The Blind Dragon (15 page)

Anna saw no wounds or punctures or blood. But there was an unhealthy smear of dark, bone-colored foam on his mouth. The scales around his lips were crusty, grey, and dead-looking. The straw in front of his snout was sticky with slime. One of his feeding tubes had been discarded in the straw beside his head.

She ran through the straw, lifted the tube, put her nose in it, and recoiled. The stench was strange and sweetish, cloying.

Voidbane gave a massive, wheezing gasp. His sides shuddered. She put her hand on his side. His scales were barely warm, not clammy, but holding none of their usual heat. He didn't stir at her touch. She noticed a dead messenger dragon hastily buried in the straw beside him. Its neck had been broken. She bent down and searched its harness. Nothing. But beneath the tiny dragon's body, she found an ancient message tube of engraved high silver, whatever message it had carried long gone. Without thinking, she tucked it into a pocket inside her armor.

Dagger crawled up, sniffing, extending his nose towards Voidbane's snout. The big dragon growled at his approach. The sound was impossibly deep, impossibly powerful—but was cut short by another weird, wracking spasm in the dragon's side. Dagger retreated with a low whine.

Anna stepped to Moondagger, swung into her saddle, and clipped on.

"Go!" she cried.

Master Borónd.

As fast as you can, Dagger. As fast as you'll ever fly.

Moondagger seemed to hear her thoughts and leapt for the open window as if shot from a catapult.

35

T
HEY LANDED ON
the southern balcony of Master Borónd's library with a scrape of stone, the gust of their arrival stirring the well-ordered rows of plants and herbs that lined the porch's sun-kissed ledges. A large crow sat there, pecking the dirt of a potted Dayádian clover.

Anna unhooked, leapt from her saddle, and ran through the covered portico toward the glass doors of Master Borónd's library.

"Nice to see you again, girl." A short dragon rider in maroon livery stepped in front of her. He held a bloody straight razor in one hand. "So very nice."

It was Hendo. The pig-nosed villain she'd first met on the upper barracks' terrace. His eyes glimmered wickedly, catching the morning sunlight at a freakish angle. His weird nostrils dilated. Anna stopped and calmly backed away, out into the sun. Hendo followed, pursing his lips.

"What are you doing here, girl?" Hendo asked, wiping his mouth with the back of the hand that held the razor. Its edge flashed. Both his hands were red with blood. A curved dagger was tucked into the front of his riding belt. His maroon livery was blood-stained, too.

Moondagger growled. Hendo seemed not to notice it.

Anna raised her hands. "I'm here to see Master Borónd, sir—."

"Got yourself into proper harness, eh?" he said, looking her over, coming towards her, paying Dagger no mind. "Got your little worm ready for his riding? That is good. That is
very
good."

He reached for the iron whistle that hung from his neck.

Anna turned, made as if to run towards Dagger, and Hendo took the bait, coming up behind her, reaching for her shoulder. The moment he touched her, Anna screamed as if in terror, feigned collapse, grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and rolled the little man hard over her shoulder, sending him straight towards her dragon. Dagger took the handoff perfectly, bit Hendo's ankle as it flipped towards him, and tossed the rider nonchalantly over the balcony's parapet into the yawning chasm. Strangely, the man didn't scream as he plummeted to the toothy rocks below. Anna clapped Dagger on the jaw, ran through the portico, and opened the library's glass doors.

Inside, two Tevéss soldiers stood on either side of Master Borónd. They were leaning over him, whispering something. The Master was bound to his reading chair with ropes at his ankles, wrists, and waist. Several of his fingers had been broken. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his chair from some wound she couldn't see. On the writing desk, his delicate, wire-framed reading spectacles had been smashed under a broken pot from which emerged a wrecked sprout of Nelorian fern. An iron cauldron rested on a tripod at the center of his desk, suspended over a cooking lamp. The cauldron was surrounded by an assortment of glass vials and beakers, many of them empty or spilled. A pile of books smoldered in the far corner. The volumes were large and priceless, the stink of burning velum like a haunch of merino left too long over fire. Several of his bookshelves had been broken off the walls. There were more broken pots shattered at Anna's feet. Master Borónd moaned. The Tevéss infantryman with his back to Anna hissed, and slapped the Master across the face. Neither of them had noticed her arrival. Or Hendo's departure.

