Book Three

Fire Fighter

 

Riyo Falsemoon barely remembers Folvin from her journey out to Galsbreath. By this point in the journey she had been tired and bored with the whole process, and had passed through the city in a sleepy stupor that took her to the inn in the evening and then out into the pre-dawn sadness without stopping to take mental pictures to remember it by.

The Folvin of her memory, though hazy, was, however, almost certainly not on fire.

“Um,” Ravi says. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

Rolleck the Lost raises an eyebrow at him.

“What? I’ve never left Fefille before.” He turns to Riyo. “You said the world was full of interesting sights.”

“It is.” She looks at Rolleck in turn. “Maybe it is supposed to look like that. A fire festival, or something.”

“And the screams?”

“Joy,” Riyo suggests.

“Can we help?” Ravi says, saving Rolleck from coming up with a response. His eyebrow can only rise so high.

Riyo frowns. “Maybe. My reality isn’t really suited to putting out fires, but I can help with getting people out of buildings, I think.”

“We should do what we can,” Rolleck agrees, and they jog through the open gate into the city.

Folvin is a city that has taken full advantage of the Everstall Song’s most abundant resource: wood. A thousand different species of tree can be found across the Song, depending on things like soil and amount of light and other local flora and fauna. Ravi knows this because he has been living in and learning about the endless forest for his entire life. Riyo does not know this, but she does know that the vastest majority of trees share the trait of being flammable, and that it is therefore inadvisable to build a city out of them at the foot of a volcano.

They stop on a cobbled street. Folvin seems a city more carved than built. Wood grain surrounds them in every shade, from the white of sun-bleached bone to the deepest, darkest reds and browns that seep out of shadows in the night. The buildings flow into one another, creating a tapestry of beautiful woodwork that incorporates doors, windows and alleyways into a singular artwork parading along either side of the street.

Ravi, Riyo and Rolleck see none of this, however, because there is a dragon in the middle of the road.

“Do you think that’s what started the fire?” Riyo says.

Rolleck grabs her and dives left while Ravi darts right. A wall of incredible flame rolls from the dragon’s mouth and bursts out of the Folvin gate. Surprisingly little takes light from the rush. It stands to reason, Rolleck decides, that the people of Folvin would have safeguards against fire in a city made entirely of wood. Some manner of lacquer or protective coating keeping every stray candle flame from burning the whole place to the ground. It is not quite enough to make it immune to dragons, though.

“I’m going to try and squish it,” Riyo says, peering out of the alley they’ve rolled into.

“Do you think you can?”

“I can squish a lot of things,” Riyo says, but she is frowning.

“But…?”

“I feel like a dragon shouldn’t be one of them.” She pouts. “Honestly, I’ll be a bit disappointed if this works.” She makes to step out, and Rolleck grabs her sleeve.

“Do you have a plan for if you can’t squish it?”

She pulls out her tiny little knives, spinning them by the loops at the ends of their grips.

“That’s a terrible plan,” Rolleck says.

“It’ll work,” Riyo says. “Just back me up.” She turns back to the mouth of the alley. “Gravity Mould.”

Rolleck rolls his eyes, but he can feel his blood beginning to sing. It rushes against the wires that pierce him and they resonate like the strings of a violin. His blade is thirsty, once again.

Riyo steps out, expanding her reality to include the dragon. It is three stories tall, stands on all-fours and is covered in shimmering crimson scales that grow paler on its underbelly. A mane of black hair flows like a horse’s down the back of its long neck, and a tail as long again as its body swishes from one side of the road to the other, crashing into delicate woodwork. It has turned aside from the main thoroughfare, raking massive obsidian claws into the houses on the right side of the road and rendering an entire wall to splinters. It leans in, its massive maw gaping wide to bare a multitude of vicious fangs, and breathes another stream of flame into the hole it has made. Fire explodes from doors and windows all along the street like a firework display. Riyo feels it on her skin like a sunburn.

Her reality encloses the creature, and she increases its gravity. A creature that large should be having a hard time not being crushed under its own weight to begin with. A little push should be able to flatten it into mush.

It resists. Riyo does not sense another crafter’s reality, and the dragon roars, swinging its head around to bring its scorching amber gaze to rest on her, suggesting it is not completely immune to her pressure as Ravi is. It is a creature that is inherently capable of resisting another reality’s influence upon it. Riyo accepts this and is fine with it, because it is a dragon.

“This city will be ruin,” the dragon growls. This does surprise Riyo. Admittedly, its voice sounds like a mountain falling over, but she had expected it to be feral and mindless, like the colour wraith.

“Wait,” Riyo says, but it does not. Another gout of flame bursts from its mouth. Gravity pulls left and right, strongly enough to create a cone devoid of air in front of Riyo and Rolleck. It parts the breath of fire, rushing it into the much-abused houses on either side of the street.

Fire combusting predominantly air is very light. As such, Riyo has to alter gravity very heavily in order to make it move so quickly. She does not like the idea of having to do it multiple times. She already feels the strain on her reality. Her pressure on the dragon itself makes things worse, but she is sure now that it is having an effect. Through means magical or mystical, the dragon is fighting her. And it is expending effort to do so.

“Aim for the right eye,” she says to Rolleck.

Rolleck is reasonably confident in Riyo’s crafting. He has seen her do some incredible things. Even so, his heart is beating a rapid tattoo in his chest, pumping adrenalin through him that is definitively screaming flight rather than fight. He stomps on the instinct pushing him toward the very sensible course of running away from a dragon and nods. As the flame falters, he leaps forward. He is grabbed from behind and carried forward. What should have been a short leap becomes the start of a comet’s path, streaking upward past the dragon’s face.

Both Rolleck and Riyo pass through the last remnants of brilliant firelight, feeling its heat wash over them but moving too fast for it to leave its mark. The dragon is not prepared to dodge. It manages to close its eyes, and while Riyo’s dagger skitters off hard skin and steel-like scales, Rolleck’s blade cleaves a burning line across the creature’s face. The stench of sulphur billows from pitch-black blood, and the roar that follows as they both arc back towards the ground is nigh deafening.

Rolleck feels himself slow, but his speed is such that he is still forced to throw his momentum into a roll as his feet meet the cobbles. He uses it to turn, then drives himself towards Riyo, barrelling her out of the way of the dragons thrashing tail. Ash and splinters tumble through the air like rain, and both Riyo and Rolleck pull back down the street, further into the city. The dragon now stands between them and the gate, and fire still reigns behind them.

“This city will fall!” The dragon’s voice shakes the ground. Its wings, folded against its back until now, spread out over the rooftops, leathery and dark, dark red. Rolleck braces himself and looks to Riyo, but she is distracted by the sensation of another crafter’s reality coming into contact with her own.

