The Blind Dragon (21 page)

And just like that, her old rage was back, as if it'd never left, drooling and hungry from the dark. But it was different this time. Dagger growled and jerked his head.
Murdered. Murdered as they slept.
It was cold. An icy knot in Anna's chest, as if her heart had clad itself in frozen iron. No hot anger, this. Instead, it was a ruthless, calculating rage. The rage of cold vengeance.

The crow cawed.

She backed Dagger off the ridge, unhooked, slid off, and walked to the easel. She stooped at it, pulling the sheaf of paper from the green leather tube. The first sketch was a drawing of Sara Terreden. It was well done. The fly that the artist had drawn on her cheek seemed to crawl on real, living flesh. Great attention had been paid to the graceful contour of her chin.

The crow cawed, louder.

The other drawings were the same. Carefully rendered drawings of the dead dragons and the dead riders of House Dradón. There were over a dozen of them, drawn from many positions and angles. Anna didn't examine them all but rather paged through them, letting the pages fall to the ground as she went.

The last one was different, however. It was a drawing of a living person: a sad young man. He was no older than twenty. Handsome. Clean shaven. His dark hair worn in a short, soldier's crop. His eyes were particularly striking. Dark, fixed, and extremely intelligent—the eyes of an aristocrat—but unhappy, as if the purpose of the drawing was to capture his regret. The angle of the portrait made it look like it had been drawn from a mirror. Directly beneath the image, there were two letters:

Anna looked at the green scroll case and the golden, double-headed dragon that adorned it. She knew that Lord Fel's second born son was named Malachi. She looked around, suddenly self-conscious of her position, pulled out her telescope, and scanned the mountains, the Gorge, and the horizon. Below her, on the pile of bodies, the crow cawed. Its head bobbed gallingly. It cawed again, mocking her. It began to peck wetly at the cheek of a dead Dradón rider, the ticking sound moist and repulsive.

Anna double checked her surroundings, stepped up the rocky crest, drew her revolver, and carefully aimed at the crow. As if sensing her intent, it leapt into the air. She fired once, clipped its right wing, but it was already at the far edge of the plateau and dropped away to safety.

Even a couple of steps closer to the bodies made the stench much worse, she realized; the light breeze blowing from the Gorge didn't help. She shook her head, put her hand over her mouth, and almost retched. The stench was overpowering.

But this could be the spot.

She slid down the ridge, hand over her mouth, and walked through the carnage. About twenty paces to the west, the ridge dropped away and the plateau opened sheer, directly onto the Gorge. Dagger followed her, stopping to sniff at Sara Terreden's face. He nudged her pale cheek with his snout.

Anna glanced over the plateau's edge. She was looking down into a sharp, forested bend of Hakon's Hook. And she was looking from the south.

The angle and position for attack couldn't be better. The mysterious artist had chosen his position well.

If Fel came through the Gorge at this spot, if he came four bells before or after noon, then the sun would be directly in his face. And if his column was of any length, then its front wouldn't be able to see its back. The position was several hundred paces above the Gorge's floor, screened by light woods and a low ridgeline. Better yet, she had the perfect camouflage within which she could hide from Lord Fel's scouts: a reeking pile of betrayal and death.

Anna nodded. It would work.

She walked back, climbed the low ridge, and hid the easel, the leather tube, and the drawings in the brush. Then she climbed back down, dragged a dozen riders' bodies closer to the plateau's edge so that she could lie with them and still see into the Gorge. Finally, she smeared herself with cold gore from a deep puddle of blood that had not yet dried. She retched at the smell, but she was getting used to it.

"Come here," she commanded. Dagger obeyed.

She wiped some blood on Dagger's face and neck, careful to avoid the stitched wound on his right side.

"Lie down." She pointed at the cliff edge. "Stay perfectly still."

From there they'd watch. From there they'd strike.

52

T
HEY WERE VISITED
three times that evening by scouts from House Fel, but none of them stayed long. The corpse stench was too strong. Night came cool and cloudless, the stars soaring overhead in the black, the moon rising massive and silver to make its soundless way across the sky. Dagger sighed beside her, his silvery eyes wide in the moonlight, his white scales comforting and warm. But they did not sleep.

53

L
ATE MORNING OF
the next day. A Fel scout squadron in dark green livery came in from the west and landed on the ridge line with a crunch of claw. Neither Anna nor Dagger moved, their eyes mere slits. The scouts looked around for a moment, hands and riding scarves over their mouths, their dragons hissing, then launched eastward, along the Gorge, checking every crag, corner, tree, and shadow. It was three bells after dawn.

Dagger growled.

Lord Fel comes.

No sooner had she had the thought than a vanguard appeared in the Gorge, gliding around the far bend of the Hook, some two dozen middleweights of various colors, dark green pennants streaming from spears and mounts. They were well below her, far to her northwest, the sun in their faces. Carefully, she eased her telescope from her side to examine them more carefully.