Anna drew her revolver from the small of her back, took a calm breath, and whistled. The Tevéss soldiers looked up, and she shot them both between the eyes—one, then the other—heads cracking back, bodies crumpling to the floor. Master Borónd glanced up, recognized her, and looked down, his head wagging.

". . . Anna," he whispered, not looking at her.

She ran to him and knelt beside the chair. His slender nose looked wrong and when he spoke, she could see that one of his front teeth had been broken. There were five precise cuts on his forehead, beginning right below his blondish-grey hair, each longer than the last. The cuts were fresh. A line of blood ran past his eye. They'd shaved one half of his beard and moustache away. He wouldn't look at her, but instead stared at the smoldering pile of books, as if ashamed of his appearance. His bottom lip quivered. Anna holstered her weapon, drew her dagger, and cut the ropes away from his ankles, wrists, and waist, the high silver blade parting the ropes like air.

"They're killing everyone," Anna said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder, re-sheathing her blade. "They've poisoned Voidbane. He needs—."

". . . I know," Master Borónd whispered. He held his destroyed hands in his lap.

Something in his voice stopped her.

He still wouldn't meet her gaze.

She looked at the cooking cauldron on the desk. The litter of strange ingredients around it. She stepped to the desk, put her nose into the pot, and recoiled at the familiar strange and sweetish smell.

". . . they made me . . . " Master Borónd said, staring at the smoking books. "They brought Lady Abigail. They brought her here. She didn't know what they were doing. She stood right there, and Gideon pointed a gun at the back of her head. She couldn't see it. She's so small. He showed me what would happen if I refused. I couldn't . . . . They made me take it to him . . . . They made me. Because Voidbane knew me . . . . They knew he'd take it from me . . . ."

Traitor!

Outside on the balcony, Moondagger roared. The glass doors shook. Anna's mind raged. And just like that, her old friend—her dark rage—was back, hungrier than ever. Her head spun. She glanced outside at Dagger, caught his eye, and took a breath. Quelled it. What was Borónd supposed to have done? Let them kill the High Lady?

"Is there a remedy?" she asked calmly, taking another deep breath. "Can we give him something? Quickly now. He still lives."

Master Borónd nodded. ". . . yes. Above the medicine cupboard in the closet there, above the top shelf on the left, behind the rack of Jagaean tonics. A small, silver box tucked below the far rafter . . . ."

Anna ran, grabbed a stool, and found the box. It was intricately fashioned of strange, silvery wood. Its top was carved with a design of interlaced vines and plants.

It was locked.

"The key?" she asked.

"Around my neck." He bowed his head.

She found a silver chain and lifted it over her head. There were several other keys on it.

"Which one?"

"The smallest."

She took it. Opened the box. At its center was a small, crystal vial held in a sculpted hand of high silver. The vial shone with pale, white radiance.

". . . if anything can help, that is it." Master Borónd swallowed. "From Kon, five years past . . . a gift from young Garen Dallanar."

Anna took some writing paper from a drawer, wrapped the vial, and placed it inside her breastplate.

". . . it will work, Anna," Master Borónd said.

"Thank you," she said steadily, turning for the balcony. "Now rest—."

"Fel will be here two days after next . . . three days. Through Jorgun Gorge. I heard them speak of it—."

"Not Hengén Cleft?" Anna turned, her eyebrows shooting up.

"No. Through the Gorge. I'm sure of it. Why would they lie? Three days. Fastest route from the Felshold. Through the Gorge."

If it was true, then it meant that Captain Corónd, the Tevéss dragon master she'd met at the upper barracks, had deliberately fed her false information about Lord Fel's arrival, knowing that she'd pass it on, exactly as she'd suspected. Outside on the balcony, Moondagger growled impatiently.

"I'll send aid when I'm able," Anna said.

