A Day of Dragon Blood

LYANA



The old man reached out and touched her bruised cheek. He clucked his tongue and shook his head sadly.

"Savages!" he said and sighed. "Beasts in armor. To strike a blind woman..." He shook his bony fist at the ceiling. "If I were a younger man, I would have given them a bruise or two!"

Lyana smiled softly. Over the past year, she had come to love old Peras, keeper of the River Spice. She lowered his hand and squeezed it.

"It doesn't hurt, Father Peras," she said. She leaned forward and kissed his stubbly cheek. He smelled of flour and dried figs. "I'm fine, and I can take care of myself."

"I saw!" he said and laughed, showing gums with only five teeth left. He shook his head in amazement. "I never would have thought a blind girl could kick so swift and hard. Now the soldier is missing a few teeth too."

She smiled softly. But I am not a blind girl, she thought. I am a bellator, a knight of Requiem, a noble warrior of the north. And if I kick swiftly, and kick hard, I show a piece of Lyana, and that is more dangerous than any soldier's fist. She took a deep breath. I must be more careful. I will not let my cover slip and my people down.

The crescent moon had crossed the sky outside. Dawn was near. The last of the soldiers had left the River Spice, stumbling down the street, singing the songs of their phalanxes. A dozen candles lit the winehouse, and moths danced around their flames. The orange light flickered over toppled mugs, a shattered clay plate, a half-eaten figcake, and stains of blood. Walking stick tapping, Lyana approached a broom in the corner, grabbed it, and began to sweep the floor. Peras moved around the room, collecting mugs and polishing tabletops.

Lyana loved this time of night; they were her favorite times in Tiranor. The sounds of the crowd died outside, and she could hear the wind through the palm trees, the crickets, and the frogs that trilled. She glimpsed the stars shining outside; later tonight she would climb upon the roof and try to count them all.

The Draco constellation shines here too, she thought, even in hot, cruel Tiranor. The stars of my fathers bless me even so far from home.

"You have fought men before, I think," said Peras, examining a crack in a mug.

Lyana smiled, broom in hand. "I am a winehouse dancer. Of course I've fought men."

I have killed men, Father Peras, she thought. I killed them in tunnels, and in the sky, and I will kill ten thousand more if I can before this war ends. She continued sweeping and said no more.

Peras shook his head and blew out his breath. "Men can be cruel creatures, Daughter Tiana. I have seen too much cruelty in my years... too much blood, too much hate. But not all men are cruel." He righted a fallen chair. "You should find a good man, not a soldier, not a drunkard... find yourself an honest trader or craftsman. You don't want to spend your life dancing here, do you?"

She smiled softly, sweeping shards of clay into the corner. "Dear Father Peras! I would be happy if I could forever dance in this place... though beauty does fade, and no man wants to see an old crone dance." She laughed. "I have a good man, neither a soldier nor drunkard." Her voice softened. "Back in my home far away."

Rubbing a tabletop with a rag, he looked up at her, his eyes sad. "You must miss him."

She sighed. "I was betrothed to his brother at first, a great desert warrior, the strongest man in our tribe. My betrothed was son of our chief. He owned many goats and sheep and three horses—horses that could rival those from Queen Solina's stables." She laughed softly. "It does not sound like much here in Irys, this light of the north, but in the southern dunes, a herd of livestock is worth more than gold and jewels."

She lowered her head, remembering her Orin, Prince of Requiem, a tall and handsome hero, the love of her life... a love she had buried. She took a deep breath and continued, broom still in her hand.

"One day black horses emerged above the dunes," she said. "Brigands in black rode them, sabres bright. My betrothed fought them. I did too, but they were too many. My betrothed fell and the sand ate his blood. I remember only a flash of a blade, blood on my face, and when I woke, I found that I had lost my love... and lost my eyes."

All light dimmed when you died, Orin, she thought. All starlight faded from my nights.

With a shake of her head, she kept sweeping. "After that, well... by the laws of our tribe, I became betrothed to his younger brother. It's an old law passed down through generations; without it, widows would be cast aside, left destitute in the desert. So as I mourned, I found myself promised to a young man named Rael." It was a common name in the deserts south of Irys, Lyana knew. She smiled softly. "Rael is nothing like his fallen brother; he is not a warrior, but a stargazer, not a hero, but a scribe of scrolls. At first I mourned, and scorned him, and wanted to flee him, but as time went by, he showed me great love—not fiery, passionate love like his older brother and I had shared, but a quiet caring, a deep respect, an ember that grows to flame. And I miss him, Father Peras."

He placed down his rag, approached her, and patted her arm. "How did you end up here, Tiana? In Irys, this city so far from your home?"

She closed her eyes behind her scarf. Your people burned my city, killed nearly half my people, and plan to kill the rest. You are kind, Old Peras, but your queen is cruel, and her soldiers lust for blood and death.

