CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20
Dynarys rose above the battle, great wings pumping. Grim. That sneaking, lying Quatori lover. While the Amber Aerie Lords had been bound to diplomatic meetings with Celcath, Grim had been laying a trap. Now his men, his people were in very real danger. They had only escaped the onslaught of Quatori due to some Shifter instinct embedded in his blood. The creatures must have surrounded them, many, many of the things. For when Grim commanded, they had nearly been swarmed with invisible foes. Fortunately, Dynarys had a command of his own and his men had changed to dragon and lifted from the ground immediately, only gathering minor wounds as they lifted off. So near, so close to their deaths they had been. After that, the aerie had devolved into chaos. The Quatori had turned from their intended prey and fed upon the servants and anyone else who was not wise enough to flee quickly. It was a sad night for them all, and horrible to watch the thousands that Celcath had commanded run down and fed upon. None even had a chance to scream out their terror, for the second a noise was made, the Quatori smothered the sound with their feeding.
The only other boon they had been given was Grim's dubious decision to murder the Archon outright. Half of the Onyx Aerie Lords had been surprised by the action. Though they had seemed happy enough to support the return to the past, it appeared the old warlord ways were beyond their tastes. They had outright refused Grim's orders, fleeing the tower while the Archon was still warm at his feet. The other half...
A red dragon below him shot upward, jaws open, snapping with vicious certainty toward his dragon's underbelly. Fortunately, his beast had good instincts. He tucked his wings and rolled to the side, falling from the air, quickly vacating the area of attack. While he rolled he raised taloned forelimbs and raked at the air, hoping to catch the beast's side. One sharp claw caught, but it was only the tip of the red dragon's wing. The sharp appendage sunk into the soft material and Dynarys's beast ripped downward, leaving a long ragged gash.
Fury filled the red dragon's onyx eyes; it turned its head, snapping once more, massive teeth only inches away from the limb that did it insult.
All around, similar battles were taking place. The Amber Aerie dragons were outnumbered, and there was little hope of winning.
Fortunately, Dynarys did not plan on winning. All he needed was enough time for Strale to get Gayriel to safety and alert the Shifters he had hidden in the surrounding forest. He hoped his mother had had enough time to search for her missing pack members, because remaining nearby this aerie after tonight would be unwise.
A heavy blow hit him in the side, knocking his breath from him and toppling his dragon toward the upper levels of a nearby building. He recovered enough to spin in the air, striking the stone with his legs instead of his side. He used the misfortune to his advantage and pushed off from the building, springing a fair distance back in the air and narrowly missing the jade colored dragon that had joined the fight, coming in for the kill.
Dynarys's dragon ignored the new beast, springing instead for the red dragon, his initial attacker. The move took the red dragon off guard; it could not recover fast enough to avoid the strike. Dynarys's dragon hit it full force, latching its teeth into the red beast's neck, forelimbs tearing at the red dragon's wings. He swung his back legs forward so that they came up beneath the other dragon's underbelly, slicing and tearing. Then, before the red dragon could react enough to do him damage, Dynarys's beast sprung away from him, much like he had sprung from the wall below.
The other dragon shot sideways, the direction Dynarys pushed, and then tumbled through the air, slamming into the wall that had once kept the delegation's apartments separate from the rest of the aerie. Stone crumbled from the impact. Even after such a devastating blow Dynarys did not expect the red dragon to stay down for long.
He turned, fully expecting an attack from his other side. The jade dragon hovered uncertainly nearby. It was a smaller beast, young, and the ferocity of Dynarys's dragon seemed to have cowed it somewhat. Perhaps it was not comfortable in a battle where it did not have a distinct advantage. He snarled at it, loosing a wicked roar and pulling back scaled lips to show blood stained teeth.
That was enough for the smaller foe. The jade dragon dove for the streets, winding and weaving through the narrow spaces.
Dynarys let him go. He turned back to the red, still stunned in the rubble. Should he desire, now would be the perfect time to finish the other dragon; to swoop in with claws and teeth and ensure that the beast's injuries were such that it would not rise again.
But he did not. He hoped, instead, that the damage done would take a long while to recover from. Dynarys encouraged his dragon to raise its snout to the sky and sound the retreat. For a moment, the beast balked. It was furious and it wanted revenge on these lesser dragons, the Onyx line. How dare they attack?
Normally, Dynarys might have agreed with it, too. But they had more than themselves to worry about now. Now they had a mate. And her safety was first before anything else. And to that, the dragon did agree. The cry of retreat echoed through the streets and into the surrounding forest.
