Cyrion Read online

  The night passed in a flurry of blind panic and jumbled images. Behind them, weaker, slower goblins who had given up the mad race for the cavern dragged themselves to the middle of the trail. They would buy the other goblins time. A precious commodity they were prepared to pay for with wreaths of orange roses. Jon observed the faintest streaks of light from the east. The sun was rising. A blood-red dawn approached.

  Jon fingered his grandfather’s pendant.

  “Jon, no!” Saul pointed ahead. “We’re almost there.”

  Jon looked up when he heard Saul’s sudden intake of breath. Standing between them and the mouth of the portal cavern were massed ranks of D’hadhii troopers. Their battle armor gleamed gold and orange in the light of the early dawn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE SHOWDOWN

  Jon climbed down from the goblin’s back, his mouth agape.

  “Who did this? Who’d do this to their own kind?” Saul said, raging.

  Jon glanced at the group of panting Ha’rani, and noted a conspicuous absence.

  “J’hatk,” Anya said, her lips curling in contempt.

  Eyeing the hundreds of D’hadhii in their way, Jon held the bloodstone with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Blood to blood, I need you; Blood from bloo—”

  Anya slapped his hand away. “I’m still here. Wait ‘till I’m dead before you do that.” She dropped her pack and turned her back on him. “Hold on to my shoulders.”

  Jon put his hands on her slender shoulders. “Wha—?”

  “Tighter,” Anya snapped, stiffening her frame. “Whatever happens, don’t let go. You’ll fall off.” She turned to Saul and G’hanjl. “Tell them to back off. Get to a safe distance.” Her breathing grew labored. Jon’s eyes widened as her slight shoulders lengthened and thickened.

  “I am going to need room. A lot of room.”

  * * * *

  “Dad, we get them now.” Arti pulled away from the silver basin. She adjusted the straps of her Watcher armor, before turning to her husband. “Logan, will you please hand me the Twins?”

  Logan hesitated. He knew once he handed Arti her twin daggers, there’d be no holding her back. He glanced at the others for approval. Geoff nodded as he checked his pouches, filled with spell components. Karin unsheathed her scimitar in eloquent silence.

  “No,” Naeem said. His face remained expressionless as he studied the swirling depths.

  “Dad, look at what they’re facing. It’s suicide.”

  “You swore to me, old man,” Karin said in a soft, lethal voice. The edge of her scimitar glinted in the morning light.

  “Just look,” Naeem said, head still bent over the basin. “This is why we need cyrions in our ranks.”

  * * * *

  Anya’s rage had built from the moment she stepped into the Ha’ran Quarter, eons ago, it now seemed. She was ready to unleash it. She barely heard her friends’ startled gasps as her legs and arms thickened. Her face and spine elongated, her teeth lengthened, while massive, iridescent-green wings sprouted from her back. Her perspective changed as she grew taller, much taller than ever before. The stink of their fear was divine perfume.

  Puny creatures. Cower. Flee.

  She swung her massive, spiked tail, crushing a good third of the goblins into the rock face. Their screams, exquisite symphony to her ears. Their blood and mangled bodies brought her unparalleled joy. This was what it meant to be cyrion.

  To be the ultimate predator.

  She stretched her scaled neck to the sky, screaming both her exultation in the kill and her challenge to the world. Anya lowered her head and snapped at ones she identified as ‘evil’. The ones in gold and orange. She relished the bitter copper taste in her mouth and on her tongue as their bodies burst against razor teeth. She spat their remnants out, before she breathed in, feeling the gasses combine into something lethal inside. Then she blew a vicious blue jet at the remains of the goblin army. The scent of fear vaporized, replaced by the aroma of charred meat.

  She screamed her triumph, riding high on pure adrenaline. On the kill. She hoped for more.

  This is so much fun.

  She spotted more D’hadhii troopers coming their way. Her silvered reptilian eyes glittered in savage joy. She’d slaughter them all. No surrender, no mercy. She bent her head, inhaled again, and spewed forth a longer, bigger jet of blue flame. More screams. Music to her ears.

