When Dragons Rage

66

Kerrigan’s eyes burned as though they’d been soaked in oil and lit afire. He’d not slept in more than a day. After slaying the sullanciri, he returned to Nawal and began to work on ways to defend the city from dragonel shots. Better magickers were given fragments of the ball he’d rescued and used them as foci to deflect incoming shots. Other pieces were made into attractors that drew the shot to certain targets, such as piles of rubble, where they could do little more than reduce stone to gravel.

As the magickers’ efforts to deflect and direct the shots took effect, the Aurolani had begun to direct spells at the city’s defenders. Kerrigan had to leave off working on the dragonel shots and diverted his energies into defending the other magickers. Fortunately, the Conservatory spellcasters worked individual spells, which spread them out enough that he could react to each in turn.

When he had been at Vilwan, the idea of defending so many people against spells from so many magickers would have daunted him. Wizards’ duels so often came down to casting the perfect counter. If your spell could not match the energy in the attack, you could get hurt. Since very few magickers were good enough to measure the energy of an incoming spell, all too often defensive efforts used too much energy. If one wizard had the initiative, strength, and kept attacking, the defender could exhaust himself.

Spell dimensions provided a different way to defend. He stopped offensive spells by casting counterspells that hunted particular dimensional aspects. When his counter located that aspect, it clung to the spell and told the other spell that it had hit its target. The spell then discharged its energy harmlessly. It had worked against Neskartu and his students alike.

He worked hard through the night, despite the booming of the dragonels and the crackle of fires. The shouts and screams of victims likewise tugged at him, but he forced it all away. With his eyes closed he focused and projected his awareness into the ether around Nawal.

Spells approached from the Aurolani camp sporadically. Some came in quickly, burning like dragonel balls. Others drifted like butterflies slowly seeking a blossom. Once he found a spell, he countered it. Most spells accepted the targeting surrogate and discharged prematurely. A couple were a bit more sophisticated—and all the spells began to double-check targeting information by mid-morning, so he actually had to designate alternate targets. The spells did discharge into them, killing a variety of vermin that Kerrigan had sent Bok out to collect for use as targets.

Exhausted and pleased in equal measure, Kerrigan had breakfasted lightly in mid-morning, right after the dragonels had ceased their pounding assault. Some buildings still burned, and a good number of others had been crushed, but the walls remained strong. The resolve of the people likewise defied the Aurolani. Spectators climbed up onto the walls to jeer and shout defiantly at the enemy.

The enemy spellcastings had stopped, but Kerrigan knew enough of warfare not to see this as something other than a sign of surrender. The Aurolani mages had to be as tired as any magicker in Nawal. They would retire and rest, as would their counterparts, to be ready to oppose each other again when the coming siege began.

Despite the existence of warmages from Vilwan, and the martial tradition among Murosan sorcerers, magicians traditionally played a tiny part in warfare, save for dueling. The magickal assets of one side tended to neutralize the assets of the other side. Spells could certainly gather information for a general, but the actual fighting usually came down to steel on steel.

Not to mention that an arrow or a sword was usually more than enough to end a sorcerer’s military career.

Given his discussions with Rym Ramoch, Kerrigan wondered for a moment if the present manner of doing things was the way it had always been. Yrulph Kirun had been powerful enough that he had created the Drag-onCrown, and commanded an army of dragons. Then he had moved south to try to conquer the world. Was it just the dragons that gave him an edge, or was he able to win battles through the use of magick? Did the martial tradition in Muroso harken back to those days, before Vilwan had been pacified, or had it been adopted as a way to prepare against the return of more militant mages?

He found no answers to those questions as he munched on stale bread and drank watered wine. Neither suited him, but that was what Bok provided. What he really wanted was a chance to sleep, but before he could crawl into bed, he was summoned to the ducal palace and Alexia’s side.