Dynarys did not hesitate. The entire delegation had been a set-up, a trap. The next time he faced the Onyx Lords, it would be with a full army at his command. Until then, he would not look back.

Grim. Gayriel knew that man was trouble. All his talk about the Shifters, and their evil, and it turned out he was the snake in the eagle's nest.
Gayriel looked at the woman again. She was a passive thing, and the markings on her skin angered her. What right did he have? Simply because she was weaker? And Gayriel's guess was the visible injuries were only part of her troubles.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Beska, Lady,” the woman winced, as Gayriel let go of her chin and grabbed her arm, hauling her upright. The stairs were not a safe place for her to hide, and Gayriel planned to give her a chance to retrieve some of her lost power.
“Beska, I have something to tell you,” they began ascending the stairwell. It remained abandoned and a fear grew within Gayriel that the many servants and women-statues had succumbed to death by Quatori. She halted three steps up, her heart hammering with a realization.
She could succumb to death by Quatori. How would she even know they were about? Her mind replayed the scene from the forest, the Shifter being bled dry, and she froze. Fear, such great fear came upon her. More than ever before she felt death closing in. She struggled with her breathing, and the desperate sob that suddenly wanted to escape. What was she doing?
A soft hand brushed hers, Beska. Pale blue eyes looked up at her, dull with pain and trauma, but reassuring nonetheless. And in that space, suddenly their positions were reversed.
Gayriel had been wrong. This woman was not weak, not at all.
And she couldn't be, either. Dynarys was counting on her. He didn't know it, but he was. That orb could not be in Grim's hands. In fact, she was coming to believe it should never be in anyone's hands. And if she found the blasted thing, the first thing she would do would be to destroy it.
And Beska counted on her, too. It was her fault she was here, her lie that drew the woman to the tower, and she would fix it.
“Wait here,” Gayriel commanded.
She hefted the dagger, no longer idle at her side. How stupid she had been to run across the aerie and through the main hall thinking she was safe. What she wouldn't give for Scet by her side now, or even Illaise, assuming she wouldn't simply feed Gayriel to the creatures. But Scet waited without, in the forest somewhere, where she should be right now.
She gave her head a physical shake. Should have been was not going to do her any good. She needed her wits about her.
Working quickly she dislodged the first lantern she came across that still fluttered and hung upon the wall. The hook was a little high for her, built for those of taller stature, and some of the oil dribbled out as she worked the lantern off. Then she moved down the wall to a second light.
Three lanterns and a dagger was really too much to hold, but she felt much safer once she had gathered them. Besides, Beska would need one, too. She pushed the wicks upward, so they glowed as brightly as they would. Then, having as much light as she could procure, she returned to the staircase. It wasn't very sneaky, running around like a blazing sun, but at the moment, it was the less dangerous option.
“Take this,” she handed one to Beska.
Beska took the handle. Her pale eyes regarded Gayriel from above the glowing light.
“I am not a painter,” Gayriel confessed. “Or a Lady even,” she paused. “Well, I might be now, I'm not sure. But the truth is, the reason I am here right now is to take something from Grim. It won't stop him from being Grim, but it might stop him from using the Quatori.”
Beska stared at her. She urged the woman to move upward, up the stairs, toward the dining room. The soft padding of the woman's feet were the only indication she followed, she said nothing. Gayriel had certainly betrayed her, if she thought about it. All of this, everything, had happened after seeing Grim in the staircase. She knew then that he was dangerous, that he would not allow her another chance at escape. She knew he would force mating, and now she knew he didn't much care which woman he used. Were Beska's injuries a direct result of Gayriel's own refusal?
She knew the answer was yes, just as she knew, deep down, it really wasn't her fault. Yet, guilt washed over her. Besides that, she had lied to the girl, as well.
They were halfway up the stairs already. She hated to push Beska, the woman had to be in pain. So many emotions crowded for space, Gayriel couldn't even look back at her. She was keeping up, though—the glow of her lantern echoed Gayriel's own.
When the dining chamber finally opened before them, Gayriel breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike the ruined great hall, this room was untouched. No doubt it had to do with its rare use and the lack of people who visited it. She wanted to believe that meant the Quatori were elsewhere, as well.
She set her lantern down by the stairs and waited for Beska to finish ascending.
“I don't think the Quatori have ventured up here, without anything living to draw them. But I must admit I have lived a sheltered life in regards to the creatures. I need to reach the levels above, specifically the Archon's rooms. That is where, I've been told, the item I seek is kept.”
