The Golden Griffin (Book 3) (8 page)

A sliver of burned forest, two or three miles long and a few hundred yards wide, marked a charred wedge that stretched from the hills up the mountainside. The drier, leeward side occasionally suffered forest fires, but the burn pattern was strange. Coming lower, Daria saw that some trees had burned to charred stumps, but others had only lost their crowns, leaving the lower branches unscathed. It was as if fire had lashed them from the sky.

Daria made her own signal. A dragon.

She scanned for wasps and their riders. A dragon was a huge, fearsome beast, the match for a dozen griffins, but they spent most of their lives asleep, rarely rousing from a profound, almost unwakeable slumber except to feed and pillage. And to lay eggs, of course. Anywhere you found a dragon, it was generally watched by the larval form, dragon wasps, and their riders, the dragon kin. But Daria saw nothing.

The women brought their griffins in among the charred trees to keep away from watchful eyes. The air stank of ash and smoke, and here and there the trees still smoldered. Sweat stood out on Daria’s brow. Joffa pulled higher, and she only kept him down with some effort.

There was something else in the air as well. A hint of sulfur. A vibrating hum, like the earth itself rumbling. Daria’s heart thumped a nervous beat, like a sparrow fluttering in her hands. The dragon was near.

She caught her mother’s eye and gave her the hand signal to look for cover. Moments later, they landed the griffins at the base of a cliff where fallen boulders had collected in a jumble. The loose rock and scree kept the slope free of trees, and therefore free of the dead, burned forest and the suffocating heat. Unfortunately, the boulders kept them only partially hidden from enemies in the air. Someone flying directly overhead would spot them easily.

Daria and Palina hushed their griffins, coaxed them onto their haunches, and squeezed them between the rocks the best they could. The women pulled their hoods up, took to the shadows, and looked down the mountain. The rock-strewn hillside cut steeply for forty or fifty yards before it became burned trees. The stretch below them had charred to stumps and opened a view all the way to the plains, three or four thousand feet below.

“Can you feel it?” Daria asked.

“The rumbling ground? Yes. There must be a cave nearby.”

“Two caves. The dragons aren’t together.”

Palina pursed her lips. “How can you be sure? Maybe the battle is for show.”

“Father said that two adult dragons can never live together.”

“Be skeptical of your father’s dragonlore. Some of it was speculation. The rest came from oral histories and old letters. Before this year we hadn’t faced a full-grown dragon for generations.”

“It wasn’t just Father. Markal doesn’t think the fighting is for show, either.” Daria shared the wizard’s strange reaction when she’d told him that the dragons had been battling in the mountains.

“Even so, that doesn’t validate your father’s speculation.”

“He’s dead, Mother. There’s no need to criticize him anymore.”

Palina touched her daughter’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Daria’s irritation dissipated like frost in sunlight. She held her mother’s hand for a long moment before they separated and turned their attention to the burned hillside.

The rumbling grew in intensity. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep and penetrating, reaching into Daria’s bones and making her jaw ache. The stink of sulfur filled her nostrils and coated her mouth until she wanted to spit. Her instincts told her to jump on Joffa’s back and flee and it was only with effort that she kept from doing just that. The griffins crouched in silence, as if terrified by some ancestral memory that warned them that their most deadly enemy was nearby.

A dark shape appeared against the sky, huge, its wings spread, its coat of blackened scales thick and formidable. Heat shimmered in the air as it passed.

It was at least eighty feet from its snout to the tip of its tail. Its head alone looked big enough to swallow a griffin whole. By the Brothers, had it been so big two months ago? Had she really faced such a monster in open combat? Fear burrowed into her gut.

It soared down over the hillside and disappeared. Daria let out her breath. A shiver worked its way through her body.

“We’ve seen enough,” Palina said in a low voice. She sounded shaken. She started to rise, but immediately ducked back down.

The dragon reappeared in the sky, this time above them on the mountainside. All it had to do was turn its eye a fraction and it would spot them. Would it roast them alive, or swoop down to tear griffins and riders apart for its breakfast? Daria made to spring for her swords, still tied to Joffa. Grant her one sword thrust before she fell, that was all she could hope.

