Banging and long scratching screeches ran through the walls. Holt awoke or thought he did. In the total dark it was hard to tell. He fell asleep, woke again, slept then woke. Cold sweat gathered on his skin. As his mind raced for some comfort a small song came to him, a song his mother sang to him when he was very young.
Far beyond the Sunset Sea, Where even dragons cannot fly, I know there is a place, Where the living do not die.
Its words tumbled in him, repeating over and over, a mixture of his own voice, a hundred singers, his mother, his father.
Far beyond the endless blue, Where every harvest overflows, Where the blight cannot take hold, Far beyond the sea.
He woke again, trembling. Yet something warm nestled up tighter against him, and a second heartbeat thumped in his soul. That settled him. His eye lids fluttered and closed, and this time the drift to sleep was easier.
Yonder cross the Sunset Sea, Where winter cannot bite, I know, I know there is a place, Where dreams may come to light, Out there, far beyond the sea…
Holt awoke with a start in the darkness. Fully awake this time, his heart beating as though he had been running. He had not slept well. Recent events rushed in a blur before him: the bells, the monsters, fire, smoke, blood, and the look on his father’s face as the wagon trundled away. It had been a look of relief; he believed Holt was going to be safe.
Reality couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Holt forced thoughts of his father to one side for now. He had to have faith that his father had made it out of town and was fleeing with the others. Maybe a rider or two from the Crag would be there to protect them.
Yet the worst memory of the attack drifted back to him then. Silas Silverstrike had betrayed them all. He’d struck down Flight Commander Denna and seemed to be on the same side as the scourge. The implications of this were… well, they were too huge for Holt to comprehend.
Not on an empty stomach at any rate.
He also noticed the dragon had left his side, or at least it wasn’t in arms’ reach as he grasped in the dark.
“Where are you?” He’d really have to name the dragon now that they would live or die together.
“Eating,” the dragon said happily. “I’ll bring you some.”
“Okay,” Holt said into the blackness. He felt rather stupid and useless just slumped here.
I’m as blind as the dragon. Although he at least seems to have managed to move around.
The dragon’s talons clinked off the stone floor as it moved. Something else tapped rhythmically too, though it was out of sync with the dragon’s footsteps.
“Can you find me?” Holt said. “Follow my voice like we’ve practiced.”
And then he realized, foolishly, that the dragon must have been moving around while he was still asleep. The out of sync tapping between the dragon’s footsteps continued.
He’s whacking his tail off the floor, Holt thought. That’s odd.
“Why are you hitting your tail like that?”
“To make noise. Sound changes depending on what’s around me.”
While the concept was new to the dragon, it of course made perfect sense to Holt. Realization dawned, and he understood the dragon tapping its tail in a new light. Hollow objects would sound different from solid ones. Noise would ring and echo in hard environments like the kitchens, compared to soft surroundings such as a bed and pillows. Yet never had he stopped to consider the matter in any detail. He had never had to. For the dragon, learning the distinctions would be crucial in building up a mental picture of the world.
A moment later there came a thud then the distinct shattering of clay. A glug, glug, glug followed as oil spilled from the broken jar. So, the dragon was not yet a master of its movements. Then again, it was doing far better than Holt could do in the pitch black.
“You okay?” Holt asked.
“Yes, boy. I thought that was part of the wall. It sounded solid to me.”
“I suppose the jar must have sounded solid,” Holt said. “I think it was full of oil.”
Their bond flared as the dragon reached him.
“I can tell where things are just not always what they are. Not yet. I’m still learning.”
“Well I’m very impressed,” Holt said. He reached out a hand for the dragon’s snout to pat him but felt a coarse sack in his way. This must contain the promised food the dragon was bringing. “You found food well enough then?”
The dragon dropped the bundle into Holt’s lap. He was pleased it didn’t feel wet or cold. Nothing raw then.
“I could smell it.”
Of course, Holt thought. He had heard of blind people having greater strength in their other senses. Perhaps the dragon benefitted from this as well, maybe doubly so because it was a magical creature.
“What’s easier for you to ‘see’ by,” Holt asked. “Sound or smell?”
“Not everything has a smell. I need sound for some things, but both is best.”
“I can still call out for you, when you need to find me, if it helps?”
“You’re easy to find, boy. I know your smell, and I can hear a beating from inside you.”
“You can hear my heartbeat?”
“I hear it more and more each day. I hear and smell more things each day.” The dragon nudged at Holt’s hand and then at the sack it had brought him. “Go on, eat. It’s good.”
Gingerly, Holt reached for the sack and wormed his hand inside. It felt like meat, dried out and tough. Placing a strip in his mouth he soon discovered it was beef jerky, salty and chewy, but in his current state it tasted exquisite. Holt began shoveling the stuff into his mouth.
“More?” the dragon asked.
“Have you had enough?” Holt said thickly.
“For now. I should get more for when we leave.”
“Uh, yes… that’s a good idea.”
The dragon padded off again, tapping its tail off the stone as it went, seemingly unaware it had left Holt in no small measure of shock.
Just how quickly did dragons mature? A week ago, it could barely speak, and now it was formulating plans about their ration supply? Not only that but its ability to comprehend the world was improving rapidly. Just how powerful would its remaining senses become?
