Dragonsbane (Book 3) (47 page)

“Let me go!” he said again. “I’m not supposed to be here — I didn’t want to be here!”

Thump thump thump thump thump.

“Please, let me go!”

He shouted, he cried. He beat a fist against the roots. He tore at his palm with his other hand, trying to pull himself free. A few desperate minutes passed before he realized it was hopeless. He was trapped.

Thump thump … thump thump … thump thump …

The pounding quieted as Devin gave in, slowing to a rhythm that didn’t frighten him so badly. As he lay there listening, he realized the thudding within the Tree matched the noise inside his chest.

He hears you, child. He accepts your challenge.

“No! Please, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want …” But Devin couldn’t finish his words. He collapsed, every bit of him finally spent.

Hot tears welled in his eyes as he realized what he’d done. It was the one thing he swore he’d never do — he’d broken the oath that every draega pledged to protect. He’d promised his mother,
promised
her that he would stay away from this place. He promised that no matter what, he would keep the draega’s oath.

It was the only thing she’d ever asked of him. It was the promise he’d whispered to her when she finally took her Great Sleep … when she’d gone to join his father and all of his brothers and sisters in the green lands across the river.

And now … he’d failed her.

“Please … I just … I want to go home.”

The ritual is almost complete
, the Tree whispered to him.
Now you must face him in the Arena of Souls … and face him bravely, child. For the victor is two lives, and for the vanquished — none
.

*******

When Devin looked up, the Tree was gone. The sky was gone. The island and the rivers were gone. He knelt in a strange place.

It reminded him of home: an open space of land ringed by broken things. But there weren’t any trees. He couldn’t feel the wind or smell the flowers’ bloom. Everything was a mix of gray and shadow. The whole world shimmered like the air above flame.

A song drew his eyes to the other side of the land. It was the rumble of storm clouds — powerful and deep. It was the music of the wind, the whisper of the trees. The song was exactly the one his mother used to sing. Devin knew the sort of creature that waited for him before he even had a chance to look.

Curved horns and a long spiked tail, great wings unfurled proudly at its side — blurry like the rest of the world, but still shaped enough. A black dragon watched him from across the Arena.

Slowly, Devin got to his feet. In the world outside, the dragon would’ve towered above him. But in this world they stood at the same height. “I’m sorry,” he said. The words didn’t come from his mouth. He couldn’t
feel
his mouth. When he reached up, he realized that he didn’t
have
a mouth. His face was blank like the dragon’s.

A low groan came from the depths of the dragon’s scaly chest. It rose slightly towards the end, but never quite climbed from the depths. The song would never rise any higher. It wasn’t meant to. The dragon’s voice stayed low, like the sad tales his mother used to sing — the ones that ended in her tears.

Devin didn’t understand the dragon’s words, but he understood their meaning: only one of them could leave this place alive. They were going to have to fight.

Boy and dragon charged each other, colliding in the middle. The dragon raked its claws across Devin’s chest. Tendrils of black leaked from his wound and into the dragon. To his horror, the beast grew larger. The earth came closer as Devin shrank.

He gasped as the dragon’s jaw clamped down upon his arm. More black leaked away, pouring out in rivers. He tried to run, but by now he was too small: the dragon arched its long neck and bit him without even taking a step. The more it consumed, the larger it grew. Soon it was nearly the size of a hill — while Devin had shrunk to a child’s height. One more bite, and he’d be finished.

For the victor is two lives, and for the vanquished — none.

Devin knew what was happening. His mother used to sing songs of the old days — the age when draega and dragon lived as one, but that time had passed. It was too dangerous a power, too cruel a practice. They’d sworn an oath long ago that man and dragon would never again be joined.

Now that oath was broken. Whether Devin won or the dragon consumed him, the oath would still be broken. To give up his life wouldn’t change a thing. And so he wouldn’t give up.

He would fight.

The dragon’s head shot down, and Devin rolled to the side. He grabbed one of the beast’s curved horns with both hands and slung himself onto its shadowy neck.

It roared and tried to shake him off, but Devin held on tightly. He wrapped his arms around the dragon’s throat and squeezed hard. Black flowed into Devin as the dragon lost its breath. Soon they stood at equal heights once more.

The dragon twisted out of his grasp and sunk its teeth into his neck. Devin plunged his shadowy arm through the dragon’s chest. They struck the ground together — so forcefully that it began to shake. Pillars toppled, the air wavered dangerously. They rolled, tearing at each other while the earth crumbled under their blows.

At last, the world could hold their battle no longer. The ground shattered beneath them — and both Devin and the dragon tumbled into the darkness beyond.

*******

Crevan paced a stone’s throw from the rocky shore. He’d watched as the boy’s body crumpled beneath the Braided Tree, but he hadn’t worried. They’d all done that: fallen unconscious as they reached the Tree, only to wake a few moments later.

But now the sun had climbed on for almost an hour, and Devin still hadn’t moved.

“What’s taking so long?” Crevan growled.

“Perhaps the little whelp is dead.” Ulric’s eyes shifted to the sky above the island. “See? The carrion birds have already begun to circle.”

D’Mere’s lips were tight and she kept her arms crossed over her chest. She hardly glanced where Ulric pointed. “That’s a hawk.”

Blackbeak — who’d been inspecting the bald patches between his feathers for quite some time — suddenly leapt to his taloned feet. “Hawk?
Hawk
! Kill her! Blast her from the sky!”

Ulric raised his hand eagerly, but Crevan stopped him with a word. “No! You might strike the boy.” 

Blackbeak leapt up and down, stirring clods of dirt with desperate flaps of his wings. “But Your Majesty — not what she seems! She’s one of the great shamans! Kill her, kill her n —!”