“Not today,” a deep but human voice declares. A jet of water rushes over their heads, hitting the dragon full in the face. The force is such that its claws dislodge cobbles and leave grooves in the earth as it is pushed back. Rolleck feels his body lighten the moment he takes his first step forward. As the water recedes, his sword plunges into the dragon’s chest. Its blood is like burning oil against his skin, and he bellows in pain as he pushes off the creature’s scales. His sword comes free, and he tumbles backwards into a soft, leisurely landing.

The dragon’s claw descending towards him does not look soft or leisurely, but then Riyo is there next to him. The claw comes to rest against her inversion of gravity, pushing down at them like a falling meteor. With a shout of exertion, Riyo pushes back. She contracts her reality to the space between her and the dragon’s claw and, for the briefest of moments, pulls the claw upwards with the force of a black hole.

With a crack like a falling tree, the dragon’s leg breaks, and the whole creature is wrenched into a backflip that ends with an earth-shaking crash and the sound of tortured wood. It roars with pain and fury, its voice filling the Everstall Song as it rights itself.

“Your magics will not save you!” Its eyes burn with rage as it pins them all with its glare. “Your fiery end comes.”

Favouring its broken leg, it uses the other three to leap skyward, beating its wings hard enough to push Rolleck to his knees. Riyo negates the downdraft with her reality and remains standing as they watch the dragon’s impossible flight. It quickly gains altitude and turns towards Yl Torat.

“Thank you for your help, friends,” the deep voice says, and Rolleck finally takes his eyes from the dragon long enough to identify its owner. He is a huge man, perhaps eight feet tall, and built like a rhinoceros. His chest is almost as wide at the shoulder as Riyo is tall. He has a wild, bushy beard that matches his unkempt brown hair, and is wearing dark, treated leather clothes that cover him completely, including a hood with a mask dangling from it.

“What was all that about?” Riyo asks, unfazed by the towering man. “You’re a crafter, aren’t you?”

He nods. “I am. My name is Yosht Torglif, chief fire officer of Folvin.” He offers a massive hand to Riyo, which she allows to enfold her own.

“Riyo Falsemoon,” she says. “I’m searching for the sunlight stone. What was with the dragon?”

Yosht looks her up and, mostly, down, then lets out a bellowing laugh. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He shakes his head. “Well, I certainly won’t mock the aspirations of someone who helped drive off that surly prince.”

“Prince?” Rolleck says, offering the man his left hand. “Rolleck the Lost,” he adds.

Yosht spares a glance for Rolleck’s unusual sword, then clasps with his own left hand. “The prince of Yl Torat. The crater is home to a city of dragons, and Gruff there is second in line to its throne.” He turns back to the rapidly-shrinking speck. “He wants to flatten Folvin to prove he should be first in line.”

“Is his name really Gruff?” Riyo asks.

Yosht laughs again and shakes his head. “Their names aren’t for human tongues. Even if he would deign to share it with us, you need to be able to breath fire to speak their language properly. Most of them have simple translations humans can use, but Gruff hasn’t told us his.”

“Speaking of fire,” Rolleck says, casting an eye at the smoke making a roof over the city.

Yosht’s booming laughter redoubles. “You’re right,” he says. “But now that the cause of the blaze is gone, putting it out should be simple.”

Riyo feels his reality grow. He’s a strong crafter, but like when she shrank her reality to exert more power, so Yosht’s influence wanes as his widens. Once it covers the city, all he can do is make it rain.

“That should deal with the flames,” he says. His voice is a little strained. Even this soft rain will drain him quickly over such a wide area. “Once they’re gone, we can repair the damage.”

“It seems like a lot of damage to repair,” Rolleck says. “How often does Gruff try to burn down Folvin?”

“Every few months,” the fire chief says. “But worry not. Repairing the place is actually quite simple. Come,” he gestures towards the centre of the city. Above, the fires are already beginning to fail. “I will take you to meet the leaf guild.”

“That sounds fun,” Riyo says, falling in next to him.

“Hey,” Rolleck says, catching up. “Where’s Ravi?”

 

While nobody would argue that Ravi Matriya has lived a sheltered life, his struggles up until now have been of a singular nature. The same problem has been the centre of his existence for the last decade. Now, however, he is free. Free to experience all manner of new and exciting struggles.

Facing down a dragon is not for the faint of heart, and Ravi is not that. He would argue, however, that facing down a dragon is also not for the strong of heart. Indeed, if you have a heart at all, and wish for it to continue beating, then facing down dragons is not for you.

Ravi has instead turned to the original plan of helping people, and he has discovered he is quite good at it. His eyes pierce smoke and flame as if they are not there, and he moves quickly. His light frame and strong legs let him leap through high windows and pull people from places inaccessible to others. The people of Folvin are well prepared for fire – which makes sense – but even the most thoughtful of preparation cannot stop the panic and terror setting in when the flames rise and the smoke smothers. Once they are not in immediate danger, however, they know what to do. This is good, because, once he has removed them from immediate danger, Ravi has no idea what comes next. This city is massive and foreign to him. In Fefille, a fire would gather the entire village on the common and bucket chains would make short work of the blaze. He wonders what these people can do against such a consuming inferno.

It begins to rain as he passes a furious and clawful cat back to its grateful owner. He looks up and smiles as fat droplets splash across his cheeks. Fortune seems to favour Folvin today.

To his right, somebody hmmms. Ravi looks over to find a tall figure with a hunch wrapped in a long, voluminous cloak mirroring his heavenward gaze. The hood falls back, revealing a curved snout of crimson scales and crackling topaz eyes. Hair mottled with a dozen shades of ash is visible for a flash, before she grabs the hood and pulls it back over her head. Her furtive check to make sure she hasn’t been noticed brings her face to face with Ravi.

“Shit,” she says, in a surprisingly soft and clear voice.

She takes off into the closest alley, her cloak flapping high enough to reveal talons far fiercer than Ravi’s pounding the cobbles. Though he doesn’t know why, he chases her. They race from alley to street to alley again, whipping the smoke to a frenzy with their passage and smashing fledgling puddles back into raindrops. She is quick, but Ravi is quicker. As they pass onto a wide stretch of road near the centre of the city, Ravi pounces high, landing with a foot on each of her shoulders and gripping hard with his talons. She is driven to the ground with a yelp, and Ravi keeps his balance right up until her wings burst from the back of her cloak, shoving him off her.

He stumbles back, and the dragon lady finds her feet. Her hood falls off completely, and Ravi sees fire and fear burning in her eyes.

“Who are you?” she yells.

“Who are you?” Ravi counters.

“Why are you chasing me?”

“Why did you run?”

There is a cry of alarm from down the street, where a group of Folviners are gathered at a crossroads.

The dragon lady scowls, which looks truly fearsome on her. “I don’t have time for this.” She rips the cloak off, revealing something akin to a leather harness that criss-crosses the paler scales of her chest and abdomen. The straps are studded with decorations – beads, wooden carvings, precious metals and stones, ribbons and even feathers. It’s a wonder Ravi couldn’t hear her clattering as she ran. But everything is secured, and she barely makes a sound as she turns and runs once more.

