Flight of the Fallen

warriors, and the dead and the wounded that littered the ground. Linsha hacked and slashed at any blue skin that got too close and defended the centaur’s right while he loaded and fired his bow in rapid succession. Around them the dust and smoke grew thicker until Linsha could barely see more than a few yards through the swirling, stinking air.

All at once the space cleared out before them as the fighting shifted away from the dragon, and they saw Lanther standing in a circle of his guards, his face still masked and his fist raised at Crucible.

The dragon screeched in hideous pain. His tail lashed out and caught two of the Tarmak guards, slamming them off their feet. But Lanther was so intent on his spell that he did not notice.

“Is that him?” Leonidas snapped, struggling to fight off the dragonfear. “The short blue-skin?”

“Yes,” Linsha replied. “Kill him if you can.”

The awe and terror emanating from the enraged dragon did not affect her this time. Her mind was already too full of powerful emotions.

The young centaur’s bow sang and an arrow slipped neatly into the gap left by the guards before they could regain their positions. It caught Lanther high in the shoulder and spun him off his feet.

Linsha saw him fall, and she prayed to any god that would listen that the spell would be broken and Crucible would be free to escape.

But the arrow that struck the Akkad-Dar was not fatal, and Linsha could see him struggle to rise. He lifted his hand again and snapped a loud, clear command. Linsha did not need to understand it to know what it meant. Her heart sank in despair.

Crucible screamed a long, terrible sound. He dropped to all four feet then collapsed to his side on the ground where he writhed in agony, his heavy body crushing anyone hapless enough to get in his way.

“Crucible!” Linsha shrieked. She threw her leg over Leonidas’s back, and slid off, her sword still clutched in her hand. She had lost too many friends and given up too much to lose this dragon now. She didn’t think she could bear another death, especially his. Desperate to save him, she ducked past his thrashing tail and ran toward his head.

Leonidas started after her, but a squad of furious Tarmak guards charged him and he was forced to turn and defend himself. Raising a war cry, he and Horemheb joined in the furious battle.

Linsha heard Leonidas’s war cry in a distant part of her mind. She knew a battle was surging around her, but all she could see, all she could think about was the dragon thrashing and moaning on the churned up earth. She reached his head and yelled his name, but he gave no response. His eyes were closed, and his lips were curled back in a snarl of pain and bitter anger. His breathing was fast and irregular. She tried again to call him and beat her fist on his nose.

This time one eye cracked open.

“Crucible! It’s me! Don’t move!”

She scrambled up on the dragon’s leg and climbed toward his shoulder. Another spasm of intense pain racked his body. Her feet slipped out from under her, but she scrabbled up high enough to grab the ridge on his neck and hold on until his shaking stopped again. Scrambling and clawing her way along his slippery scales, she pulled herself up the peak of his shoulders and balanced herself on his wing joint. She had no problem finding the entry wound. The crossbow bolt had disfigured and blackened his scales between his shoulder blades and left a raw, bloody hole.

“The barb!” she screamed. “Where is it? I can’t see it!”

“It’s gone,” he panted. “Inside… too late.”

“No!” She shouted. “Not yet! Fight it! Don’t let him win!”

She noticed Varia dip down and circle close to her head, and the sight of the owl helped calm some of her raging thoughts. Holding on to Crucible’s wing joint, she forced her mind to slow down, to relax, to seek a calm where she could think. What did she have that she could use to help the dragon? Two leaves from an ancient tree, two dragon scales, her own small talent, and the words of a tribal shaman.

“Did Danian say anything more to you about the leaves?” she yelled to Varia.

The owl hooted a no. “Although,” she added, “the Grandfather Tree was a gift from a god of neutrality. Perhaps the leaves can be used to help neutralize a spell of evil.”

Linsha plunged her hand into her tunic and pulled out the rolled packet of leaves and the chain with the dragon scales. Leaving the scales dangling, she flipped the fabric around the leaves so they unrolled in her hand.

The two leaves were still fresh looking, colored a lovely blue green, with five deep lobes on each leaf. Linsha stared at them wide-eyed as if she had never seen them before while her mind bloomed with a sudden inspiration. The long, lobed leaves resembled nothing so much as hands. The hands of a god. The Tree of Life.

Zivilyn, god of wisdom, she thought with all the strength she could muster, help me help this dragon.

Then the words of the shaman returned to her memory, and she knew what she should do… if the dragon could survive it, and if the centaurs could keep the Tarmaks off her long enough.

“Crucible!” she yelled. She slithered down the dragon’s shoulder and returned to his head. “Crucible!” She yelled again to get his attention.

He looked worse now. His breathing was still rapid and shallow, and his scales looked dingy. The golden light of his eyes had faded. He still writhed in pain, but his movements were weaker and not as frantic, and he did not respond to her voice.

She kicked him hard on the nose. “Crucible! Listen to me! I think I have a way to get that barb out. But I need your help. Don’t give up now! Help me.”

One eye slowly opened wider and rolled toward her. “How?”

“The barb entered your back while you were shape-shifting. I want to try to get it out, but you have to change again.”

“The Akkad-Ur warned me the barb would kill me if I tried to shapeshift,” he moaned.

“It will kill you if you don’t!”

“Tell him to change to something smaller!” Varia cried overhead. “That way the barb will be easier to reach.” She paused then hooted a warning. “And tell him to hurry! The grassfires are getting closer.”

“Make yourself smaller,” Linsha ordered. “Just not too small or the barb will reach your heart before I can get it.”

“I don’t know if I have the strength,” he gasped.

Varia fluttered down to the dragon’s face and looked into his eye that was almost as big as she was. You have to try! Change to your man-shape, Crucible. Do it now, or you will die.

When she sees me, she will hate me, he replied. I have betrayed her trust.

She should be allowed to make up her own mind, the owl insisted, and she won’t be able to do that if you are dead.

The bronze lifted his head and nudged Linsha with his nose. “I am sorry,” he groaned. His eye closed again, and a faint glow of light began to glimmer on his scales.

Linsha raced around to his back. She could still hear the sounds of the battle behind her and the wild yells of the centaurs; she could smell the thickening smoke of the grassfires. But she shut out the stink and the noises and the fear and placed a vallenwood leaf on each hand so her fingers matched the lobes of the leaves. She focused her thoughts inward. Although she feared there were many dead souls on the battlefield, she hoped perhaps she could use her healing ability just long enough to help ease the pain as she pulled out the barb.

The glow of light brightened and began to sparkle. The spell was slow, for Crucible was weak, yet it appeared to be working. The dragon was suffused in the golden light from head to tail, and his wings quickly shrank and vanished. His large body began to grow smaller within the aura of light. Linsha was forced to squint in the brilliant glow as she watched for the small reddish barb.

When Crucible shrank to something close to fifteen feet, Linsha spotted the tail of the barb penetrating the glowing area that she guessed was his shoulders. It glared through the beautiful light like an ugly splinter, its color dark with blood. She did not hesitate. Her leaf-covered hand shot through the coruscating energy of his being.