THE BLITZ OF DIN BARHAM

THE BLITZ OF DIN BARHAM, by Cameron Johnston

 

When the dragon came, the love songs of nightingales ceased and the moon hid her face from the slumbering spires of Din Barham. From within black clouds an ominous whoomph whoomph whoomph of immense wings, then a heartbeat of dreadful silence, followed by the whistle of wind as death descended.

 

It was the screams that woke Kyna, and the light flickering through the shutters that caused her to leap from bed to fling them open.

The city was burning. Flames twisted up into the sky from the ruins of the temple square. The Eidyn Palace on the high rock was an inferno, its copper spires cherry-red and running. A whistling from overhead drew the young woman’s gaze. Something big and black flashed past, wings briefly limned orange from below.

Liquid flame exploded through the streets of the Old Town, consuming the taverns and trading houses clustered around the Grassmarket. Shrieking people staggered out and rolled in the mud, but the fire clinging to their skin refused to die.

Heart pounding, the apprentice magician ran to wake her master, the grand mage Maccus. The bald and bearded old man was the deepest of sleepers and Kyna was forced to slap him repeatedly. “Wake up, Grandfather!”

He growled and swatted her hands away, blinking blearily. “How dare you–” His words died off at the sight of her terror, and then he realised by what flickering light he could see it.

He cursed and ran to the window, staring out at the devastation.

“Grandfather, what’s happening?”

His voice was a hoarse whisper, “Death, Kyna; it is a dragon.”

 

The moon peered out from her blanket of cloud as the creature finally withdrew from the burning spires of Din Barham. Vast wings briefly spread black across her white.

 

***

While carpenters and masons shored up damaged buildings and healers peddled potions and salves, the temple sooth-sayers cast the bones and consulted their oracles, unanimously predicting the return of winged death in the small hours before dawn.

As the afternoon wore on fires died to a smoulder, allowing the dead to be shrouded in tear-stained linen. None were able to look for long upon the charred ruin of their kin. Prayer incense was lit and offerings made to the gods. Only then did the grief of the living turn to anger. Under Sir Edward de Cox’s leadership the knights roused the militia and began sharpening weapons and restringing bows, hoping they would never be needed – surely their magicians would deal with the dragon?

For the first time in Din Barham’s history its disparate magicians gathered in one place: haughty grand magi and wise loremasters, warlocks and witches, shamans and spell-weavers and sorcerers of all creeds converging on the fabled manse of Grand Mage Maccus.

With martial law declared, Kyna was even forced to open the great brass gate and admit outlawed demonologists who had crawled from crypts to put their dark arts and darker hearts in service of the city. They sneered at the gate’s arcane configuration of silver stars and brass planets. As far as they were concerned power was only found in blood and pain.

In the great hall Kyna surreptitiously scratched under the collar of her mother’s old formal robes, stiff with protective runes embroidered in thread of gold and still one size overlarge.

“Stop fidgeting girl,” Maccus whispered as he took his seat at the head of the baroque table. “We must set a good example.” It went unsaid that he meant to anybody other than the handful of worthy magi like himself. He studied her and leaned closer, “You look impressive. Your parents would have been proud.”

She stood straighter and remained silent, eager to learn from this unprecedented gathering of wise magicians. She was swiftly disabused and disappointed, reduced to grinding her teeth as plans were proposed and gleefully torn apart, with none of the bickering and arrogant magicians willing to share more than a fraction of their secrets.

“No, no, no,” Earnhald the loremaster said, brandishing an old scroll like a weapon against a coven of warlocks and witches, “Your curses and hexes will have no effect. Dragons are creatures of old magic. The beasts are immune to such crude castings and it will sense any weaving powerful enough to cause real harm, then simply avoid it. No, the city’s most ancient texts must be scoured for a solution. We must devote all our effort there.”

A grizzled shaman named Borabar shook his head, bone beads clacking, “Pah! We would wait an age for your weak eyes to glean anything useful from dead men’s scratchings. We must construct a wooden henge and sacrifice seven bulls. The great spirits must be enticed to come to our aid.” The magi and loremasters scowled and jeered.

Heladir the red-handed, most feared of the demonologists tutted and slicked dark greasy hair back, her hand bejewelled with intricate silver and ruby rings. “The only spirit you can conjure comes from a bottle. All your plans are weak and flawed. Only I offer a true solution, an infernal plague of such dark and deadly potency that even dragons must succumb.”

