“So you truly don’t care for Chakthalla?” Jandra asked Pet. “When you look at her all lovey-eyed and call her Mother, that’s only an act?”
Pet shrugged. “I’m a good actor. I know who butters my bread. Unfortunately, Chakthalla’s not going to have any butter left once this place burns down.”
“Well argued,” Vendevorex said. “It sounds cold but it’s simple truth. Chakthalla is doomed. We doom ourselves by remaining.”
“You’re both cowards!” Jandra shouted. “You’re looking out for your own skins and not thinking twice about the ones who will die. They’re dying because of you, Ven! They’re dying from the weapon that you created. The king wouldn’t be attacking if it weren’t for you stirring up the possibility of rebellion.”
“Jandra,” Vendevorex said, lowering his voice. “We will not discuss this now. Gather your belongings.”
“What about me?” Pet asked.
“Retrieve your jewels,” Vendevorex said. “You may accompany us from the premises under the shield of invisibility.”
“Fine,” Jandra said. “You’ve got a new pet, Ven. You won’t be needing me. I’ve got more important things to do.”
Jandra turned and raced toward Chakthalla’s chambers, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision. Vendevorex shouted her name, calling her back, but she had no reason to listen to another word he said.
Jandra found Chakthalla in the throne room, a cathedral-like hall that jutted perpendicularly from the main castle. The stained-glass windows along the tops of the side walls danced with the lights of the flames outside, casting colorful shadows around the room, painting the white marble floors with scenes of ruby dragons floating in amethyst skies above emerald fields.
Chakthalla’s throne was a giant, gilded pedestal, draped with blood-red satin. Chakthalla slumped on her throne, her head lowered to the floor, her eyes fixed on the doorway in which Jandra stood. Her expression was blank as if she were numb with shock. Her ruby wings draped to each side, spreading onto the floor like carpet. Her fore-claws clutched her breast as if she were feeling her breaking heart. The flickering light gave the illusion that her feathery scales ruffled in a breeze. At her side was a huge spear, twenty feet long, the sort only sun-dragons such as herself could wield.
“My lady,” Jandra said, hurrying forward. “I’ve come to help defend your castle.”
Chakthalla followed Jandra with her eyes as she advanced but she did not speak.
“Chakthalla? If you’ll tell me what to do to help, I’ll do it. My skills aren’t as great as Vendevorex’s, but I can turn invisible, and transmute simple materials, and-” Jandra stopped short as she reached the throne.
Chakthalla continued to stare at her but now Jandra could see the dark blood seeping down her chin.
Jandra’s eyes moved to the dragon’s bejeweled talons. The fine red scales glistened with moisture. Wet red spots dripped to the marble floor.
Chakthalla dropped her claws to her sides. The enormous gash in her breast was revealed. Her eyes closed as her body convulsed, sliding clumsily from the pedestal and sprawling at Jandra’s feet.
A long metal blade protruded from Chakthalla’s back, gleaming in the firelight. Suddenly, a claw so deeply green it looked black rose from behind the pedestal. Long nails dug into the satin. Then the assassin leapt to the top of the throne, crouching upon it. It was an earth-dragon, one of the Black Silences, a unit in the dragon army bred for espionage and assassination. Some mutation had rendered this subspecies of the earth-dragons a deeper hue than their brethren, and had gifted them with unnatural speed. The dragon’s scales were so dark they sucked in the light around him. His eyes burned like dim coals as they studied Jandra. Then his gaze shifted toward the blade in Chakthalla’s back.
“Why not try for the sword?” the assassin hissed. “You might make it.”
Jandra turned to run, reaching for the dust in her pouch so that she could become invisible. She tossed the dust into the air too late. The dragon tackled her squarely in the back and she fell forward. The assassin was no taller than herself but he was solid. His weight crushed all breath from her as he pressed her to the cold, hard marble.
Still pinning her down with his mass, the dragon wrapped his left claw into her hair and pulled her head backward. Her mouth opened in a silent, breathless cry of pain. The sharp nails of his right claw flashed before her eyes.
“Chakthalla was too important to play with,” the assassin whispered, his beak next to her ear. “Now that my work is done, I think I deserve a moment to revel in your screams.”
He drew his claw along her cheek, his nails dragging along her skin with just the proper force to not cut her. Jandra felt the sharp claws caressing her cheek, her chin, and her throat. The slightest extra pressure would open her veins.
Fortunately, there were still traces of silver dust on her fingers. The combat training Vendevorex had subjected her to would prove useful after all. She grabbed the dragon’s wrist and concentrated. With the same talent she’d used to turn Pet’s shirt into a rope, she began to reshape her assailant’s hide and bones. His wrist melted beneath her fingertips… too slowly. He shrieked in pain. Then, with a slashing motion, he yanked his injured claw up and out.
For half a second Jandra felt nothing. She tried to breath and wound up swallowing blood. She coughed, spitting a fine spray of crimson on the marble before her. It was only then that she understood her throat had been slit.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: FLESH
“You’ll die for that,” the Black Silence snarled. Jandra heard a blade being drawn from its sheath. It sounded very far away, far beyond the heartbeat that pounded in her own ears. She pressed her hand to her throat. Air bubbled from the gash beneath her bloody fingers as she coughed.
Jandra tried to concentrate. There was still a chance to use the dust lingering on her fingers to reshape the flesh of her own throat, to knit the wound. But her mind was locked up, frozen.
The weight on her back shifted as the Black Silence pulled her head back further. The blood gushed between her fingers more freely. She peered up to see the tip of a dagger high overhead. When it fell it would plunge into her throat. She closed her eyes, anticipating the blow.
Three seconds later and the dagger failed to fall. A rain of fine particles fell against her face. Suddenly the claw that pulled her hair went slack. Her face hit the marble with a tooth-jarring thump. She opened her eyes as a hilt bounced on the marble floor before her, its blade only a shard of crumbling rust. Fine red flakes continued to drift to the floor. The weight on her back vanished as the Black Silence let loose a pained gasp.
The assassin gurgled, then squealed. The smell of burning flesh tainted the air.
Hands fell upon her shoulders-a man’s hands-rolling her over until her head lay in his lap. She looked up into Pet’s concerned face.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, pressing his fingers to her throat, pinching the torn flesh closed. “Ven says to keep calm and he’ll help you.”
She gasped for breath. She sucked blood into her lungs… but air as well. How bad was her wound? Where was Ven? The room was spinning slowly. She cast her gaze about the room but couldn’t find him. Her assailant’s screams came from a patch of air before her. His voice faded in a series of brief, weak sobs. No one could be seen in the hall except for Pet and herself. Then she spotted the smoke hanging in the air, the bottom edge of the cloud cut into an almost perfect arc. The assassin’s voice rattled into silence.
The upper half of the earth-dragon’s body appeared suddenly as it slumped to the floor, the charred flesh of the face flaking away in the outline of a three-fingered hand, revealing the skull beneath. Without warning the dragon’s legs appeared, and Vendevorex also, standing at the slain assassin’s feet. Smoke rose from the fore-talons of the now visible mage, and his eyes were narrowed in a look of grim determination.