Flight of the Fallen

Linsha gasped. She was suddenly inundated by the power of Crucible’s being in a massive rush of memories, thoughts, emotions, and worst of all, his pain. Her consciousness reeled from the overwhelming assault of the dragon’s wounded mind, and she felt herself slipping both physically and mentally away from him. She was losing him.

No! No-no-no-no-no-no.

It was the only word she could dredge from the chaos of her mind, but it worked. Short and emphatic, it served as an anchor for her will and gave her a grip from which to reach deep into the wells of her ability. From her blood and her bones, she drew the strength to push her own awareness to the forefront and to focus on her own magic. Using the power drawn from her heart, she touched his mind and reassured him with the warmth of her presence. Crucible fell still. As they joined in mind and body, they became as forged together as two different creatures can be.

The dragon scales around Linsha’s neck began to glow, and she felt a new power emanating from the scales. Emboldened, she pushed her arm deeper into the dragon, seeking the dark red impurity of the barb. Her fingers touched it and caught the end before the barb could slip deeper into his back. For just a moment she felt the heat of the thing burn her fingers, then the power of the leaf surged through her hand and into the barb, cooling its foul heat and nullifying its power. She sent her own magic surging out of her heart, down her arm and fingers, and through the leaf into his form. He continued to diminish in size while she gripped the barb in one hand, then with both hands.

The leaves began to crinkle at the edges and turn brown. Linsha gritted her teeth. Her throat and mouth were dry, and she could feel the hungry, tickling touch of souls draining away her power. But the scales fueled her determination, and she did not let go. As Crucible dwindled to the size of a tall man, the leaves lost their vitality and wilted. The heat of the barb returned and scorched her hands. Ignoring the pain, she held tighter and began to pull with all her strength. Crucible’s tail vanished. His forelegs shrank to human arms.

An instant later there was loud pop and several things happened all at once. The blinding light vanished in the wink of an eye, leaving Linsha blinking at the spots in her vision. Unable to see clearly, she felt rather than saw the barb pull loose from Crucible’s back, and she stumbled backward, the barb still burning her hand. She dropped it like a searing coal and stamped on it. The scorched shreds of the leaves fell from her hands.

A deep groan of pain came from the ground near her feet and drew her attention from the dart. She rubbed her eyes, blinked, and looked down at Crucible’s shape sprawled on his belly. He had become a tall man, powerfully built, with dark gold hair, and skin deeply tanned. A torn, bloody wound disfigured his upper back and right shoulder. Blood ran in rivulets down his neck.

Linsha stared at him. Their union created by need and magic Was broken, and in its place a sick, cold feeling crept slowly through her heart and mind. She hadn’t thought she had ever seen Crucible in his human shape, but she realized, looking down at the wounded man at her feet, that she had been wrong.

Her hand reached out to his arm, and she carefully rolled him over to see his features. The face she saw was the face of a friend-or someone she had imagined was a friend. The features that turned toward her with a mixture of apprehension, pain, and relief were those of Lord Hogan Bight, Lord Governor of the city of Sanction.

She fell to her knees beside him. “No,” she whispered. “This isn’t right. It can’t be right.”

And yet, an unobtrusive part of her mind said why not? When had she ever seen them together? But she couldn’t believe it completely. She couldn’t accept that another man she had liked and respected had lied to her and deceived her.

“Why?” she said in choked-off cry. “Why did you take the shape of Lord Bight? What do you think you’re doing?”

Varia came to land on the ground beside the man and hooted softly. “Linsha, he is Lord Bight. And always has been.”

A tear trickled down Linsha’s cheek. She rocked on her knees, her mind reeling. He was a dragon. The dragon was him. “Oh, gods,” she cried, and suddenly the flood of tears she had kept at bay for so long broke loose and flooded her eyes. Her vision blurred and swam so badly that she did not see the look of dismay and grief on his face.

He struggled to sit up and reach for her, but she wrenched away from him.

“You lied to me!” she screamed at him with all the fury she had held inside-placed there by Ian and Lanther and by too many trials and deaths. “For ten years I have thought you were human. Did you think it funny to keep me in the dark? To make me such a fool? And you!” She turned on Varia. “You knew, didn’t you? All those looks, those remarks to Iyesta, the laughing! You two must have thought I was so amusing, to be so deluded and not have the slightest idea. How dare you!”

Varia wisely said nothing.

Crucible, however, tried to say, “I told her not to tell you. I was-”

Linsha cut him off with a rage as sharp as a sword. “Going to tell me yourself some day? Exactly when? I worried about you and your city. I wanted Crucible to be with you and keep you safe. And little did I know he’s been with you all the time! When were you going to tell me? Never?”

Summoning what was left of his strength, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered to the sword Linsha had dropped earlier. He picked it up, although he could barely hold it or even stand upright. Blood was running down his back, and his limbs were shaking.

Linsha glared at him and struggled off her knees. “Oh, no. No, you are not going to fight here. You are not going to die after all we went through to help you. Leonidas!” She bellowed with all her exploding emotions. “Leonidas! I need you!”

It never occurred to her that the young horseman might be busy or dead. Hoofbeats pounded behind her, and the buckskin centaur cantered to her side. He was splattered with blood, filthy with dirt and sweat, bleeding in several places, and looking rather wild-eyed. But he was still alive and kicking.

“What is it?” he said quickly. “The Akkad-whatever-his-name-is has not gone far. I think they’re treating his wound. His guards are still around.”

Linsha wiped her eyes again and ran a quick glance over the field around her. Close by, Horemheb fought with a Tarmak guard, yet farther away through the smoke and dust she saw only sporadic fighting around piles of dead and wounded. She was surprised and alarmed to see the main battle had moved away from their position. In fact, the Duntollik warriors seemed to be pulling back. To the north she could see the flicker of flame through the billowing clouds of smoke. She strode over to Lord Bight and yanked her sword out of his hand. He was too weak to stop her.

She pointed the tip of the blade at him. “This man is wounded. Take him behind the lines. Get him out of here.”

Leonidas looked at Hogan Bight askance. “Who is he?”

“The Lord Governor of Sanction, a tomcat, a dragon… who in blazes knows? Just take him out of my sight!”

The young centaur stared at Lord Bight, then at Varia, and finally at Linsha. Receiving no help from any of them, he nodded to Linsha. “I’ll get Horemheb to take you. The wind is changing and those grassfires are moving fast.”

“No!” Linsha said venomously. “Just take him to Danian. He’ll know what to do. I will stay and fight as a Solamnic Knight.”

“Linsha,” Bight said softly. He lifted a hand and gently touched the bronze scale hanging by the chain around her neck.

“Go!”

Leonidas recognized that tone that brooked no argument and instantly obeyed. He moved in beside the wounded man and hauled him over his withers. With one hand to hold the man on his back, he hefted his sword and whistled once to Horemheb who was busy dispatching a wounded Tarmak. A jerk of his head signaled to the big chestnut to join Linsha, then Leonidas took off at a canter across the valley toward the tribal lines.

Linsha watched them go, weaving between the clumps of fighting men, until she could no longer see them through the smoke and haze. Filled with unspeakable misery, she blinked back more tears and clutched the sword until the hilt dug into the flesh of her burned palm. She knew Horemheb had come to her side, and she knew he could carry her away from the field and over to the Duntollik army. She wanted to go. She wanted to find Falaius