On Fire’s Wings (33 page)

They're all dead.

Father says you get used to it.

Slowly, she sat up and dried her tears. This was but a taste of what would come later. She had to be strong. She couldn't let herself feel the enormity of what she had just done.

“Take me back, Dragon,” she said.

T
he advisor pulled aside the tent flap cautiously. “Your Excellency,” he said, “you do not sleep?”

The Emperor scowled at the brazier that still glowed brightly and kept the chill of the desert night at bay. That was one thing they had not counted on: how very cold it got here at night. The contrasts were startling, to say the least. The ki-lyn, too, was wide-awake, huddled and shivering, but from cold or fear, the advisor could not say. He did not care to speculate.

“Do I look as though I am asleep?” the Emperor snapped. He glanced up, and the advisor was startled at the hollows underneath the Emperor's eyes. “One of
them
is there. I know it.”

Fear flooded the advisor. “Surely, not, Your Excellency. You are weary. Perhaps your…intuition is playing tricks on you.”

The Emperor shook his head. “It's faint. It shouldn't be. I should know which one it is,
who
it is. I ought to be able to sense—”

He slammed his fist down on the small table next to him and his cup of wine went flying. The ki-lyn started and tried to avoid the object. It pulled away it but was caught up short, gasping as the collar around its neck halted its movement and the ever-present chain that connected it to the Emperor pulled taut. The ceramic cup struck its head. Red wine splashed and trickled down its long neck, looking for all the world like blood. The creature folded its delicate, graceful legs beneath it again and simply sat, shivering.

“It's stopping me, somehow,” said the Emperor, glaring at the ki-lyn. “It hates me. It wants me to fail.” The creature shrank back from the loathing in that gaze.

“Why must you keep it?” asked the advisor. “If you just had it killed—”

The look the Emperor gave him made his legs quiver. “If you suggest that again,” the Emperor said with deceptive calm, “I'll cut off your head myself and stick it on a pike.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” stammered the advisor.

The Emperor sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I imagine you had a reason for coming here?”

“Yes, of course. We have had several desertions.”

“That's to be expected, this close to their homes.”

“It's not helping morale, Your Excellency. Should I make an example of the ones who remain?”

“Did they try to desert?”

The advisor was flustered. “Well, no, but they are Arukani and—”

“And we need every one of them right now. We don't know what's going to greet us on the other side of the mountains.”

The advisor swallowed hard. “Speaking of that, Your Excellency….the scouts have not yet returned.”

The Emperor stared at him. “No, of course they haven't,” he said softly. “He's gotten to them. That's how I knew he was here—he attacked.” Harshly, he jerked the golden chain and the ki-lyn made a strangled sound. “Why won't you let me see him?”

The advisor eyed the creature with distaste. “Your powers will grow with time, Your Excellency. Surely, even that creature will not be able to hold you back much longer.”

“That is true,” said the Emperor thoughtfully. “Go to bed. We will march in the morning. I still have the advantage of numbers, even if my magic is stifled. We will hurt the Arukani badly and take their country. If one of them is there, I will deal with him when I see him, this pathetic thing be damned.”

 

Kevla kept her face as calm as possible when she told the
khashims
about the attack on the scouts. They were alarmed that the enemy had gotten this far, but praised her and the Dragon for their quick thinking in destroying the threat.

“There is more,” she said, trying not to curl protectively in on herself. On the way back, something had brushed her thoughts that still made her quail. Something that was angry, and dark, and powerful.

“I do not think we are dealing with an ordinary army. I sense…I sense that there is magic here as well. Abilities that haven't shown themselves yet.”

“We cannot fight magic,” protested young Raka.

Kevla turned to him. “Yes, we can,” she insisted. “There are many toiling up the sides of these mountains now who eat, sleep, sweat, and bleed just like you do.”
Just like the scouts did.
“If you deal them a lethal blow, they will most certainly die.”

The words came easily out of her mouth, but inwardly she grieved their utterance. It was so strange, to be talking so comfortably about killing. Only a few weeks ago, she was merely a servant in a great house, her only concern when she would next see Jashemi. Now, she rode the Great Dragon of story and song as comfortably as she had ridden a
sa'abah
, and had used her fire skills to take lives. The love and light of her life was dead by the same magic that now needed to be turned against the advancing army, and all the leaders of all the clans were looking to her to save them.

Her power was great. Startling, wondrous, amazing, and she knew she had not begun to probe its limits. But she would have traded it all for one more conversation with Jashemi, alone in the cavern at the House of Four Waters, ignorant of the blood bond between them and feeling only a deep and profound connection.

She blinked and came out of her reverie as one of the
khashims
was speaking and, blushing, had to ask him to repeat his question.

“When will they arrive?”

She and the Dragon had discussed this. “Judging by the progress they have made so far, we have until the day after tomorrow.”

“Then we must make haste,” said Tahmu, “to get everything in place. We must be ready for them.”

That night, Kevla curled up close to the Dragon, and away from the prying eyes of the clansmen of Arukan grieved for all that she had lost.

The day of the battle dawned clear and bright, one of the loveliest mornings Kevla had ever seen. She had been awake for some time, addressing each of the separate forces in turn, sending them off to fight with inspirational words that she wasn't sure she believed. Her exchange with her father, who was leading one group, had been stiff and formal. She was not sure that was how she wanted it, but any conversation with him would be highly emotional, and instinctively she knew she needed to guard against that right now. She needed to keep everything tightly in check, or else, like Mount Bari, she would erupt.