Ravi follows, but she makes a bee-line for one of the buildings that is still on fire. She ignores a veritable wall of flame in the doorway, and Ravi is forced to watch through the flickering shapes as she turns past a burning pillar and disappears.

He frowns after her. It probably isn’t a coincidence that she is trying not to be seen while there is a full-blown dragon attack underway. She has something to do with it, but what?

Ravi has no way of pursuing her through the flames, and the buildings here are all interconnected, making predicting her exit a fool’s gamble. He does not know how he would track her on the other side. Living in the forest has made him a good tracker, but these stony streets and endless wooden facades do not take the same marks the underbrush does. Once the dust settles, he will just have to tell the police what he has seen.

The police bring Rolleck the Lost to mind, and Ravi decides to go and find out how his companions escaped the dragon.

 

 

Yosht leads Riyo and Rolleck to the centre of the city. Here, the forest begins again. A vast park full of flowering fruit trees surrounds a squat monster, with bark like the spiny hide of a cliff urchin and enormous, bulbous branches.

“That’s a tree?” Riyo says. “It looks more like a palace.”

“It’s both,” Yosht says, coming to a halt at a path through the orchard that shoots a straight line to the giant tree.

A young woman is asleep at the base of one of the trees. Her chestnut hair is long enough to swish around her ankles and covers her like a duvet. Her clothes, such as they are, are made from vines and leaves. They twist and twine around her body, covering much but still somehow seeming inadequate. A ring of yellow flowers encircles her throat like a choker.

Yosht coughs, then, when the girl does not stir, gently kicks her in the shin. She comes awake with a start, peering up at them while blinking her eyes rapidly against the glare of the sun.

“Chief!” she says, jumping to her feet and saluting. She then notices the rain that has matted their hair and made the grass outside the shelter of her tree damp. “Is Gruff gone?” Despite being aware that her city was under attack by a dragon, she has still decided to take a nap. Riyo is a little put out by how casually the people of Folvin are treating an incident with a real-life dragon. Her image of them as powerful beings of ruin is being sullied by their indifference.

“Aye,” Yosht says. “Thanks in no small part to our guests here,” he gestures at Riyo and Rolleck. “How soon can the Sisters begin their healing?”

“Probably later this afternoon,” the woman says, staring at Riyo and Rolleck. Mostly at Riyo. “I like your hair,” she blurts out.

“Thank you,” Riyo says, smiling. “Yours is nice, too. Why are you wearing plants?”

“Oh,” she says, glancing down. Her cheeks colour faintly, as though she is embarrassed now, where she wasn’t before. “My masters, the Sisters, are dryads. I’m, sort of a novice dryad. They say I have to get as close to nature as I can for my powers to flourish.”

“I thought you had to be born a dryad,” Rolleck says. The Everstall Song has been home to the dryads for longer than it has been home to humans, if the legends are to be believed. Rolleck has seen a couple while travelling through the endless forest, but they generally keep to themselves. Or so he has been told. Neither of the ones he met spoke to him.

“Oh, you do,” the woman says, blushing further and not meeting their eyes. “But sometimes humans manifest similar powers. A weaker version, anyway. They’ve also found that, um… No. Nevermind.” She looks up suddenly. “Oh! I’m sorry. My name is Clara. Clara Telmir.”

“Riyo Falsemoon,” Riyo says. She finds the flustered woman endearing and shakes her hand vigorously. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Rolleck the Lost.” Their handshake is far more restrained.

“The first dragon attack was thousands of years ago,” Yosht says. “Folvin was lost completely. The dryads took pity on us and helped us rebuild – their woodcraft has not only made Folvin beautiful, but also helps our poor wooden houses resist flames.”

“They’ve had a home here ever since,” Clara says, gesturing at the massive tree. “Apparently some dragons targeted it a few hundred years ago, but it didn’t even get singed.”

“That’s cool,” Riyo says. “Hey, can you show me some dryad powers?”

“Oh. Um.” Clara glances away again. “I’m really not very good yet.”

“Please?” Riyo says, grabbing her by the hands and forcing her to look up into her eyes. Her face is very red.

“Um. Okay. Um.” She scurries away and stops under her napping tree. She closes her eyes and takes a breath, trying to shoo away some very prominent anxiety-based distractions. She places a hand on the tree and feels the roughness of its bark, the warmth of the sun on its leaves and the sweetness of the rainwater being absorbed into its roots. She pushes on it. Encourages it. Adds some of her power to the wealth of life that pulses through the tree.

“Ooooh,” Riyo says, as an apple grows on the tree’s lowest branch. It only takes a handful of seconds to grow bigger than any other apple she has ever seen. Its skin shines, vibrantly red, and its weight causes the branch to droop. She reaches out and takes it with both hands. Raises it to her lips. Bites down with the most beautiful, crisp crunch.

And spits out a mouthful of sawdust.

“Damnit,” the woman says as Riyo splutters. “I still can’t get the taste right.”

Rolleck laughs at Riyo’s devastated expression.

“Still, you are making progress, Clara,” Yosht says.

“It looked so good,” Riyo says. Her eyes are watering, and she keeps grimacing as her tongue finds more of the deceptive apple between her teeth.

“It’s no use if it just looks good,” Clara complains.

“On the contrary,” a new voice interjects, and they all look round to find another woman with her hand against the tree.

Riyo has travelled a long way and seen a lot of people. This woman is more beautiful than any other she has met. Her skin is a pale green, barely covered at all by her interwoven foliage clothing. Her hair is the colour of damp grass, her eyes like the richest soil. She has a lithe, strong figure and long, elegant fingers, and her smile turns lead to gold and refracts the light into rainbows.

“You are getting better, Clara,” she says. “Your touch no longer makes the trees anxious. They think of you as they do us. The taste will come.” She steps up behind Clara and wraps her arms around the much shorter woman’s waist. Her smile turns wicked. “Speaking of taste…” She brings her mouth to Clara’s neck and licks her. Her fingers dig into the skin of Clara’s inner thigh.

“Ah! Company, Sister,” she says, almost pleading.

The dryad looks up at them but does not alter her grip on Clara. “Chief,” she says, “and guests. Welcome to Folvin.” She plants a kiss on Clara’s neck, startling her, before letting the woman go. “My name is Aetokelishpa. You may call me Aeto, until I decide that you cannot. I understand that you were of some assistance removing the invader.”

“That’s right,” Riyo says. Public displays of affection are common in her home city of Ragg, but for Rolleck, who has spent all but his earliest years in the more reserved areas of the Everstall Song, such brazen lesbian activity is a little shocking. He manages to maintain his composure, but Riyo noticed the way his eyes widened, and the way his eyebrow tried to climb. She will store this knowledge to torment him with later. “How did you know, though? We only just got here.”

