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  CHAPTER

  37

  Ridley gasped for breath. For an instant, he felt as if his lungs might explode, then he fell out of nowhere, landing on his shoulder and stumbling to his feet. The world around him was afire. Men screamed and died as dragons howled above, spewing jets of choking flame.

  “Marina,” Ridley cried, “get down! Don’t—”

  He stared and gasped in dismay. His hand held empty air. Marina was gone, no longer at his side. Norda, Elwood—all of them gone! Ridley’s stomach churned with cold fear. The portal had hurled him to the hellish scene of battle atop the magic school, but it had left the others behind.

  Left them where, though? Some world, some star a billion lifetimes away? Or nowhere, nowhere at all…

  Ridley ducked and threw himself aside as searing flame split the rock wall behind him and sent deadly shards through the dark, oppressive air. A Crimson Guardsman howled as a fiery missile of stone nearly sliced him in half.

  Ridley blinked, looked past the hapless soldier, and saw them for an instant as the smoke whisked away: Profion and Damodar! The great mage himself and beside him, the devil who had murdered Snails, killed him and tossed him aside, kicked him off the wall without a thought, like a man tossing garbage to his dogs.

  A howl of rage started low in Ridley’s chest, started there and grew, rising up the scale to a screech of such fury that all who heard it turned aside, lest this madman strike them down as well.

  * * *

  The Empress Savina, garbed in golden armor and helm, was an awesome sight to see. Those who remembered this day said the Lady and her steed seemed as one, that a strange and mystic union had occurred in the Empire’s bloody skies.

  Indeed, who could see the young queen astride her golden beast, braving magic from her foes, and doubt they had watched a legend born? Who could forget the holy moment when she led her Golden Furies through the deadly fields of fire?

  Glory ever has its time and can just as quickly fade, as it surely did that day. Savina’s great fortune was a moment to remember, and it took but a moment to fade away.

  The horde of red dragons that answered Profion’s call shrieked down upon the golds, tore through their numbers, and scattered the smaller beasts like leaves before the wind.

  Dragons collided, dragons died, and dragons fell crippled from the sky. Savina, though startled and dismayed, did not for an instant betray her noble blood. With all the courage she could muster, the scepter of her office gripped tightly in her hand, she rallied her poor depleted golds to fight again.

  Profion, battling the Empress with the powerful Rod of Savrille, laughed at the efforts of the queen he called a child, and he shouted his mighty dragons on:

  “Butcher them! Kill them! Let their blood rain from the skies!”

  Truly, a more savage, brutal encounter the world had never seen.

  * * *

  Profion shook his deadly talisman at the sky, calling down curses upon the Empress and her dragons screeching above. It was Damodar, therefore, who saw Ridley first—saw him, or sensed him perhaps, but he knew he was there. He stared at Ridley and threw back his head, laughing.

  “Well, there’s still a thief loose in Sumdall, I see. You keep turning up, and I’m getting weary of that.”

  “You’re looking better,” Ridley said. “I told you to see someone about your face.”

  Damodar teased him with the point of his blade, a habit that irritated Ridley no end.

  “You’d best admire me quickly. You don’t have a lot of time. I think I’ll have more fun with you than I did with your late lamented friend.”

  Damodar’s words were meant to taunt Ridley, to blind him with a rage that would let the mage quickly run him through. Instead, the barb had the opposite effect. Ridley’s anger vanished, and cold, unwavering reason took its place. The mage read this in his foe’s eyes, in the stiffening of his features. He would have to dispatch this foe at once, or the fellow would surely do the same to him.

  Ridley came at the mage, slashing out with calm, effective blows. Damodar parried his attacks, but Ridley refused to give an inch. Dragons red and gold howled overhead. Gouts of fiery breath struck the frenzied armies on each side below.

  Damodar rushed with a burst of savage strength that nearly drove the thief to his knees, but Ridley struck back with a will. He no longer saw the mage as a foe, as the man who’d cruelly slaughtered his friend. He was merely an object now, a thing, a slab of meat and bone, a gross irritation that stood in his way and kept him from Profion.

