Chapter 3 #2
A flexing of muscle simply because he can, because he thinks I’m not living up to his exacting standards. I grit my teeth, straining despite the way my muscles warm with the well-practiced defensive maneuvers.
Instead, I’m down in the battle, fighting people who are just trying to defend their homes and livelihoods.
Mozi pulls up and draws me away from the rider before slapping his tail into the unicorn’s hock. The steed goes down and a nearby basilisk swoops in, sinking curved fangs into flesh.
Don’t act like you’re not impacted by this, I tell Mozi. It’s wrong. There is no other way to paint this picture.
Mozi cranes his head around, his amber eyes boring holes through me. Black smoke curls toward the spines along his neck and the slight crest of horns at his skull. He’s small, young, but steadfast in his determination.
I chose you because of your fierce morality and strategic mind, Kieran. Not because I enjoy the way you focus on emotion, he replies. Emotions are a liability at this point. There will be time for them later.
You’re mad because I’m observing you and you want to be all Powerful Dragon and pretend your heart is unfeeling.
Or maybe he’s right and mine feels too much.
Three unicorns rush us in tandem, their triangulated assault strategic. Two of them move to the side near Mozi’s wings while the third heads forward with its lethal horn pointing at the dragon’s underbelly.
In a move that is decidedly powerful, Mozi swoops upward as I pull my feet from the stirrup straps and hop to the ground.
Bent knees absorb my weight and I straighten as the center unicorn nearly plows into me with a stamp of hooves.
The steed lowers its head, and the horn tip angles toward my heart.
I slash my sword at its tendons, momentum carrying it past me. The unicorn squeals and goes down with a spray of blood, its front legs useless.
Jumping out of the way spares me from the snap of Mozi’s fangs as he bites the head off the steed. The rider screams in horror before she’s consumed as well.
There are no flames. Mozi is too young to have fire. It will come soon. He hopes.
Nicknames are common among the dragons and for Mozi the Young, his will stick until he’s old enough to earn his real name. It doesn’t make him any less prickly about the title for the meantime.
I have no nicknames anyone says out loud but I’m sure they’re whispered behind my back.
Bastard.
Our frustration and anxiety bleed together through the bond, and I hack at the nearest unicorn with increased vigor. My leathers are painted the same as the field, a sickeningly sweet wind from the south drying the blood into a crust on my skin where it shows.
My gut has become a twisting labyrinth of nerves, and my skin aches dully.
It shouldn’t become routine, the killing.
It shouldn’t be like second nature as a part of my brain disconnects from the movements of my sword.
Slice, parry, spear, dead. Move on to the next.
The same movements I use on practice fields and private gyms now yield devastating results as Mozi and I kill the unicorn riders. Left and right, they fall.
Are we making any headway? I ask Mozi.
Overhead, my father’s watchful gaze grows heavier with the passing seconds. He’s cataloguing my progress and my effectiveness.
Mozi flaps his wings hard for one beat, two, flinging his body into the sky for a better view. And somewhere above, Omram the Pale and his bloodthirsty, power-hungry rider watch. What does my father see when he looks at me?
We are the center of a crater of death, Mozi calls back to me.
The eye of the storm, I reply. Good.
But not good enough.
I wish it made me feel better to know we were accomplishing our goals, but the terrible whinnies of the unicorns, the growls of the land mounts moving to Ryson’s orders will stay with me. They are a song of blood permanently etched into my bones and soul.
When I close my eyes tonight, and many nights to come, I’ll hear it.
Those thoughts are mine alone, and I hold them close.
A battle cry announces the next rider and unicorn, the bay roan barreling toward me. The rider boasts twin swords like mine and rather than stay in the saddle, she hops down.
A bit of auburn braid peeks out from beneath her helmet as the rider swings for my throat and misses by inches.
She says nothing, this fierce girl of a warrior. There’s no need. I’ve never pulled my blows, but as the girl lunges for me, I bring up both of my swords to meet hers, and it takes every bit of my strength to keep her from advancing.
The reverberations of each hit ricochet through my body.
The ringing in my ears grows louder as the girl surges toward me again.
Her sharp cries, her focus, inspire a grudging admiration and appreciation for her skills.