“The trees whisper,” Aeto says, laying a delicate hand on the tree once more. “The wood trembles, the sap flows, and the story flies from grain to grain to grain.” Apples begin to weigh down the branches of the tree. They do not grow as large as Clara’s had, but there are dozens of them. She plucks one and tosses it to Riyo.

Having once bitten, Riyo is twice shy, but even the most tentative of nibbles yields a staggering flavour. She takes a full bite, and her mouth is filled with sweet and tart. It is the most perfect apple she has tasted in her life.

“The endless forest has been the domain of the trees since before memory existed. We are but travellers, passing through. When we are gone, only the trees will remain. We dryad believe that no flesh-and-blood creature owns any part of this world, and so, though we came to this place before humans, we share it with all those who came after.” She curls an arm around Clara’s waist again. “Many humans think the same. But many dragons do not.”

“Their king is old,” Yosht says. “He has kept them in line for nearly two hundred years, for the most part.”

“And Gruff?” Riyo says. The name is one more thing ruining dragons for her.

“He sees his father’s decline and tries to convince others among his people that now is the time to be rid of human and dryad alike,” Aeto says. “The dragons are conquerors, by nature. They do not believe in sharing.”

“You said he is second in line to the throne,” Rolleck says. “Who is first?”

“We have no idea,” Yosht says.

 

 

Emerald presses her claws against the gnarled oak tree, resisting the urge to dig in and tear the wood to splinters. Instead, she extends her senses into it. It welcomes her, passes the susurrus of the forest wind into her mind to ease her fears. It tells her of the pain in Folvin. The dryads meld and remake the wood into the shapes of houses and walls, but the trees remain. Such is their remarkable power. The trees are willing to share themselves with Emerald, but she cannot move them with her soul the way dryads can.

She is relieved to feel the roaring agony of burning wood and splintering branches has faded. The touch of soft rain eases char and cinder, and the claws that rent everything are gone from the city. Emerald has travelled all across the Song. The endless forest is not named such for no reason, and it is occupied by so many different people and creatures. Emerald has met them all and lived with them for a time, criss-crossing her verdant home with no map and no destination. She feels comfortable among all her trees and with all her flavours. The only place she does not like is the one that is now calling her.

Because she has found that, no matter how far she travels and how many new bonds she makes, nothing can pull at her like her burning blood. And her father is dying.

 

 

Black, known to the humans as Gruff, has a jaw capable of crunching boulders. Little can resist the pressure of his teeth. Fortunately, his other teeth can, otherwise he would have ground them to dust by now. He lands on the lip of Yl Torat’s crater, then screams his pain and frustration as he puts his right foreleg down. Those humans had been lucky. His father has a matter of days left, and once the old man finally passes it will be easy to convince a handful of his friends to help him raze Folvin. That is all it will take. The man with his water magic and the accursed dryads are all that stand between him and his victory. Just one ally among his kind, and they won’t stand a chance.

“You’re too loud,” someone says, and Black turns a furious snarl on them. His fire might not touch another dragon, but his claws are one of the few things that can pierce dragon scales. He mentally adds that human’s disquieting sword to that short list. His eye will take years to heal. Even now, it throbs with a strange pain that seems to burrow deeper into his flesh with every heartbeat.

The voice belongs to Bronze, his companion. Dragons come in a multitude of shapes and sizes, but though Bronze is nearly half Black’s size, he is almost his equal in power. Size does not indicate strength among dragonkind. This is a shame, because Black’s elder sister is one of the smallest dragons he knows of. Would that he could squash her like he did humans. He puts her out of his mind. She is irrelevant, now. She has exiled herself, and, when his father passes, he­ will inherit the throne and burn this entire forest into a purer, more beautiful form.

Bronze lets out a rumble of surprise. He nuzzles at Black’s leg, making him flinch.

“They hurt you,” he says. “Your eye…”

“It will heal,” Black says, gruffly. “It will all heal. What I do to them in return…” he hisses flame through his teeth. “That will not heal.”

“Then please wait, this time.” Bronze’s metallic eyes carry a pain that Black does not like to see. He glances away. “The humans rebuff you, time and again. And now you bear these injuries.”

“They got lucky,” Black growls.

“That is what humans do,” Bronze says. “You have seen them. They are everywhere. We are powerful, but we cannot fight them all, and all it takes is for just one of them to ‘get lucky’ and it will not matter whether you are king or craven – you will die.”

“Do you think so little of me, my heart?”

Bronze shakes his head, coppery scales flashing in the sunlight. “I think humans are dangerous. Only a fool could deny it. You are proud, and I love you for it, but you are impatient. What is a few days or a week to creatures such as we? We can make this land our own and make this forest our burning bed. Once you have a kingdom, you will find it much easier to expand it.”

“If you just helped me…”

“Then I would be killed. Only you can so brazenly defy the king. Is that spindly little city worth my life to you?”

Black bows his head, ashamed. “No. I’m sorry. I am angry that they’ve done this to me.”

“Then let us wait together, so that we might make them suffer for it together.”

 

 

Ravi finally finds his travelling companions in an unscorched tavern near the park at the centre of the city. He has been wandering around Folvin all day, learning its streets and helping its people find their families and possessions, fighting those fires too large to be completely snuffed by the rain and sweeping away ash and soot. He has also seen something amazing.

“There are dryads here!” he tells Riyo as he sits down.

“Oh,” she says. She’s lacking her usual buoyance. “Hey Ravi. Yeah, we know.”

“Oh,” Ravi says, deflating. He notices that they are joined by a third person – a you girl wearing plants. He glances at Riyo, but she is staring into her drink with a frown. Rolleck is distracted by Riyo. It is hard to read his face, but Ravi thinks this expression might be concern. The girl looks like she was expecting them to make more of an effort in her introduction too, but neither of them notice the awkwardness descending upon them.

“Um, hi,” Ravi says, offering his hand. “I’m Ravi.”

“Clara,” the girl says. “I’m an apprentice to the dryads.”

Ravi blinks.

“Humans can be born with something like their power.” It’s clear from the way she glances at them that she has already had to explain this to Riyo and Rolleck. “They’re teaching me.”

“I see,” Ravi says. He glances to either side too, but the others are still ignoring them.

“Um. I can’t really craft the trees that well, so I’m not really much use to them.”

Ravi nods, but it feels insufficient. The silence lasts a little too long. “Still, it’s pretty amazing to be able to do what they do, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Clara says. She doesn’t feel that way. It would certainly be amazing if it was useful. She still can’t even get apples right, though.

The silence slithers back in, wrapping around all of them and oozing with its discomfort, until Riyo stands up and slams the table with a yell. The whole tavern turns to look at her.

“Dragons suck,” she declares.

Rolleck closes his eyes with a sigh. He has assumed it was something like that making her brood. And he knows it is not the fact that they are attacking the city that bothers her about them. It is that they are kind of boring.

The people in the tavern, who have survived numerous Gruff battles, make some noises of quizzical agreement. Dragons certainly do suck, but it’s a strange thing to declare it so dramatically in such lukewarm terms.