  Damodar knew he was better than this unschooled lout from Oldtown. He knew, as well, that there was nothing more deadly than a man obsessed, and this, surely, was what he was facing now.

  “I’m sick of you,” he said, the tip of his sword ripping a patch off Ridley’s vest. “I find it demeaning to fight a man who lacks all noble blood.”

  “How do I know your blood’s noble, mage? I think I’ll have to see it first.”

  Damodar laughed. “I can tell you it’s a rich and hearty shade of blue, but you’ll not live to see a precious drop, my little thief!”

  “Oh? We’ll see if I—don’t!” .

  Ridley plunged quickly past the mage’s defense, a point he’d carelessly left unguarded for a second and a half, a path that led directly to the pale patch of flesh between his helmet and the mail across his chest.

  The mage moved, stepped aside so quickly that Ridley knew, too late, he’d walked into a clever trap. The mage struck him on the side of his head, hit him with the flat of his blade, a blow that nearly knocked him senseless, taking his sight away and sending him reeling back.

  Ridley struggled to keep his balance. His knees gave way, and he tumbled hopelessly to the ground. His heart pounded hard against his chest. All he wanted to do was retch. He shook his head to get his sight back and slashed out blindly to keep the mage away.

  “You’re absolutely pathetic, thief, too ridiculous to kill.”

  Ridley drew a ragged breath. He could see the man now—not just one of him, but three. He blinked, rolled, and came to his knees. Better. Only two Damodars now. The idea was to work it down to one.

  “Stop crawling about,” Damodar said. “You’re annoying me now. Let’s get it over with, boy.”

  Damodar swung his blade with both hands. Ridley cried out, using every bit of strength he had left. He raised his sword, lifted it to meet the mage’s blow, and knew in his heart that it was over, finished and done, that he truly had nothing left to give.

  He was certain, for an instant, that he saw Marina’s face, a vision remembered from a night in the great elven tree. The lovely phantom vanished as quickly as she’d come, and there was no one there but Damodar.

  CHAPTER

  38

  Far above in the dark embattled skies, the young Empress stared in terror at the great red dragon looming up behind. She still could not believe the crimson beasts were so monstrous, so immense. These ferocious creatures of myth made her gold dragons look like angry sparrows snapping at an eagles tail.

  From the moment the reds appeared, one thought had held sway in her mind, a thought she couldn’t seem to sweep away—that she and all her ladies in waiting would scarcely have made a meal for just one of these beasts. Still, there was nothing to do but fight on, fight and surely die.

  She could almost feel the hot, sickening breath of the creature that intended to bring her mount down. His scales had a moist, unhealthy look, as if they were caked in iridescent slime. His great jaws were open, like a portal into the underworld itself. A veil of dark smoke dragged at the corners of his mouth, streaming from his hideous nose. His enormous wings swept the strongest wind aside, and his talons were as long as a soldier’s iron lance.

  How many ways to die! Crushed between those teeth! Roasted by its breath! Father, Father, I hope the gods don’t let you see me now… !

  The Empress turned away from the monster at her back. She swore at herself in one of the three foul words she k
new.

  She could feel the red’s leather wings slapping the smoky air. If she dared look back, she knew she would see the beast’s swollen belly heave, see its ugly nostrils flare, see the first spout of deadly fire….

  “No, not this time,” she said aloud. “I’m not ready to be your supper now.”

  Raising her scepter, she waved it in a perfect circle above her head. Almost at once, her gold dragon shrieked, swept into a high, punishing loop, and Savina gasped at a world suddenly up instead of down. The red’s fiery blast came so close that she could feel its heat upon her skin, smell it singe her hair.

  “All right,” she shouted, “our turn now!”

  Her dragon came out of the loop so quickly that Savina, for an instant, felt as if she weighed hardly anything at all.

  “He’s yours! He’s yours! Take him now, my friend!”

  The red, suddenly ahead and below, tried frantically to veer and break away. Half a second later, it found itself engulfed in a shroud of deadly fire. It screamed and began to tumble, its wings tucked tight against its sides. For a moment, Savina watched it plummet to the earth, then she abruptly turned away.