The dragon flew overhead, then landed on the burned hillside below. It swung its monstrous, knobby head from side to side. Searching. Its nostrils flared and contracted. Smoke dribbled from its mouth and nose. It roared.

The roar was a clap of thunder that rolled over the hillside. Daria slapped her hands over her ears until the terrible noise passed. Then came an answering bellow, this one from the earth beneath her feet.

A second dragon crawled out of the hillside no more than twenty feet to their left. A choking cloud of sulfur rolled over the hillside as it emerged and spread its wings. Daria grabbed her mother’s hand and squeezed. The entrance to the cave holding the second beast had been concealed among the boulders only twenty feet from where they hid. When it was out, it stomped toward the first dragon, smoking and bellowing and lashing its tail.

The second dragon was smaller than the first, although it would have looked terrifying enough if it hadn’t been facing off against a dragon that was even larger and heavier. It had a single, sharpened horn on its head, as long as Daria’s forearm. The bigger dragon, in comparison, carried twin horns that curved like scimitars. The head of the smaller beast was narrower, but with longer, more wicked-looking teeth. It was black like the first, but when it turned in the sun, it shimmered almost indigo blue. Both animals had scars and scratches along their sides, some healed completely, perhaps wounds from the battle at the Citadel, but others fresh scratches.

The dragons stood a dozen paces off, snapping, sending gouts of smoke and fire, and lashing at each other with their tails, these being covered with dozens of spikes. The struggle was largely feinting and testing blows at first, but gradually increased in ferocity. The smaller dragon backed toward its cave as if intimidated into returning to its lair. But it had only been gaining distance; when it had some, it launched into the sky. The bigger dragon lifted after it.

The beasts had none of the swift acceleration of a griffin, or its maneuverability, but once airborne, their powerful wings carried them swiftly over the mountain. The larger dragon gave pursuit for a stretch, and when it had almost caught up, the smaller banked, twisting and rolling. It lashed with its tail as the larger dragon passed and struck the other beast across the belly. A bellow of rage rolled over the mountainside. The bigger dragon disgorged a huge ball of fire, which drove the other one back.

The dragons disappeared to the north, but their roars could still be heard. After a few minutes, the sound had moved higher on the mountainside, above the two women and their griffins.

“You were right,” Palina said. “It’s not for show, it’s real.”

“Yes, but why?”

“They are powerful, wicked beasts. Hard to control. The dark wizard fled to Veyre. His minions are free to pillage and destroy as they will. Or settle old grudges. They hate each other—what else?”

It was a simple answer, but Daria wasn’t sure she agreed. If her mother’s explanation held, it could only be a good thing. Two dragons battling each other left the griffin riders valuable time to gather their forces and prepare a defense or even a preemptive attack. But Markal had been visibly alarmed when Daria told him that the dragons were fighting. Whatever was going on here, the wizard thought it was a bad thing.

The dragons roared back over the hillside and into the foothills. They grappled in the air, biting, swinging claws and tails. Fire roared from their snouts. Locked in an embrace, they crashed into the trees with a boom. When they regained the sky, the forest had caught fire beneath them.

The battle continued for at least an hour, burning and roaring up and down the mountain, always too close for Daria and her mother to flee. Then the dragons settled to the ground in the very spot where they’d begun their battle. The small dragon had a gash across its belly that leaked blood so thick it looked like tree sap. The larger one favored its right front leg. The tip of one of its horns had snapped off. The two beasts circled each other, snorting and huffing smoke and fire.

This would be the perfect chance to flee. The dragons were exhausted from their struggle and surely the griffins could use their greater maneuverability to dodge and weave through the canyons until the enemy gave up the chase. But the two women were transfixed by what was unfolding in front of them.

The bigger dragon came in snarling. The smaller one tried to duck out of the way, but the larger dragon caught the smaller one’s wing and threw its larger bulk into pinning down its rival. The bigger dragon opened its jaws, which gaped so wide that for an instant Daria caught a glimpse of the fires that burned in its belly. It lunged to deliver a killing bite.