With Bok in tow, he entered the upper chamber of the northern tower. Alexia was resplendent in her golden mail, and he could not help but smile. Her long hair had been gathered back into a single thick braid. The black lace courtesy mask barely hid her features, but added enough mystery to make her that much more alluring.

With her were Sayce and several other local military commanders. All were clustered around a map spread on a low table in the center of the circular room. In the background stood several signal-mages with arcanslata. A balcony ringed the tower, with access provided by east and west doors. Against the north wall, by the window, a stairway moved up to a trapdoor that would allow access to the crenellated tower top.

Alexia looked up and smiled. “There you are, Adept Reese. You should know—no matter what happens from this point forward—that but for your efforts, Nawal would have fallen hours ago.”

“Really?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice. He had known that she wouldn’t lie to him, but the nods and expressions of thanks on the faces of others surprised him. “I didn’t think I did that much.”

Light chuckles met his comment, though Alexia did not laugh. “There were some individuals who felt that by morning, there would be little of the city left. They wanted to surrender it to the Aurolani. Your efforts did not go unnoticed nor unappreciated.”

One of her advisors, a Murosan Magister who had killed two Conservatory mages the previous day, nodded solemnly. “I have not the skill or knowledge to describe what you have been doing, Adept Reese, but if a mere Adept from Vilwan can do what you have done, there is yet hope for the world.”

“Oh. Thank you. I did what I could.”

Alexia waved him over to the map. “I know you’ll need rest, but I have been thinking. In combat, wizards normally neutralize wizards. Would it be possible for you to cast spells that appear to be powerful and lethal, to make their mages defend against them, while the others here can direct their magicks against specific targets?”

The portly mage crossed his arms and stuffed his fingers in his armpits as he thought. “I guess it would be possible. It would require layering a mask over a fairly simple spell. The mask would present itself as an even more powerful spell. I could do some other things, too, to make them think they were Conservatory spells coming in and, oh, if I were to modify the herald spell, then cast something past them and have it launch a masked attack spell, I could make them think they were being attacked from the east, as if we have troops behind them.”

Alyx raised an eyebrow. “That would be a yes?”

He looked up, then nodded, his jowls shaking. “I can do it. I will need some time to prepare things. And to sleep. And I’ll need to eat something substantial.”

Sayce nodded to Alexia and immediately headed out of the room.

The Okrans Princess smiled. “I don’t know how much time you will have.”

A great wailing from the east pierced the chamber. Kerrigan couldn’t identify it, though it sent fear pulsing through his guts. He had a sense that, were he not so tired, he might have been sharp enough to figure it out. Then again, had I all my wits about me, it would probably scare me silly.

The wails and screams of people suddenly mingled with, then drowned out, the original sound. The company moved out the east door and onto the balcony. Kerrigan drifted in their wake and found himself on the south side of the tower, beside Alexia, looking east.

A dragon whose deep purple scales were edged with gold landed toward the rear of the Aurolani camp. It furled its wings, then swept its head back on the end of a long, lithe neck, and looked over its left shoulder at its back. Humanoid figures, a half-dozen of them, slowly dismounted. It was not until they reached the ground and gained perspective that he realized they were hoargoun, and positively huge.

Which means that dragon is enormous.

“Ah, Highness, before you ask, ‘no.’”

She smiled at him. “As much as I respect your skills, Kerrigan, were you fed, watered, rested, and studying for weeks, I’d not ask that question.”

From the command pavilion, a tall figure walked through a forest of unit banners. It appeared to address the hoargoun first, for the frost giants began to move forward, and gibberer formations began to line up. Then the figure reached the dragon.

The dragon brought its head down and laid it on the ground. It appeared almost docile. Its tail curled around to cover its side, and its hips and back shifted as the dragon settled in. Wings furled and adjusted, then lay flat. Then the figure pointed toward Nawal and the dragon’s head came up.

A signal-mage walked over to Alexia. “Caledo reports a dragon has joined Anarus’ forces. Shall I tell them of this one?”

“Please. Tell them we will advise of conditions once we see what is happening, but that it does not look good.”

