Bones of the Empire (64 page)

Each creature was easily fifty feet from nose to tail tip, if not longer, though they appeared far smaller until they were low to the ground. Once they had descended into the midst of the Turessian army, they breathed torrents of flame onto the zombies, burning them to ash in long swaths. The two dragons soared over the undead army, narrowly avoiding hitting each other as they crossed paths at the middle. The Turessians among the undead launched bolts of lightning into the sky, trying to hit the dragons, but the spells never even got close as the dragons turned and twisted in the air.

Circling back, the dragons tore into the undead forces again, flinging hundreds of zombies into the air with each pass and scorching many more. The entire Turessian army began to fall back into the plains, trying to keep their formation tight around their leaders. They fled with abandon, ignoring the soldiers who continued to hack at them until they were out of range and the wildling archers who harried them well out onto the plains.

Before even an hour had passed, the last of the troops returned to the camp with the werewolves and even the majority of the wildlings. They all appeared stunned and lost in thought, stumbling numbly through the camp and only looking up when the dragons let out their rumbling cries in the distance. The entire surviving force stood watching silently as the dragons fought the battle for them.

The two dragons accomplished more than their whole army had managed. They pushed the undead all the way back to the temple before landing in the plains and positioning themselves so any attempt by the undead to reclaim ground would have to go straight through them. In doing so, the dragons gave Linn’s army a clear path right up to the walls of the temple.

Suddenly, Linn began shouting, startling Estin out of his idleness. “Don’t just stand there, you lazy sacks of lard! The gods are on our side! Fight to make them proud! Show them we’re worthy of their attention!”

The soldiers let out a shout in unison and marched forward as one, with even the most wounded and weary joining in. When Estin searched the lines, he managed to get close enough to catch Feanne’s attention. She met his gaze and then pointed up at the sky, giving him a wide-eyed stare of confusion. Estin could do little more than shrug and smile. Feanne went back to the werewolves, many of whom were so badly wounded that they were no longer regenerating.

Almost as an afterthought, Estin diverted as they marched, trying to find where he had last seen Arella. He found her among the other dead, lying with her arms crossed over her chest and a peaceful expression on her wolflike face. Estin had never thought about what form a werewolf—or Feanne—might take once they died, but Arella appeared entirely at ease with her death. He could ask for little more for himself.

The army continued steadily down the hill, driving the few straggling undead before them. From what Estin could see from right behind the front lines, the zombies were leaderless, attacking aimlessly. The unity of their force was gone, allowing the living to overwhelm and cut them down. Among the undead far past the dragons, several robed Turessians led the flight as the dragons pushed them back again.

Once they were on the plains, Estin got a better idea of how bad the fighting had gotten before the arrival of the dragons. Hundreds of bodies—those that had not been reduced to ash by the dragons—lay strewn across the muddy ground, consisting of both the living who had arrived with Estin and the remains of zombies. Some he could not even be certain which side they had belonged to.

As they continued on, they passed the tightly clustered bodies of twenty dwarves, lying near the broken corpses of a half-dozen naked humans—the werewolves who had not managed to make it back to camp. A quick glance showed him only four of the thirty werewolves still lived out of those they had brought from Jnodin, though he spotted several of the wild lycanthropes that had joined later. It appeared that all of the werewolves—aside from Arella—had reverted to human form in death. All of the wild lycanthropes remained in their animal forms.

Estin passed bodies of elves, dwarves, humans, and even the kobolds and gnomes, all entangled as though they had been practically in each other’s arms when they died. Somehow it was fitting, knowing they had been a part of what might be the last real challenge to the Turessians, dying as one people. It reminded Estin of the last fight for Feanne’s pack. People of all shapes and sizes had come together to struggle for survival. Now they were fighting to reclaim their world from the army that had crushed their homelands.

They made steady progress across the plains, refusing to stop no matter what gruesome scenes they passed, until they were well beyond the burned swaths of ground and back onto packed snow. Only then did Linn slow the advance, letting the wounded and weary soldiers catch their breath. Estin knew the tactic well enough. Linn did not want to give his people time to realize nearly two-thirds of their numbers was gone for fear it would break their morale.

Estin looked up toward the temple again and realized one of the dragons was still holding back the Turessian army, but the second was gone. Searching above, he soon spotted the grey dragon sweeping out of the sky far to the south. It skimmed the ground as it raced toward them. Each second, more of their troops came to a stop to stare alongside Estin, wondering what the creature was doing.

The dragon got close enough that Estin wondered if it might actually attack them. Then it faded and vanished in a puff of flying snow, replaced by a running reptilian wildling that bore the same colored scales as the dragon. The wildling slowed its pace quickly, marching straight at them. Its wide white cloak caught the wind and gave Estin the impression of wings. The only other clothing the dragon wore was a white loincloth.

“Where are the rest of your armies, mortal?” it demanded, once it was close enough that Estin could see its slitted eyes clearly. It never even looked at the other people around him, as though the two of them were alone. “The one who woke us said there would be thousands.”

“This is all we have,” Estin answered, searching for Linn or Feanne. Finding no one who he could call on to ask to help him, he turned back to the dragon. “I always heard your kind hid from mortals—”

“Why hide?” snarled the wildling-like dragon. Its forked tongue flicked out briefly between its razor teeth. “I would crush your kind by accident in my rightful body. Like this, you at least know what I am and worship me as you should without fear of me stepping on you.”