  There was an unexplained weakness in her left foreleg. She barely noticed the cold before, not in her dragon form. But it suddenly got colder. Much colder. She shrugged it off. She’d worry about the cold later, when she had time. She braced herself for the next round of combat, even as she fought the sluggishness sweeping through her. Shaking her massive head, she swatted more D’hadhii troopers with her tail. More blood and broken bodies littered the trail. But not enough. More were coming. She lowered her head and blew yet more blue flame. Only this time, her flame was tinged with yellow and red.

  Something is wrong.

  * * * *

  General D’horek studied the scene from atop a small hill near the portal cavern, a satisfied smile on his lips. They’d reacted just as he’d anticipated. A blind, panicked run, followed by the MataPerak shifting into one of her more lethal incarnations.

  The small cyrion shifted into an immature, female dragon. Her green iridescent scales flashed in the morning light as she lashed her massive tail, sweeping a full third of his forces into the rock face. He turned to his subordinate and nodded his confirmation to send in more reinforcements. They’re chattel anyway.

  He caught sight of the cyrion breathing flames on the remnants of his men, and his smile grew wider. Fire breathing demanded even greater energy expenditure. He should encourage her to do so more often. General D’horek waved his hand, impatient to summon yet more reinforcements.

  He was willing to throw all the armed goblins under his command at her. It was only a matter of time before he wore her down. Although, she was going through them rather too quickly for his liking.

  He frowned, motioned at his subordinate to approach, and then told him to send out every available D’hadhii trooper from the Citadel. Immediately. The subordinate nodded, and scurried off. General D’horek turned back to enjoy the spectacle.

  * * * *

  Anya swept her tail and blew her last jet of flame. The way was clear.

  It’s too cold. Much too cold.

  She lowered her head so her friend could get back on the ground, where he’d be safe. Safe from her. Safe from whatever came next. She swiped her tail against some trees, knocking them down to block the trail. To slow enemy reinforcements.

  She stretched her head and screamed one last time.

  Then everything went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  HERO

  Jon concentrated on gripping what used to be Anya’s shoulders—two bony ridges atop an iridescent green dragon’s head. He clamped his legs around her as firmly as he could, afraid he might fly off the next time she swung to breathe fire on the D’hadhii troopers, or sweep them with her tail. He was developing a headache and nausea from both the sudden way she moved and the way she shifted his vision wherever she wanted. But he knew better than to fight her. Headache and nausea it is, he sighed. Saul was throwing up by the side of the trail.

  “Saul! When the way is clear, lead the goblins through!”

  “What?” Saul wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his face, pale.

  Jon knew his voice was lost amidst the high winds and clamor of battle.

  He waited for a brief lull in the battle, after Anya burned, smacked, or trampled the D’hadhii troopers, and before the arrival of fresh reinforcements.

  When the moment came, he turned to Saul. “Get them to the portal! Now!”

  Saul nodded and, together with G’hanjl, herded the remnants of the Ha’rani refugees into the portal cave.

  “We can’t go through without you,” Saul said.

  Jon felt his eyes focus on th
e distance—fresh troops. Headed their way.

  “Get there first, and be ready to go.” Jon tensed to ready himself for the next bout, when he sensed Anya’s mental presence falter.

  What’s happening?

  Brows furrowed, he turned to Saul. “Go now. I’ll figure it out.”

  Saul nodded, and headed inside the cavern with the others.

  Jon bent closer. “What’s wrong, my friend? What happened?”

  Anya lowered her head and Jon climbed to the ground.

  “What are you doing? You still need me. More are coming!”

  * * * *

  General D’horek laughed aloud when he noted the red and yellow tints in the cyrion’s flame, a clear indication of her depleting energy reserves. Thoughtless younglings. There’s no way the cyrion could maintain her reptilian dragon form in the frozen tundra. Especially not while expending such vast amounts of energy.