It occurred to her that, in order to create the mess the aerie was in, Grim might have possession of the orb. Another doubt to add to her growing line of worries. She paced toward one of the long windows, sliding her form behind one of the pillars. She hoped that all without were too distracted to notice the faint light in the dining room, but she wasn't going to risk displaying her silhouette.
If possible, the night had seemed to darken farther. She could see none of the dragons gracing the sky, but their wild roars and screeches still seeped through the glass.
“Do any of these open?” she called softly back toward the stairs.
“No, they are sealed directly into the stone,” Beska's voice nearly made her jump. She was so close. While Gayriel was studying the night sky, she had abandoned her lantern and crept to the pillar. “Why would you wish to open them? What if they get in?”
“Can Quatori climb? I'm fairly certain they don't fly, right?”
Beska shook her head. “There are more demons here than Quatori.”
Ah, she worried about the Onyx Dragons, or at least one in particular.
“I am certain, if a dragon wanted in, a bit of glass would not stop him, yes?” Gayriel fingered the smooth cool panes. “The problem is that I need out.”
Beska made a choking sound.
“How else will I climb to the next level?”
“It is so dangerous. Why would you agree to serve the Lords in such a way?”
“Actually, I agreed not to. But I've become invested in their well-being. You aren't the only one I've lied to,” Gayriel muttered the last words with bitterness. “I will need to break these, but I do not want to draw attention with the noise.”
Beska watched her with wide, frightened eyes. She could not tell what the woman was thinking, but she guessed it was something like internal cursing and suspicion of her sanity.
Crouching toward the floor, Gayriel moved away from the window and toward one of the long solid tables. She grabbed the nearest carving she could find, a piece of stone work that rippled like a pool of water, with a dragon rising from it. It was about the length of her forearm, and awkward, and a little on the heavy side, but she lifted it from the table anyway and made her way back.
This time, she chose the window closest to the solid wall that held the staircase. She watched the skies as she approached, hoping to catch a glimpse of...well, anything. It would work best for her if the dragons had moved off, but she desperately wanted to see Dynarys's beast, to have that reassurance that he still lived and wasn't...
“Wait,” Beska called softly.
Gayriel peered toward her. She was surprisingly easy to lose track of, with her soft demeanor and penchant for not drawing attention to herself. She moved toward Gayriel from her shadow, a lumpy something in her hands.
“Use this,” she whispered. “It will muffle the sound...please...just try to be safe.”
Her words hit Gayriel with the force of one of the lightning bolts that danced outside. All that she had been through, most of which could easily be blamed on Gayriel, and she was worried for her safety. Her throat closed a bit as she took the bundle of cloth Beska offered. It was the outer layer of her skirts, she realized.
Gayriel shook her head; she had to focus now. Climbing such a height in a rainstorm would be dangerous enough. She wrapped the material awkwardly around the end of the stone carving and, without wasting time, slammed the end of the structure into the first pane.
The sound was indeed muffled, a quiet thump that bounced off the glass as easily as if it were a stone wall she was trying to break through.
“Gods damn it all,” she cursed. The shock of the impact rang through her body, but the glass didn't so much as budge.
“Again,” Beska joined her, wrapping her long slender arms around the stone, as well.
Something had changed in the short time since Gayriel had found her cowering in the staircase. She didn't know if the situation, spurring her to action, gave her strength, or if it was part of who she was as a person. Gayriel suspected the latter.
With the weight of both of women behind it, the window shattered when they hit. It made more noise than Gayriel had hoped, but it didn't echo wildly through the night and, for that, she was grateful. Three more of the melded panes and she would have a hole big enough to maneuver through. Beska didn't shy away until Gayriel dropped the carving to the floor and began swiping shards away from where she planned to push through.
“I cannot stay here.”
Gayriel looked at Beska as she pulled the final bits of glass from the window's edge. She completely agreed, Beska couldn't stay. She mulled over the options for a moment.
“Look, I know the last thing you probably want at this juncture is to deal with more Dragon Lords, but there is one out there right now searching for me. It was his job to take me to safety, but I want you to take my place.”
Beska paled, the beginnings of a head shake starting.
“Beska, how long do you think we have before someone, Quatori or Lord, finds us? I was counting on speed and surprise to complete my task, but the battle will not last forever. You need to be gone before it ends. Strale will not harm you,” at least, Gayriel didn't think he would. Dynarys had trusted him with her; the only one he trusted, he had said. So she had to trust him with this, there was no other choice. “Go,” she commanded with as much authority as she could muster. “He is tall and blond, his dragon is golden. Find him and tell him I sent you and promised he would keep you safe. Tell him to take you to the forest in my place.”
