SummerDanse (19 page)

The warning gong rang out, and those who hadn’t taken their seats yet began hurrying. The dragonmasters entered the arena and marched to their places on the walkway around the fighting pit. There were twice as many as there had been last time, maybe even three times. What exactly was happening?

The second gong rang out. The crowd stilled in anticipation. A heartbeat later, the small door to our left opened, and a man stepped out. This one had been given better equipment than I’d seen before. He had proper armor, the helm of a Royal Guard officer, a shield, and a sword. I swallowed down my bile. Was this going to be another fight where an old dragon would die?

A murmur of surprise went through the crowd. The man strode with a vigorous stride to the king’s box and bowed low. As he straightened up, I gasped in recognition.

I grabbed Traz’s arm in shock. “That’s the king!”

Today is my day of glory. I go forth to slay a dragon. How my people shall cheer, how they shall love me, how they shall bow down and worship me. Their king. Their sovereign lord.

My heart races in anticipation. I can taste my victory; I fancy I taste the dragon’s blood upon my tongue even now.

Ah, but it cheers my spirit to put on my mail, to heft my shield and raise my sword.

Onward now to victory! Join me in celebration, my people! Rise with me to the heights!

Open the door, that I may go forth and meet the joy that awaits me.

My people, I come!

“What?” Traz asked. “It can’t be!”

I was already mentally screaming for the birds to summon the red dragons. And I wasn’t the only one who recognized him. A ripple of astonishment that originated in the vicinity of the king’s box quickly grew to a wave.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed seemingly out of the sky. Zhantar’s voice, magically amplified. “Your liege will today prove his prowess by slaying a dragon.”

The crowd roared its approval. A loud clang from the opposite end of the arena signaled the release of a dragon. Its copper hide gleaming in the sunlight, it swooped onto the field, young and healthy, anxious for the hunt.

“This is it,” I hissed at Traz. “This is Zhantar’s plan. He’s talked that fool into staging his own death!” I remembered the looks of hatred the DragonLord had had for Rycina. I hoped she wasn’t here. I didn’t put Zhantar past committing murder in cold blood if he thought she would stand in his way. To the birds, I called, “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”

The king moved, and the dragon focused its attention on him. He walked toward the center of the pit, the dragon eyeing him and flicking the tip of its tail. When the dragon finally launched itself at its prey, the king ran toward the creature. It landed where the king had been standing only a second before. Erno turned to face his adversary while the dragon looked about to see where the man had gone. Taking a few steps forward, he plunged the sword into the dragon’s tail. The dragon let out a bloodcurdling scream, and a cry of glee went up from the crowd. Their king had drawn first blood. And against a dragon. Fools! Didn’t they realize they were watching the murder of their king?

The dragon whipped around, its tail now held high, blood dripping down. It stared at the king, who held the sword poised to strike again. He feinted to the right, giving the sword a flourish that made the crowd cheer.

“Idiot,” Traz muttered, careful that only I could hear his words. “Wasting all that energy on showmanship.”

I glanced at him. He must’ve learned more than danse while he was on Stychs.

Something in the sky caught the corner of my eye. A wedge of red speeding in this direction!

The dragon in the fighting pit raised its head and let out a cry of greeting. The red dragons swept around the arena, their shadow darkening all below. The crowd roared again, many pointing skyward.

“Red dragons!” “The king has found red dragons!” “Hooray!” People applauded this new spectacle, their excitement to see what would happen next in this extravaganza rising to an ever higher pitch.

The wedge made another circuit of the arena, then split into three. These circled in different directions, then dived down in widening arcs. It was as if the dragons had been practicing this for months.

The dragonmasters had turned their attention to the interlopers. Zhantar’s voice burst from the king’s box, and at his bellowed command, many of the dragonmasters shot their green lightning at the descending dragons.

Some of the bolts hit their marks, but it didn’t deter the rest of the dragons as flames erupted from their mouths. None of the dragonmasters around the pit survived that first onslaught.

Realization dawned that something had gone terribly wrong, and the pushing and shoving for the exits began.

Traz and I stood quietly, a tiny island of stillness in the growing tumult. People poured down the stairs in panic, some not even taking the steps but climbing over the rows of seats. At first, folk avoided the charred remains of the dragonmasters that dotted the walkway, but as the crowd, pressing to get out, grew, the bodies got pushed down into the fighting pit or simply trodden underfoot. I curled my lip in disgust.

A disturbance in front of the king’s box drew my attention. A solid line of Royal Guardsmen kept people from going into it, though as the crush intensified, this was becoming harder to do.

There was a flash of blue. As those in the vicinity of the box halted, many covering their eyes, two black-clothed figures pushed their way out of the box and across the walkway to the edge of the pit. It must have been twenty feet to the ground below, but they both jumped down and landed easily, then started running toward the king.

The copper dragon looked skyward, its muscles bunched as if to leap, but the dragonmasters pointed at it. It let out a roar of frustration. Slewing its head around toward them, it let out a heartbreaking whimper of submission.

As the two men ran toward the dragon, a jolt of recognition went through me. I grabbed Traz’s arm and pointed. “Zhantar and Anazian!” We watched, helpless, as they mounted the dragon. The king, who stood stupidly in place, now raised his sword again and waved it impotently above his head.

The dragon sprang into the air, and Zhantar leveled a blast of green lightning at the king. I screamed and hid my face against Traz’s shoulder.

“I come, little one,” Xyla’s voice in my head startled me, and I looked up just in time to see her and Yallick swoop past and come to a landing. Traz and I dashed to her side.

The mage first tossed Traz’s staff to him, then reached a hand down to me. “Hurry up, girl!”

