CHAPTER 111 – She Who Fights Too Long Against …

What occurred in the Eastern Vale was supposed to be impossible.

Auguries were regularly taken; borders were actively scried; wards were in place to guard against the very event that could not, should not have happened.

For these reasons the elves had been disbelieving as they stared up into the afternoon, discerning the shape high above them through the summer haze yet unwilling to trust that their faultless eyes showed true. Could it not have been the golden clouds? Had the wine and merriment made them see what could not have been?

Were they not defended by the Luminary Vale? None would dare trespass against the might of the woodlands.

Yet no one had told any of this to the final omen.

Even had they done so, it would have made no difference…

For a dragon insists.

 

* * *

 

Saphienne was one of the last to see the descent, and she gazed up at the immense silhouette against the heavens – unmistakable, regal, glorious – as it brushed the treetops above where she sat. The cracking of the boughs was accompanied by a roar that rolled the ground beneath her, and ahead of her the deafened crowd parted in panic and ran for the safety of more distant forest–

Until, with a splash that sent waves against the shore in a tide that reached the edge of the woods where she sat, the great beast crashed down into the waters.

Many were knocked prone and soaked, among them Faylar and Laewyn, who stumbled up and wheeled around in shock. Others had retreated, but they crept back in the prolonged stillness that ensued, watching the agitated surface settle toward peaceful reflection of the summertime.

On the island, Iolas had clung to the structure covering the statue of the dancers, and he checked on Thessa and the children huddled there before he ventured out toward the edge…

Then a geyser erupted, and a glistening limb struck into the grass ahead of him, struck and stuck claws that were sharp sickles rending earth.

“Run!”

Whoever screamed sent Iolas racing for the stepping stones, while behind him the leviathan levered free from the murky depths.

Witnessed by Saphienne, the titan came up from submersion as though being born, water streaming from scales that were dazzling in the sunshine — coloured like a cloudless day but for where their sheen caught the light as like diluted blood, translucent where the glare from the lake shone through their edges, wreathing the dragon in a daytime halo. Four strong limbs dragged a body that rippled with muscle under a taut hide, followed by a sinuous tail that shivered and lashed, led by a head crowned with upturned horns that captured and pitilessly cast down the sun. Grand in proportion, larger than the tree covering shrieking Thessa, the dragon raised up upon rear legs that might have trampled an impression into rock, and serpentine was the neck that swung to and fro in that rearing.

Stretching wide, wings unfurled, one of flesh and blood, the other of conjured flame.

Then came the Wardens of the Wilds through the chaos, those in armour racing to the island with bows drawing, those clothed in festival garb going for the stragglers who were pinned in fear.

“Flee, ye elves! Fly, my sisters!”

Possessing Laelansa, Mother Marigold urged all present to disperse as she fled, her reverberating cry fanning the winds to frantic flight as she receded.

“Hie thee away! Quit the field this day! Ruin has come!”

Then arrows were loosed near and far, all striking true, yet few sticking fast to the armour they assailed.

Bellowing indignation, the dragon swept tail across the water, sending a flood to brush aside all assailants. The wardens were thrown back from the crossing, were advanced upon as the tyrant drew a shuddering breath–

And Saphienne beheld dragon’s fire.

Hotter than the enchanted forge that Taerelle had admired, blue flame raked along the shoreline, controlled where it poured from maw to liquify the sand, thrumming as it scoured a line before the wardens — boiling the lake nearby. Where the fire lingered, the molten glass reformed into blooming facets of azure quartz that jutted up in demarcation.

And the guttural roar that followed broke the wardens, who screamed in mortal terror as they abandoned their duty and quit the field–

Leaving Thessa and the children trapped.

 

* * *

 

How splendid it was. How beautiful.

Saphienne had never witnessed anything as perfect.

She stood up with immaculate composure, awed that the world could, despite its unfathomable cruelty, be at last so kind.

Here was all that she needed. Here was presented the termination of her troubles, guiltless and freeing.