“As you wish.”

Suddenly, the dragon reared up. Its wings spread wide, its head rose and let out a ghastly shriek—equal parts outrage and hatred. Its head came back down and its gaze swept over Nawal. Kerrigan found himself holding tight to the balcony’s balustrade, wanting to flee, but too terrified to do anything for fear he would be noticed.

With its forepaws clutched to its chest and wings stretched up and out until the tips almost touched above its head, the dragon lumbered forward. It moved as a fowl might, swaying from side to side, its tail jauntily bouncing behind it. It knocked over a few banners, and squashed a few gibberers, but those were just the ones who had been upset by the pounding of its heavy tread.

The dragon passed in front of the Aurolani lines, then hopped almost as a vulture would, approaching Nawal as if the city were carrion. A few arrows arced out, but they bounced harmlessly off thick scales. The dragon loomed larger, the battleground dolmen barely reaching its breastbone.

Its head lowered again, but any hints of benign intent died as its eyes hardened and its mouth opened. Kerrigan actually felt the heat before he saw flames, then all he saw was a roiling torrent of living fire. It struck the eastern gate and wall hard enough that masonry cracked and stones shifted even before they began to glow. The massive oaken gates blew in like shutters before a cyclone and then, in an eyeblink, became ash stains spread deep into the city.

The people who had been on the wall had begun to run, but it mattered not at all. The dragonfire sought them and herded them. Tendrils curled around them, turning them into living torches. It sprang to find another victim and another. The flame ran along the lines of joinery in the stonework, nibbling at block edges, making them drip turgidly down the walls.

The roar that accompanied the flames came as a blessing, for though it assaulted the ears, it eliminated the terrified screams of the dying. After far too long, the roar slackened into cold silence. The dragon’s head came up and its jaw opened in what Kerrigan could only take to be a grin.

At that moment the mage felt certain of only two things. The first was that he would not live to see the end of the day. The second, and far more important, was that he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life; for the dragon’s smile abruptly shrank and its head dipped below the line of the half-melted wall. The body jerked back, hopping clumsily, and it turned with the same craven posture as that of a whipped cur.

All from a shadow passing above it.

As big as the purple dragon had been, the cruciform shadow that passed over it was able to darken it entirely. Kerrigan looked up and caught sight of a black form, then the sun blinded him. He ducked his head and rubbed at his eyes, then looked to the south, following Alexia’s pointing finger.

The new dragon soared effortlessly to the south and Kerrigan thought, for a moment, it might be heading to Caledo. Then one wing rose and the other fell, bringing it around in a lazy turn. It leveled out and pumped its wings once, speeding north again. Straight toward the city. Straight toward this tower!

The Black Dragon slowed as it approached and spread its wings wide. Red stripes curved from its belly up the edges of its midnight hide. Huge claws reached out for and grabbed on to the palace’s south tower, crushing stone as they closed. Debris fell to the ground, ricocheting through the streets below. The dragon closed its wings around the tower and clung to it tightly.

Kerrigan found himself pressed with his back against the tower wall. His terror would have shamed him, but Alexia stood beside him and Bok was crouched, peering out through the stone posts in the balustrade.

The Black’s massive head loomed over them. A red forked tongue licked out. Tiny droplets of spittle did flick off and one burned a plum-sized hole in the stone next to Kerrigan’s head.

The Black opened its mouth, but no fire issued forth. Instead, in a voice far too tiny to belong to such a creature, it spoke to them.

“I am Vriisureol. I can resolve the problem here.”

Somehow Alexia found her voice and took a half step forward. “You can rid us of this other dragon?”

Vriisureol’s eyes blinked. “If you see Procimre as the only problem, Alexia of Okrannel, then songs do not lie in telling of Okrans courage. No, I would rid this man town of Procimre and the army. At a price. My price must be met.”

The princess’ chin came up. “And what would that price be?”

Vriisureol’s eyes half closed. “I require Kerrigan Reese.”