Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 92

Rahzien stands beside Serylla, a white cloak billowing around him, a gold circlet on his head. “Put the dragon in the stocks,” he orders.

Meridian moves in between me and Rahzien, grabbing my shoulder. “Come on, dragon scum,” he snarls. “Time to move.”

I take the hint, and the moment of cover he provides. I pretend to stumble, falling to one knee, my long hair shielding my actions as I tug out the tiny stopper with my teeth and swallow the contents of the bottle.

“Get him up,” Rahzien orders, his thumb stroking the shining blade of a long knife. “In the stocks, now.”

Another convulsion is beginning, drawing together the muscles of my back—only this time it’s accompanied by the familiar buzzing awareness, the vibration that’s the precursor to every shift.

“Move back,” I mutter to Meridian.

The rogue backs away, each halting step taking him closer to Serylla. If Rahzien weren’t staring at me, Meridian’s limp might raise his suspicions, but he’s fully occupied with scowling in my direction, as if he could flay the skin off my face with his eyes alone.

Glancing from him to Serylla, I smile.

Wicked delight leaps into her eyes, and she flashes me an answering grin so beautiful that I laugh aloud, a mad, wild sound that makes Rahzien’s eyes widen. The laughter transforms into a mighty roar as my body expands, unfurls, explodes into the form my ancestors gave me.

My wings whip outward, knocking a few Vohrainian soldiers off the platform. I clamp one screaming soldier between my jaws and shake him back and forth before flinging him across the square. His body smacks into a building and slides into a crumpled heap.

Screams rise from the crowd, and above it all I hear Rahzien bellowing, “Shoot him! Shoot him!”

A spattering of small explosions break out across the rooftops and throughout the square—strange sounds, not the usual crisp bang of a bullet firing. Two bullets rip through my wings, but it’s nowhere near as many as I expected.

And then I see a Vohrainian fall from a rooftop, his body streaming flames. As more of the soldiers fire, their guns explode in their hands, blowing limbs to pieces, setting bodies ablaze. One after another they ignite, until the troops who were slow to fire realize what’s happening and drop their weapons.

Meridian has picked the lock on one of Serylla’s chains, and the moment her hand is free, he claps the shackle onto Rahzien’s wrist and clicks it shut.

Rahzien slashes at him with the knife, but Meridian is too quick. He dodges back and makes quick work of Serylla’s second chain. “Go to Ky!” Meridian yells, and Serylla runs to me, leaping from my foreleg to my back. Meridian begins casting aside pieces of his Vohrainian armor, revealing the light tunic he wears beneath.

I roar again, the cry I used during the war to summon my clan.

They descend from the clouds like a whirling storm, wings spread and jaws wide. Dozens of dragons, whole and alive. My family.

At the head of the swarm is a dragon with gleaming bronze scales. I’d expected my brother to lead them, but Hinarax is a welcome sight all the same.

“Do not kill Rahzien, or the people of Elekstan!” I call to the dragons. “Only the soldiers of Vohrain!”

Hinarax lands on the platform beside me and lowers his neck so Meridian can climb astride it. When he lifts his head again, Meridian raises a fist and cries, in a voice that pierces the tumult, “So may we rise!”

From the crowd, dozens of voices reply, “So may we all!” And weapons appear, pulled from beneath cloaks or drawn from boots.

The mood shifts, from pure panic to fresh purpose, as the people of Elekstan realize this is not a slaughter, but a revolution. A rebellion against the conquerors. And this time, the dragons are on their side.

My role in this is protective—to defend both Serylla and the wretch Rahzien. By protecting him, I keep her alive. So I let Hinarax and Meridian lead the fight, while I use my wings, my tail, and my blasts of fire to shield Serylla and the King from any incoming attacks.

Between the damage done by the sabotaged guns, and the uprising of the rebels in the crowd, the market square is quickly cleared of Vohrainian soldiers, and the dragons move into the city to eradicate more of them. As they fly over the gate, I hear more shots, more explosions. More screams as the weapons of the Vohrainian soldiers burst into fiery shrapnel in their hands and become the instruments of their demise.

Odrash and Kehanal run up onto the stage to unchain Rahzien from the post. They shackle his wrists and ankles, and add an iron collar around his neck for good measure.

“The guns,” I ask Kehanal. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Our people infiltrated the manufacturing facility for the new ammunition,” he explains. “They introduced imperceptible veins of explosives into most of the new batches of bullets. And Meridian bribed the facility’s inspector with the treasure you gave him, so that he’d falsify the test reports and our sabotage would go unnoticed until the right moment. I imagine that inspector is far from here by now, off to the Southern Kingdoms to enjoy his new riches.”

“You think yourselves so clever,” Rahzien bites out. “I have soldiers stationed all over this kingdom. Your little rebellion has no chance of succeeding.”

“But we have you,” growls Odrash. “And within a few hours, most of the high-ranking officials in your army will be dead or captured. Without their king and their leaders, your soldiers will surrender. And if they don’t—well, we have dragons.”

I lower my head so I can look Rahzien in the face, and I’m pleased to find a glimmer of fear in his eyes. “Wasn’t it you, Rahzien, who gave the order for the new ammunition to be distributed to all troops as quickly as possible? Even if not every outpost received it, the odds have been tipped in our favor. It may be a long fight, but the outcome is certain. You have already lost.”