Were the gods real, in the end? She couldn’t know. Yet she took off her sandals anyway, and left them with her spellbook as she strolled down from the trees, savouring what she decided were her final moments.

Kylantha awaited. She would rest in her arms.

“Saphienne!”

Iolas had reached the safety of the trees, but he came after her, grabbing her arm. “Saphienne, stop–”

How wonderful of him. Saphienne turned and cupped his cheek as she wielded a violet sigil she had never used, that she ought never use, beguiling him with her touch as she delivered a compulsion he couldn’t deny.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Take yourself to safety; and later, tell Phelorna that I scried for Kylantha — tell her that her daughter is happy and well, surrounded by people who are kinder and more loving than we could ever be. Tell Phelorna that I am sorry, and tell Filaurel and Laelansa that I love them.”

His expression softened. “I will. I love you too, Saphienne.”

She left him standing there as she strode away to cast another spell, trusting in the fascination that would make him flee.

 

* * *

 

Helpless, the elves watched as the dragon menaced the cowering children, batting at the lanterns that hung from the fir.

“Dragon!”

Wreathed in sorcerous glamour that demanded all attention, Saphienne crossed wet stepping stones that were concealed by the sun, appearing as though she walked on water as she called out in the language of dragons.

“Your business lies with me!”

Craning to see who dared so brazenly address themselves, the dragon glowered, gaze shimmering opaline about pupils narrowed to reptilian slits. Growling greeted her as the interloper stalked her with predatory ease.

“You do not belong in these woodlands!” As Saphienne spoke, she surreptitiously wove together a hallucination to drape upon the tree, concealing Thessa and the children from where the great serpent lurked. “Begone from this shore!”

Then the dragon opened a jaw filled with teeth that were knives, keen for the flensing and the tearing. Hissing, an overwhelming voice in the same forked tongue struck the assembles elves like a blow.

“A dragon is not commanded by any elf; I go where I please.”

She had drawn focus, but she needed to hold it. “You intrude into territory held by the Luminary Vale,” she shouted in turn, continuing her approach. “Your presence is unwelcome. Go, or be driven off!”

Another hiss, scales rolling back to show deeper fangs. “You speak our words with fitting scorn. You amuse, so I forgive your transgression. Depart my presence; I will grant you no further indulgence.”

Thessa was low to the ground as she crawled from the cover of the tree, yet the children within were too frightened to follow.

Saphienne stopped; she drew herself up to her full height. “You do not frighten me, wyrm. I am Saphienne of the Eastern Vale, Master of Hallucination and Transmutation both, accepted by the Luminary Vale–”

“Enough.”

The dragon’s tail slapped the lake and flicked–

Saphienne was quick with her ward, and the wash rolled harmlessly around her unworried countenance. She folded her arms, defiant.

Having already turned away, the dragon glanced back in disdain. “Elven magic…” Against the rippling heavens of the lake, the fiery wing crackled as it again extended. “…See here true spellcraft. You turn aside water, but what you wield will not resist my fire. Leave!”

Hands held around them, Thessa was ushering the children to the beach.

Saphienne had almost succeeded; now was the time to make ready her death. “Your sound and fury signify nothing: I am unimpressed. Cease your posturing,” she demanded, leaning forward, “and pretend no more to potency in your flame. I hear the cowardice behind your words.”

Rumbling, the dragon faced her across the island. “You speak beyond your size–”

“I think not.”

The dragon hissed, long and low. “…So you do, elf.”

Breathing full, the dragon conjured fire within chest, and Saphienne was close enough to feel the awesome might of the magic there gathering.

As flame burst from that most terrible mouth, she smiled in release, shut her eyes, and dismissed her pointless ward.

 

* * *

 

Cries of horror filled the air as the elves beheld Saphienne consumed.

 

* * *

 

Within the maelstrom, Saphienne felt the heat take her, and relaxed into the sting that would soon follow–

Yet she was not burning.

