“No! I must see. I’m a student of the Keeper.” Daen shoved his way past and into the doorway. “I should see and take notes, make a record…” His voice failed when he looked out over the city.
Mounted dragons swarmed over the outer defenses, a tidal wave breaching a sea wall. A black cloud of winged terrors snatched soldiers and civilians up into the air, tore them apart, flung the pieces, returned for more. Their riders dropped nets to snare men and drag them from the ramparts, or threw pots that shattered into flame in the city below. Dragons landed in cleared areas; extra skirmishers dismounted bearing swords and crossbows. Cinvat’s defenders gave battle—dragons grappled with dragons in midair; their riders fired crossbows and swung swords. Warriors ripped from harnesses plummeted to their deaths. Beasts toppled from the sky with broken necks or crippled wings. A dragon corpse crunched onto the stairs not thirty feet away and rolled loosely over, revealing half a mangled rider still strapped to the saddle.
A groan of shock escaped Daen. When Mer clutched his shoulder he jumped.
One of the sentries pushed them backward so forcefully that Daen had to catch Mer in a stumble. “Get inside! We are barring these doors…”
They pulled the doors closed, doors that had stood wide in welcome Daen’s entire life. Ornate brass latches rotated shut with a clatter. The bar fell into its braces with a heavy thud.
“Come, my son.” Mer’s voice was strangely calm. He pulled Daen by a sleeve. “We have a task to finish.”
There came a boom on the door that rattled its hinges and echoed around the great hall.
“Hurry, now!” Mer led Daen to the big desk, went around to the back, and reached underneath. As he struggled with something, Daen noted the basket of cinderblack where he’d left it, the rivulet of black juice now puddling on the floor.
Mer wrestled three large tomes onto the desktop. Daen recognized them immediately. One was a student’s primer in the history of Cinvat. Not a detailed record, but complete—a best, single repository of Cinvat’s story. Another was a discussion of philosophy that had guided the creation of Cinvat’s representative style of governance. The last was a book of poetry, an omnibus of the most beautiful and inspiring works of art from several ages. Tears came to Daen’s eyes, for he knew why Mer had set these three aside. When he looked to his master’s face, the old man nodded sadly.
“If all else fails, these must escape,” he said.
Something large struck the doors again, followed by scratching and shouts. The sentries—only three of them, Daen saw—positioned themselves in a line across the entry. The doors flexed inward; the bar groaned under the strain. One of the sentries looked back, flinching as the door boomed again, but then waved them away. “Go! You can’t stay. Bless you, Keeper, for your service. May Asha keep you.”
Then something long and wide, but flat, like a gigantic curved blade, pushed through the space between the doors, destroying one of the latches. It swept upward, and the bar flew off its braces and thudded to the floor. The doors burst inward, hinges bent and latches shattered. The sentries cowered in a rain of wood splinters and metal shards. A dragon’s silhouette filled the opening, before a towering column of flame and smoke in the city beyond. As it tucked its leathery wings close and entered, the torchieres revealed its monstrousness. Black armor replaced its top frill, bolted to the midnight scutes of its long arching neck. A dark helmet covered its head, with only slits for the eyes to peer out of. In place of paws on its forelimbs it instead walked on the tips of two long, curved blades, strapped to the upper leg and bolted to the scales.
Runnels of fresh blood bathed those blades.
The sentries charged, but the beast reared up and its weapons slashed out, longer than the reach of a halberd. The men were cut in half with a single scissor-like motion.
Mer whispered in Daen’s ear, “Sweet Asha! Boy, collect the books and follow me.”
But a deep voice froze them. Daen hadn’t noticed the rider before this moment, strapped into an ornate saddle atop the dragon, clad in black armor with a huge flat sword on his back. “Keeper of Memory!” he said, “The Dahak has sent me to find you…with a gift.” He reached behind into a saddle-borne chest and withdrew three objects, then hurled them into the hall.
Three heads crunched onto the marble paving and rolled into view. Mer moaned in horror and started toward them, but Daen held him back. It took him but a moment to know Tolec, Barth, and Jennia, the other students whom Mer had sent away this very morning.
Daen gathered up the books as Mer began to wail. Foot soldiers poured in through the doors to either side of the dragon, which reached down to gobble up pieces of dead sentry. Shaking with terror, Daen grabbed Mer’s sleeve and dragged him into the forest of bookcases.