86

Midnight I

Locryn, Delen, Carantok and Steren were soon trying out their wings, flapping and laughing and falling back into the sea in great gleaming showers of spray. Fifteen minutes later all four were airborne, flying awkwardly through the air as they tried out their new bodies. Candle coached them as best she could, suppressing her impatience and trying not to dwell on the fact that every passing second left Jotham vulnerable. Instead she eyed her fledgeling flight of dragons anxiously. Hopefully, their presence would even the odds, and she wasn't just showing them a new and exotic way to die.

Steren's face, as she flew, was bright with wonder, her eyes wide and excitement in every line of her body. Her ruined stump of a leg dangled from her body, unnoticed and forgotten, as her wings carried her into the sky. Locryn landed in front of Candle, showering her with sand and she smiled, remembering her first attempts at grace. He knocked over the metal bucket and winced as the metal grazed his skin.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed.

"Iron hurts," said Candle. "Remember that. Steer clear of the Lochlanach. Their machines do even more damage to us in this form. Those evil weapons – the metal in them will stop you from healing, and it hurts. It acts like water for humans, when we are human, I mean – cancelling your magic, and it stings worse than a blister bush."

"Even worse than a bullet in normal flesh?"

In answer Candle pressed the bucket to him, wincing at its touch, and Locryn shied back, with a cry of pain.

"Alright, alright," he said, his breath smoking through his nostrils. "Good to know."

"We can do magic?" said Delen, crashing into the sand beside them face first.

"Yes," said Candle, "but there's no time to teach you. Hopefully, the other dragons won't realise... just remember they can do magic too and stay alert."

"You hear that?" said Carantok over his shoulder to Ansel who was standing quietly on the ridge. "Iron hurts them. See if you and Pasco can use that to our advantage." The grey-eyed boy nodded as he watched them, his arms folded across his body and his eyes calm but popping a little. Candle wondered what else he had seen in his life that he could take the sudden transformation of his friends into dragons so lightly. She hoped she would be around later to hear the tale.

"What kind of magic?" asked Steren, her face anxious.

"Um– the rest of you saw Jotham and the Mester fight? That day at Gwavas?"

"When they flattened the castle?" Carantok whistled. "I heard about that. It's the stuff of legend."

"Ancestors protect us," said Delen.

"They didn't flatten the castle," said Locryn, with an annoyed shrug. "Just the mess and some of the outer walls." Carantok looked at him blandly and then rolled his eyes.

"You are all sure about this?" Candle asked, gazing around at them all. Uncertainty gripped at her stomach. Locryn flapped his wings, testing out the muscles in his forearms before meeting her gaze.

"Yes," he said, and the others nodded their assent. "What are we waiting for?" The rising moon caught the deep, dark blue of his scales, tinting them with silver. He made a fine dragon, thought Candle, even if he couldn't fly that well yet. They all did. The sight of them filled her with pride and excitement, even if the fear gnawed at her innards like a rat on a sickly rag.

"Let's go," said Carantok.

"Are you sure?" she asked again. "These dragons have been dragons well – their whole lives, and you all –"

"Come on," said Delen, beating her wings, and swooping up with a gleeful cry as she climbed skywards. Her flight wasn't very graceful, and she was clawing her way through the air like a cat trying not to drown under the crush of the atmosphere. She was, however, improving with every moment. "You will be there, and Jotham. And better to fight and die like this than to cower on the ground while others die for us."

"Let's try out these teeth," said Steren, baring her fangs. "This is what we signed up to do, after all."

Candle's eyes met Locryn's. His warm brown cat's eyes slit and narrowed in excitement.

"If we become Ancestors tonight," he said. "I'm glad I got to fly first."

Candle nodded, knowing they were caught up in the euphoria of the moment. But they had made their choice and she respected that. They knew the dangers.

Leaping into the sky her friends filled in behind her, copying the slope of her wings as she angled herself to ride the updrafts up and over the cliffs of the Twelve Lords of Hammett. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, sure she was dreaming. The feeling of flying with her friends at her back would have been amazing if she hadn't been so concerned she was leading them all merrily to their deaths. As it was she treasured the moment for the precious thing it was.