Blinking, she raised her head to see the flame divided around her, passing inches either side, obliterating the good earth to leave her upon a wedge that proceeded–

To where the dragon’s tongue glowed, white-hot, pressed against roof of mouth, splitting the lethal flow into harmless halves.

As the eerie fire lapsed, molten rock crystallised at her feet.

Rearing, eyes wide, the dragon bellowed in astonishment. “You seek death!”

This was not what she intended. Calling once more on the sigil she’d employed against Iolas, she gathered violet light in her hand and pressed forward in demand. “Craven! Strike me down!”

And the dragon backed away. “You are mad! Only the mad dare contest a dragon!”

“I see no wyrm — only a pretender!”

Roused by her challenge, the tyrant snarled a syllable that hung discordant upon the air, erratic resonance sweeping through Saphienne and collapsing the spell. Then, as her magic faltered, the cracking tail effortlessly pushed her from her feet, and the beast loomed above where she sprawled unresisting–

The dragon blinked.

“Coward!” Her tears, like her jeers, were for herself. “You have no will!”

Lowering a head the size of her torso to sniff at her arm, which had run red with a self-inflicted wound, the creature of myth studied her with pupils so wide they rounded.

Then the fiend receded. When next she was addressed, it was in unconcealed marvel. “…You are a dragon.”

Saphienne blinked.

“The blood of dragons is upon your hand.”

Uncomprehending, she stared down at the crimson smears where she’d pricked her own skin, observing how they glittered in the late day. “…I do not– what you mean is–”

“You are a dragon!” Grass was scythed into the air by the thrashing tail. “Fearless! Unbowed before the world! A dragon you are.”

She sat up slowly, quiet in her despair. “…You are mistaken. I am an elf of the woodlands.”

“No.”

Rolling shoulders dismissed the conjured right wing, revealing the stump that the spell had completed, raw and bloody where bone and sinew had been torn away–

And glittering in the daylight.

“I smell your pride.” Circling, the dreadful serpent flicked tongue upon air, tasting the perfume of her blood and tears. “I inhale your passions. You are mad, but your madness arises from ignorance. You deny yourself, wyrmling.”

“…You are deluded.” She shook, and shook her head. “You are addled by your landing in the lake.”

A hiss — which Saphienne sensed humour in, belatedly knowing a dragon’s laughter. “I did not land; I fell upon this place. The thorn in my side dug within in flight…”

As she stared, rapt, her aggressor sat on broad haunches, exposing where lancing steel pushed up and through the scales where hip met leg. Gripping with nimble claws, bracing with forbidding talons, the dragon drew out the lance, roaring the birds to flight from distant trees as blood spilled upon the ground.

Steam billowed from the metal where it clattered beside her head.

“A vexing wound.” The radiant horns tilted, sparkling as they lit her face with reflected light. “You vex me as greatly as did the so-called ‘dragonslayer.’ You are wounded, and think yourself defeated. But the false Alonso lies dead of hubris, and you yet live.”

Why were her cheeks wet? Was it from the sprinkled blood?

“A dragon cannot be defeated,” said the yawning terror. “A dragon triumphs over error, submits to greater truth, withdraws to hone their argument, or dies. But death is no defeat! This is our way. This is your way; there is no other.”

She lowered her gaze with her voice. “Then kill me.”

“I refuse!” No longer bleeding freely, her tormentor reclaimed their footing. “You who seek death must do so with purpose. Cease your shameful suffering!” The wyrm closed the distance. “Raise your cause! Arise, and fight!”

Yet she could only stare.

“…Pitiful.” The dragon’s displeasure rolled scathing across her. “What a mewling hatchling you are. How contemptible are these elves you surround yourself with. You should be angry to–”

Alas, Saphienne was not the only one who would sacrifice herself.

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Rushing in where her sisters feared to tread, blowing a spring gale of longing about the woman she loved, Hyacinth hurled herself upon the monster she believed poised to murder Saphienne.

 

* * *

 

How did the dragon react to spiritual possession?

Briefly, yellow flickered against opaline.