Traz gave me a boost, and a moment later, I was safely astride and we were airborne.

Despite its head start, the copper dragon was not very far ahead of us. Its movements were awkward, as if it didn’t know how to fly. Well, of course, I told myself, it wouldn’t, really. When would it ever have had a chance to learn?

“He struggles mightily,” Xyla said as we sped toward the fleeing dragon. “Their power is scarcely enough to control him.”

Even as Xyla said these words, the copper dragon seemed to fall from the air. I cried out, and behind me Yallick did, too.

Then I understood. “The palace!” I shouted, pointing. “They’re going to the palace.”

Xyla let out a bellow that shook my bones, and a moment later, the copper dragon rose back into the sky, the black figures gone from his back. Had he managed to shake the dragonmasters off? Oh, how I hoped to see them sprawling on the ground below. The copper dragon flew, still awkwardly, but not as labored as before, straight toward us.

A flush of joy suffused me, and a thrill of freedom, and a song of camaraderie. All these feelings and more flowed over, around, and through me, and I realized they were the vibrations from the newly freed dragon.

I expected Xyla to greet him, but instead, she plummeted toward the palace grounds. My stomach slid up my throat. I glanced back to see a few other red dragons, whom Xyla must have called, greeting the copper one. As we landed, I looked all around, but there was no sign of Zhantar and Anazian.

“You must stop the DragonLord,” Xyla said, “before ... ” She paused.

“Before what?”

I’d barely squeezed the thought into words when Xyla let out another roar. “Before they seize power and kill the princess.”

“How do you know—”

“Hurry!”

“Yes,” Yallick said, “she is right. We must hurry.” He gave me a hand as I slid down the dragon’s shoulder.

He dismounted, too, and raced for the entrance. I followed. When his foot touched the bottom step, someone stepped from the shadows. Anazian!

“Stop, you old fool,” he shouted, the power in his voice reverberating through the open air. He held his arms outstretched, as if he were embracing the sky.

“I am not the fool, Anazian,” Yallick said, his gravelly voice rich with his own power. “You are.”

Anazian’s fingers twitched. I cringed, but nothing happened. Yet. Vibrations and energy pulsed all around.

Yallick went on. “I do not even pity you, for you know exactly what you have given up. And for what? Some petty dream?”

“I have no need of your pity, old man,” Anazian shrieked, and before I could shout out a warning, he brought his hands together and a spike of raw, red power coalesced and struck Yallick in the chest.

The mage flew backward and crashed to the ground at my feet, where he lay as still as stone.

Anazian took a step forward and stretched out his arms again, turning his gaze to me. I stood frozen, as if all of my being had been trapped in a net, unable to move or breathe or even think.

A blast of heat flowed over me, breaking the spell and knocking me to my hands and knees. A river of raging fire poured from Xyla’s mouth, engulfing Anazian where he stood and blackening the marble steps.

I forced my limbs to crawl toward Yallick. Was he still alive? Could he be?

Xyla’s voice, both gentle and urgent, spoke inside my head. “You must go on, my child.”

“No!” I brushed tears away. “If he’s alive, I have to help him.”

“Donavah!” I looked up at the red dragon towering over me. “There is more at stake today than one good man’s life. Go on.”

“But—”

Xyla brought her head down close to mine and breathed on me. A hot empowerment washed through me, strengthening my heart and spirit. “Go, dear one.”

I could hardly see through my tears as I pushed myself to my feet and stumbled toward the marble stairway. Anazian’s death was not enough to pay for this. I took a shuddering breath and went up the steps, past the still-smoldering body, and inside.

No one challenged me, and now I saw why not: the floor of the entryway was littered with bodies, some in Royal Guard uniforms and others in servants’ garb. Zhantar had taken no chances. I stood among the chaotic swirl of energy, trying to discern where Zhantar had gone. Eyes closed, I tasted the vibrations, seeking the flavor of the DragonLord.

There.

Bitter and jubilant and ignorant of his son’s death.

I followed it, not far, to a pair of doors made of fine wood chased with beaten gold. The arms of Alloway—a dragon with wings outstretched, breathing fire at a knight whose shield protected him from the flames—stood out in relief. I put a hand on one of the doors and pushed. It opened as easily and silently as if it were a mere curtain. Beyond was the throne room. I stepped in.

A high ceiling soared overhead, while pillars marched down either side of the central aisle. The floor of polished obsidian reflected the sunlight that poured in from high-set windows.

But the room was echoingly empty of the hundreds of people it could easily have held. The life vibrations of only one person filled it.

Zhantar.

He sat on the throne, hands gripping the armrests, his eyes closed and head thrown back with the light full on him. The gold torc around his neck gleamed.

I summoned my maejic and walked soundlessly forward. I didn’t know yet what I was going to do, or even what I could do. But still I strode forward until I stood next to the foremost pillar on the right. I leaned back against the chill marble, but it didn’t cool the hot hunger for vengeance that burned in me.

My enemy sat unmoving, not giving any sign that he was aware of my presence. He had the bearing of a king—broad shoulders and a fit physique, an elegant and almost regal profile, and a latent vitality that belied his age.

The throne room doors crashed open. I sidled behind the pillar, hoping to stay out of view of both Zhantar and the newcomer.

Footsteps rang on the floor as someone strode forward. Soon, Rycina came into view, the fine fabric of her purple gown kicking out behind her. Her eyes blazed as her presence cut through the DragonLord’s vibrations like a hot knife through butter. She stopped where I could see her from my hiding spot behind the pillar. Then she spoke, her words reverberating with power and bell-like clarity.