The sorcerers and spell-weavers shook their heads and consulted star charts. They began a heated discussion of the unfavourable conjunction of Inan-Phos and Kishar in the constellation of the Heavenly Bull.

Maccus narrowed his eyes at the demonologist. “Your proposed solution comes at what cost?”

Heladir shrugged, “Two thousand souls.”

Maccus slammed a fist on the table, “We shall not sacrifice our own!” The conclave descended into riotous confusion with every magician shouting their own solution to the draconic menace, Maccus loudest of all. Kyna knew every one of them lusted to be acclaimed saviour of the city, and she found their grandstanding and secrecy infuriating. Even under the flaming maw of a dragon they failed to set aside their pride. She watched and she learned, and she vowed to become something different, something better.

The bickering continued until warning bells began tolling bells all across the city. Maccus turned to spit orders at her, but she gave him her mother’s best disappointed glare and the words withered on his cracked lips.

“Ah. Right, well,” he huffed, “let us try and overwhelm the beast with brute force then.”

Wielding a diverse collection of staves, wands and implementia arcana, the magicians filed out into the once-verdant gardens of the manse, tramping through drifts of soot and ash deposited by the fires that had raged across the city. While magi and loremasters looked on with haughty disdain, the warlocks and witches began muttering over glowing defensive charms and carved fetishes. The shamans called to their spirits for aid while spell-weavers and sorcerers used their supply of precious manna crystals to power elaborate wards graved on gold discs.

The demonologists poured a circle of human blood on the path, then a second in salt, outside of which Heladir stood chanting in a hissing hideous tongue. Swirling red mist appeared inside and ember-eyes stared at Kyna with unholy hunger until she tore her gaze away.

“Master, what shall I do?” she asked.

Before Maccus could respond Heladir answered, “Stay out of our way, whelp. Look after the other children.” Then she resumed her chant.

Maccus glowered and silently promised Kyna the insult would be repaid in full when he had time.

She ground her teeth and waited with the other apprentices as their masters prepared rituals and spells. Her mystic power had not yet grown to match her command of the equations of force and energy, an inadequacy other magicians were not shy of pointing out. In a year she would be fully grown and able to project her power beyond what she could touch, but sadly a dragon was unlikely to sit still and let her punch it. Until then, she busied herself fetching manna crystals and setting charms, fetishes and wards around the perimeter of the manse.

She wiped her brow and scanned the gathering clouds as the nightingales trilled sweetly to the moon, their songs offering a moment of love and peace before the coming chaos.

The birds fell silent. The wind picked up, plucking at her robes with invisible eager hands. A blanket of black cloud smothered the moon and stars. Her heart thudded heavily as she scoured the sky. A heavy beat of wings, coming closer.

She clenched her hands to stop them shaking, “It’s coming!”

“Draw the beast to us,” Maccus shouted. “We are safe behind our wards. Now, let us see this creature.”

The magi lifted staves and launched churning balls of fire into the night sky. Kyna gasped. Six winged silhouettes wheeled in formation above Din Barham, the lead wyrm fully as large as the Eidyn palace had been.

“Gods preserve us,” Maccus hissed. “The oldest and greatest of dragons! A matriarch and her brood.”

The matriarch’s immense wings folded and it plummeted towards them.

A wave of nausea overwhelmed Kyna as the demonologists finished their summoning. An infernal beast was birthed into the sky, shrieking upwards as a burning cloud of tooth and claw. The great dragon spread wings wide to slow its descent and opened its maw, exposing fangs the size of cart horses and a throat filled with roiling flame. A red star bloomed in the heavens.

The infernal beast melted in fire hotter than its native hell. The summoning spell snapped, leaving the demonologists screaming and writhing on the ground, bleeding from ears, eyes and nose. The dragon whipped past, a mountainous blur spitting liquid flame. The ground shook as fire boomed against the layered wards enveloping Maccus’ manse. Rivers of flame flowed downhill to consume nearby streets.

The magicians cursed and attacked. Needles of lightning and explosions stitched lines across the cloud. The dragon jinked and rolled, avoiding every magical attack with a preternatural grace that belied its bulk.

While the magicians were kept busy, the smaller dragons swooped and spat death across the city. By the light of burning buildings Kyna watched a line of knights and militia on the city walls lofting arrows into the air. Most were turned aside by scaly hide. Their bravery was rewarded with death as a dragon snatched up screaming figures and dropped them into the waiting maws of their siblings. Other dragons landed to feed, cracking houses open like eggs to roast the people cowering inside.