Her swords reflect the light from the overhead sun before she slices across flesh and bone.
The skin on the top of my hand splits open, and a tremor shudders through me.
Dragon dung.
Kieran, focus! Mozi launches himself down and slams headfirst into a group of five riders.
I heave my own sword toward her when the roan pulls up behind me and kicks out. I barely have the time to step aside, to defend myself, before the unicorn kicks again, and the tip of its hoof buries into the armor at my back.
My mouth opens in surprise as I windmill my arms to keep standing. My heart thuds dully against my ribs and pain splinters out from the kick that might have killed me if I’d been closer.
The unicorn merely looks at his rider in a brief acknowledgement. They know what they have to do.
A cramp twists my ankle, my muscles tense from the attempt to stay upright, and I shoulder the pain as I always have.
I’m no stranger to it, and I’ve been through worse.
By the end of the day, my head will feel like I’ve packed it full of glass shards and the bruises and cuts will make practice tomorrow a terrible ordeal.
Unicorn and rider approach, and I grit my teeth for their next attack, rallying my strength. But before I have a chance, a basilisk slithers out of nowhere and clamps its teeth around the unicorn’s back leg. The roan screeches, the sound echoed by its rider.
I reach out and grip Mozi’s back claw as he swoops overhead, and he drags me away from the carnage.
Your sympathy makes you lower your guard, he says. You allowed the warrior to distract you.
As he already said. The thought is unspoken.
Pardon me. My heart will get me in trouble.
We both know it.
My mouth tastes as though I’ve coated it with acid and I’m panting. The throbbing ache in my head has only grown worse since our arrival.
It’s a mistake to glance behind me, to see the way the acid sizzles through armor and skin, tendon and bone. The red-haired girl goes down, melting into a puddle as though she’d never existed.
My gorge rises, and I clamp my molars against a stronger swell of nausea. Mozi deposits me several feet away in a clear area. I look up to meet his flat, jewel-bright eyes, and heft my sword to kill the nearest soldier.
His head leaves his body with a clean sweep. One right after another, my blade rises, and blood pours. Amid the screams of rage and determination are more sinister sounds, sobs of terror, pleas for mercy, cries for loved ones lost.
A rider lunges for me, and I strike first. The man slumps to the ground.
A unicorn streaks by without a rider, its tail on fire. The field is nothing but an obstacle course of the dead, and the poison in my own veins increases until it feels like every breath leaving my heaving lungs is making an escape attempt.
If Fallkirk stands, then your father will destroy everything we’ve worked for, Mozi reminds me.
The slickness of his tone cuts through the fog in my head.
His amber eyes turn hard when I meet them.
Above us all is Roman, staring down like this is his own personal show, marking every death with sick pleasure, for his amusement.
Soon I’ll be just like him.
A dozen of his riders fight around us with their mounts circling overhead. We push back the unicorns with a steady overwhelm. We have the numbers. They have the need.
Omram’s belching growl stills even the most committed warrior in his boots. The sound clangs through me, turning each one of my bones into a bell, the shaking uncontrollable.
The signal! Mozi calls. Kieran!
It means we’ve reached the end of our allotted time, and Roman is done playing around.
Mozi wings closer and pauses long enough for me to grab the saddle. I hoist myself up with the help of his front leg and take half a heartbeat to settle myself, managing only one of the shin straps before he takes off.
The alarm is sounded and my heart drops. It’s time for me and the rest of our fighters to fall back. The wind jettisons down the back of my neck, along my spine, my muscles seizing.
It’s them or it’s the kingdom.
Mozi’s reminder is hollow and matches the carved-out hole in my chest.
I understand. Exhausted, I slump forward. I hate this.
Our day will come. Retribution will be sweet, he adds.
When? Even in my head, my voice cracks. It can’t come soon enough.
Our land mounts beat a hasty retreat. Several unicorns give halfhearted chase, but they won’t make it far. Our troops know the drill.
A second later, Omram roars again, his neck arching upward. My heart shatters as Mozi and I wing out of the direct line of fire.
The world slows. Roman smiles, and at this distance, the expression is pointed, his maliciousness thinly veiled. Then Omram engulfs the entire enemy field in flames.