A Grant of Arms

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mycoples lay on the deck of the Empire ship, curled up in a ball beneath the Akron netting that clamped her down. Overwhelmed with sadness, she felt the rocking of the ocean beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of the boat, and opened one eye just a bit. She saw Empire soldiers reveling, drinking, celebrating, clearly thrilled with themselves that they had subdued a dragon. She felt the aches all over her body from where they had poked and prodded and stabbed her.

She looked out, beyond them, and Mycoples saw the yellow waters of the Tartuvian, stretching as far as the eye could see. Mycoples closed her eyes again, wishing this would all just go away. She wished she could return to the land of her birth, to the land of the dragons, and be with her clan once again. Even more so, she wished that she could be at Thor’s side. But she knew that Thor was far gone from her, lost in another place. He was not the Thorgrin she once knew.

Mycoples sensed these soldiers would take her back to the Empire, put her on parade, make her a show-thing for the Empire soldiers. She sensed that she would be chained for the rest of her life, tortured, displayed like an artifact. As she thought of the misery of her life to come, it tortured her. She wished she could just die now, with pride, in one last great battle. She hadn’t survived for thousands of years only for this, to be captured and held prisoner by humans. She had been warned never to get too close to a human, and she had made a mistake and allowed herself to be vulnerable. Her love for Thor had made her weak, had made her lower her defenses. And now she was paying the price.

Yet, despite it all, Mycoples still loved him—and she would do it all over again, just for him.

Mycoples closed her eyes, heavy from exhaustion, from the netting digging into her, from the wounds all over her body. And she wished only to be far from here.

Mycoples did not know how long she’d slept when she was awakened by a great whooshing noise. It sounded like an intense rain, and she felt her whole body become wet.

She looked up and saw that the ship was entering the Rain Wall. They were all suddenly immersed in a solid wall of rain, showering straight down on them. It was like going through a waterfall.

The Empire soldiers panicked, grabbing hold of the decks as the ship passed through. The noise became deafening. Mycoples welcomed it, the rain cooling her, steam rising off her scales from baking in the sun all these days. The pounding of the water momentarily took her mind off the troubles before her.

Slowly, they came out the other side.

Mycoples opened her eyes and saw that they had entered the red waters of the Sea of Blood. She realized the soldiers were taking the most direct route to the Empire, by circumventing the Isle of Mist.

Her heart fluttered as she felt a sudden flurry of hope. She had flown over the Isle of Mist with her clan many times. She knew it to be home to great warriors. And she also knew it to be home to something even more important: a rogue dragon. Ralibar.

Mycoples had met Ralibar once, centuries ago. He was a recluse, and he was unlike other dragons. He disliked his own kind; yet he disliked humans more. If they passed by, and Ralibar saw her in this predicament, perhaps he would come to her aid. Not because he liked her, but because he hated humans. Perhaps, he would even help free her.

Mycoples knew what she had to do: she had to somehow get this boat to sail to the Isle of Mist. She could not let them circumvent it. She had to get this boat directly onto the island. She had to get it to crash onto the island’s rocks.

Mycoples closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She felt the sea air rushing through her scales, felt her body begin to tingle, as she summoned the last vestige of power she had. She called upon the Ancient Ones, who had guided her for thousands of years, to plead for one last favor. She did not ask for strength for herself. She did not even ask for the strength to battle.

Instead, she asked simply for the wind to answer her. The sky. The ocean. With her ancient, primordial dragon spirit, she summoned them all, called upon them to grant her this one favor. She asked for the wind to cry, the waves to rise, the skies to darken. She commanded them all, in the names of her ancestors, in the names of the ones who walked the planet before all others. Dragons had been here first. And dragons had the right to command nature.

Mycoples breathed, deeper and deeper, feeling herself grow warm; gradually, a wind stirred. The waves began to rise, to splash, and slowly, the boat tilted, then rose higher. The wind gained strength, and soon the sun hid itself, as the skies grew dark.

Soon, the boat was listing, as enormous waves rose up and fell over them; huge currents dragged them, the sky thundered, the wind was deafening, loud enough to drown out even the shouts of the Empire men who scurried all around her, running for their lives. Some fell overboard. They all tried to control the boat, but they could not: the boat was being blown off course.

Right for the Isle of Mist.

Mycoples opened her large, purple eyes and looked out with satisfaction: there it was, on the horizon, looming ever closer.

Over the howl of the wind, a lone sound arose, one that could be heard even far away, on the horizon, like an echo of a scream, filling the sky.

Mycoples smiled to herself. She knew that sound. She had been born to it. Had been raised with it all her life.

It was the cry of another dragon.