Sweat poured down Kyna’s face as the matriarch circled the assembled magicians, trading fire for death-spells. The manse was an island in a sea of flame thanks to the witches and warlocks shedding blood, desperately incanting protections while the spell-weavers and sorcerers frantically changed out the manna crystals that kept their wards powered.

When the smaller dragons had eaten their fill they shrieked and took flight, rising with a clumsy flapping of wings that fanned the fires below. Only when all five of her spawn were in the air did the matriarch break off her attack and lead them back into the clouds.

Maccus sagged, exhausted from expending so much magic. Kyna rushed to the old man’s side and lent her arm as the other magicians slumped to the ground, some sobbing, others staring in mute despair.

“What are we to do, Master?”

He fought back tears as he surveyed the devastation left in the dragons’ wake. “Against one or two we might have a chance, but against a matriarch…six dragons…” He choked on the words and shook his head.

Kyna shuddered – if even her great master was at a loss then what chance did any of them have.

 

***

The dragons mostly came in the dead of night, shrieking death-bringers that regarded human meat as no different to animal, preferable even. When their ravenous bellies were filled they retreated to a distant and unknown lair leaving Kyna and the other apprentices the daylight hours to fetch and carry for their masters. She had found them far more helpful than the secretive magicians they served, cooperating in using all their arts to search the rubble for survivors.

A city-wide lottery was held each morning, the lucky few hundred allowed to spend the night in the warded safety of magician’s manses. Everybody else had to hide as best they could. Kyna wearily picked over the smoking wreckage of a line of homes that had stood next to the ruined temples, the copper dowsing rods clutched in her hands remaining motionless as the daylight began to wane. She looked across the street to her friend Aislin, a member of the Apothecary’s Guild, using her own rods to search with the help of her little boy Connor and his floppy-eared hound. It snuffled through the debris, then turned away to whine and pawed at her leg.

Kyna sighed: not a single survivor found the whole day. Even outcast apprentices like Aislin had been conscripted by the magician’s council, the laws proscribing them from utilising magic and all its implements suspended. Kyna still harboured a kernel of hatred in her heart for Maccus casting Aislin out because she was with child. Her friend was happy enough plying her trade of powders and potions, but the ban on practicing magic had always put a strain on their relationship.

They packed away their rods and began the trek home holding Connor’s pudgy hands. The little boy sang verses from Laran’s Wings as they walked, a shard of happiness amongst grim faces and grief. It reminded them both of a misspent childhood using her grandfather’s expensive flutes to shoot dried peas at each other as they ducked and dived amongst the market stalls. Connor was too young to understand the danger, but Kyna knew even that childish ignorance would not last.

“What now?” Aislin said. “There must be some other way we can help.”

Kyna shrugged. “Those hidebound old magicians tell each other only what they must. It’s ridiculous, and even my grandfather refuses to share more than he has to.”

Aislin’s lips tightened, “I have thought about taking Connor on a cart and leaving. People say if you travel by day and hide at night–”

“Don’t.” Kyna gave Connor’s hand a squeeze. “I’ve looked into the scrying glass and few made it far. Dragons have an excellent sense of smell, they will find you. It’s become a sport to them.”

Her friend grimaced. “I–”

Whoomph…

They froze, listening, looking up at the gathering clouds.

whoomph…whoomph…whoomph…

“It can’t be,” Aislin said. “It’s still daylight.” Then the warning bells began to toll.

Kyna cursed. “One comes early hoping for prime pickings.” Aislin picked up her boy and they started running for the nearest shelter. Their hound sensed her panic and loped ahead, ears and tail down.

By the time they sighted Sir Edward de Cox’s stone manse the grumpy old knight, sole remaining member of his order, stood ready in harness and helm as he ushered the last gaggle of terrified people through the heavy oak door down into his wine cellar. He made to step through and close it behind him, but then he caught sight of Kyna, Aislin and Connor. His eyes lifted skywards. He sighed and drew his sword.

With Aislin in the lead, Kyna glanced back to see a young dragon land ungainly, legs like tree trunks hitting the street and crushing cobbles. The ground shuddered, knocking her from her feet. She hit face-first, a numbing impact, hot blood gushing from a split lip.