Master Borónd nodded and slumped in his chair. She ran to the balcony, mounted, clipped on, and launched.

36

M
OONDAGGER SAW WHAT
happened next backwards, as if the scene played out from the end to its beginning. First, he saw three enemy dragons tearing Anna to pieces. Then he saw them dive at her, their talons flexed and deadly. He saw their riders' eyes glint in the morning sun, just before they launched. He saw the enemy riders scanning the mountains, weapons ready, alert and on the watch. And then things stopped—and moved forward again. And three enemy dragons were falling silently towards them. He could not see them anymore, but somehow he perfectly understood their presence and position, as if he saw the entire encounter from a distance.

And then he saw Anna's Father astride Voidbane in front of him, radiant and glowing with silvery-white light. Father held a long, silver war lance in his hand. Voidbane roared, the thunderous sound quaking Dagger's mind. Father aimed the lance at Moondagger's heart.

"Protect her," he whispered.

Moondagger knew how. So he did.

37

A
NNA AND
D
AGGER
launched from the balcony of Master Borónd's library. She kept good watch, carefully avoiding the easiest paths, skirting entire areas in their attempt to preserve speed and stealth, circling up the mountainside as they raced east to Voidbane's Lodge.

The enemies' assault was soundless—at least Anna hadn't heard anything. It was Dagger who saved them from the initial attack, his preternatural reflexes somehow anticipating the aggressors' strike moments before they hit.

"Let's go ahead and head back around—," she started.

But Dagger collapsed his wings, rolled, and dropped straight down the cliff side, a near vertical dive, the intensity of the speed stopping her heart, her breath catching in her chest.

An angry cry rang out above her. Anna glanced over her shoulder and saw three Tevéss riders—one on a red scout dragon that had crashed into the mountainside just where she'd ordered Dagger to turn. The red's rider was uninjured, but his dragon's shoulder was damaged. The red clung there to the rocks, immobilized and out of the action, but his rider's comrades were circling back, rolling, and diving after them. One was mounted on a small green scout, the other on a lightweight gold in full battle gear. The gold dragon wore a maroon battle standard across its chest, the three crossed swords of House Tevéss emblazoned black at its center. The rider who'd crashed drew his sidearm and aimed at her.

Anna looked away, pressed her chest to her saddle, and squeezed her grips.

"Go!" she cried.

Dagger went, pulling his white wings tighter to his sides, the expelled air from his bladders hissing like steam from a forge. The mountainside shot past them, a blur of smooth grey stone. Three shots rang out. A chip of rock blasted past her face. Dagger furled his wings with a snap, pulled them up, took a massive breath, his intakes pulling huge amounts of air into his flight bladders. The Tevéss riders blasted past them, taken totally off-guard.

"Ha!" Anna roared. "After those traitor dogs!"

And then
they
were the hunters.

The little green banked, cut right, leveled, and started climbing back towards the Keep. The gold cut left, but still dropped, drawing them away from his smaller, faster comrade, both riders looking over their shoulders, assessing Anna's position, a flurry of hand signals flashing between them.

"The gold can wait," Anna snarled, turning Dagger up towards the little green.

Dagger banked up and right, pushing forward at speed, closing on the green immediately. Anna took a split moment to assess the armament of her opponent. The Tevéss rider was pressed flat against her own saddle's belly pad, her long blond hair streaming back from the hole at the top of her leather helmet. A scout—virtually unarmed. The scout dodged right. Dagger followed and closed. She dodged left. Dagger followed—closer still. She rolled and dropped, dodging insanely near the cliff side. But Dagger tracked her perfectly, dropping onto the green's hips, his talons sinking into the base of the dragon's green tail, pulling them up like a spear hawk plucking a fish from a stream. The green screamed, head down, wings flapping uselessly. The Tevéss scout reached for her sidearm. Dagger took a massive breath, his talons still sunk into the enemy's tail, and blasted dragon and rider with a searing column of silvery-white fire, flesh and scale melting to formless char. He banked away and released them, hurling the burnt corpses into the cliff crags, his triumphant roar shaking the mountainside.