Holt decided not to dwell on the matter. The more capable the dragon was, the better for them both. It returned, dragging something behind it. From the sound of cloth scrapping along stone, it had grabbed another bundle of jerky. When its wet nose nuzzled into Holt, he almost jumped from surprise and he vowed never to take his own sight for granted again.
“I wonder if the scourge have gone?”
“They have.”
“You’re sure?”
“I can’t hear anything moving above.”
Unable to hear anything beyond his own breathing down here, Holt decided to take the dragon at his word.
“They might still be in the town or up in the main tower.”
The dragon didn’t have an answer for him. Holt ate a few more pieces of jerky as he contemplated their options. They would have to venture back up at some point. So long as the dragon could pick up on movement from further away than he could, they could always retreat and try again later.
“We don’t even know whether it’s day or night,” Holt lamented. He couldn’t be sure how long he’d slept for.
“It’s daytime.” The dragon spoke with some authority on the matter. “How can you possibly know that?”
“I just do… I feel stronger at night.”
“Stronger? How?”
“I don’t know. But night is when you’re with me.”
Holt was touched. Maybe their bond worked both ways.
“Does this have something to do with how I moved that table covering the trap door? Did you… make me stronger?”
“I don’t know.”
Holt supposed that was fair. He didn’t exactly know how his own body worked, never mind having magic involved too.
“Well, if you’re sure it’s daytime, I suppose we should head up.
Carefully.”
He was about to get up but remembered his father’s recipe book. He tapped around on his left side and found the smooth leather cover. With the book in one hand, he would need his other hand free to open the trap door.
“Can you grab the food, please?”
A rustle and bite of teeth told him the dragon had obliged. “Okay. Here goes.”
Slowly, he felt his way back along the shelves, knocking a few jars to the floor. Well, more broken things hardly mattered now. Holt had to help the dragon negotiate the steep, ladder-like steps, but they emerged into the kitchens without incident.
“Do you hear anything?”
When the dragon shook its head, they moved on. Nothing gave them pause reaching the servants courtyard either. The dragon had been correct, it was daytime, although what time of day was a mystery. Holt couldn’t see the sun. Clouds blackened the sky as far as he could see. There was hardly a breeze at all, the waves were barely audible. It was as if the whole world had turned grim and lifeless.
Fire had ruined everything. Charred bodies and burned remains of buildings made up the servants’ courtyard. Dreading what else he would find, Holt turned and had his fears confirmed. The tower of the Crag had burned too, what stone remained was now scorched. Sections were still burning from black unnatural fires which neither spread nor grew but lingered like dark wounds on a corpse.
As though in a trance, Holt made his way around to the front courtyard where similar scenes of battle met him. Lying in a crumpled, broken heap at the top of the grand stairs was the pale body of Ysera. And covering the battlefield at the tower’s base was a thick layer of ash. Some still trickled down from the highest reaches of the once tall tower.
Everything and everyone Holt had known was gone.
The dragon put down the bundle of food and began walking to the middle of the courtyard, its feet making imprints on the ash like freshly fallen snow. Surrounded by white and gray, the dragon blended in. Hard as it was to believe, Holt’s dragon, the one he was supposed to have destroyed, was now the last dragon at the Crag.
Sorrow for the other hatchlings filled Holt, a pain amplified by the dragon’s own sense of loss. Sadness washed across their bond and the dragon wailed. It twisted its neck this way and that, as though searching for an answer which would never come. When it finished, it turned around and looked straight at Holt.
“I sense them still, crying out…”
Their bond drummed and Holt caught a glimmer of what the dragon could sense with its magic. Unlike the night before, when he’d heard that beautiful music, the notes he heard now were broken and stricken, like a songbird uttering its dying breaths.
Holt gulped, then fell to his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The dragon remained where it was. Suddenly it braced its feet as though about to pounce, craned its neck skyward, and roared; roared as loud as a grown drake, and the ground cracked through some unseen force.
Neither of them moved a muscle. Holt simply stared at the dragon as it grieved. Dirty white cinders landed on the dragon’s back, almost blending in with its scales.
“Ash…” Holt rolled the name around in his mind. He found it suiting. “I’m going to call you, Ash.”
The baby cocked its head. “Do you like that?”
“I do,” the dragon said, and then its voice turned suddenly harsh and older. Holt could feel the dragon’s conviction through the bond. “I will avenge this.”
As quickly as the change had come over the dragon it ceased. Ash’s stance relaxed and he lowered his head, sniffing to pinpoint Holt, his eyes wide like two sapphires.
“I’m right ahead of you,” Holt said. Ash yapped and bounded to his side. “You okay? You went a bit… strange.”
“I’m not sure,” Ash said though his voice was far younger again, less assured. “But I know we have to find the ones who did this.”
“Easier said than done.”
Still on his knees, Holt looked out across the smoking town. Where would he go? What would he do?
Another distant roar reached Holt’s ears.
Ash twisted his neck around in search of the noise.
“What is it?” Holt asked.
“Another dragon.”
Holt’s stomach plummeted. Probably Silas Silverstrike coming back to ensure the job was complete. He heard the cry of the dragon again, much clearer this time. The dragon and its rider were surely near.
“We need to run back to the larder.” “Wait. It’s not an elder male’s call.” “What then?”
“Younger. Female.”
“Ash, I don’t know if we should risk it—” But he cut himself short. To the north he saw a dragon drop down below the clouds; a dragon with purple scales. And there was only one dragon he knew of that color. Pyra.
Princess Talia had returned.
