"The squire has everything in hand, sir. Let's move you and your sheep along," she said.
The shepherd grimaced, muttering under his breath. "War beasts runnin' loose, eatin' honest servants' goods, whole cursed place fallin' to pieces." But he gave a wry grin and a whistle, turning his merinos onto the switchback from whence Anna had just come.
The guard turned to Anna. "Better get him into harness, squire. Trouble for everyone."
Anna nodded. "My thanks."
Moondagger fell backwards off the parapet, coiled in midair like a falling snake, and opened his wings with a snap. He swooped back up, landed on the parapet beside Anna, and showed her his fangs. Anna shook her head and tried to frown at him. But she failed miserably.
15
M
OONDAGGER SAW
A
NNA
cross a paved terrace and approach a two-storied building. The sun was just up and the early sky was red, bathing the building and mountains with flushed, morning light.
It was three years ago. Anna was eleven years old.
But, from Moondagger's perspective, those three years past meant nothing.
For Moondagger, three years ago was
now
.
Anna opened the building's front door and walked toward a blood-stained cot. An armored man lay there. Beneath him there was a pool of dark blood. The man on the cot was dead. The man was Anna's father.
Armored soldiers and dragon riders gathered around the cot. Mother was there, too, standing beside Father's head. Her face and armor were streaked with ash and blood. Her eyes shone with sorrow and rage.
When Anna approached, the soldiers went silent and opened a path. Mother did not look up. Anna kept her chin high, her eyes straight ahead. Her step was slow. But she did not tremble. She did not falter. She did not cry.
She stood at the cot and looked down at her father.
Moondagger felt something open in his own heart, a deepening ache, as if a pain there was being slowly born.
He wanted to turn away, to stop the hurt.
But he could not.
Anna was strong. So he must be strong. Anna was brave. So he must be brave. Anna could see. So he must see.
Please. For a moment, let me see him.
Anna put her small hand on Father's breastplate. The steel was icy cold. Mother put her armored hand on top of hers.
And then there was the hole.
It was larger than Anna's fist, punched jagged into the left side of Father's chest.
A black opening.
Emptiness
.
A hole that should not be.
If I reached down into it
, Anna thought,
I would reach into nothing, and its steel teeth would close on my shoulder and bite
. . . .
In the battle, Anna had been riding behind Father as one of Voidbane's signal hands. (And she hadn't been there because she was Erik Dyer's daughter. She'd been there because she knew the signal codes and flag combinations better than any squire in the High Keep.) She and Tayne Taller, Father's other signal hand, had spotted Lord Oskor and the dread Irondusk descending from above, a roaring nightmare of fang and fire. She had flashed her signals, fired her carbine, and shouted her warnings. Voidbane had reacted perfectly, banking hard, rolling, allowing Irondusk to pass beneath them with a roar and a gust of thunderous wind, his war lust shaking the air. Upside down, Anna had gotten a good shot off at the monster. But for Father, it had been too late. A little gold dragon, wearing a green House Fel war banner on its chest, had seen its chance and had dived through the defensive formation of House Dradón middle weights. Its rider had carried a simple battle lance, nothing else. And as Anna reloaded her carbine, working the mechanism as fast as she could in her small hands, she had seen the impact that had taken Father's life. It had been over before she had known what had happened. Done before it had started. Not like the poems and songs—where things made sense. Voidbane's grief-stricken roar had shaken the heavens.
Now, on the cot, father's armor was caked with the cold stickiness of gore and ash. His face was pale. A cork of black blood clotted his right nostril. His left eye was open, but only its white showed. A single tear pooled in its corner.
It
was
Father.
But it did not look like him.
Anna understood then what it meant when people said that the body was just a "shell." Father's passion, wit, his easy laugh, his black rage when angered, his sense of honor, duty, and loyalty—all were gone.
This thing before her? This body?
It was an empty husk.
A soldier never betrays his word. A soldier never forgets his promises.
The eyes of the riders and warriors pushed against her, the pressure of their gazes bearing down like real weight.
She wanted a moment alone. Just one moment.
Pay them no mind
.
Father turned his dead face towards her.
His eyes opened. Gentle and clear and real.
Death is not defeat.
Father's mouth did not move, but Moondagger heard his words all the same.
The ache in his heart blossomed.
You have my pride and love 'til Kingdom's end, Anna. My pride and love, forever.
16
T
HE MOMENT
A
NNA
stepped onto the upper barracks' terrace, she knew something was wrong.
The barracks was a fine, two-storied building made of well-cut stone. Its tall windows looked out over the terrace into the red morning sky—but the windows' shutters were closed. Seven dragon riders, all wearing the dark maroon livery of House Tevéss, sat and stood around the barracks' front steps. They smoked their pipes and sipped their morning tea, laughing casually as if sharing some private joke, their pipe smoke barely stirred by the light morning breeze.
But they were obviously blocking the barracks' front door.
Two of the seven riders wore standard scout harnesses, light leather armor over maroon House Tevéss livery. But the other five wore full battle gear. The armor's traditional design was modeled on the ancient panoplies of the Plague Years: the distinct, V-shaped breastplates protruding two palms away from the center of the riders' chests, their beveled surfaces designed to deflect wind, bullets, and flame. All wore short battleswords at their belts and several wore steel revolvers slung beneath their shoulders. Their leader was a tall, grey-haired captain who wore a thick maroon riding scarf, his goggles pulled down at his throat. He leaned nonchalantly against the barracks' wall, an ancient revolver of high silver belted low on his hip. Rings of black iron adorned his earlobes. A sheathed greatsword leaned against the wall beside him. As Anna stepped onto the terrace, the captain chuckled, spat, and tapped his pipe against his hand, brushing his palms together as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Why were they here?