“I’m going to Yl Torat.” She finishes her drink while the other patrons paint the roof with their eyebrows.

“You struggled to manipulate just one of them with your reality,” Rolleck says. “Is going to their kingdom such a good idea?”

Riyo shakes her head. “It’ll be fine. Dragons suck.”

Rolleck looks down at his sword, ever pulsing with hunger. It might not come to violence, he supposes. Their king has been able to keep all but one from attacking Folvin. Perhaps relations between human and dragon aren’t actually as bad as all that.

He stands. “Fine.”

Riyo turns to Ravi.

Ravi does not believe in facing down dragons. He believes that not being on fire is the key to a long and fulfilling life.

“I think I’ll stay here, if that’s okay?” Part of him chimes in with the suggestion that he needn’t be so hesitant about not going to a city full of dragons. That is a small part of him, though, and he is, after all, chickening out.

“I’d like to go,” Clara says in a quiet voice.

“Okay,” Riyo says.

“I know I’ll probably just be a burden,” she says quickly, “but through all these attacks I’ve done nothing to help the Sisters or the Chief. If we can talk to them, then maybe… Please, let me come with you.”

“She said ‘okay’,” Ravi says.

Clara blinks. “Oh. Thank you.” She tilts her head forward to let her hair cover her blush.

Rolleck grabs Riyo’s arm as she passes. “Let’s go tomorrow, shall we? It’s been a busy day.”

“Mmmm,” Riyo says, as though she might disagree. “Yeah. Okay.” She turns for their rooms – free, compliments of the fire chief. “We’re going early, though.”

 

 

The dragons rule a realm of heat. The magma caves inside the volcano have been torn wide to accommodate the largest of them, and burning air flows through the subterranean network like arterial blood. On the surface, pools of glowing lava dot the crater, but by design they vent their heat in a way that allows certain areas to remain cool. Because sometimes, a little chill on the scales is pleasant. This also once allowed other races to visit and treat with the dragons, though this purpose is now defunct.

In the deepest chamber, known as the Heart of Yl Torat, Black stands before his father. King Trenchant is a little smaller in size than Black, but his last few years have bowed him, weakened him, reduced him, so that now he seems barely larger than Bronze. He is no longer able to lift his grey-maned head. No longer able to breathe his flame, even. His voice is quiet, when he speaks at all. Mostly, he sleeps.

And yet still he lives.

Black looms over him. With the swipe of a single claw, the kingdom could be his.

“Patience,” Bronze says from the edge of the room. He has a way of seeing into Black’s mind. “Even if nobody were to pin it on you, a murder would only cause uncertainty.”

Black snorts. “I know. I want my people to follow me down the mountain.” He turns away from his father. His failing form is sickening. “But the time chafes on me like a leash.”

“Waiting is painful,” Bronze agrees. “But pain is necessary, sometimes.”

“Prince,” Rival says from the chamber entrance. She is the largest dragon in the kingdom, half again as big as he, and she is one of his loyal coterie who wishes to see the humans vanquished from the endless forest. She sounds worried.

“What is it?”

“You need to come to the crater. Quickly.”

Black’s teeth begin grinding together again. There is a feeling stirring inside him – a resonance in his blood.

“No,” he growls. “Not now.” He scampers out of his father’s cavern, limping on his injured leg and cursing flame out with every breath. “Not now.”

 

 

Emerald stands in the single crack in the rim of the crater, where the passage of people has worn a path into a place where, once, all but dragons feared to tread. Before her stands a young dragon with malice in his eyes. He is new to the role of guarding the crater, and he is therefore not aware that the post is given to dragons that have not yet realised that guard duty for a city full of dragons is just a way of keeping idiots distracted.

Well, she supposes today is a little different.

“I would like to enter,” Emerald says.

“I don’t recognise you,” the young dragon says. “I don’t think a tiny thing like you even belongs in our kingdom.”

“Unfortunately, my size has nothing to do with anything. I was born here, and I wish to speak to my father. If you will not let me pass…” She lets go of the threat, but it is probably too late. She doesn’t want to fight him, but he’s exactly the sort of dragon that they would let guard the gate, so he will rise to any threat – even an incomplete one.

He doesn’t even wait, the cretin. He brings his claw down on her like he’s stepping on a bear, laughing vindictively. Emerald grabs it, twists, and hauls the dragon’s massive weight into the air, bringing him down on his back with a crash. He opens his mouth, the pilot in his throat flashing bright as he goes to breathe. Emerald puts a hand on her hip and waits as the flame engulfs her, then peters out. It doesn’t even ruffle her hair.

Her adversary scrambles back to his feet, shaking out his wings, and swings at her again with a roar. She stops it with an outstretched arm, and the wind created by the impact sets her harness clattering.

“Stand down,” a rough, angry voice says, and Emerald groans internally. She had hoped to speak with her father before this confrontation.

Gruff – Emerald enjoys this nickname the humans have given him – pads up into the gap from deeper in the crater, Bronze dogging his heels.

“Prince Black,” the young dragon says, and Emerald rolls her eyes.

“So they recognise you, then,” she says. “Just not their future Queen.”

“That is your fault, not mine, sister,” Black says. “You abandoned this place.”

“I chose not to be confined by it,” Emerald says. “Where is father?”

“Asleep in the Heart,” Black says. “I will not allow you to disturb him now.”

“I must speak with him.”

“You had chances to speak with him, while he was healthy. While he was ruling our kingdom. While he needed the support of his family. You chose the outside. Now you return, like an impatient carrion eater.” Black makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “You will find you are not welcome here.”

“Our laws say I am,” Emerald says. “I heard you’ve been flouting them regularly. So please, tell me more about how much you respect our father and our people.”

“Our people respect strength. I wish our laws changed, and so I fight for it. You ran away and ignored everything.”

“If it’s strength you want, let me show you what the outside world has taught me,” Emerald growls. “Unless you’re scared to fight me after your humiliating loss to the humans?”

“Welcome home, Emerald.”

The tension is stolen from between Emerald and her brother as they all turn to find that Bracken has lighted upon the lip of the crater, just where the cliff falls away to form the gap. He is their kingdom’s greatest warrior, counsel to the king for decades and the only one able to command both of their respect. He is roughly the same size as Bronze, but his presence overawes them all.

“It is good to see you again, Bracken,” Emerald says.

“And you. I see your travels have done you good.”

She nods. “I have learned a great deal.”

“It is a shame you will not be able to share the tales of your adventures with your father,” Bracken says.

Emerald’s heart skips a beat, leaving a gap that seeps through her veins and chills her whole body.

“Is he…?”

“He is weak, and his mind has faded.” Bracken shakes his head. “Black’s words are harsh, but they are true. You have left your return too late, child.”

Emerald swallows. It does nothing to ease the sorrow welling up within her. “I would still like to see him,” she says.