Estin finally caught Feanne’s eye, and she jumped a little as she spotted the dragon near him. Speaking quickly to the soldiers around her, Feanne ran over to join Estin. Turess hurried over from another part of the army, holding up his robe so he could run without tripping.

The dragon squinted and studied Estin before turning its gaze on Feanne, then Turess. It searched the rest of the army briefly, shaking its head in dismay. “So many threads that depend on so little,” it muttered, hissing as it flicked its long tail back and forth. “All three of you have died and yet stand here. Impressive and yet maddening to follow your threads. Can your fellow mortals survive long without the three of you?”

“Without…why?” Feanne asked, her ears folding back as she took a step away.

At her side, Turess smirked and nodded. “Because the dragons have a plan. They always do. They also rarely share before is too late to stop them.”

“Indeed,” growled the dragon, eyeing the sky. With the movement of the mists at the approach of the dragons, there was no blue left, only sparkling mists in all directions. “We do not have long. Now that we are here, that thing will work much harder to tear down the temple’s wards. In eight hours, Turessi will be consumed, along with anything inside it…myself included. I do not intend to see that happen.

“Your people move too slowly. I came to get any of those whose threads of fate were extended by Dorralt. They must be inside that temple within the next few hours so that we can salvage the fabric of Eldvar before too much damage has been done. I see many threads here affected, but only the three of you have been removed from the fabric entirely. Even I now find myself woven back into the fabric after all this time.”

“What do you mean?” Feanne demanded, stepping in front of the dragon and drawing a disapproving glare from it. When she straightened her shoulders in challenge, the dragon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I do not understand when you talk about threads and fate.”

“Let me be plain, then,” the dragon snapped as it advanced on Feanne, forcing her back. It raised a clawed hand to point at her, and Estin saw Feanne’s eyes widen as she stared at its claws—far longer and sharper than hers. “I have walked Eldvar since before your species was created. When I was hatched, only the elves walked the world, and my sire had seen their first steps. I was immortal longer than your historians believe this world has existed…right up until your kind toyed with magic best left alone. Now, my life and that of my brood depends on six insignificant bugs that I would just as soon crush for breathing my air.

“I will take you into the temple, and I will help you how I can, if only to save my species. Do not expect this to be a regular occurrence. I owe this debt to one greater than myself, who for some reason finds your kind indispensable. You, fox, are of particular interest to the one who made me promise to do this, and I will be curious to see what comes of his plan.”

Turess cleared his throat, bringing the dragon to a stop as its attention shifted to him. “There is an issue. The temple was built to prevent intrusion by magic. That was the whole point of the warding…a, uh, certain female dragon…helped me build on it. Perhaps you can fly us to the doors…”

“Imbecile,” the dragon growled, baring rows of pointed teeth. “She is hardly a tenth my age and not nearly as clever as she thinks. Either she left herself a way in that I can exploit, or I will break down the barriers by tearing holes in her careless magic. No matter the method, I can get you inside. Those wards were to protect you children from yourselves, not to protect you from my kind. Even if she thought her barriers would stop our kind, they will not stop me. My every breath draws more magic into this world than that female has ever been able to wield at will.”

Estin looked at Linn’s soldiers, who had marched on without them, hurrying toward the other dragon. The Turessian forces had fallen back to the walls of the temple in the distance, its black spires reaching up into the sky, Estin could practically feel the magical hum of the temple, even from a couple miles out. From what he could barely make out, the Turessians had set up a defensive line using long trenches to slow their attackers.

“Do it,” Estin said, causing Feanne to perk her ears and regard him with some nervousness, mixed with annoyance. “We won’t make it there in eight hours and still have time to fight. I’d rather take my chance with just the four of us and see if we can buy time for the others.”

The dragon laughed dryly, its tongue flicking along its nose. “Four? You think I will linger at your side? You underestimate what is coming, mortal. Dragons do not enter a war without a great many other things being aware of it. Eldvar fights for its own survival, and we are all merely aiding it. We have manipulated the threads of fate for years to ensure our safety, and have created a dozen opportunities to correct matters if we failed to stop this war. We are far from the end of our manipulations, and I know for a fact we were not the only ones doing such toying with your kind. I and the other dragons have no place inside that temple. In particular, if I remain there, every bit of those mists will focus on me, dooming everyone in the region. We will remain outside and draw the mists away from you. If we do not, this will all be over in an hour or two. From outside, I can guarantee four hours, if not more.”

Raising a clawed hand overhead, the dragon closed its eyes, and the chill breeze off the plains shifted. A spiral of wind wrapped around the four of them, raising a cloud of snow and dust into the air. The dragon then dropped its hand sharply and the whirlwind fell with it, leaving the four of them in a stone chamber with faint light coming through a narrow window. A heavy wooden door was the only exit from Estin could see, and there were no furnishings.

“My old study,” Turess announced, grinning as he put a hand to the wall below the window. “This was where On’esquin cared for me as I lay dying. So much time has passed and yet it is still here. I would be happier if my desk and books remained.”

“This place still reeks of Mairlee’s visit from when she aided you,” the dragon explained, looking around the room with open disgust. “I never understood how your kind can build boxes to trap yourselves.”

“Mairlee?” Feanne said, backing a step away from the dragon. “She’s one of you?” When the dragon did not immediately answer, Feanne looked to Turess and then Estin. They both nodded grimly, and her surprise faded to a dull anger. She swished her tail and glowered at Estin. “Nice of everyone to tell me that we traveled with a dragon.”