Moondagger landed on the terrace's parapet and immediately hissed at the riders, his white tail whipping against the stone, his scales pinkish in the morning light.
The riders' laughter stopped short.
Anna shot Moondagger a hard glance.
Stealth
, she thought.
Moondagger's tail went still.
"What is this?" the grey-haired captain asked, frowning. Like the rest of the Tevéss riders, he wore sharp sideburns styled to points near the corners of his mouth. His western accent was thick. The riders looked from Moondagger to Anna, their eyes narrow.
"Forgive me, my lords." Anna bowed respectfully. "I come with an urgent message for Captain Terreden—."
"What is this animal doing out of harness, girl?" the captain cut her off. He lifted a whistle of black iron from the chain on his neck and blew into it. It made no sound. Dagger's eyes widened and he cocked his head with keen attention. All the riders wore whistles of similar shape.
Anna looked to the morning sky. Nothing. At least, not yet.
The rider next to the captain said to the short one beside him, "Mark its eyes. The thing is blind as a slug."
"And see the color." The short one pointed. "Must be one of Nightlove's spawn. Old girl needs some proper seed, eh?"
"Voidbane must be sick indeed if the best he can do is this sightless worm," another chimed in.
The short rider leered at Anna. His nose was strange, one of his nostrils much larger than the other, like a pig's. "Cannot fight if you cannot see, eh, sweetie?" He winked at her.
"Should not surprise," a rider said. "They will take whatever comes here, flawed or no. Look at this squire. Missing half her tunic, for the Sister's sake. Where is your sleeve, girl?"
Several of the riders grinned. The captain did not. The pig-nosed rider who'd winked at her was appraising her now, looking her over from head to foot. Anna's face flushed, but she kept her chin high and her eyes on the captain. She hadn't thought about her tunic sleeve. The one she'd used to pad Master Khondus's wound. How ridiculous she must look. She hoped they didn't notice the bulge beneath her
good
sleeve, where she'd sheathed the Tevéss dagger—or the bullet hole in Dagger's wing.
"You know," the pig-nosed rider mused, "what Nightlove really needs is a proper mounting." He made a rude thrusting gesture with his hips and looked at Anna pointedly. His weird nostrils flared, and he pursed his lips.
"Mounting?" another rider sniffed. "Wait 'til Irondusk gets on her. Now
that
will be a breeding. Poor old girl will never recover."
"Next foal will come out with four eyes."
"And they will
all
work!" Pig-nose snorted.
The riders guffawed, slapping their knees and pounding each other on the back. The captain's frown deepened.
Moondagger hissed, his tail lashing the parapet. The breeze picked up a touch. For her part, Anna looked at each rider carefully, marking their faces in turn. She wasn't mad. She was calculating.
Laugh all you want
, she thought.
She'd prove Dagger's worth soon enough. And to these very men.
From the east, riding the breeze, a bronze war dragon of medium weight, about twenty paces long, arced gracefully over the barracks' roof. Its scales shone like polished brass and its rigging was deep maroon, the color of House Tevéss. A maroon war banner was clipped to the underside of its chest, the three crossed swords of House Tevéss emblazoned in black at its center.
Anna frowned.
A banner like that would normally only be worn in combat. To any rider on Dávanor, the banner meant one thing and one thing only: war. A cold suspicion rose in her mind, but she quelled it.
The bronze dragon swung over the terrace, made a wide turn, and landed smoothly with a muscly grunt and gust of wind beside the Tevéss riders. Its scales glimmered. Its large eyes were a luminous, pale green. Its saddle and harnesses were well-oiled and meticulously maintained. It cocked its head at the Tevéss captain, giving Anna and Moondagger no more than a passing glance.
The captain stepped to his dragon and patted him on the side.
"I asked you a question, girl," the captain said. "What is this animal doing out of harness?"
The bronze turned and stared at them. Its green eyes were cool and intelligent. Dagger returned its gaze fearlessly, a low growl forming in his throat—even though the bronze was clearly trained for combat and almost ten times his size.
"Forgive me, sir." Anna bowed. "Lord Layne commanded this foal be prepared as a target test for Lord Oskor and his Lordship's new cannon from Paráden—."
"A target for the new cannon?" The captain looked at her sharply.
Fool's error!
Anna's face went hot, but she kept her eyes on the captain. Obviously, House Dradón wasn't supposed to know of the arrival of the Pretender King's guns. But how big a mistake had she made? The other riders seemed not to have noticed her slip. Quite the opposite.
"
Target practice
?" one of the riders choked, nearly spitting out his tea.
"Oh, that is rich!" another added.
"Blind worm used as a decoy!" Pig-nose laughed, his nostrils flaring. "Only here! Only
here
!"
The riders brayed. The bronze dragon sniffed, stretched its wings wide, and settled back on its haunches, green eyes flickering. Somewhere, a crow cawed.
The captain's frown deepened. "Khondus agree to this 'test,' girl?"
Anna nodded. "Master Khondus is a loyal servant of House Dradón. As am I."
"I am surprised." The captain looked at her closely.