In the tired darkness of predawn, I slipped from my tent. No one but the watchmen was awake—Sedge and River stood at the archway as I prepared for my journey. I had never felt so full of energy and life. It was as though the very heart of T’Gonnen beat within my chest.
Forest and the other trackers were up and preparing for their own missions as I started out, but I didn’t bother to wave to him. I tucked the water skin into the inner pocket of my cloak along with the strips of dried meat that were already in there. Drawing my cloak closed against the morning chill, I jogged through the archway and across the clearing to the tree line, which I hugged until it thinned and disappeared. From that point, I was fully exposed, since the land had flattened into farmland, its fields muddy and empty now that the harvest had passed. I skirted along the edges of farms, running quickly to gain as much coverless ground as I could before the sun rose. Already the horizon glowed with a hint of gray.
I’m coming, Nuaga.
Beyond every outcrop or cluster of trees, I expected to see her. Longed to see her.
Yet the miles rolled on and the sun rose, quiet and warm on the right side of my face—and Nuaga was nowhere in sight. The increasing rise and unevenness of the ground tired my legs, and I slowed my pace and sipped from my water skin. The air was cool, but I was sweating beneath my breastplate. As I drew near what I hoped was the apex of my climb, I slowed, taking broader steps and feeling apprehensive. I sank to my knees and crawled the last bit, to keep my profile low against the noon sky.
As I reached the top, the plains spilling before me, my eyes fell on the land below, at the mouth of Tweezer Pass. And my heart shrank.
Stretched before me as far as I could see in both directions, bodies of soldiers lay twisted and morbid where they had fallen. A profound stillness rested over the battlefield, except for, here and there, clusters of carrion birds rising and falling. I pressed my hands over my mouth and stared.
“No,” I whispered.
“We could have stopped them, Rain L’nahn.”
I turned to see Nuaga beside me, her head lowered, her eyes on the mass of death below us. I knew then that she had tested me—that this unspeakable carnage was something I had to discover on my own.
Horror squeezed my heart, and I had a sudden urge to find someone—anyone—who had survived. I scanned the edge of the cliff until I found a way down that wasn’t a sheer drop. Flat on my stomach, I half slid, half backward-crawled my way down the twisting, uneven ridge, dread washing over me in waves. I continued on for at least an hour, not knowing when I’d reached the bottom, until my feet suddenly dangled in open air and I fell the last several feet, landing on my back.
I lay panting for several seconds, grateful I hadn’t hurt myself. Then, slowly, I rose and turned around.
The nearest corpse lay not twenty paces away, and the stench of death was heavy in the air. I walked with leaden feet to the edge of the carnage. That’s when I saw the broken remains of what must have been a small village, tucked into the hollow at the side of the pass, a dozen or so thatched roofs standing haphazardly or lying on their sides, and everything so trampled that it was barely recognizable as having ever been an organized habitation.
As I stared slack-mouthed, clear shapes took form among the chaos. Leathery bare feet, rotting in the sunlight. A man draped over the back of a broken wagon, his head partially severed. A woman and two children, facedown in the mud, their bodies crushed.
This wasn’t like the sudden loss of Cedar and Mandrake in the heat of combat. This was the brutal death of innocent people who would never wake to see another sunrise, their eyes forever staring, forever darkened.
I fell to my knees and retched in the dirt. Afterward, head still bowed, I caught my breath, a slight breeze cooling the sweat that had broken out on the back of my neck. When I looked up, the scene shook me a second time, and I fought a wave of dizziness. I closed my eyes and covered my mouth and nose against the stench that rose with every breath of wind.
“Nuaga,” I cried through my hands. “Nuaga, I need you.”
In a smattering of seconds, she was there.
“You have not seen death like this before.” Her words were gentle—if that were even possible.
“I’m a warrior,” I said. “I should be able to look at this and … and…”
“The warrior who is not moved by death has lost his soul.”
Her words lay upon me like a summer blanket. I cupped my eyes with my hands and squinted at the jagged hills in the distance, at the highest point of which stood Ylanda City, our capital. “How far north have they since marched?”
She was silent for many breaths. “They are not marching north.”
“The capital is to the north,” I said.
“They are not marching to the capital.”
I stared. “Why not?”
“Because the high king is not there.”
Her words spun inside my head. “But … of course he’s there. Our mission is to rescue him.”
“He is not there, Rain L’nahn. But he still needs to be rescued. Will you ride with me?”
I pulled myself out of my stupor and threaded my fingers through her warm fur. Then I mounted, and she took off across the plain like a streaking arrow. I hugged her close and closed my eyes against the wind. The taste of bile was bitter on my tongue, and I fought the ever-rising horror of what I had seen. I would never be able to wash away the crumpled bodies, the empty faces, the forever-stilled agony of their final breaths.
This was what war looked like. This was what I had signed up for. And in its wake, I wondered—feared—what my own death would be like.
Let it be swift, Great God. And let it be hidden, where no one will see my rotting flesh.