“He rests in the Heart,” Bracken says. “No one else will impede you.” He shoots a stern look at Black and his friends, then drops into the gap, landing beside the young guard. “Come along, Fallow. It is time for you to read the laws again. This time, you will do so eight hundred times. Perhaps that will help you remember them.”

Fallow hangs his head and follows Bracken down into the crater. Emerald turns to face Black again.

“The people will not accept you,” he growls. “You will ruin this place.”

“The people do not have a choice, brother.” She walks past him, heading towards the Heart. “Father was king, I am his heir. You could kill me, but I think you’re too much of a coward.”

Black watches her go, his claws planted in the rock beneath him, the pain from his broken leg the only thing keeping him from launching after her and ripping her head off with his teeth.

“Be careful, my heart,” Bronze whispers. “This is a complication, but you are right. The people will not accept her. As long as we keep it that way, you will still have your kingdom.”

 

 

Riyo rises early. She makes her way to the bath, which is a thing of beauty. Everything is wooden, of course, but so smooth as to feel like porcelain. It sits on the roof of the inn, kept private from its neighbours by heavily branching trees, but allowing a view out over the misty park and Yl Torat beyond it. The dryads have sent roots deep into the earth at the base of the volcano, bringing hot water up and mixing it with the cooler groundwater the trees collect, allowing bathers to find their perfect temperature among four different baths.

Clara is sitting on the edge of the hottest pool, her feet swishing the milky water around. Steam floats up around her, muting the light. Riyo pads up beside her on quiet feet, but she looks around anyway.

“I hope you weren’t going to push me in,” she says. There is a soft smile on her lips.

Riyo had been thinking about it. “No,” she says. She sits down and kicks at the bathwater. It is practically boiling. “Yowch.”

“It takes some getting used to.” Clara swipes a hand through the water. Ripples roll across the surface, making a peaceful, clean sound. “I like the hot bath, though. It really feels like its scouring you.”

Riyo nods. “I suppose it doesn’t compare to getting breathed on by a dragon.” She holds her nose and pitches forward into the bath.

“Riyo!” Clara yelps. It takes her maybe half an hour to gradually get used to the temperature of the water in the morning. She finds the process relaxing. Diving in head-first is not relaxing.

Riyo breaks the surface with a yell that shatters the morning into fragments and scares away the steam.

“It’s hooooooooooot!”

Her face is already as red as a tomato beneath her sodden blonde hair. Even so, she dunks herself again, and then a third time. Clara giggles and slips into the bath herself, gently, feeling the tingle as the waterline climbs her leg, then her torso. She sits on the submerged bench at the edge of the pool and Riyo joins her there, panting.

“Why are you going to Yl Torat?” Clara asks. “You came to Folvin yesterday. Our concerns aren’t yours.”

“I know,” Riyo says, looking up at the sky. “I’m not doing it for Folvin.”

“Then why?”

“I’m going to find the sunlight stone.”

Clara feels the snub in the way her heart suddenly hurts, in the way the words sink down into her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she says anyway. “It isn’t my place to ask.”

“People keep saying things like that,” Riyo says. “But I really am going to find it. Maybe one day I’ll actually look like the kind of person who could.” She glances at Clara. “That’s why I’m going to Yl Torat. The dragons are strong, even though they suck. I wanna take a piece of that strength away with me.”

Clara can’t hold Riyo’s gaze. It’s far hotter than the bath. Perhaps even hotter than dragon flame.

“So you’re really planning to cross the Reach?”

“Yep. What about you?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want? Everyone has a sunlight stone. Mine’s the sunlight stone. What’s yours?”

Clara looks down at the surface of the water. She sees Aeto and the others reflected there, wrapped in leaves and life, their smiles as enticing as their bodies. She swipes a hand through the images in her head and they ripple away across the bath.

“The dryads have given me everything,” she says. “When I try to give back, it never feels like enough. I know what I want to do, but…” She sinks a little lower in the water, until it almost covers her mouth. “I don’t think I’m good enough.”

“Me neither,” Riyo says.

Clara looks up at her.

“Dragons suck, but I can’t squish ‘em. That means I’m not strong enough to take the sunlight stone yet.”

Clara drops even further into the water and blows out a stream of bubbles. The heat has flushed through her and painted her face red, narrowly beating her embarrassment to the punch.

“My problems seem pretty irrelevant compared to that,” she says. She touches the wood at the side of the bath and asks it for a little chill. The trees on the far side of Yl Torat oblige, still basted in the volcano’s shadow and enjoying the cool morning air. “I just want to be a mother.”

Riyo blinks. She sees herself first as an adventurer. Then as a crafter. In a distant third place, she sees herself as a woman, with all the trappings and tribulations that come with it. On top of this, she is young, and so the idea of motherhood has never trilled long on her heartstrings.

“I think it’s a pretty important decision,” she says carefully. She imagines having a child for a moment, and for that moment she is certain that it will be far easier to find the sunlight stone. She retreats from the idea. One thing at a time.

“People do it all the time,” Clara complains. “There’s literally one for every person alive.” Clara is young, too, but she has never known a desire as strong as this. “Why don’t I feel like I can do it?”

“Most people probably feel like that,” Riyo says. She doesn’t really know. She only has vague memories of her own mother, and no idea what happened to her. She remembers anger and sadness, and she remembers the way people looked at her with a sorrow that couldn’t mask their disgust. After that, it was just the orphanage.

“And yet they do it anyway. While I don’t.” Clara sinks lower in the water again.

“Whose child do you want to have?” Riyo asks. She has never been one for tact.

“The Sisters,” Clara says, not looking at Riyo.

“Oh.” Riyo is worldlier than Rolleck the Lost. She has a comfortable understanding of both birds and bees. She is missing a few pieces when it comes to dragons and dryads, however. “How does that work?”

Clara has hidden most of her face below the surface again, and she practically inhales the bath. She stands, spluttering, and almost trips as she climbs out.

“Anyway!” she declares. “I think if I can face Yl Torat, I’ll have a better perspective on things. Come on! Let’s go!” She strides away from the bath.

Riyo watches her go, puzzled. “Do you have to release pollen, or something?” she calls after her. Clara does not respond.

 

 

 

The Heart is illuminated by streams of magma that leak from the walls and into holes in the floor. The deep, black rock of the walls eats any shadows the light tries to cast, and the air shimmers with the heat. Here, it is possible to feel the weight of the volcano above, and the strength it must have required to carve out its heart for a home. Here, the sheer tenacity and raw power of dragonkind is written not in words, but in deeds.

When she was young, Emerald believed there was nothing finer, nothing more beautiful. She has now seen things that impress her more. She has learned that all life makes its mark on the world, in each way different, in each way splendid. It is not for her, or anyone, to declare that one feat is finer than another, that the mark of flame and claw should cover those other signatures.