Up close in daylight the dragon was nauseating. Mottled grey scales blackened with soot and slime covered every inch, with the occasional arrow shaft lodged between them. On land its spine ridges flopped like boneless fish and black wings were riddled with pulsing red veins and translucent nodules. It sniffed the air, mucus-crusted nostrils spraying droplets of flame. A bruise-yellow cat’s eye the size of a dinner plate focused on her. Kyna cringed, pinned to the spot. The dragon opened its great maw and stretched for her.

In that moment of clarity before death she noted the moist meat stench of its breath, and the belt buckles and boots stuck between its teeth.

A blade flashed past her face, cutting deep into the dragon’s muzzle. “Die you bespawling corpulant vermin!” Sir Edward de Cox spat as the shrieking wyrm reeled back leaking blood and flame and pawing at the wound.

The last of the knights charged, a furious figure of suicidal steel and swearing. “Be gone girl, this rakefire is knight’s prey.”

She scrambled to her feet and fled. Aislin was waiting at the door, face pale and terrified. By the time Kyna reached her it was too late for the old knight – a dragon claw speared through his breastplate in a squeal of steel. The beast took its time lifting the old man to its maw, savouring his agony.

The knight glowered at the door. Tears rolling down her cheeks, Kyna closed it and dropped the thick bar into place. The last thing they saw was the old man spit blood right in the monster’s eye before trying to lodge his sword deep in its throat.

Huddled silent and fearful with dozens of others, Kyna thought he must have succeeded if the beast’s strained howling was any indication. That wounded dragon fled, and they dared to hope it might even die.

Dust and mortar trickled into their hair with each boom and crash as dragons spat death from the sky and squabbled over morsels of meat. Somewhere above a man screamed in terror–quickly cut off. Parents tried in vain to keep their little ones from wailing, but when Kyna informed them dragons hunted by sight and scent a rousing song erupted. Wine was uncorked and Sir Edward de Cox’s bravery toasted.

The people of Din Barham would never submit to despair. They would endure, and they were determined to prevail.

At dawn’s bell Kyna and Aislin emerged dust-streaked and bleary-eyed to find the manse a smoking ruin. The blackened walls had slumped from the heat and collapsed outwards. Of the old knight there was no sign.

They headed for Aislin’s shop–if it still stood–seeking cups of hot and calming tea to steady their nerves.

They found the frontage blackened but intact. The other side of the street was a long line of smouldering rubble pitted with holes where dragons had dug people from their cellars. On entering they found every surface black with a thick layer of soot. Glass bottles and copper tubing lay shattered and twisted on the floor.

With Connor and his hound safely curled up on a pallet in the back room, Aislin swept the broken glass into a pile, lit the lantern on her worktable and tended to the stove. She filled the teapot with potted spring water and while it boiled she searched the cupboards for any container vaguely resembling clean.

Stirring with pestles and drinking from mortars, they sat drinking in the calmness. The aroma of peppermint tea exorcised the sweat and wine-drenched terror of the cellar.

Every so often a nearby building collapsed, causing bottles and jars to tinkle in Aislin’s shop. A tin tumbled from a listing shelf and burst open, disgorging pale yellow powder onto the sooty floor. It woke Connor up but his hound crawled onto his lap and kept him occupied. Aislin sighed swept the mess back into its tin on the floor, scowling at the blackened powder, “Fie, why do I even bother?”

“What are we to do?” Aislin said, glancing to the back room. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the brush, lips and eyes tight from fighting back tears.

Kyna didn’t have any answer. She stared down into the steam rising from her tea. Another collapse rocked the shop. The lantern teetered and tumbled from the work table onto the piled powders.

Everything flashed white.

The tin shot across the room.

Aislin yelped and fell back into a heap. Kyna spilled tea all over herself. Connor’s hound leapt to and fro, barking.

The pile of sooty powder fitfully spat and hissed, and Kyna gave it a wide berth as she helped Aislin to her feet and dusted her off.

“What was that?” Kyna asked, studying the charred floorboards.

Aislin sniffed at the acrid smoke hanging in the air, lips twisting in disgust. “Lady Escovad’s physician prescribes a peculiar medicine to relieve her breathing problems: a little sulphur and nitre to be taken with vinegar. Her medicines need to be foul to drive out evil spirits.”

“And the flash and noise?” Kyna asked.

“I…don’t know.”

