34. The dragon queen
34
THE DRAGON QUEEN
The students in the classroom cheered, like Eannis herself had just swooped down to save the day. Anahrod tasted bile and was, once again, glad for her veil.
Modelakast pulled so hard to free herself from Neveranimas’s ice that she severed her own tail. She paid no attention to the self-inflicted injury, instead flying up in a bright yellow flash, intent on evading both dragons.
She was also flying back into populated areas.
With a scream of frustration, Peralon chased after her, roaring.
[Stop her! Before she reaches the city!]
[Don’t give me orders, worm.]
Anahrod scowled as she heard Neveranimas’s voice.
Then Neveranimas vanished.
“What just happened?” Sicaryon murmured.
Anahrod could only shake her head. She had no idea. The dragon was simply gone.
Varriguhl let out a dismissive snort. “Wait for it.”
The violet dragon reappeared in midair above Modelakast. Neveranimas hovered, wings beating lazily.
“Neveranimas can teleport?” Anahrod gaped at the scrying mirror.
Shit.
“Yes,” Varriguhl answered. “I’m afraid so.”
Modelakast began flying strafing runs over the city, as though intent on spraying acid on as many structures as possible. More than one building seemed immune to the acid until the moment it buckled, collapsing in a screech of shearing metal and stone.
Neveranimas breathed ice again at Modelakast, which the smaller, faster dragon dodged. In response, Modelakast lunged at the regent, who vanished just before the other dragon’s claws would’ve hit.
“That’s not fair,” Sicaryon murmured.
[Enough. This has become embarrassing.]
Neveranimas’s next teleport left a band of violet energy in its wake, which en circled Modelakast’s wings and tightened. The acid dragon plummeted as flying became impossible.
When Modelakast crashed, the violet band duplicated, splitting into a dozen identical strips of energy that bound the dragon more effectively than any chain.
Anahrod exhaled. Much as she loathed Neveranimas, she’d done it. She’d done what all the other dragons had failed to do for over an hour. She’d subdued a rampant dragon.
[Hurry!] Peralon screamed. [We need to—]
Neveranimas moved oddly, made a strange growl.
The bands contracted again, just as they had with the wings, except this time they didn’t stop.
Modelakast never even screamed. She didn’t have a chance to. She simply fell apart, dissected into a dozen pieces.
The ball of rage hovering at the edge of Anahrod’s perceptions vanished.
For a second, no one in the shelter watching reacted. There was a single, sharp inhale from the entire room, followed by stunned silence.
Peralon swung around and snapped at Neveranimas, outright growled at her. [We could’ve captured her! She might have recovered!]
Neveranimas’s lip curled back in a sneer. [I will not wager the lives of my people against the chance that she might have recovered.]
[We’ll never know, will we?] Peralon bared his teeth. If he shifted slightly, he’d be in position to challenge her to a duel. Although he had no cause—the rules under which dragons might legally fight were specific.
This didn’t qualify.
[Mind your place. You’re a guest in this city. Ivarion isn’t here to vouch for you anymore. One more comment like that and I’ll make sure you’re never allowed to return.] Neveranimas gave the gold dragon a haughty glare, a dare in her eyes.
Peralon glared back at her. Then he launched himself up into the air and flew out of view.
“Neveranimas has never taken a rider, has she?”
“No,” Varriguhl answered flatly. “Never.” He gave an unfriendly sideways glance at Gwydinion. “She expresses an interest from time to time.” He waved a hand at the wall, and the mirror surface turned dull and then vanished.
“No.” Anahrod ignored what Varriguhl had just implied, for the moment. There’d be time to scream into pillows later. “I mean, if she’s never taken a rider, how has she never gone rampant? She used so much magic just now. I thought the more magic a dragon used, the higher the risk?”
Varriguhl gave her a sharp look. “You’ve studied this.”
Leave it to Varriguhl to focus on the last thing she wanted. “One hears things.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “I suppose one does. But to answer your question—” He paused. “Well.” He smiled tightly. “It’s an excellent question.” He turned away from her then and yelled out. “The emergency is over! Everyone return to class. This does not excuse students from their lessons!”
Varriguhl’s attention focused back on Anahrod. “Except for Doreyl. He’s excused from classes for the day. We will reschedule his consecration later.” He paused, seemed to consider some weighty matter for a moment, and then said to Gwydinion, “Did anyone see you at the consecration?” He corrected himself. “Anyone still alive, I mean.”