It does not feel like home. She had thought it would, but, though she has not yet found another place that does, the peace she felt here as a girl is gone. Perhaps it is that she no longer recognises her father. Only the fact that he is here where she was told he could be found tells her she is looking at the Dragon King of Yl Torat. She stops, paralysed, by the entrance to the Heart. Surely her father is not so thin. Surely the raging inferno that tempered this kingdom has not grown so dim, the diamond claws that shaped it so dull. Surely, she is looking at a lie.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Her voice is lost in the cavern. “I’ve been so childish.” She goes to him, resting a hand on his nose. He does not stir. She can feel the rush of his breaths, long and slow. “My travels have made so much of me, as you told me they would. But the girl in my heart still believed that you were invincible. Immortal. That I could run to you whenever I needed you, that your strength would be behind me forever.”

She tells him, then, of her adventures. Of all that she has seen and done. She tries not to imagine him laughing and cheering as he would have. Tries not to see the look of pride on his face. Even so, she cannot keep herself from tears.

“There is more… to see.”

His voice is little more than breath, but Emerald’s heart soars to hear it.

“Always more.”

His eyes are still closed. He might as well be sleep-talking. Emerald hugs what she can of him.

“I never missed this place, father. But I always missed you.”

“You never… belonged here.”

Emerald feels this, but it hurts to hear her father say it.

“I will always belong with you. This is your kingdom. When…” she fights a new wave of tears off. “When you’re gone, this will be all that is left of you.”

“No.” It is a long time before he speaks again. “What is left… is you… and Black. This is… a place. We are… travellers… in this world.”

“Those are the dryad’s words,” Emerald says.

“What matters… is us.”

“The places look after themselves,” Emerald finishes for him.

“So tired,” he says.

“Rest, father.” Emerald stands. Her blood runs with grief, but also relief. The thought of becoming Queen has frightened her, feeling like shackles binding her to an uncomfortable throne. Her father’s words seem to lift the crown from her brow and open the world to her. And yet. As king, her brother will make an ashen desert of her beloved forest. They might just be travellers and the places might have their own tenacity, but they are all linked together. To break those bonds out of nothing but selfishness and ignorance would be a terrible thing, and she could not keep it on her conscience. Even if the flame that burns is not hers, she cannot just turn her back as the smoke rises.

The open roads and open skies might call her, but they will keep. She can be Queen in a kingdom that is not hers for a spell, if it means protecting the things she truly cherishes.

 

 

“It’s so hoooooooooot,” Riyo says. Sweat is dribbling over her face and dripping from the tip of her nose like someone has left a faucet on. The trees have abandoned them, leaving only cruel rocks and black ash to meet their boots at each step.

“It’s a volcano,” Rolleck says. He is sweating too, but where Riyo looks like a soggy wretch, he wears his exertion like a fashion statement. It drips over his bare chest and accentuates his muscles, makes him shine like polished bronze.

Clara does not really notice either of her companions. She focuses on her feet, trudging with laboured breaths and aching thighs. She is not accustomed to walking so far, and though it is barely noon she would like nothing more than to go to bed. If there is one blessing in her anguish, it is that she has not been able to concentrate on the destination and all the giant, fire-breathing dragons there.

“Is it much farther?” Riyo says.

“I don’t know,” Clara pants. Somewhere ahead, the lip of the crater has crumbled, creating a gap. The path they are on should lead to it, but Clara has never walked it before. Few have. She is struck again by the possibility that this journey is a mistake for her. There must be a way for her to prove to herself that she is strong enough to bear the Sisters’ children without having to face down a kingdom of dragons. She takes a swallow of water from her flask and returns her attention to her sore feet. Plod. Plod. Plod. Dragons are a problem for later.

The sun is unhelpfully bright. Riyo is thankful she had the forethought to leave her big coat behind. She has still soaked through her shirt until it feels like she is wearing the salty sea, and so much of her sweat has dripped into her eyes that she can no longer feel them.

The view is spectacular. The forest spreads out around the mountain like a carpet, soft and green all the way to the horizon in every direction. It had been worth a few minutes of wonder once they cleared the tree line, and now sits picturesquely behind her while she focuses on the uneven ground beneath her boots. Such big, thick boots. They are the only ones she has. She had liked them a lot until she started climbing a volcano in them.

Time grows hotter as it passes. Boots crunch and sweat drips and nobody is particularly happy.

With eyes downcast, they trudge on, and step into shadow.

Riyo looks up to find walls of menacing rock climbing towards the sky on either side of her. They are not the owners of the shadow.

“You trespass on sacred lands, humans,” says a voice rough enough to grind stone to dust.

The dragon is huge. Bigger even than Gruff. Its eyes sparkle in obsidian, its scales reflect the sunlight in the deep green of a storm-blown sea.

Riyo smiles at it. “Finally!” she says, stretching her arms and arching her back. She has tied her shirt around her waist, reasoning that giant, scaly monsters probably weren’t going to be scandalised by a human in just her bra. “Gravity mould.”

Her reality stretches out over the gap, but for now she just wants it open in preparation.

“We’ve come to talk to the king.”

The dragon snarls, flame flickering between its teeth. “You have come to lie in your graves.”

“No,” Riyo says patiently. “We came to talk to the king.”

“The accords,” Clara says. Her voice is a squeak, and, as the dragon’s attention turns to her, it dies away completely.

“What?” the dragon growls.

“There is an accord between the kingdom of Yl Torat and the city of Folvin,” Rolleck says. “A peace treaty. We are guests seeking an audience. You are supposed to offer us passage.”

The dragon laughs, a roaring, painful chuckle that makes Clara’s teeth grind together.

“The accords are but ash in the wind, little human,” the dragon sneers. “Made more than a hundred years ago by dragons with guttering flames.”

“One of those dragons is your king, child,” a new voice says.

Riyo is treated to a moment of realisation as she watches the dragon’s face. It is not very expressive, but there is a shift in its brow, a flaring of its snout, a widening of its eyes. She can now say she has seen a dragon feel fear.

It turns and looks up, and the humans follow its gaze to find a second dragon. It is less than half the size of the first, but its scales are as black as midnight in the deepest part of the forest. Its eyes blaze gold as it drops from the lip of the crater. Riyo expects it to swoop gracefully to a halt, but it just lands. Rocks shatter, dust and ash billow and the ground trembles in awe.

“You speak with such confidence of times and people you do not know. You are young enough to feel you understand everything there is to understand, but I will warn you again and again that you do not. That you are at the age when the greatest mistakes are made, the greatest changes wrought. That you should walk your youth with caution.”

“I apologise,” the first dragon says, burying its snout in the ground in supplication.

The black dragon sighs. “And, of course, my advice will roll off you like flame.” It walks up to stand before the humans. “You are dismissed, Rival. It is not your place to arbitrate when foreigners approach in peace, only to rebuff them if they come in war.”

“As you say, general,” the larger dragon says. It turns from the humans, swishing its tail and sending a cloud of dust at them. Clara flinches back, but Riyo flattens it back to the ground before it touches them.