They knelt down to examine the remains of the explosion and Connor watched rapt as they began to experiment with more of Lady Escovad’s medicine. They took it outside to ignite amongst the rubble where it could do no further damage. They tried, and they failed, then they tried again. Aislin added soot to the mix of ground nitre crystals and yellow sulphur and achieved some success in recreating the bright flare and heat and smoke, but nothing approaching its earlier force. At the apothecary’s suggestion, the substitution of powdered charcoal instead of soot made the burn hot and swift, but still without any explosion.

“What are we missing here,” Kyna said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Maccus will be furious I’ve been away for hours. It doesn’t seem to matter much what proportions of powder we use. It’s still nowhere near as powerful as before.”

“Mama, tin go boom,” Connor said, tugging his mother’s skirt. He solemnly handed over the buckled container the medicine had been stored in.

They stared at the deformed lid and blown hinges. Kyna’s eyes glazed over for a moment, running through a series of arcane equations in her mind. “What if this burning powder works in the same manner as magic? We need to gather its power and concentrate the force before giving it direction.”

Aislin looked blank for a moment, then wistful as old memories of her apprenticeship stirred. “Our attempts failed because the burning was too diffuse? When it was inside the tin the force was contained and concentrated.”

They filled the tin with a small amount of their black powder and closed the buckled lid, the warped metal leaving just enough room for a twist of cloth. Taking it outside, they found a hollow in the rubble, lit the taper and stood well back.

The tin exploded, showering the area with scraps of metal and stone.

Kyna stared, a smile growing, “With this we could kill dragons.”

Aislin frowned, “I don’t see how something this weak could be of any use. I’m not sure we have enough powder in the whole city to make enough weapons to kill them all.”

“Not unless we can gather them all in one place,” Kyna answered.

“How can we possibly do that?” Aislin replied. The only place they attack night after night is…”

“My grandfather’s great manse,” Kyna said. “They know that hundreds of people are kept safe in there each and every night.”

Aislin paled. “Maccus will never agree to this. That manse is more than just his home; it is his pride and joy.”

Kyna’s lips narrowed. “Well, we shall just have to see about convincing him.”

Aislin listened, eyes widening as Kyna explained the details of her plan. They would need to begin preparing the metal casings and powder immediately.

Over the next week, in between dragon attacks and searching for survivors, Aislin experimented with proportions and purities of powder while Kyna cajoled the blacksmiths into doing her bidding. She was both apprentice and granddaughter of the renowned Maccus so despite their puzzlement they all did as she asked.

 

***

The next gathering of the city’s magicians was a more sombre affair, though no less contentious. It began with a listing of known casualties, buildings destroyed and magical and mundane resources used up. After the first few riotous free-for-all episodes, all proposers of new ideas were now to be listed on a scroll. One by one Maccus called out their names to step forward and propose a new solution to the plague of dragons, and to be shouted down in short order. After the fifth name he blinked and stared hard at an entry his apprentice had added to the list.

Kyna swallowed hard, stood straight and squared her shoulders.

“Hurry on, senile old man,” the shaman Borabar said. “The spirits demand you do not dawdle.”

Her grandfather’s gaze swept up to meet her own. “My apprentice, Kyna.”

Heladir snickered. “This whelp of a girl? By all means, we could use a good laugh.” She picked at a sharpened nail and sneered at her.

Kyna took a deep shuddered breath. “I propose the use of alchemy as a weapon.”

“No, no, silly girl,” Earnhald the loremaster said. “The beasts can smell poison a league away. Now, let us-”

“I was not finished,” Kyna shouted. “Did I utter the word poison? No, no I did not.”

Maccus was taken aback but Heladir the red-handed stopped picking at her nail and started paying attention. The sneer changed to a smile, pleased at seeing Earhald put in his place. “Do go on, dear.”

“You will need to follow me to the garden. I have arranged a small demonstration.”

As she led the grumbling magicians and their apprentices out in the garden Maccus grabbed her by the elbow. “What are you up to, girl? You have mentioned nothing of this to me.”

She shook him off. “You will understand why in a moment. I could not have you trying to stop me.”

Her grandfather looked confused as she led them across grass and then charred earth towards a small stone dovecote that had once housed his carrier pigeons, just one of Maccus’ many fleeting interests. She bid them stop a safe distance away and Aislin emerged from the building carrying a length of dusty twine, unwinding it as she approached.

Maccus’ bushy brows lowered as his eyes flicked from his current apprentice to one he had previously cast out.

Aislin handed the twine over and Kyna nodded her thanks. For a moment she studied the black powder mixed in with the strands and then laid it down. “This might be a little loud.”

