming."

All these reasons were justifications Darkstalker himself had said when Clearsight and Fathom had asked why he wanted to be king. It was so easy to see the logic behind the words, so easy to hear the voice in his head that whispered: you are made for this, what is your power for if not for this? But Darkstalker shook himself of the whisper. He could rationalise it later, but for now it could be put off. "They need my guidance, not my dictatorship."

"Yes…" Vulture murmured, his thoughts drifting towards Moon. "They have only just come out of one, haven't they? Such a tragedy. One that could have been avoided at so many turns."

"Like what?"

"Well, take the IceWings for example. They came to the rainforest to end the war, but the battle was already won. They didn't care. I could see it in their soldiers. They wanted a fight and didn't care if the NightWings had already surrendered or not. Couldn't you feel it?"

Looking back, Darkstalker had to admit that he had indeed sensed sinister intentions amongst the IceWings. Their minds were red with bloodlust, their heartbeats were raised, their teeth barely contained. Queen Glacier had been hostile, yes, but her guards had been all too eager to jump to her defence. They wanted an excuse.

"This is why," Vulture continued, "the dream of the Dragons of Destiny will never be fulfilled. The tribes cannot coexist - there is too much bad blood, too much inherited prejudice. None of them will accept a new world order unless they are forced to."

The easy solution would be for Darkstalker to look into the futures and confirm if that was true. But he didn't want to. That would make it too real. And if he found out the IceWings really wanted him and his tribe dead… he didn't know what he might do to protect them.

When morning arrived, the NightWings all went to their quarters to sleep. It had been quite an adjustment for them, to transition to being nocturnal after so long. But already, they were improving. Vulture waited until the last NightWings took themselves to bed before he finally returned to his own room within the Castle. It had been another night of slow progress, but any victory was worth celebrating.

His quarters were furnished with all the comforts of home: rugs and pillows laid on the floor, incense burning to give off a strong aroma, gold and jewellery displayed brazenly to delight the eye and for Vulture to be able to tell at a glance that everything was still in its rightful place. In the corner of the room was a wrinkled and worn bag of chalk chippings. Reaching in, Vulture mechanically popped a piece of chalk into his mouth and chewed methodically. He loved the way the chalk whitened his teeth but hated the way it tasted and greyed his tongue. Most dragons were put off by his habit, and he found that it gave him an advantage when they were put on the back foot.

It did not surprise him when his grandson Sirocco came barging into the room, with the same lack of manners and wit he usually possessed. The young, burly dragon was nearly drooling with caged rage. "If one more stupid NightWing has to ask me for directions with their stupid voice, I'm going to stab them in their stupid faces!" And he swung his tail for emphasis.

Vulture had to fight really hard not to lose his temper at his moronic grandson. Why had the moons cursed him with such a lacklustre legacy? Sirocco was strong but dumb as bricks, and Rattlesnake was vicious but equally as stupid. Qibli was the only one who had even half of Vulture's intelligence but he was also a traitor and an idealist, neither of which Vulture could use.

"How much longer do we have to keep this up?" Sirocco grumbled as he sat slouched against a wall. "We helped the big NightWing, we held up our end of the deal. Now let's get our treasure and go."

"If you weren't so useful at destroying others, I could very happily kill you right now. You waste the oxygen you breathe with your idiocy." Vulture hissed. "Can't you understand that things have changed? This is no longer an extortion racket, this is something bigger. We have finally found purpose."

"In this dump?" Sirocco scoffed. "I ain't no labourer and I'm not gonna-"

Before he could finish the sentence, Vulture's tail had struck out and the poisonous barb was poised and pointed right underneath his grandson's chin. The old dragon hadn't even turned around. Sirocco stilled - he'd seen his grandfather do this enough times to know he was deadly serious.

"If you are so encumbered by your lack of vision," Vulture whispered. He turned around, but did not remove his threat. He slowly came up to Sirocco and placed a talon on the top of his snout, hooking one claw into the soft scales of Sirocco's eyelid. "Allow me to unburden you…"

Sirocco trembled and squeezed his eyes shut. Under his breath, he prayed to whatever gods were listening. The wait was agonising, each second seeming to stretch out longer than the last. It felt as if the point of the claw was digging in closer and closer to his flesh… and then vanished. Sirocco let out a shaky breath and opened both his eyes. Nothing had happened? His knees felt weak.

"We will be staying here," said Vulture as he lounged on one of his many goose-feather cushions. He pulled a bag out from underneath a table and began to count vials of different kinds of liquid. "And when your friend returns from the north, we will guide things along where they need to be."

"Y-Yes… sir," said Sirocco uneasily.

"Darkstalker is the only one who can break and remake this world and I intend to be there every step of the way to make sure he fulfils that destiny." Vulture chuckled to himself as he tossed a vile of luminous green liquid and caught it in his palm. He could smell the stench of eggs even through the cork. "Don't you see? The second scorching is about to begin! A new world will be born from the ashes – our world."