At length they reached a large rock by a stream that fed into the river. Vendevorex paused in the open area. Then, he faded into the fog, only to reappear several yards away in the center of the rock. In actuality, he hung back near the edge of the stone, his claw still clutching Jandra's hand.
“Started to think you weren’t coming,” said a ragged voice from the fog. Jandra strained her eyes to see a figure emerging from the wispy cotton of the air. Vendevorex flinched.
“You’re not Simonex,” he said.
“Simonex?” said the sky-dragon who approached them, still half-veiled by fog. “Oh, you mean this fool?”
The sky-dragon now stood mere feet from Vendevorex’s doppelganger. He lifted a severed head high, revealing the tortured visage of a sky-dragon, eyes open and dull, the tongue hanging limp from its slack jaw. In her horror Jandra noticed a second detail-the sky-dragon who stood before Vendevorex’s double had only tatters for wings. The membranes that stretched between the extended fingers that formed his wing struts had been slashed, a punishment reserved for sky-dragons convicted of property crimes such as the murder of humans. This irreversible injury crippled the sky-dragons, severing them from their namesake element. It also marked them permanently as outcasts; she’d heard rumors that these tatterwings would retreat to the wilds and band together into thuggish gangs.
As she recalled this a second sky dragon appeared beside the first, then a third. From the edges of the stone two more appeared. She held her breath as she heard a rattle in the bushes next to her. A tatterwing carrying a long, crude spear crept no more than five feet to her right, crouching as if to spring.
With a final one stepping out from the other side of the stream, she counted seven tatterwings, all armed. Poor Simonex never stood a chance.
The lead tatterwing dropped Simonex’s head and rested his fore-talon on the hilt of the sword he had slung to his side. “Before your friend died he told us you work for the king,” the tatterwing said, sounding smug. “Said there’d be quite the ransom for you. In the meantime, those fancy jewels in your wings will make a good down payment.”
“You’d not live to spend your ransom,” Vendevorex said calmly. “There’s no corner of the earth you will not be hunted if you attempt to harm me.”
“We’ll take that risk,” the leader said, drawing his blade. The steel edge was jagged, more saw than sword. Suddenly, three large rope nets swirled from the fog, flying over the area. Two nets fell over the spot where Vendevorex’s doppelganger stood. They fell harmlessly to the ground, causing the illusion to flicker and shimmer. The leader drew back, eyes wide as if he’d realized that he was standing before a ghost.
Alas, the third net was badly thrown. Jandra leapt away as it headed for them. The tatterwing to her right rolled out of the path of the spreading hemp.
Vendevorex proved to be too slow. The net hit the edge of the circle of invisibility, then wrapped around her mentor. Vendevorex gave a mumbled curse as the illusion fell away, his concentration broken.
“By the bones!” the tatterwing across the stream exclaimed when Vendevorex’s double vanished. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the king’s wizard!” the lead tatterwing shouted. He sounded panicked and was swiveling his head, searching the shadows. Suddenly, his eyes focused on the wizard’s netted form. He pointed his jagged blade toward Vendevorex as he cried, “He’s too dangerous to hold hostage! Kill him!”
The nearest tatterwing rushed forward, his spear held level with Vendevorex’s heart. Invisibly, Jandra dove into his path, tripping him. This ruined her invisibility; she gambled that there would be a moment of surprise in which she might dart back to safety and vanish once more. Unfortunately, the tatterwing fell on her. She fought to get out from under him. She rolled to her back to find a second tatterwing rushing at her with a spear.
Before the dragon reached her, a loud sizzling sound, like bacon in a skillet, drowned out even the water in the stream. The net that covered Vendevorex flared in a searing flash, disintegrating and freeing him. All the tatterwings reflexively raised their talons to shield their eyes.
Vendevorex pointed his left wing toward the dragon with the spear that had been charging Jandra. The dragon yelped in shock as his spear crumbled to ash and took a large chunk of the flesh of his talons with it.
“You murder my associates?” Vendevorex said, his voice trembling with rage. “You threaten me and my companion, attacking us with ropes and pointed sticks? Fools!”
Vendevorex drew his shoulders back seeming to double in size. “I am Vendevorex! I control the building blocks of matter itself! Know that your actions have brought my judgment upon you!”
White balls of flame engulfed the tips of both wings. Vendevorex lunged out and touched the flame to the snout of the dragon near Jandra, who stood staring at his damaged talons. Shrieks echoed from the hills as Vendevorex pushed the dragon’s suddenly limp body away. The tatterwing fell to the stone, his face boiling to pink mist, revealing his skull.
Jandra kicked free of the dragon who had fallen on her as Vendevorex leaned and plunged the flame into the dragon’s spine. This one didn’t even have time to scream before he died.
Jandra struggled to her feet. She rose to find herself face to face with Vendevorex who said in a firm tone, “None can escape.”
Jandra understood. A single survivor could reveal their location to the king. And who knew if Simonex had told them about Chakthalla? As Vendevorex turned to face the leader of the tatterwings, Jandra grabbed the fallen spear of the dragon she’d tripped. She set her sights on the tatterwing on the far side of the stream who’d turned to run. Luck was with her; he tripped on a root, hitting the ground hard.
Jandra had never killed before. She’d never even carried a spear. But there are moments in life when one discovers the most primitive actions are built into the very muscles. She jumped the stream, the spear tucked tightly against her body, both hands gripping with all her might. With her full weight she drove the shaft into the back of the tripped tatterwing, feeling the slips and snaps as the stone tip worked its way through hide and muscle and gristle to the ground beneath.
The tatterwing thrashed and gasped, its talons scraping the earth, still struggling to rise. The air suddenly smelled of urine. Jandra released the shaft and staggered back, unable to believe what she’d done. She turned to find Vendevorex surrounded by a mound of charred corpses. His foes all died so quickly and quietly. The smoke from his victims wafted across the stream; she braced herself for a horrible scent. Instead, the aroma reminded her of roast venison.
The weak, wet calls for mercy from her victim lingered for several long moments until Vendevorex caught his breath, crossed the stream, and silenced him.
Jandra sat down by the stream, her eyes closed, her cheeks wet with tears. She grew sick to her stomach; her hands felt slick with blood, though in truth, there wasn’t a spot on her.
Vendevorex placed a fore-talon on her shoulder.
“It had to be done,” he said.
“I know,” she sobbed, wiping her cheeks. “I know.”
“I apologize. I failed to train you for a moment such as this,” said Vendevorex. “I’ve sheltered you from the darker side of our arts. I’ve showed you illusion and minor transmutations. As you’ve seen, there are more… aggressive skills to be learned. In the morning we’ll begin your lessons.”
Then he left her and began to dig through the satchel of the fallen leader. She went to the stream and splashed water on her face. It helped; she no longer felt quite so close to losing her dinner. Her body trembled as the adrenaline worked through her. She looked at her hands. Had they really killed someone? Though it happened only a moment before-the corpse of her victim was in the edge of her sight, the spear thrusting up like a young, straight tree-it all felt so distant. Like a memory from years ago, a different life.