A Dragon Born

  *****

  Outside the city, amid the dying flames and the wreckage left in the wake of the army, Draxis pushed himself free from the burning boards that had covered him. When the dragon had released him, he had been tossed aside and thrown toward an armory wagon that carried a store of weapons for the army. Barely surviving the crushing claws of the dragon, the crash into the wagon had nearly killed him. His body was cut in so many places from the sharp edges of steel, and a dagger had lodged in his lower leg, coming dangerously close to severing the tendon. Amid the flames and smoke, Draxis carefully pulled the sharp blade from his flesh and cast it aside then he pushed himself to his feet and limped away from the wreckage. He passed by several soldiers who were hobbling along on broken limbs toward the city, to rejoin their ranks but their milky dead eyes paid him no heed. It was as though he no longer existed.

  Draxis saw the giant axe he had won from the Duke of Kandara with its massive blade buried deep in the ground, with burning wreckage all around it. The soft leather strapping that had been wrapped around its great handle had almost completely burned away and the metal beneath was hot to the touch from the fire, but not hot enough to burn him. Draxis picked up the axe, pulled it free from the dirt and turned to stare at the city and the thousands of soldiers who were now flooding through its open gates. His eyes searched the ranks and he did not see any of his Darga. Where had they had gone? Why had they not searched for him? Why had his mother not come to find him? He already knew the answer. He had fought a dragon, but he had lost and he had glimpsed the battle of the god-king and the dragon and he knew he was nothing compared to such power. Draxis knew he was no longer of any use to Cerric or his mother and they had moved on, leaving him behind. He hefted the giant axe over his shoulder and walked away from the city and into the darkness, the limp in his step fading away as his body began to recover.

  *****

  Borrican flew through the night, his head still reeling from the damage he had taken from Cerric's powerful fists. In the brief moment when the god-king had let go of him, he had scrambled over the city wall and leapt out into the darkness, letting his wings carry him on the wind. He was not sure of his bearing but he knew that he was heading west, where he hoped he would find Ariana, but Borrican knew he could not fly for much longer.

  With his dragon sight, he spotted a farm in the distance and, as he flew closer, he saw that it was abandoned. He sailed down toward it and landed heavily in the yard between the farmhouse and the barn. Borrican looked at the farmhouse and knew he badly needed rest, but he was not sure exactly how that would be possible since he was almost as big as the house itself. He was so tired that he could barely think, and just trying to figure out how to change back from his dragon form made his head hurt.

  Exhausted and no longer able to cope with the many emotions that spun wildly among his thoughts, Borrican nudged open the large door of the barn. It was empty, save for some scattered bits of straw, and there was just enough room for him so he lay down on the dry, earthen floor, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off to sleep.

  EPILOGUE

  Nathas could tell that the Elven prince did not like him, or any of the Maramyrian soldiers, but he was grateful that Quenta had rescued them from the seemingly endless numbers of dead soldiers that had surrounded him and his men. The Elven Guard had entered the fray and cut a corridor through the enemy lines, allowing Nathas and the remainder of his soldiers to escape. They met up with another group of riders and the Captain General was glad to see his friend, Kaleb and a few other familiar faces among them.

  "Nathas," Kaleb greeted him. "I am told that Kandara is lost."

  "Just before Quenta and the Elves pulled us from the battle, we saw Cerric's army entering the city," Nathas said.

  "Apparently young Elric surrendered to Cerric and opened the gates."

  Nathas was shocked, but somehow he was not surprised. In the short time he had spent with Elric, he had noticed a marked lack of resolve in the young man. He did not seem to share the directness of purpose that Nathas had come to expect from the Kandarans, after having known Boric and his nephew Borrican as well as he did. Even the king, Eric, who was rumored to have become somewhat mad over the years, had revealed himself to be a fearsome foe, a dragon no less. With the blood of such a creature in his veins, it was surprising that Elric would give up so easily, but Nathas could only guess at the workings of young man's mind.

  "Any word of the princess?" Nathas asked, forgetting in his exhaustion that she was the true queen of Maramyr.

  "She travels west," Quenta said, riding up beside them. "We will join her and the remainder of the Queen's Guard on the morrow."

  "I am glad they escaped the city," Kaleb said. "I would not want to be trapped in a corner with the likes of Cerric. I could never have imagined fighting a dragon with bare hands. I suppose it really is true, that he has become a god of some kind."

  "So it appears," Quenta commented.

  "How can we fight against such power?" Nathas asked, though he was speaking to no one in particular, but merely giving air to his thoughts, his fears.

  "It will be difficult, but it is possible," Quenta said from behind his mask. "This is not the first time that gods have walked the land."

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