She pressed a finger to the end of the twine and watched it spark and sizzle, the burning powder swiftly carrying the flame along the length. She hoped that the larger amount of powder they had placed inside a wooden chest would have the effect she hoped. In truth they had no idea how much they would really need for a full-size weapon. Everything they had left probably. This much should show the magicians that she could crack stone and blow doors off with it. The stone walls should shield them from any debris created when the chest blew up.

Her expectation built to a crescendo as the flame passed under the door to the dovecote.

The building exploded with the scream of a hundred dragons. The magicians were all knocked from their feet. Shields and protections flared up to ward off the rain of wood and stone that slammed down all around. The wards of the manse flared into life, deflecting danger from ornate walls and stained-glass windows.

Dazed, Kyna staggered to her feet and squinted at the smouldering pit where the dovecote had once stood. Oops.

Maccus’ mouth opened and closed, emitting only a strangled choking noise. The manse’s workmen and apprentices had stopped work and fallen silent, casting nervous glances in Kyna’s direction.

“Have you gone dribbling mad?” he finally spluttered. “You call that a small demonstration? Dragons can sense even small magic, girl! What use is this beyond enraging me?”

She cleared her throat, wincing at how much worse things were about to get. “It does not use any magic at all once lit.” The other magicians closed in on her, curious. “It…ah, only uses a certain burning powder.”

The others fell quiet and curious while her grandfather continued cursing, gazing at his ruined property.

“How then do you intend to use it?” Heladir demanded. “The beasts will not squat atop it on command.”

“No,” she conceded, “We would have to ensure they all gather in a single place.”

Maccus rounded on her. “That is not practical. Each dragon hunts as an individual and they would only ever gather if a large group of our people were present.”

Kyna flushed and looked at her feet. “The dragons know there is one place in the city where hundreds gather each night.”

Appalled silence.

“Here?” Maccus gasped. “You would turn this historic manse into a weapon?” His hand covered his heart as if mortally wounded. “You are mad. Mad, I say!”

“I like this plan,” Heladir stated, grinning widely. “Let it rain blood and fire.”

“You would love that, you vile atrocity,” Maccus spat, having to be held back by Borabar, gnarled hands flailing and beard trembling with fury. “This manse is our sole fortress! You would throw that away on this insanity?”

“Better than this creeping, inevitable death,” Kyna replied, meeting his wild eyed stare head-on. “We have one chance to kill some or all of them. You have seen what a small amount of the powder can do. It can work.”

“The spirits agree,” Borabar added. “Though it pains me to lose such a fine dwelling.”

“She does speak sense, learned one,” Earnhald said softly. “We are failing and without any other credible solution. Use your logic, man.”

“You are all traitors,” Maccus hissed. “And my own apprentice the worst of all.”

Kyna held firm. “This is happening with or without you, grandfather.”

“You are no kin of mine.”

It was a dagger to her heart, but she stared him down. Defeated, his shoulders slumped and he retreated to his manse.

It took an hour and a stiff glass or two of his oldest whisky for her grandfather to cease ranting and raving. He sat at his dining table nursing the dark dregs of his whisky, staring at her sullenly, the dark bags under bloodshot eyes evidence of his physical, mental and magical exhaustion. He looked older than she had ever seen him.

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.” It seemed so inadequate to her ears.

He nodded, downed the last of the alcohol and then dashed the glass against the wall, staring at the shards tinkling across the floor. “You must gather their clothes,” he muttered. “The dragons hunt more by smell than sight.” His reddened eyes glared at her. “If you are determined to do this thing then make sure you do it right. I will be furious if my manse is destroyed for no good reason.”

She swallowed and nodded. It would only take a few hours to prepare her weapon, and only a few more until she had to test it.

***

Dragons circled above silent and empty streets searching for easy prey, but by now the stupid, slow and unlucky were dragon dung and the rest had learned to extinguish their candles and retreat to the deepest cellars. It made for slim pickings. Those that would have huddled in warmth and safety in the manse now shivered in the sewers, silent and fearful, the shit hiding their scent.

Only Maccus’ great manse glowed bright in the night, still angrily sparking and spitting fearsome magics, though its circle of magical protection had shrunk to cover only the manse itself where once it encompassed gardens and outbuildings. The flight of dragons closed in, sensing the wards were finally faltering and scenting the hundreds of juicy humans huddled within. Or so they thought.