A thundering roar cut over the top of his words and a great black bear lumbered out of the woods. It stood on its hindquarters and curled its lips over its massive teeth. Crevan’s men lowered their spears, forming a protective arch around him. D’Mere’s guards drew their swords. Ulric stretched out his hand and a dangerous red light bloomed along the links of his chained impetus.

A cry from the island stopped them all short.

Devin had awakened. He writhed upon the ground, his chest bowed against the force moving inside his body. His back arched and his hands snapped into fists. His limbs trembled dangerously, and Crevan knew what would happen next.

He grabbed Ulric around the robes and shoved through the soldiers — running for the river. They’d only just reached the shore when Devin’s body transformed.

His skin split open and black spots burst from the wounds — joining together until they covered him. His cries grew strangled around a set of enormous fangs. His voice deepened, rattling Crevan’s innards. He watched as horns burst from his dark crop of hair and the blades of his shoulders stretched into wings. At last, the change was finished.

Devin crumpled to the ground — his body now that of a great black dragon.

“Chain him, Ulric! Do it now!” Crevan roared.

The archmage’s face had gone ashen at the power of Devin’s voice, but Crevan’s command burned too hotly. The spell had nearly formed in Ulric’s hand when Devin tried to lift himself from the ground. The great wind that came from his mighty wings knocked them all backwards.

Ulric tumbled over and Crevan struck the ground hard. He ripped at the stringy grass, trying to pull himself to his feet. He’d only just managed to roll over when a voice broke through the air:

“The time has come, Blackbeak — the shamans will purge the earth of your Abomination!”

A gangly man with sunken features had appeared from the swamps. He stood between a man with far-set eyes, and a woman whose eyes glowed a dangerous yellow. The bear lumbered to join them, becoming a hairy man in mid-gallop. When all four were aligned, they raised the talismans from their chests.

“It’s time you answered, Blackbeak,” the gangly barbarian said again. “It’s time to cleanse your Abominable soul.”

Blackbeak took to the skies with a squawk and a shower of feathers, but the light from their talismans brought him crashing back down. He squirmed under their chants, the light from his own talisman pulsing desperately against the shamans’ attack. He screamed for help, but Crevan didn’t answer.

His eyes were on Devin.

The great black dragon had collapsed upon the island. He was a beast far greater than the Dragongirl: each scale across his enormous chest was a large as a man’s palm, his wings stretched to the island’s ends. Even from a distance, Crevan could feel the terrible heat in his ragged breaths — it seared the skin across his brow and nose.

While he watched, the hawk fell from the sky and took a woman’s shape. She grabbed Devin by his horns and shook him fiercely. “Fly! You must fly, sky-hunter!”

His stark blue eyes snapped open, lighting on her. The shaman raised her arms, Devin raised his wings — and Crevan let out a roar. He leapt to his feet and ripped Ulric from the ground. “Bind him now, you worthless mage! Stop him!”

With a blast of his mighty wings, Devin shot into the sky. His limbs curled beneath him as he turned for the northern seas. A few beats more, and he likely would’ve been free. But Ulric’s spell got there first.

A red-hot strip of light burst from his hand as the archmage fell back from the blast of Devin’s wings. It roared through the open sky and struck him in his scaly throat. His great voice made the earth tremble. His wings shivered as he tried to force himself on.

“I am your master, beast,” Crevan thundered. “Kneel at my feet!”

The collar grew red-hot under the force of Crevan’s command. Devin fought against the burning spell. He roared and slung his head about. For half a breath, he spun towards them. His blue eyes snapped shut and the scales around his lids squinched together tightly. When they opened, Crevan took a startled step backwards.

The cool blue was gone — replaced by a horrible, fiery yellow. A black, slitted pupil cut down each eye, guarded on both sides by a raging wall of flame. These eyes met Crevan’s without fear. It was the defiance in each slit that gave the fires their light. This time when Devin roared, his voice shook the trees and flattened the river’s waves.

Finally, he seemed to break through Ulric’s hold. His wings stopped their trembling and beat all the more furiously for the seas.

“Stop him! Bring him down!”

Ulric looked as if he held onto Devin by no more than a thread. His arm shook violently, his face turned purple. Words flew from his lips in a maddened scream as Devin winged further out to sea. The chained impetus writhed across his arm, squirming as it struggled to control its newest link.

Crevan couldn’t even hear the furious words that tore from his throat. His life, his Kingdom — everything he’d worked for was tied to the clawed feet of that dragon. If Devin escaped, it would all be for naught. He roared for Ulric to stop his flight, to drag him in by his horns.

Their fates depended on it.

All at once, the collar around Devin’s neck burst into flame. He roared and twisted against the pain, but Ulric had him. The archmage grinned as he pulled his hand towards the shore. Devin followed the line of his arm helplessly, as if there was a rope tied to his back.

The spell dragged him into the swamps and brought him crashing down. His body slid until his great, horned head came to rest a stone’s throw from Crevan’s boots.

“Your Majesty — the shaman!” D’Mere gasped.

Crevan looked up in time to see that the barbarians had given up their fight. They burst into their animal forms and scattered among the drooping trees, fleeing out of the reach of D’Mere’s twin guards.

Blackbeak — or rather, what was left of him — lay in a deflated mass of skin and feathers upon the ground.

Crevan laughed. “What about the shaman? He served his purpose. I’ve no longer got a use for him — this is the last beast I’ll ever need.”

D’Mere’s careful steps froze at his side. Her breath seemed trapped behind her lips; the ice in her gaze melted as she took in the sight of Devin’s enormous, panting body upon the ground.

Crevan smirked. Very rarely was D’Mere ever stricken speechless. “What do you think of my newest slave?”

“Fate help us,” she whispered.