The moon had risen and was presiding over the dry summer landscape like a fat bulbous lantern, casting its glow over the dry, dusty slopes and the Lochlanach settlements that clung to the valley floors with their trickling rivers. It seemed to Candle that it took hours to return to the scene of the battle but in reality, it was only minutes, each one slouching past in agonizing slowness.

Jotham was still alive – alive and fighting like a hurricane with a wicked smile on his lips and magic sizzling through every line of his body as he darted and weaved somehow managing to keep the younger dragons on the defensive even as they attacked him from all sides. However, Candle could see he was bloody from several cuts which he was not getting time to heal. Their arrival was none too soon. As they approached Orin got in a slash, opening up a fresh wound. Jotham raked him with fire and Orin was forced to back away and dive for the sea to extinguish the flames that crackled along his spine. The Night Nation dragon returned from the water, soot-charred and livid.

Without hesitation Candle tucked her wings into her sides and dove into the fray, screaming as she dropped on the unsuspecting dragons below, her friends at her back.

"See you in the Night!" she heard Delen bellow behind her, and she bit off a grin to concentrate on her dive. She raked Asher and the two unknown cousins with her flame, using it to disguise the light spear she sent after them. They dodged, just in time, and the spear shattered against the mountain face with a crash. Candle flashed her claws, wheeling around in a sharp manoeuvre and the Night Nation dragons scattered, their surprise at suddenly being faced with five new enemies writ large on their faces. For a few moments, there was chaos and it was impossible to differentiate between friend and foe as dragons scrambled in every direction.

"Friends of yours?" yelled Jotham, wheeling out of the fray with a vicious grin on his face. "About time!"

Without waiting for a reply he dove straight for Zebulon, darting towards him unexpectedly and grabbing the young dragon by the throat. Jotham shook him like a puppy until Zebulon managed to wriggle free, yelping. He flew, frantically trying to escape from the suddenly concentrated wrath of his uncle. Jotham bore down on him gleefully, his talons flashing and they tumbled through the air in a ball of scale and teeth.

Elsewhere the Own dragons were making the best of their new bodies. Locryn and Delen were fighting Orin, while Steren and Carantok were squaring off against the two dragons Candle didn't know. For the moment they had the element of surprise, and the Owns erratic and unusual use of their bodies was playing in their favour as their movements were unexpected and strange. It was an advantage that was unlikely to last, but Candle didn't have time to think because she suddenly found herself face to face with Asher.

Panting and soot-stained he seemed shocked to see her.

"Candle! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing!"

"I don't want to fight you – "

"Then leave," she said, with a vicious beat of her wings.

Far below she could see barbarians shouting and screaming. She kept her gaze on Asher, trying not to be distracted by their plight. It was just a matter of time before their airships arrived. In fact, she was surprised they were not here already.

"You know I can't do that."

"Then we fight."

"Why are you bothering with that half-breed," said Orin, as he wheeled past with Delen and Locryn on his tail. He hissed at Candle, flexing his talons and she snarled back at him, her lips curling away from her fangs. "She's human or have you forgotten? Like this filth." He banked in the air, releasing a burst of starfire at her friends which they narrowly avoided with graceless movements. Orin spat and gave chase. "Pathetic," he said. "They breed them weak beneath the sun."

Asher's jaw tightened, but before they could converse further a glint of polished metal caught Candle's eye and she turned her head, desperately trying to keep an eye on Asher and the flotilla of Lochlanach airships that were sailing up the valley with warlike menace. At least ten ships were coming, each one bristling with iron, hard-eyed men lining the railings, guns primed and canons at the ready. Their sails billowed and snapped, the white of the canvas reflecting the glow of the moon as they sped down the valley. In the dim of the night, Candle could see the flames of the moon-silver runes outlined against the solid dark wood.

"Barbarians!" she cried, and the Havian dragons scattered, knowing what was to come. With any luck, she thought as she beat her wings, gaining height with every second, Asher and his brothers would not realise the barbarians would be unable to distinguish one dragon from the next.