"A storm from the desert," she whispered. "Sand that buried our tents. A drought that killed our livestock. Brigades that murdered half our tribe. Pain, death, starvation... and so I am here. To dance. To fill my purse with bronze and copper and what silver I can earn. To return some day with life. Here in Irys, I am the Blind Beauty, a dancer from the dunes. At home, I am a shepherdess and a leader of my tribe."

Peras looked outside the window into the night. The street was silent and dark. The old man's voice was soft. "We all wear masks. I was a soldier once, did I tell you? Fifteen years I fought for Tiranor; I was an archer in the Steelmark Phalanx. Back then we used good, honest bows, not these clumsy crossbow contraptions the soldiers use today. I fought thirty years ago when the dragons of Requiem flew over our land, toppled our towers, and killed my king and queen. I shot poisoned arrows at them, watched the fire burn my brothers, and saw my home fall." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "The wounds I saw, Tiana... They told us war is glorious, that our light would drive out darkness with the song of the Sun God. I saw no glory. I saw blood, I saw women aflame, and I saw children burned into charred corpses. After the war ended, my family was gone. My phalanx was gone. My home was a pile of rubble. They gave me some medal of gold." He snorted. "I sold it and bought this place, named it The River Spice, and now instead of being a soldier, I serve soldiers wine and figcake." He held her arm. "We all wear masks, and we all flee our past, child. Sometimes it's all we can do to survive."

An owl hooted outside, and Peras moved his arm so that a mug slipped off a table. Instinctively, Lyana reached out and caught it.

Her heart nearly stopped.

Her breath caught.

She stood, mug in hand, eyes wide behind her scarf. She stared at Peras. He stared back, the kindly old winehouse keeper gone from his eyes. She saw the soldier there again.

He knows. Stars, he knows.

"Please," she whispered.

Never breaking his stare, he took the mug from her, placed it back on the table, and nodded.

"We all wear masks," he repeated. "Sometimes we wear scarves." He stared at her silently for a moment that seemed to last an age. Then he laughed and swept his arms around him. "Look at this place! Clean as new, and it's not yet dawn. Let's find some sleep, Tiana. Soon it will be a new night, and there will be more soldiers to intoxicate."

He left the common room and climbed upstairs, humming an old desert song.

Lyana stood alone, heart still hammering. Suddenly she felt exposed, nearly naked in her silks. She missed her armor of Requiem, missed her sword and dagger. Clad in steel, she felt so strong, so brave, a great warrior. Who was she here? A girl. Fragile. A flower to be trampled.

I want to fly home, she thought. I want to become a dragon in the night, fly over the sea, fly back to my armor, to my city, to Elethor and Mori and everyone else. Yet she only tightened her lips and stood in place. She had a duty here. She would remain Tiana a while longer. She had served her home with steel and flame; now she would serve Requiem with silk and skin.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened, and General Mahrdor entered the winehouse.

He walked alone this night; no Gilded Guardians stood at his sides, steel birds of prey. He wore a white robe over his armor, and his head was hooded. He smiled at her thinly, but his eyes were blue shards, cold and scrutinizing. Again she felt like he could see through her silks, through her dyed skin, into her very soul.

"Tiana!" he said. "I apologize for the lateness of my visit and delight to find you still awake. I myself could not sleep. When I closed my eyes, I saw visions of you dancing; I knew I must see you dance in the flesh before your phantom twin abandoned me. Will you come to my villa, Tiana? Will you dance in the dawn?"

We all wear masks, echoed the words in her mind. May my mask shield my pain. May the horror crash around me like a river around a boulder.

She nodded. "I will dance for you, my lord."

The Draco constellation shone overhead as they sailed a boat down the Pallan. A crescent moon grinned. Mahrdor held a lamp before him, and the light danced upon the water like jewels.

Only eleven days until summer solstice, Lyana thought. Eleven days until the hosts of sunfire spread to my home. Eleven days until I must kill or flee this man.

He took her to his villa on the hill and into a hall lined with columns. Between the pillars, Lyana saw palms and rushes slope toward the Pallan, and the lights of distant homes glimmered. A hot wind blew over the water, ruffled her hair, and filled her nostrils with the scents of river and grass.

Mahrdor sat on a giltwood divan, placed his sandaled feet on a footstool, and leaned back.

"Dance for me," he said.

Again she danced for him with no music. Again her body swayed to a whispered song, the music of stars above, wind in palms, the flow of water in darkness. Her body flowed for him, and her bare feet tapped upon limestone tiles, and her eyes closed. She danced until wisps of purple dawn spread across the sky, and then Mahrdor stood and approached her, and held her, and stroked her cheek.

He leaned her against a porphyry column, kissed her neck, and made love to her there in the light of the dawn, as the River Pallan slowly awoke below them. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and thought of her home as he filled her. She thought of the dragons that flew above King's Forest, so high she could barely see their colors. She thought of the marble columns of Requiem's palace where she lived with Elethor, the smell of her morning bread, the calls of chickadees that always seemed to mock her. She gasped as Mahrdor loved her, and she knew she was yet another land for him to conquer, yet another trophy for him to claim, and a tear streamed down her cheek.