“I’m quite filthy enough already, thanks,” she says.

The dragon looks at them for a moment, pinning his stare on Riyo the longest.

“I am Bracken,” he says. “I bid you welcome to the Kingdom of Yl Torat and apologise for the youngster’s behaviour.”

“They called you general,” Rolleck notes. He does not have an eye for the gender of dragons, but he decides that referring to them as ‘it’ might be rude, and he does not want to be rude to a dragon that other dragons are afraid of.

The dragon nods. “When our kingdom fields an army, I command it, yes.” It shrugs. “We have not fielded an army in decades, so it is a mostly empty title.”

“We came here to complain about your prince,” Riyo says, never one to tiptoe around a point. “He keeps setting fire to Clara’s city.”

“He does,” Bracken says. “And yet I fear your visit will not help.”

“If we could just speak to the king…” Clara says, her voice a little stronger. She is emboldened by this new dragon’s comparative courtesy.

“As I say, it will not help.” He shakes his head. “The king lies on his death bed. He will be dead within the week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Riyo says, frowning. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Bracken looks at her for another long moment. Then his head shakes again. “Life is an illness without a cure, young crafter. The king’s comes to an end.”

“Then Gruff will take the throne?” Clara asks.

The dragon snickers. “The dragon you call Gruff is named Black. And the matter of the throne is complicated.” He turns towards the crater, peering back over his shoulder. “Come. Though it may look like a vision of what your priests of Velum call the Pit of the End, there are places where we might talk more comfortably.”

The dragon is not lying about the crater. Pools of lava smoulder amid black ground, and the heat as they descend turns the air to porridge. Clara can barely breathe, and she is worried that her leafy skirt and rubber boots might catch fire. The temperature seems to rise with each step, building to an oven heat where she feels her flesh begin to cook.

And then she steps into a snowdrift.

She looks up, staggered, to find Riyo and Rolleck wearing similar expressions of surprise and wonder. Clara turns and waves a hand back the way she has come. She feels the burning air even more keenly, like touching a hot pan. She snatches her hand back.

“How…?”

Bracken laughs again. For all that it sounds like the voice of the volcano itself, it is not an unpleasant thing to hear.

“Dragons are masters of heat and flame,” he says, descending into a dip in the ground and making himself comfortable. In front of him, on a raised outcrop that brings it to his eye level, is a small wooden table. A little fountain of water sprinkles from its centre. Clara’s mouth waters in time with the droplets. Bracken nods towards it.

“There was a time when we saw many more visitors than we do now,” he says as the three of them sit down at the table and fill wooden cups with sweet, sweet water. It is only a little shy of being ice. Riyo pours a cupful over her head.

“We once entertained people from across the Song. From across the world. But times change, and nothing changes them more than politics. Problems arose and fell and rose again, and we cut ourselves off, becoming distrustful. Now we stand on a precipice, and I fear there is little that will keep us from falling.”

“Is this going to be a long story?” Riyo asks.

“I can make it quite short, if you will allow me to be blunt.”

“Go for it,” Riyo says, ignoring the way Rolleck and Clara look at her.

“Very well.” The dragon sighs. “I’m sure you know that, no matter what you humans do, if the dragons decide with one voice to destroy Folvin then even the dryad’s powers will not be enough to save it. Many dragons respect humanity for their tenacity and their cunning, but that is respect for your species as a whole. One city cannot resist us.

“The king has two children, and they hate each other. Both are headstrong and wilful, but they both desire very different things. Black has always been a warrior, Emerald, a thinker. If Emerald were to take the throne and rule with all her energy and wisdom, Folvin would be fine. If Black comes to rule, Folvin will be destroyed within a day of his coronation.”

“Emerald is the elder, right?” Clara asks. “So she’s first in line?”

“Yes,” Bracken says. “But Emerald left the kingdom more than twenty years ago. She travelled the Song and gained a taste for freedom. Meanwhile, Black remained and became one with the flame of this mountain. He drank in the very worst of our paranoia and hatred for other races and came to believe that we should not just rule this volcano, but the entire world.

“Emerald’s right to the throne is clear, but her desire for it is anything but. To take it, she would have to give up her freedom. What is more, the people of Yl Torat have been listening to Black for years, while she has been gone so long that there are those who do not even know her name. Will she sit in a place that she does not want to be and withstand the scorn of the people and the anger of her brother with the constant threat of a coup looming over her, all to protect a single city of humans?” Bracken shakes his head. “Most people would not take up that burden when they could simply turn aside and live a life they truly want.”

Rolleck scowls, but he agrees with the dragon’s assessment.

“Perhaps we can speak to Emerald,” Clara suggests. “If she’s seen the Song, then she’s seen us – the people, the dryads, the animals. Maybe we can convince her to help us, right Riyo?”

She turns to find an empty seat where Riyo had been.

“Um.” She glances up at Bracken, who shakes his head.

“I believe I was too caught up in what I was saying to notice when she slipped away.”

Rolleck is not overly surprised to find her gone, but he is disappointed in himself for not keeping a closer eye on her. He covers his eyes and sighs.

“Where could she go that would cause the greatest upset?” he asks.

Bracken hmmms deep in his throat, making Clara feel as thought the volcano is about to erupt.

“It would be ill-fortune indeed if she were to meet with Black. Rival will have alerted him to your presence here, but they would not try anything with me around. Seeing a human alone in their domain? He might attack before he even thinks of talking.”

“He definitely will,” Rolleck says, standing up. “She broke his leg yesterday. He strikes me as the type to carry a grudge.”

Bracken’s eyes widen slightly. “We should find her immediately.”

 

 

Riyo has found a cave and entered it, in the hope that it will be cooler inside. It is not. There is wind in the cave, but it blows like the humid breath of a giant. Even so, Riyo descends into its depths. She does not like listening to stories when there are places to explore, and she reasons that if she wishes to cross the molten metal bridge known as the Reach, she will have to learn to deal with heat.

Sweat cascades from her as she walks, and she hears the occasional rumble from deeper underground. She cannot tell if they are seismic or dragon-born. The walls are scored with lines and patterns, crafted by impossibly hard claws. Riyo admires them as she delves deeper, the light of the sun fading. A fearsome orange glow begins to replace it, and as the cave turns she comes across the source. Magma seeps down the wall to her left, a bleeding stream or pure heat. Just looking at it seems to blister her skin.

The cavern is wide, likely to admit the likes of the dragon that had met them at the gap. It gives Riyo enough clearance to pass the dribbling magma without cooking her innards, and she continues on. She passes more magma as she goes, but the heat remains the same; heavy and painful, but not excruciating.

“What are you doing here?” a voice asks from behind her.

Riyo stops and turns to face the dragon.

Emerald puts her hands on her hips. “How did you even get here? Who are you?”

Riyo smiles. “Riyo Falsemoon,” she says. “I came to learn how to squash dragons.”