The men on the decks shouted and scurried, sweating but disciplined as the Night Nation dragons bore down on them thinking them easy targets. The great airships creaked and groaned, turning broadsides to meet the approaching threat, while the smaller vessels fanned out around them, men lining the rails with weapons raised. Candle redoubled her efforts, eager to be up and out of range before–

Bullets spat and the cannons roared. A volley of booms reverberated across the mountain valleys shattering the night. Smoke momentarily obscured the air. Someone screamed, a roar of pain and rage that twisted Candle's heart and the heavy form of a black dragon crashed into the ground below with a thud. The dragon lay still, and for a moment Candle thought they were dead, their wing a mangled ruin where bullets had torn threw the delicate membrane. It wasn't Asher or Zeb, she saw with some relief, but one of the unknown cousins. They moved, their body shuddering, and Candle saw bullets firmly lodged in the flesh of their chest.

"Deneal!" screamed Asher, snarling after the ships. He managed to set one of them alight while the barbarians frantically reloaded their weapons. "Deneal, are you alright?"

"It hurts," came the reply from the ground, "it hurts like the Dawn but I'm alive."

"What are you doing here," called Candle, from above, making sure she was out of range of the barbarian guns. She and Delen circled Asher in wide swoops. "Asher, I thought we were friends? As you can see the Day Nation is not defenceless. You should leave now before someone is really badly injured."

"We were friends before we found out you lied to us," he said. "Before you hit me over the head and left me for dead in a burning ruin."

"Listen to her, nephews," said Jotham, who was keeping a wary eye of his own on the barbarian vessels. Down on the ground, Deneal was living testament to the damage those bullets could do. He was struggling to get airborne but couldn't manage it, and had collapsed back in a shuddering heap amongst the rocks. The Night Nation dragons were approaching the airships with renewed caution. The ships were turning, lumbering towards Zeb and Orin while Lochlanach airmen frantically reloaded, the air full of smoke and their harsh guttural tongue as they worked.

Asher roared and dived for the slowest vessel, soaring up and under to attack from beneath. The blue fire of his flame crackled the wood like kindling, planks peeling away and dropping into the town below, and the ship started to sink. The barbarians rushed around with buckets of water, stamping their feet and beating at the flames with brooms but to no avail. The vessel lurched violently to one side, as the fire reached those sensitive moonsilver runes. Half of the men were tipped over the side before, the ground rushing up to meet them before the ship fell, at the mercy of gravity, to crush their bones into the earth with a sickening crash.

A cannon boomed, and Asher dodged, the projectile exploding into the rock face behind him.

"What are these demonic weapons!" he exclaimed to his brothers.

"Whatever they are," said Orin, his expression grim, "they are wielded by weak fleshy men." He flew low, skimming the ground, his feet gouging a trail of destruction along the low rooflines of the barbarian settlement. The pop and explosion of bullets following his passage, but always a moment too late. He banked, feinting left, and pulled up in a sudden swoop to land with a thump on the deck of the largest vessel. It sank instantly under his weight, and he used the moment of chaos to his advantage, snapping at the barbarian airmen, crushing several between his jaws and tossing their remains overboard. The ship sank like a stone and he leapt clear before the shaken remnants of the crew could retaliate, his talons gashing chunks from the sinking airship. Moments later it hit the rocks below. Its remaining crew were crushed by the debris, or flung around the fell like rag dolls where they lay still, their limbs distended. Their eyes stared up, unseeing and glassy at the dragons wheeling above.

"What should we do?" cried Steren, gazing down at the horrible sight. The Havian dragons and Jotham were all circling high above the battlefield, well out of the range of the barbarian weapons.

"Is it too much to hope they will finish each other off?" said Carantok. He was looking a little the worse for wear – scratched up and bruised – but nothing too serious. The first thing Candle needed to teach them was how to heal. She hoped she would not come to regret not taking the time.

"I don't know," she said.

"The balance is not in our favour," said Jotham.

"Why?" asked Locryn. "I say let them grind each other to death. I will shed no tears."

"Look," said the great dragon, his face grim.

At first, Candle wasn't sure what he meant, her gaze drawn to the drama of the running battle between the Night Nation dragons and the barbarian airships, and then to Deneal lying injured and helpless on the rocky soil of the plain. Then movement caught her eye and she gasped.

Imps, stone men and lightning birds were pouring out of the cleft in the mountain, ranging themselves on the downward slope of the Enchantments. In their midst stood the unmistakable presence of the Necromancer Queen.