The smaller dragon gave a final, desperate thrash. The horn on its head caught its enemy in the neck. The larger dragon fell back with a scream. It thrashed to free its neck from the impaling spike, and when it did, blood gushed out steaming onto the hillside. Then the two dragons were rolling over and over, tearing at each other with their claws, biting, and lashing tails.

At last the struggle ended. One of the dragons rose shakily to its feet. To Daria’s surprise, it was the smaller of the two beasts. The larger dragon lay on its back, shuddering. Fire spilled from a gaping hole in its throat. The fire soon died. Black smoke leaked from the fallen dragon’s nostrils and slack mouth.

The victorious dragon limped a few feet away. One wing hung in tatters. Its tail was broken and its right eye a ruin. It wheezed and spit puffs of fire.

For a single, hopeful moment Daria thought the second dragon would collapse and die in turn. Then it turned its good eye on its fallen enemy. It limped back over and lapped at the blood on the dead dragon’s belly. After a few seconds of this, it opened its jaws, clamped down, and tore off a hunk of steaming meat.

As it ate, the smaller dragon seemed to gain strength. It opened a gaping hole in the dead dragon’s belly and thrust its snout in. It ate and ate, devouring muscle, innards, crunching scales and bones. Its belly swelled with the size of its meal. Still it kept eating. Faster and faster. At last, it was so engorged that it looked like it would burst. A full half of the larger dragon had disappeared into its maw.

It staggered a few paces and collapsed on the hillside. Smoke streamed from its mouth and nostrils and its eyes closed. It let out a rumbling snore.

Daria retrieved her blades from Joffa, who was still wedged among the rocks, trembling.

“What are you doing?” her mother hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m going to kill it.”

“Are you mad?”

“It’s wounded, engorged, and in the open. It won’t wake until my sword is hacking at its throat.”

“You can’t kill it with a sword!”

“I can certainly try. I’ll never have a better chance.”

Palina grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Daria, by the Wounded Hand, don’t do this. Look, it’s going to die anyway. It’s crippled, it can’t recover.”

“Mother, you know that isn’t true. If it was dying, how did it manage to eat half the other dragon? Look at it. Sleeping next to its meal. When it wakes, it will finish eating. Then what?”

Palina’s eyes flashed. She looked desperate. “I don’t know. And neither do you!”

“No, I don’t, but I know it won’t be good. Let go of me.”

“I won’t, damn you.”

The two women struggled, but Daria was younger and stronger. She elbowed her way free without dropping the weapons and strode across the hillside. The sleeping dragon rumbled.

“Daria!” Then a scream, “Daria! Look out!”

The younger woman looked behind her. Palina looked skyward with her hand shielding her eyes. Two shapes swooped down from the peaks. Dragon wasps. Men rode on their backs, faces painted, their ragged hair dyed blue and red.

Dragon kin.

Chapter Seven

Narud flew off shortly before dawn, after which Markal and Darik passed the site of the previous day’s battle on the Old Road. Still they continued, even as the sun rose in the sky.

Darik grew increasingly concerned the longer they stayed on the road. “Is it safe? What if the ravagers come back this way?”

Markal stopped his horse as the road forded a stream. He gave a dismissive wave of the hand without looking back. “Yes, it’s safe.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Shh. I need to concentrate.”

Darik bit back a response and took to studying the woods. There were a hundred places for ambush by bandits, but so far they’d been lucky. No doubt the ravagers had done their part in clearing the vermin from the road, but that was hardly comforting. Where had that silly owl flown to?

They climbed higher and higher. The Old Road—already barely wide enough for a single wagon—thinned as trees marched to the edge. It disappeared entirely in a marshy stretch of cattails and reeds, studded with dead tree trunks where the forest had flooded. A band of horses had recently churned up the mud, and it was easy enough to follow their trail through the more solid parts. This must mark the passage of the ravagers; at least they were continuing deeper into the mountains. Soon, the foothills gave way to more rugged terrain. The road started up again.

When they stopped at a stream for a drink, Darik could no longer keep quiet. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“I told you. We’re following Chantmer the Tall. He passed this way a few days ago.”