When he was done, he kissed her tear, stroked her hair, and whispered to her.

"You are more beautiful than this dawn, Tiana, and you are more precious than our short lives under the sun. You are like the River Pallan, a gift from the desert, and your lips are oasis fruit." He took her hand. "Come with me, Tiana. I have a gift for you, a gift as rare and beautiful as you are."

He held her hand. He took her across the hall and into a towering, domed solarium. The dawn shone through the narrow windows; they were made from true glass, a priceless rarity in Tiranor. Ferns filled the room, and a hundred cages hung between them, holding hundreds of birds: finches, macaws, conures, lovebirds, and many others Lyana could not name. They all squawked and fluttered in their cages.

In the center of the solarium stood a great, golden birdcage. It rose six feet tall, maybe taller, and its bars curved to form dragons aflight. It was empty, its door open.

"I am, as you know, a collector," Mahrdor said. He swept his arm around him. "Smell the air, Tiana! You will smell a thousand plants from all the lands of the world; I collect them. Listen to the song of birds! You will hear a hundred different species; I collect them." He turned to face her. "And you, Tiana... you are the rarest, most beautiful of birds."

Suddenly his face changed.

Rage overflowed his eyes.

He raised his fist to strike her.

She flinched and raised her hand in defense.

As her heart hammered and her mind spun, Mahrdor nodded and slowly lowered his fist.

"I thought so," he whispered.

Terror shattered inside her.

Lyana summoned her magic and began to shift into a dragon.

He clutched her throat and squeezed, and she gasped for breath, and his fist now did strike, and pain exploded. White light flooded her. Her magic fled her. His fingers dug into her neck, and he dragged her and threw her into the cage.

His hand freed her throat. She sucked in breath and tried to shift. He slammed the cage door shut, trapping her inside. Scales flowed across her, and her body ballooned, becoming the dragon. She slammed against the cage bars and howled in pain. Her magic fizzled. She roared and clutched at it and tried to shift again, to break the cage bars, to blow fire. She felt wings sprout. Fangs lengthened in her mouth. Her body grew, hit the bars, and again her magic vanished.

She fell onto her knees, panting, a caged woman. She snarled, tore her scarf off, and glared at Mahrdor.

He stood before her, arms crossed, smiling sadly.

"Oh, Tiana," he said. "Did you truly think I did not know? Did you truly think you could fool me like you fooled the common soldiers at your winehouse?"

"My name is not Tiana," she hissed and bared her teeth as if she were a dragon. She slammed against the cage bars. They were thick and strong; gilded iron, she thought.

He shrugged. "Your name matters not. You are my pet, my trophy, the crown of my collection; that is what matters to me." He looked over his shoulder. "Come, Yarish! See her without her scarf."

Out from the shadows stepped a tall, gaunt man with white hair. Lyana growled, heart hammering. She knew this man; he was the deaf innkeeper of Old Mill in Hog Corner, the fishhouse where she would meet with Bayrin. Today the man wore no rags but donned the armor of a soldier. He gave her a blank stare; he seemed almost bored.

"Are all weredragons as stupid as this one?" he asked Mahrdor. "If so, we should have no particular problem facing them in battle."

Weredragon. Lyana growled and slammed against the bars. She hated that word—a dirty, foul word of hatred, of blood, of scorn.

"I am a Vir Requis," she said, "a daughter of ancient Requiem blessed with starlight. You will find us very problematic to kill." She snapped her teeth as if she were a dragon who could tear into their flesh; she craved to taste that flesh. "When you attack our land, you will find us ready to fell you from the sky."

The two Tiran officers looked at each other and laughed. Mahrdor shook his head. He patted the cage bars, then pulled his hand back when she tried to bite it.

"Oh, precious weredragon pet," he said. "Do you refer to the army of your King Elethor, which heads to Ralora Beach? Yes, weredragon. I know you saw the map in my chambers; I placed it there for you. I know you spoke of it to your brother, that he flew over the sea to sing the news." He gave a sad, theatrical sigh. "I think... when your King Elethor and his army arrive at Ralora, they will find only seagulls and crabs to fight."

Lyana stared, her insides trembling. Her eyes burned and she felt tears gather. She could barely breathe and her head spun. It was a ruse, had been a ruse all along. How could she have been so stupid? How could she think this disguise could fool them?

Please, stars, do not let this be... do not let my kingdom fall.

With a growl, Lyana reached out of the cage, trying to grab his arm, to pull it toward her, to bite it off. He took a step back, stared at her sadly, and shook his head.

"I will kill you," she whispered, eyes narrowed and glaring.

He smiled thinly and hunger filled his eyes, the hunger of a wolf for its prey. He licked his pale, thin lips.

"No," he said softly. "No, you will not kill me, Lyana. Nor will I kill you." He fingered a dagger that hung on his belt, its pommel shaped as a sunburst. "No matter how much you beg me to."

His grin widened.

Lyana roared and slammed against the bars.