Kyna sat alone and trembling just beyond the safety of the manse, hidden inside withered bushes and smeared in mud to hide her scent. Her weapon was ready, with Aislin’s black powder filling a number of large iron chests inside the walls, their fuses ready to take fire from slow-burning taper in her hand. While she wasn’t terribly pious, Kyna began to pray for even just a tiny smidgeon of luck.

Each of the smaller dragons picked out nearby intact homes to root through for morsels of human flesh and as they descended, dodged and rolled to avoid the barrage of arcane destruction flung by the assembled magicians of Din Barham.

As before, the matriarch shrieked her rage and spat liquid death, turning the far side of the manse into a firestorm. Maccus lifted his arms and began a great and deadly working. Witches and warlocks pierced their skin with serpentine blades and fed blood into braziers. The demonologists sacrificed goats and released clouds of disease and death high into the air.

The matriarch dived low to avoid the clouds of death, skimming the tower tops. It abruptly folded its wings and plunged to the earth, great claws gouging furrows through mud and stone as it skidded to a stop just outside the manse. Maccus’ great working roared overhead and off to the side, a crackling conflagration of energy that melted stone towers like hot tallow.

Greasy smoke filled the air, obscuring the dragon’s sight.

That was the signal. The magicians broke ranks and fled to the manse’s cellar, and from there to the sewer beneath, crawling through filth as they fled the manse.

Kyna was left alone, her plan and her responsibility weighing on her young shoulders alone. It had to be done without magic, and she was faster than any of the aging magicians.

Flame roared once more. Without constant maintenance the wards flared and finally shattered. Fetishes burned, talismans crumbled and gold disks snapped.

The dragon’s hissing laugher sounded all too human; vile and intelligent mockery. Its lesser spawn shrieked and abandoned their individual hunts to descend on the manse. Dragons were greedy and jealous by nature, and all wanted to be the first to feast on such abundant prey. The ground shuddered with each landing.

Kyna set her taper to the fuse, blew on it, and prepared to run as flame sparked into life and sped towards the open window of the manse. Unfortunately the Matriarch was not as dim-witted as they had hoped.

The dragon’s great nostrils quivered and that huge horned head turned to face the bushes where she hid. Massive pus-yellow eyes blinked and contracted to venomous slits of hate. It roared, an exhalation of rank-meat and sour-milk stench that tore the leaves from her cover. Her stomach clenched and bile seared up her throat.

The smaller dragons advanced on the manse, drooling liquid flame and shoving each other out of the way to be the first to crack open their prize. One stepped on the fuse and it sputtered out.

The matriarch lowered its horned head and charged at Kyna, faster than any horse, each footfall a small earthquake. Its huge maw dripped flaming saliva as it opened. The air boiled as it inhaled, chest swelling, readying to roast the meat from her bones.

She had no choice but to run towards the manse rather than away. If the dragons realised there were no humans within it would all be for nothing. She stopped before the window, waiting in dread. As the jet of flame roared towards her, and towards the fuse and the powder, she dived to the earth and covered her head with her arm. She screamed as the heat washed over her and set her robes alight.

Everything flashed white.

Something massive ripped her into the air and punched her like a giant’s fist, sending her tumbling across the ground. Ribs cracked. Burning…

…she woke face down in the dirt. Lifting her thumping head, she spat mud, groaned and blinked. The world was silent and numb, wreathed in thick smoke. She couldn’t focus. Her clothes were charred but she felt nothing. She put her hands down to push up onto her feet but somehow ended up rolling onto her back instead.

With numb hands she fumbled to wipe grime away from her eyes, but it wasn’t working.

Through the smoke, a black shape loomed above her.

Gold glittered. A flash of white beard. Hands reaching for her.

“…Kyna? Can you hear me, Kyna?” Maccus said, voice tinny and quivering. The old man’s eyes were wide and worried as he cradled her in his arms.

A crackle of flames as more hearing returned. Other voices nearby. Dancing light in the smoke.

“Dragon?” she gasped, her throat like a raw wound.

He turned slowly and muttered a spell. Wind whipped past to clear the smoke. An enormous mangled heap of blasted scales and butchered flesh sat in a pool of dragon fire. Magicians of Din Barham surround the corpse, conversing in worried tones. In the distance fire and lighting filled the sky. Something dark and winged fell through cloud, spinning and burning.

She squinted and tried to focus. The dragon’s neck ended in a burning stump oozing liquid flame, and a crater had been blasted into the beast’s flank. Jagged shards of iron and stonework jutted proudly through scales and exposed bone.