  The cyrion lowered her head, and the immature male climbed down. She’s drained. He barked another laugh when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his cohorts of D’hadhii troopers in gleaming orange and gold trotting up the trail.

  Perfect timing.

  His laugh caught in his throat when he realized what the cyrion expended the last of her energy on. Massive tree trunks now blocked the trail. His reinforcements would be forced to waste precious minutes skirting the blockage. Nothing stood between his quarry and the entrance to the portal cavern. He roared, unsheathed his broadsword, and ran down the hill.

  She will not escape me again. Not this time.

  * * * *

  Jon stood, paralyzed in horror, as Anya brought down the trees to block the trail, screamed, then collapsed before his eyes. Her massive dragon form shimmered, before shifting into eclipses of iridescent green butterflies that flew into the clear blue sky. Underneath all the butterflies lay Anya’s still form.

  Nausea and headache long forgotten, Jon ran to her, his heart in his throat. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse, erratic. His hand on the bloodstone, he glanced at the trail where hordes of D’hadhii troopers almost reached the mess of fallen trees. He glanced back to the mouth of the portal cave, trying to gauge the distance. To judge if he would be strong enough to get them both that far before the D’hadhii troopers made their way around the mess of splintered trunks. Jon’s brows furrowed with indecision as he gathered her into his arms.

  Then he noticed the bright orange smears on her pale lips.

  Berry stains.

  He dismissed all thought of calling the grumps for help. Saul was right. They had done too much and gone too far not to complete this on their own. They’d finish the mission as planned.

  He’d see to it.

  Jon dropped his pack and carried Anya’s prone, clammy form across both his shoulders, the way his father taught him. She was much lighter than he expected. That, or he had gotten stronger over the last few weeks.

  Or more desperate.

  Gritting his teeth, Jon made his way to the mouth of the portal cave.

  * * * *

  “Saul!” Jon staggered into the innermost chamber of the cavern. He struggled to hand Anya to his friend. “Take her.”

  “What happened?” Saul carried Anya across both his shoulders with an ease and grace that Jon had always both admired and envied.

  “I’ll explain later. No time. More coming.”

  Jon whipped out the Slayer and, careless with haste, slashed his hand. He coated the pendant with the blood that dripped freely from the gash, and then pressed his wounded hand to the glassy black wall.

  Too slow, much too slow.

  “Fat Watchers. I buy time.” G’hanjl pulled out a blood-crusted stiletto from his belt. Sa’atha wailed her protest.

  The stone wall warmed under Jon’s hand.

  G’hanjl turned to his sister. “Be happy.”

  The portal emerged from the wall.

  “Look after Sa’atha, Fat Watchers,” he said. “And tell humans not all goblins bad. Some goblins good.”

  Echoes of booted feet rang from the entrance of the cavern.

  “I promise,” Jon said, looking at G’hanjl straight in the eye. “And no, not just good. Some goblins are heroes.”

  G’hanjl nodded. “Thank you.”

  The door swung open, and with it came a warm breeze, carrying the sweet scents of summertime.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Saul pushed the Ha’rani refugees through the portal. As Jon pulled Sa’atha through, his last glimpse was of G’hanjl, his arm raised high, charging the D’hadhii troopers swarming into the innermost chamber of the cavern. The last thing he heard as the portal swung shut was of metal striking flesh.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  BUTTERFLIES ASCENDING

  Naeem sat in front of his desk in the study, tapping his grey goose quill on the half-written report before him. He would occasionally look out the window and stare at his grandson, sitting by himself amidst the riot of flowers Greta planted by the raven’s grave.

  The mission had been hard on him. On all of them. Naeem sighed, tore his gaze away from Jon, and stared at the stack of reports on his left. At least the goblin settlement was going well. The inn and the forge brought in the much-needed income required to get the rest of the Outpost back on its feet. The Outpost should be self-sufficient by this time next year.

  Naeem’s eyes dropped back to the report he was preparing.