Meticulous formation. Perfect gear. The dragons' motion clean, strong, and well-rested. The green of the Gorge lush around their glimmering war gear. A pair of lightweight reds flew at the very front of the vanguard. Their riders wore leather scouting gear and tackle. The majority of the column behind them wore full battle panoply. The sun gleamed off plate and helm. After the vanguard came three flights of mixed heavy and middleweights. At least forty dragons. Green war banners streamed from their chests. Their riders' lances and carbines and helmets shone like mirrors. The column was like a floating river of men and dragons, bristling with spear and steel, soaring silently through the mountain pass.

And then the great Irondusk came around the bend.

Anna trained her telescope on him.

He was massive. Well over fifty paces long. His scales rust-red, like burning bronze, his wings casting a mighty shadow over the streambed below. At least a dozen lightweights flew beneath him, wary for any movement on the ground. On his huge back, Lord Oskor Fel sat in an elaborate commander's war saddle. His posture was perfect, his dark green livery fluttering in the wind. Three pennants of dark green streamed behind him, each marked by the golden, two-headed dragon of House Fel. His helmet was of high silver, a golden plume coursing from its top. A battlesword was sheathed before his saddle. Opposite the sword was a round shield of high silver. He wore a revolver slung beneath his left arm. An ancient, high silver carbine was scabbarded behind his shield, within easy reach. Directly behind him, on his saddle's signal deck, a pair of young signal hands flashed test flags to a flight of lightweights that followed in Irondusk's wake.

Anna lowered her telescope and shot a quick look at the surrounding peaks, crags, and trees.

No other sign of the enemy.

It is time.

Dagger hissed, his tail thrashing.

Moving carefully, she stowed her telescope and slid her lance from its scabbard. She took the point from its sheath in her saddle bag, kissed it, and screwed its socket down over the lance's end. It was razor sharp. She smoothly mounted Moondagger, clipped on, and patted his side.

Her hands were warm. She felt no fear. She pushed her forehead into the back of Dagger's neck, feeling the coiled muscle beneath his warm white scales. He grunted and arched his head against hers. She kissed him on the top of his head, and he growled impatiently.

Anna looked over the plateau's edge. Lord Fel was almost in position. She pulled her goggles down over her eyes.

And then he was exactly where she wanted him. It was happening so fast. But there was no time to think or question or doubt. It was this moment or never.

They launched.

54

S
ILENCE.
T
HE TOTAL
silence of the first moments of free fall
.

Then the wind came as they gathered speed, hissing in her ears. Lance tucked tight to her side, snug in her saddle, feet locked firmly in her stirrups, her target below her, utterly unaware, Moondagger's power warm beneath her chest.

Time slowed.

Dagger's wings were furled to his sides, his form perfect as they dropped from the sun. Her lance was steady and weightless in her hands. Her breath was even. Her vision absolutely clear. No reaction from the enemy. None at all. It was as if the convoy flew in slow motion, the occasional flap of dragon wings slow, ponderous, and completely silent, the streaming green pennants frozen in time. She was halfway down the Gorge now.

And still they didn't see her.

55

M
OONDAGGER SAW THEM
dive, at last.

But he saw it
as if he watched from outside himself, as if he watched at a great distance.

They were a spear of pure, silent energy, plummeting from the sun. A glowing meteor, white-hot, unstoppable, a silver star falling against the verdant green of the canyon's towering walls. Utterly united in purpose, strength, and will.

One mind. One being. One force.

Brilliant. Shining. Speed.

56

A
T THAT MOMENT,
Anna realized that they'd succeed.

It was done. And they would do it.

They were still dropping at Irondusk with unbelievable velocity. And still, there was no reaction from Lord Fel, from his dragon, or from the rest of his entourage. The wind cut Anna's face, hissing like a hurricane. Dagger's form was so clean, their position and angle against the sun so perfect, that none of the enemy riders could see them. And because of their speed, even those who might have noticed them at a distance were too far away to defend their master.

Mere moments now.

57

A
ND THEN, FROM
somewhere deep inside him, Moondagger saw a fierce cry beginning to form, a tangible thing, a shimmering, silver shape of pure energy.

Hold it.

But no. It was wrong to hold it in. Wrong to hide it. Wrong to hold it back.

58

S
O SHE UNLEASHED
it, all of it. And the cry peeled from her throat and she was roaring.

No words.

Nothing that made sense.

The clean, primal shriek of a knife raptor falling on its prey.

Long and high and utterly pure.

And she was not alone.

Moondagger roared with her, his throat bellowing fury and justice and rage, their voices blending in a savage harmony as they plummeted towards death and triumph.

A warning horn sounded from somewhere, a low moaning through the canyon.

At last Lord Fel looked up. Saw them dropping towards him. Pulled at Irondusk's reins. Too late. They were too close. Irondusk veered slowly away from the green cliffs, towards the center of the chasm. Fel's eyes widened with certain knowledge.

"For the Kingdom!" Anna roared.

Her voice was huge. And in the strange slow time of her attack, she looked into Fel's eyes and saw in them a timeless acknowledgement as old as war itself.

"For the Remain!" she screamed at him.

Impact!

Her lance hit her target perfectly, on his breastplate, just to the left of center.