  “Yes,” she whispered, tapping the scepter lightly against the dragon’s neck. “Hurry to the others. They badly need us there.”

  One quick glance at the choking skies told her what she dreaded, told her what she knew: That the heavens were nearly empty of her golds, that she could count precious few.

  CHAPTER

  39

  Old warriors over cups of sour ale said a man’s whole life passed before him in the instant that he died. Ridley was certain they were liars, for he saw nothing at all except the blur of a great, enormous blade intent on slicing off his head.

  One thought, and one alone flashed through his head: What an awful thing to happen. I would rather do most anything than this.

  Then, with an awesome sound that cut through the din of battle, Damodar’s blade struck the elven sword and cracked, splintered, and shattered like shards of broken glass. The mage backed away, stunned, but scarcely more so than his opponent. Ridley stared at his sword, the gift of Hallvarth, and saw it at once for the wonder that it was, a blade that shamed the gross metal of iron, a shimmering silver thing entwined with thick and twisted vines, with the lush green tendrils of the great Tree of Life.

  “Elven magic, is it?” Damodar’s features curled in disgust. “You’ve tainted yourself with forest trash.”

  “And you, sir, seem to have lost your sword.”

  Ridley was on his feet in an instant, lashing at the mage with bloody intent.

  “Hold, boy!” Damodar stepped back and spread his empty hands. “Damn you, I’m unarmed!”

  “You’re the gentleman, remember? I’m the common lout.”

  Damodar cursed, and raised a heavy gauntlet to block Ridley’s blow. Ridley’s blade rang again and again on the mailed and armored gloves. The mage stepped aside and made a peculiar motion with his wrists. At once, three hooked iron blades whirred into place on each hand.

  “Try these,” Damodar grinned. “You’ll need more than an elven spell.”

  Ridley drew a ragged breath. Though he held the sword of Hallvarth, his arms were the arms of a man, and his strength was waning fast. He’d seen these wicked blades before, the day of Snails’ death, and he knew the horror they could bring.

  Damodar caught his foe’s hesitation at once, knew Ridley was tiring, and knew that a mage had staying power denied to ordinary men.

  “Almost over, thief. Merely hold, and I can put a blessed end to this and send you quickly to your friend.”

  The mage sprang at Ridley in a fury of motion, his bladed hands moving in a blur.

  Ridley stepped back, his lungs afire. His body had turned to lead, and this arrogant brute was fresh as a new spring flower.

  He slid along the battlement, fending the mage off. Something felt different at his back. Metal, now, not stone—a railing on the edge of the building itself. He didn’t dare look, but he sensed there was nothing down below.

  Damodar lashed out with both hands. A blade stung Ridley’s cheek. He stepped away from the blow. Metal shrieked, and Ridley felt the railing shudder, give way, saw the sudden smile of triumph on Damodar’s face as he lashed out for a killing blow.

  Ridley let it come, stepped into the deadly fist, and moved deftly aside as the gauntlet brushed his cheek. He leaped then, leaped toward nothing at all, slammed his boots against the shaky rail, felt it give, felt it shudder, and caught a single glimpse at the street far below. Kicking one foot into empty space, he twisted and saw the startled look on Damodar’s face as he turned to face his foe.

  Ridley’s blade sliced through the silver mail, through the mage’s chest, cleanly to the hilt. Damodar tried to speak. A pale red froth bubbled at the corner of his mouth.

  “Help me, thief. I can… be of great help to you!”

  “Ask Snails.”

  “Wh—Who?”

  “See, I knew you’d forget.”

  Ridley lashed out at Damodar with his boot. The railing shrieked and gave way. The mage loosed a ragged cry and flailed his arms. Ridley watched him fall. He turned, looked up, and saw red and gold dragons lurching crazily through the thick veil of smoke above. Flames lashed the top of the magic school. Warriors scattered and shook their weapons at the sky.