  There is irrefutable proof the elves are still among us. Further, they have taken the role of predator by using the lives of the Ha’rani young to power their enchantments. Based on eyewitness accounts, my squad and I conclude that the ratio of predator to prey is, and has been, out of balance and therefore, unsustainable.

  He resumed tapping his goose quill against the fine rice paper, deep in thought.

  We recommend tripling the Watcher squads patrolling the Northern border, and guarding or sealing all portals leading to the Northern Wastes to prevent further breaches into Watcher-controlled territories. Starved of a fresh source of life force to feed their enchantments, we believe it will only be a matter of time before Drow-controlled territories collapse.

  My squad and I recommend that a detailed, verbal report be delivered in person to the Triumvirate at the Academy.

  His attention strayed back to Jon, who seemed to be concentrating on nothing more substantial than thin air. Naeem shook his head, sighed yet again, and continued writing.

  We will depart Linwood with all necessary witnesses and evidence as soon as possible.

  He would give the children as much time as he possible. Hopefully, enough for all three of them to recover. Or at least, time enough for the cyrion to finally pass.

  * * * *

  A month had passed. Jon sat on the grass beside the raven’s grave, amidst a riot of blooming rock roses, bluebeards and butterfly bushes, the sun warming his back. Grammy Greta came through. He looked up to the second floor of his grandfather’s house. Cheerful pink curtains, caressed by the light, warm summer breeze, fluttered out of a set of open windows. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

  Pink. Typical girl.

  Back at the Linwood side of the portal cave, Jon used the pendant and his bloodied hand to unlock a way out for all of them. Saul refused to relinquish his burden and carried Anya all the way home. She did not open her eyes once. Jon periodically checked her pulse and breathing, but there was no more he could do.

  The days after they got home consisted of a maddened flurry of questions, hugs, and admonishments. Jon barely remembered half the things that happened. A settlement had been found for the goblins, he recalled hearing as much. He kept his promise. Sa’atha now ran his father’s old inn and tavern at the Outpost. I guess it’s the Goblin Outpost, now.

  The Goblin Outpost was too far out of the way for anyone to stumble across by accident, making it a safe place for its newest inhabitants. Jon ceased caring about the other Ha’rani in the goblin city. They chose to stay slaves. They d
eserve their lot. The grumps said something about the Northern Wastes being beyond the scope of their authority anyway.

  The moment they returned to Linwood, refugees in tow, the three of them earned the rank of Apprentice Watchers. Jon did not care very much about that either. Not anymore. Saul had not left Anya’s room virtually the whole time they’ve been back. He and Greta took care of Anya as best they could. She could reflexively swallow when they held her up to spoon clear soup and water into her slack mouth. But otherwise, she lay like one already dead.

  The first week they were back, Saul asked, screamed, and finally begged her to wake up. Now he spent his days doing nothing more than holding her hand and looking at her with haunted, hollow eyes. Every night, he slept on the floor beside her bed, in a nest of blankets and pillows. The grumps had done everything they knew to do and Grampa had checked every tome in his study. All for nothing.

  She had not opened her eyes once.

  Two weeks ago, on the verge of giving up all hope, something caught his eyes. A butterfly. A single iridescent green butterfly. He had an idea. An idea he kept to himself. Partly because he didn’t want anyone disappointed in case he was wrong. Also partly out of superstitious fear that the more people who knew about it, the lower the probability of success.

  He did not want to risk scaring away the butterflies.

  Every morning since that day, he gathered a bouquet of rock roses and bluebeards and placed them in a glass vase beside Anya’s bed. Then he spent the day keeping vigil by the raven’s grave. The first morning, he saw several iridescent green butterflies alight on the blooms by the grave, then ascend and make their way through the open window. With each successive day, more and more butterflies flew through the window. Yet there were no outcries from anyone inside. And Saul did not say a single word about them.

  Yesterday, there were so many butterflies, they blocked out the sun. So today, he waited in hope.

  He closed his eyes, then bowed and rested his head on his knees.

  Please work. I don’t know what else to do. Come home.