Melaan accompanied her as she walked to where the Dragon waited. At one point, he said, “It was supposed to be Jashemi, wasn't it?”

Color rushed to her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

“Over these last few days, I have become the closest Lorekeeper to you. I'm the one you turn to when you need information, when you need to have word spread among the Lorekeepers. You have trusted me, and you honor me beyond words with that trust. But it wasn't supposed to be me. It was supposed to be Jashemi.”

“Yes. It was.”

“Kevla—how did he die?”

She didn't want to answer, but she looked at him with such a stricken expression that she felt sure he guessed at some of the truth. His face softened and he reached to squeeze her arm. “Be careful, Flame Dancer. Any of us is expendable. Even Jashemi was. But you aren't.”

His words were obviously meant to comfort, but they had the opposite effect. Kevla didn't want any of this. She didn't want to be the leader of a force of armed men more than three thousand strong. She didn't want to be perched atop a dragon, knowing that she had almost unimaginable power at her fingertips, getting ready to use that magic to kill.

But she had to be here. She had to do what she didn't want to do, so that her people would survive. This strange Emperor had little mercy, and she harbored no illusions that he would accept anything other than complete victory.

She was shaking and her stomach roiled as she mounted the Dragon. Her mouth was dry as the sand, and no amount of liquid from a waterskin eased it.

The Dragon crouched, then leaped into the sky. The earth fell away from them. Kevla looked down, watching as the tents grew smaller, and the warriors looked like small white dots on the sand. As they went higher, Kevla was able to see all four of the separate fronts the gathered clans had formed standing ready to meet the enemy. The Dragon's wings beat the air steadily and they flew even higher. The faint sunlight touched the white stuff on the top of the mountains, turning it a delicate shade of rose-gold. Kevla laughed aloud at the thought of such a pretty color heralding a morning that would end with blood spilled on the sands. She clapped her hand to her mouth, stifling the hysteria.

It was at that moment that the first wave of soldiers crested the mountain ridge.

The Dragon said nothing; he must have felt her subtly tighten her legs as she sat astride him. For a long moment, Kevla looked at the men as she and the
khashims
had discussed. She was trying to guess their numbers, but the sheer mass of them was so great it overwhelmed her senses. It was like a flood, a river, a—

“At least five thousand in this first wave,” came the Dragon's calm, deep voice, cutting through her shock. “They are the vanguard, making preparations for the second, third and fourth waves.”

Twenty thousand men to the Arukani's three thousand, then. Kevla took a deep breath and tried not to give in to despair and panic.

As she and the
khashims
had discussed in their strategy sessions, the Emperor's army was using the only pass between the mountains. It curved around the peak of Mount Bari, creating a flat saddle for a few leagues, and then wound down through the jutting, raw-looking areas of the mountain and into the softer, swelling foothills.

The first line of Arukan's defense was waiting along that pass. Kevla could not see them now, but she knew they were there. They had taken position well before dawn, and would stay in hiding until the moment was right to attack. The enemy was approaching slowly, about ten abreast through the narrow passage. The ones in front had long, sharp spears. The ones who followed managed horses which pulled wagons covered with blankets to conceal their cargo. Other machines of war came into sight now, cresting the mountain and moving along the flat part of the pass. Many of them she could not put names to. One looked like a giant bow, lying flat across the wagon instead of being held properly upright, the arrows which were lashed to it twice the length of ordinary ones. For an instant, Kevla let herself wonder how such a thing could be aimed and released.

Suddenly the Arukani archers leaped from hiding. Arrows rained upon the approaching army so thickly that for a moment Kevla's vision was obscured. The strange metal the men wore protected them from some of the arrows, but not all; many fell, as did their unprotected horses, amid shrieks and screams of pain.

 

“First line, fire!” cried Melaan. Two dozen archers leaped up from where they had been hiding. Their clothing had been carefully chosen to blend in with the natural hues of the stone, and Melaan felt hope rekindle in him as every one of the Arukani archers took down an enemy. He stood behind a large boulder, which protected him and allowed him to see in almost every direction.

“Drop! Second line, fire!” The first line fell back into hiding, to refit arrows to their string, and the second line erupted. More of the Emperor's men fell.

“Drop! Third line, fire!”

But this time, as the third line of defense leaped up, the Emperor's men were ready for them. Some fired their own arrows almost as quickly as the Arukani. Others headed to where they knew the archers lay in concealment. Leaping over the stony ground, they jumped headlong into the Arukani hiding places. An arrow was no match for a sword at close range, and Melaan heard the grunts and screams as his men began to die.

He had expected this. It was why he had volunteered to lead this front, insisting that his
khashim
fight elsewhere. Melaan had no wife or family, unlike Terku. The men who had agreed to hold this first line of defense had done so in the full knowledge that they would be the first to die.

“Drop! Fourth line, fi—”

He never saw the arrow, nor heard it sing as it flew with deadly accuracy. Suddenly, he found himself facedown on the stone, unable to move. Breathing was agony and his legs felt cold.

From where he had fallen, he could see boots running toward him. They stopped in front of him and then he heard a sound he knew; the sound of a sword slicing through the air.

Be careful, Kevla.