She was shaking her head. “I can't...”
“You can,” Gayriel growled at her. “And you will. He should be making his way toward the tower. Take a lantern to the lower level and wait for him if that is all you can manage. Just don't tell him where I've gone.”
And without waiting for her response, Gayriel slipped past the glass of the window.
She refused to look back inside to see if Beska had taken her advice, and she refused to look around and frighten herself silly with the thought of falling or becoming a dragon's snack. She cleared her mind, put up her barriers, and pretended this was all a very bad dream. Then, mostly by feel, she worked her way out onto the stone wall.
Her fingers ached before she even got both her feet aligned on the edge of one of the great stones. The grips were good and deep, but flat. Her fingers could not curl around anything and they kept sliding outward, encouraged by the moisture from the rain.
She cursed inwardly and swallowed. It was not a comfortable feeling to constantly be slipping toward death. To counter the sensation, she began climbing upward, not giving her fingers a chance to begin their slide out.
The sounds of battle were fading; whatever the outcome it would soon be over and her opportunity would come to a close. She pushed harder, ignoring the screaming of her thighs, which did most of the work. If she didn't give her body a chance to settle in any one place, then she didn't feel so much like she was slipping out of control.
She reached the ledge after an eternity, her fingers ached so bad they curled into tiny balls as she hefted herself over and lay on her side in the open space. She stared morosely at them for a moment. This was only the first of the upper levels, but there was no way in the Six Realms she would make it to another.
She peeked over the edge where she had climbed. It was too dark to see much, but the sense of a great deal of free air and height encouraged her to skittle backwards.
She swallowed and turned back to the upper room.
Before her lay a cavernous space. She could not see the details well, faint blips of flame existed high, high above her, but they were hardly enough to cast light on any one feature. What she could make out was the existence of many, many openings, such as the one she had just crawled through, rising along the walls until they disappeared into the darkness above her. Very much like a hand constructed cave in a mountain. She wondered if the beasts, the dragons inside the Lords, longed for such things: the life of a beast, without so many restrictions of society.
Any other time, she might have been awed at the sheer size. The single chamber was nearly the entire level. Only a dark space at the back suggested there might be smaller chambers around.
And that was what she was looking for, she had to remind herself. The Archon's chambers.
No wonder the Amber Aerie's Archon had insisted she could not sneak in. She imagined the space filled with dragons coming and going, ready to tear apart any who dared to so much as look suspicious. And Dynarys thought he would be waiting for her to let him in.
She wondered, and not for the first time, at the plausibility of the original plan. Just where, exactly, had the Archon received his information? Seduce a man who was clearly insane and refused to see her at all? Somehow get invited into his chamber...where would such a place be, anyway?
She returned her attention to the cave-chamber. What she had first thought to be a massive pillar, supporting the center of the room, turned out to be a wide staircase leading ever upward. She could make it out now that she had slipped through enough deep shadows to approach closer. Something told her that the Archon's chambers would be as high as they could be; up those steep steps, exposed for any who wished to see.
Speed. That's what she needed. There would be no hiding if she ascended, so she needed to get up and off those stairs as quickly as possible. She braced herself, ready.
“I am disappointed, Lady Delegate.”
That voice.
Grim.
Dread filled her immediately, beyond what her barriers could contain. He stepped from the shadows behind her, fury braced in each movement.
“When I arranged the delegation and hinted that Celcath possessed one of the legendary orbs, I fully expected Firestriker to take the bait, eager as he is to prove his allegiance to his Archon and his race in general. But I did not expect you.” Grim neared, each step slow and deliberate. It was all she could do not to lose control of her faculties.
“I've tried to save you from your fate, Lady Delegate. I offered you a perfectly acceptable arrangement. Mate of the high Archon. You could have been queen over the new order. Mother to the most powerful line in history. But. You. Chose. Him.”
The last words were spat, his nostrils flaring as she turned to him. She flinched as spittle hit her face.
Lightning fast, Grim dodged in and grabbed her throat, his fingers bruising the delicate skin there. She gasped in shock, or she tried to, the air would not come in.
“How is this Lady? There is no orb. Firestriker has it figured out; he fled before I could flay him, coward that he is. But now, here you are. His mate no less. He will have no choice but to return and face his fate.”
With that, he tossed her. The lack of oxygen had weakened her limbs and she tumbled to the floor like a pile of rags.
Great Six what had she done?
“Take her to the forest and bleed her out.” All around her, shadows shifted and Dragon Lords appeared. “I want as many Quatori present as you can get before he returns. The Shifters have placed their hopes upon him. That hope dies tonight.”