Gwydinion nodded. “Neveranimas.”
Varriguhl’s eyes narrowed. “She was there? When Modelakast went rampant?”
“Yes, Headmaster, but then she—” He glanced at the wall where she scrying mirror had been. “—she vanished.”
Varriguhl smiled a tight, unfriendly line at that. “She has been known to do so. I suppose I can understand why she was there. She had asked to meet with you in a preliminary interview.” He pursed his lips. “I can work with this.”
Gwydinion’s eyes grew large at the news that Neveranimas had already singled him out. “Headmaster?”
Varriguhl refocused on him. “Hmm? What are you still doing here?”
“When—” Gwydinion swallowed. “When is the interview supposed to be?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue,” Varriguhl said. “Interviews aren’t allowed until after consecrations, and yours will be postponed. As I do not know when the cathedral will be repaired, I cannot give you a date.” He seemed rather smugly pleased by that idea. “Now go, and take your minders with you.”
They retreated to the study/headquarters after that.
She shouldn’t have brought her brother inside, but she wouldn’t leave him alone after what had happened.
“That was Neveranimas?” Sicaryon stabbed a finger vaguely toward the city proper.
“Yes,” Anahrod said.
Sicaryon wiped a hand over his face. “She doesn’t look like she should be that scary,” he said. “It’s the lavender color. She looks like a stuffed dragon doll you’d find in a Skylander child’s bedroom.”
“Probably is,” Anahrod commented. “Her likeness, anyway.” She felt numb. She had no idea what Gwydinion was feeling, but he’d just seen at least two dragons and dozens of humans die. No fifteen-year-old should have that burden.
Sicaryon said, “I’ve seen dragons swoop down and set entire valleys on fire. Dragons that spread disease. Dragons that create storms. There’s that dragon who spits boiling, poisonous blood. Terrifying. But not half as terrifying as that.” He threw up his hands. “And she can teleport!”
“You noticed that, too.” Anahrod dragged two chairs together, sat Gwydinion down in one, herself in the other. “So much for it taking her seven minutes to fly back.”
Gwydinion leaned into her shoulder. “Why hasn’t she gone rampant? It’s been at least a hundred years… nobody’s willpower is that strong.”
Sicaryon sighed. “Maybe she secretly worships Zavad, so he’s giving her a free pass.”
The three fell silent.
Anahrod raised an eyebrow at Sicaryon. “You don’t believe in Eannis, so you can’t believe in Zavad. Besides, if a dragon who was so powerful he could corrupt magic itself existed, he wouldn’t be hiding.”
Gwydinion exhaled.
Sicaryon gave a noncommittal shrug before he asked, with painfully false brightness: “Think I could persuade Varriguhl to teach me that mirror trick?”
“No.”
Sicaryon made a face. “I could do so much with that spell.”
“Yes, but that was a spell, not an inscription, and you”—Anahrod mimed punching him in the arm—“are not a dragonrider. Thus, Varriguhl will never, ever, teach you.”
Sicaryon sighed.
Anahrod’s thoughts floated randomly as she stared at nothing. “Think Modelakast’s rider could’ve stopped this? If she’d had a rider, I mean. What happens when a rider swaps with their rampant dragon? Would they stay rampant? Or would it just… stop?”
Gwydinion lifted his head. “Riders can’t… riders can do that?”
Anahrod nodded grimly. “Don’t recommend you mention that in front of Varriguhl, but I’ve seen it, multiple times now. The link can go both ways, if the dragon lets it.” She grimaced. “Which they usually don’t.”
Gwydinion blinked. “But why not? If there’s a chance it could possibly stop rampancy…?”
“You’re talking logic and common sense,” Sicaryon said. “That’s not what motivates people. Or dragons.”
“I guess not,” Gwydinion said. “You’d have to trust your partner so much to give up control like that.”
“That assumes you have a choice,” Anahrod said. “Riders don’t.”
Gwydinion flushed and looked down at the floor.
The door to the service tunnel slammed open. Claw marched through. Her unveiled face was smudged with black soot, as if she’d forgotten her hands were dirty when she’d wiped away sweat. Kaibren and Naeron followed, all in similar states. An odor wafted in with them: smoke, blood, and the sharp tang of acid.
“We’re fucked,” Claw announced. “Absolutely, positively, fucked.”