  A howl went up to Ridley’s right. He turned, saw a horde of Crimson Guards, heard the clash of arms, a scream, and then a more familiar sound: the terrible ring of a mighty axe crushing an iron helm, slicing through armor like a knife through fresh bread.

  Ridley laughed aloud. It couldn’t be anyone but Elwood Gut-worthy, wreaking havoc to every living creature in sight.

  Ridley wanted to shout, but he knew his voice would never be heard above the din.

  If Elwood made it somehow, then Marina and Norda were here as well. They had to be! And they would stay close to Elwood if they could.

  Ridley climbed atop a fallen battlement to get a better look. The rooftop was half obscured in a yellow, poisonous veil of choking fumes. He searched the chaos below but couldn’t spot his friends. It was clear the tide had turned for the worse since his fight with Damodar. The gold dragons were now reduced to a pitiful few. With the stronger, larger reds in control, Profion’s forces had turned their attention from the skies to another foe: the green-clad troops still loyal to the Empress, who had joined the field, pouring onto the rooftop and throwing themselves into the fray.

  It was clear from Ridley’s perch that the Empress’ soldiers were badly outnumbered but fought with a fury born of dedication to their cause.

  Straining to see through the sulfurous air, he saw, beyond the green and crimson hordes, the great mage himself, sweeping the Rod of Savrille across the bloody sky.

  Ridley watched him for a moment then quickly turned away. Profion was wrapped in a spell, an aura of red that made Ridley queasy and burned like acid in his eyes.

  Climbing off the heights, he sprinted along the crumbling battlement, keeping as low as he could to avoid the swarms of the Crimson Brigade. He could her the dwarf’s roar, the ring of his axe, the screams of pain when his weapon brought another victim to the ground.

  Dodging from one bit of cover to the next, Ridley ran smack into a crimson-clad ugly, knocking them both to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, Ridley hefted his sword, but the trooper was faster still. His blade came down in a blur, straight for Ridley’s chest. Ridley rolled away, and his foe’s weapon sparked stone where he’d been.

  “Now, what are you hiding under that lovely snout?” Ridley said, warding off another blow. “Might be the handsomest man in your squad, and we’ll never get to know.”

  “You get to be dead’s what you get!”

  “Is that all you people think about? Don’t you have a hobby or something? You like to play cards?”

  The soldier’s curse was lost behind his heavy helm. He came in low, slicing the air above Ridley’s knees. He was a big man,
broad in the shoulders, broad in the neck—broad, Ridley decided, nearly everywhere else—a man very possibly descended from a tree. His attack seemed confined to those areas from the waist down. This made Ridley very nervous, and he wished the brute would stop.

  “Up here!” Ridley said. “I’ve got other parts, you know.”

  The soldier answered with a vicious swipe at Ridley’s knees. Ridley faked to the right and slashed in from the left. The soldier roared, startled, and found himself backed against a wall.

  “Mardo! Sidus! To me!”

  “Hey!” Ridley said. “It’s already crowded in here.”

  He saw the man’s eyes shift beneath the iron mask, risked a quick look to the left, and saw the ugly’s companions bearing down fast.

  “Great. Now I’m getting irritated, friend.”

  Ridley came in low, borrowing the fellow’s tricks and slashing at armored legs thick as stumps. His enemy tried to dance away. Ridley’s blade caught him on his unprotected ankle, and he rushed in to slam his boot hard on the warrior’s foot.

  The soldier cried out. Ridley didn’t have time to watch him fall. The new pair were on him, blades whipping in from both sides. Ridley parried the first, driving him back, then quickly leaped away.

  “Who’s Mardo and who’s Sidus? You look the same to me.”

  “Huh?” The second man looked startled. Ridley rushed in and struck his armored face with the flat of his blade. The man staggered back, dizzy from the bells that were ringing in his head. Ridley ducked as he felt the other soldier’s weapon whistle past his head. The man held his hilt in both hands, winding up for another blow.

  “Huuulf.”

  The soldier went rigid, dropped like a stone. Ridley stared, then turned and laughed aloud. Marina stood there with a foolish grin, a wicked looking club grasped in her hand. She came to him, falling into his arms.