She coughed and cackled. “Others?”

“Only one escaped, fled to lick its many wounds,” her master replied softly. “We killed the rest, Kyna. You have saved Din Barham.”

She tried to focus on him, and failed. She tried to wipe grit and grime from her eyes and failed again.

“Oh my dearest granddaughter,” he whispered. “I am so very sorry for the price you have paid.”

She gazed at him blearily, not understanding. Then she saw the blackened ruins of the manse. The hill it had sat on was broken and burning. She remembered diving down, her arm covering her head…

She looked at her hands. At her hand. One forearm ended in a ragged black stump of bone.

With that realisation came pins and needles, throbbing pain, and then indescribable agony as she finally felt her many broken bones and burns. She writhed and screamed in his arms until shaman Borabar laid a hand on her forehead and plunged her into blessed blackness.

 

***

She lay in bed listening to the sawing and hammering of reconstruction, studiously avoiding the sight of the bandaged stump where her hand had been.

A knock at the door, then Aislin entered wearing a half-smile, half-apology. “How are you faring?” Maccus, in a show of uncharacteristic magnanimity, had allowed her and Connor, and even their ‘damnable hound’ to reside with them during her recovery.

She grimaced and shuffled a little more upright in bed. “I’m alive. Can’t complain.”

“Glad to hear it.” Aislin tore the sheets off the bed, leaving Kyna’s scarred body exposed to the chilly morning air. “It’s been ten days. Get up and walk with me.”

Kyna hissed and shivered. “I can’t!” She waved at her stitched and scabbed legs with her stump, and felt sick at the sight of it.

Aislin tsked, “The physicians and magicians say otherwise.” She retrieved Kyna’s new robe from a hook on the wall and held it out.

It took a lot of cajoling and blackmail but Aislin got her way. On her arm, Kyna limped along the hall and out into the gardens, where the green tips of new growth were sprouting from the ashes.

The workers and apprentices doffed their caps or offered nods before resuming heated discussions, but passing magicians pursed their lips and offered only grudging greetings.

“What is that about?” Kyna asked. “Are they really so jealous of this ‘victory’ of mine?” She scowled at her stump.

Aislin shook her head. “Things are changing, and their sort can’t abide that. You don’t know what you’ve begun. The people of Din Barham all saw what you did, and the smiths know how the weapon was created. They’ve already come up with a dozen new ways to use that powder.” She smiled, sly as anything. “And, er, I might have told other apothecaries how to make it. Soon these mighty magicians will no longer hold all the power in Din Barham.”

Kyna stared, not noticing her master coming up behind her until he prodded her shoulder. She yelped and spun, wincing.

“About time you were up and back to work,” he said. “I can’t do everything myself.”

She swallowed, “Are you also displeased with this discovery of ours?”

He huffed. “Goodness no. Knowledge is knowledge. This is merely a new and promising line of research. This sharing of information that you champion…” his lips twitched, threatening to turn into a grimace. “Your ideas do have merit. It will prove a difficult and fraught path, but I think you might just be up to the task, my esteemed colleague.”

Colleague, not apprentice.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Junior colleague of course. You still have much to learn, and a replacement manse to build as well. Aislin is welcome to assist in our research. This is a dangerous new world you two have created, and the wise must change with it. And as you know, I am wise now and again.”

“I hope so,” Kyna said. “Because any despot with enough coin will want to wield the destructive power of a trained mage.”

“Indeed. Dangerous knowledge always seems to be the swiftest to spread. But power can preserve as well as kill, as you have so ably shown. We magicians gain knowledge before power, making for fertile soil in which wisdom may grow. It is up to us to guide or oppose the common man’s use and abuse of their new power.” He eyed Aislin, then the blacksmiths. “It may be that good things can also come from exchanging expertise with the craft guilds.”

Kyna nodded, knowing they had a lot of work ahead. If nothing else, she was forcing the magicians of Din Barham to finally work together. Now they would have to or be overtaken by new ideas and new inventions.

 

The End

________________________________________

Cameron Johnston lives in Glasgow, Scotland, with his wife and an extremely fluffy cat. He is a swordsman, a gamer, an enthusiast of archaeology, history and mythology, a builder of LEGO, and owns far too many books to fit on his shelves. He loves exploring ancient sites and camping out under the stars by a roaring fire.

His grimdark novel The Traitor God is available now from Angry Robot or Amazon.

You can find more about his publications on his website.