Nuaga sped across open fields and scaled rocky outcroppings as though it were child’s play. No horse could have moved so swiftly; no soldier could have kept up. She came to a smooth and sudden stop almost before I realized we’d stopped moving. Sensing that she was waiting for me to dismount, I released my viselike hold and slid from her neck, landing lightly on the ground.
I stood near the edge of a ragged cliff overlooking the sweeping expanse of the Plains of Seeking. The wind was cold on my cheeks, and I squinted into it and gazed at the vista below. A dark mass moved slowly toward the northwest—an army so great I couldn’t count them. They marched in even rows, their supply wagons matching their remarkable pace. The wind carried the faint sound of their drums to my ears.
Then I saw, at the back of their formation, several rows of men in different uniforms, chains dipping and swaying between them, wrist to wrist. Ylanda soldiers.
Prisoners.
“Will they—” My voice caught, and I coughed. “Will they truly use them for food?”
“It is likely. When food is scarce, the nomad fighters believe in deriving strength from the flesh of enemy soldiers.”
I fought another wave of nausea as I watched the prisoners marching. In my darkest dreams and deepest fears, I had never faced any thought so barbaric.
My voice sounded hollow, like an echo. “Where are they going?”
“To the High King’s Hold.”
I frowned. “Where’s that?”
“Tan Vey and his soldiers know,” Nuaga said. “Why doesn’t a soldier of the high king’s own army know?”
And it struck me. “Jasper knows. He said he would disclose the location once we’d rescued the high king from Ylanda City.”
A long sigh—like a hiss—filled my ears. “Too much of the ancient knowledge has been lost.”
“And yet the high king himself knew.”
“The high king has drunk an elixir distilled from the brain of T’Gonnen for many years, and the wisdom of the dragons has filled his dreams. If the beliefs of those in Ytel weren’t so disparaged—if the people of Ylanda had paid attention instead of telling their children the dragons were a myth—the dragons would already be awake, and Tan Vey would have no hope of winning the kingdom and commanding us.”
“How far is the hold from here?” I asked.
“For men, a five-day march.”
Five days. But Nuaga and I could get there faster.
“Jasper’s waiting for my report. I have to fulfill my duty to him first.”
“That is your wish, not mine.”
My heart twisted. “Will you wait for me?”
“I will wait.”
“And … we’ll go together?”
“I will take you there,” she said, “but you alone must make the willing sacrifice. You alone must bring your boldness to the sleeping dragons.”
“They’re sleeping at the hold,” I said, the revelation dawning like sunrise.
“Yes,” Nuaga said. “In catacombs beneath its foundation.”
“And after I wake them?”
“I will take my rightful place as their she-king, and I will lead them into battle. For they will not go forth without me.”
I remembered, then, a line from the missing verses of the Lament: Destined to command and lead them—Dragon she-king. So. I would wake them, and she would lead them.
Nuaga and I were as one.
“And you’ll show me where to go?”
“Yes. As long as you swallow the magic of T’Gonnen, you will hear my voice.” A rumble vibrated in her throat, imbued with joy I could feel in my own breast. “And once the clan has awakened, you will always hear my voice. All of our voices. And we will serve Ylanda once more.”
I swallowed the dryness in my throat. The dragons wanted Ylanda to awaken and claim them, even though we’d turned our backs on them. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“No human has ever understood a dragon’s loyalty.”
Something larger than life itself welled inside me, and I felt I could take on Tan Vey’s entire army single-handedly. “Let’s go back.”
I swung myself onto Nuaga’s neck, and we rode, clan members, dragon-sisters, mighty as the wind, strong as the love of T’Gonnen for his mate.
The sun was heading toward the horizon when Nuaga brought me within a mile of the northern edge of the tree line. I pressed my face to her neck and gave her a squeeze before dismounting.
“I’ll come as soon as I can,” I whispered.
I walked lightly back to the outpost, my footfalls feeling strange after riding Nuaga. Jasper stood just outside the archway, his hand on the hilt of his sword. When he saw me, he did nothing but stare for what felt like a full minute.
“Storm.” He looked me up and down. “Why are you back so soon?”
One thing at a time. “I have news.” I watched his face, choosing my words with care. “I came upon the scene of battle. We were utterly destroyed, sir.”
Jasper’s expression didn’t change; he simply waited, his eyebrows furrowed, to see what else I had to say. “And the enemy?”
“They are a huge force. And they’ve taken prisoners.” I gave him a moment before continuing. “The remainder is marching northwest.”
Jasper frowned. “Northwest?”
“To the High King’s Hold.”
For an awkward stretch, Jasper was silent. Then he stepped toward me, glancing over his shoulder into the outpost. My heart thrummed against my chest as he draped his arm around me and drew me away from the archway. When we had gone about thirty paces, he dropped his arm and faced me.
“The High King’s Hold is one of the best-kept secrets of the royal house of Ylanda. Only the royal family, their personal priests, and those in command positions in the high king’s army are aware of it. To any passerby, it appears only an ancient ruin.” He drew closer, his eyes catching the firelight. “So you’re going to tell me right now how you know about it.”