“Amusing! Your pet has a measure of your guttering fire!” The dragon hissed long and sharp. “The promise of rebirth is afraid, and would have you run from my danger while I am held fast; this flower is deluded enough to believe I can be tamed!”

Until the baring of those wicked teeth, which confronted her with an evil grimace, Saphienne had been without fear.

“Yet I will never be deterred: no spirit may dissuade a dragon. They do not possess us! That which you call Hyacinth is now my possession.”

Uncontrolled, her left hand slid into the concealed pocket of her gown and fetched out the unbreakable coin to squeeze against her scar and blood. She rose, no longer content to die if Hyacinth was to be harmed. “Release my friend.”

“Friend!” Heavy the steps that wound around Saphienne. “You lie! This shadow of the elves is not your friend! You would have me listen, so speak to me truthfully.”

Her grip tightened. “Release my servant.”

“Again you lie.”

Her voice rose. “Return my possession!”

And the dragon roared in jubilation. “There is your voice! There is the fanning of the flames!” Shining horns rushed to her, their points stopping perilously short of her unwavering, midnight forest eyes. “But I have yet to taste your breath, wyrmling. You will make me submit to your will through fire.”

Fight a dragon?

Saphienne leant back in question. “…You will relinquish what you hold when I die.”

“No.” The dragon’s rumble ran through her chest. “Seek to win. Seek to live. Seek to overcome that which contests you. Meet my challenge, or I will pluck the petals from this plaything to scatter on your remains.”

There was no other way. She craned until her lashes brushed the threat — yet she did not flinch. “You will return what is mine, and you will leave.”

“A dragon is not commanded by any elf! I go where I please.”

Red flashed in her hand as she loosed her magic through her crimson sigil, conjuring flame in a torrent that rushed more intensely than when it had consumed her pale grey robes, searing yellow that exploded in the face of her enemy–

Yet the dragon did not even close an eyelid, holding fast as the fire that could melt iron deflected harmlessly around a grinning snout.

Beaten, she let the spell collapse, dropping her arm.

“…Pathetic.” The sneer of the beast was disappointed. “Elven magic is beneath you. I did not demand that from you. Show me your flame, wyrmling!”

She was again passionless; the world had led her on one last time, only to deliver an insult with the final blow. “…That is my flame…”

Growling, the dragon swung away, kicking up soil in distemper before sitting.

Saphienne was so very weary.

“I see why you are weak.” The left wing twitched as it unfolded above her. “You who would stand against me, first stand opposite.”

What game was being played? Her legs carried her over the broken ground, until she stood before where her antagonist waited.

“Learn.”

Inhaling as if swallowing the wind, again the dragon blazed crackling breath to be parted by tongue, spilling a blue inferno around her that reduced and reconstituted whatever it fed upon.

Unable to look away, this time Saphienne beheld swirls within the outpouring heat, feeling the meaning of the magic resonating in her chest. She twitched her fingertips in the gesture of unveiling, casting the divination that revealed spells–

And fell backwards, dizzied by the complex, whirling patterns that spread beyond Conjuration alone.

She was shaken when the display concluded. “…I cannot cast–”

Irate, the dragon stepped forward, pinning her with claws spread about her chest. “My fire is mine alone! You could never match the like.”

“–I do not know what–”

And the leviathan roared in her face.

She calmed, surrounded and reflected by growing quartz.

Narrow of pupil, the head of the dragon canted. “Stop. Do not behave as an elf. Do not see what an elf sees; do not hear what an elf hears; do not breathe as an elf breathes; do not taste as an elf tastes; do not live as an elf lives, for elves scarcely live at all.”

Released, she did not immediately stand.

“Learn; receive; recognise.”

Now when the fire rained about her, Saphienne dismissed the divination, closing her eyes to better feel what was stirred within herself.

 

* * *

 

Azure as the sky unclouded.

Sheened with blood submerged – yet not diminished – in the waters of life.

Claiming by right the sunlight as raiment.