Dimitri Vasiliyev walked the length of the underground corridor accompanied only by the hollow clicking of his boot heels on limestone. Though the occasional administrator hurried by with a stack of parchment or bag of scrolls, the Ordo Draconis headquarters was otherwise an unusually quiet, barren place. The resurgence of the Irkallu meant every agent was working overtime in the field and fewer and fewer were making it back home. Dimitri’s jaw tightened. Astinos, Ferial, Bandrigan, Lucretia; they and dozens of others had already been lost. Dimitri himself suspected he might be joining their ranks soon.
He was scheduled to leave for Datharia the next day, though he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. The Emperor was convinced that Gorzog Ironfang was the problem of the Snowskull Steppes, and not the Empire. Instead of allying with the ferix, who knew the Steppes and Ironfang well, the Emperor had chosen to leave Datharia naked and exposed. Dimitri could only imagine that his post would involve watching Ironfang’s armies approach Datharia from across the brown, bleak grasslands.
And who among their neighbors could they rely upon? The city states of the former province, Ascalaria, were tied up in petty squabbles in the lead up to the winter moot where they’d allegedly elect a new High King; and the raiders of Balthissica were more likely to loot Aurelia’s corpse than ride to defend her.
The southeastern natiuhan state of Culacalli may come to the Empire’s aid but, unless they sprouted wings and flew, there was no way they’d make it before Ironfang hacked his way through the Aurelian peninsula and to the island of Aurea itself. The way Dimitri saw it, an alliance with the ferix was their only chance to stop Ironfang in the Steppes. Once he reached Aurelia, Ironfang could barricade himself in an old Castrum, or even in Barsicum, and no one would be able to uproot him—not with the Irkallu bleeding the Empire from within by a thousand tiny cuts.
Dimitri took in a weighty breath. As it stood, if he was lucky he’d be killed defending the ramparts of Castrum Solis. Something nice and quick—an orc crossbow bolt, or maybe just dropping dead before anything particularly bad happened. He snickered at how darkly comforting the idea was.
“Dimitri Vasiliyev.” He flashed his identification, an encoded parchment chit with symbols only other members of the Ordo could make any sense of. “The Grandmistress requested to see me.”
The sentry nodded curtly and led Dimitri into Grandmistress Anya’s personal chambers. Dimitri noted the numerous guards standing vigilantly at their posts. To an outsider, it would appear as if they were there to defend the elderly leader of the Ordo Draconis in light of the recent events. But Dimitri knew that Anya was more than capable of taking care of herself—what the sentinels were really protecting was her egg.
With the near-miraculous warming of her centuries-cold egg, Anya wasn’t taking any chances. She selected agents she had known for their entire lives, people she knew she could trust, and formed an elite guard charged with the day and night protection of her unhatched daughter.
As if the guards weren’t enough, there was also a team of kobolds attending to the egg. Dimitri had heard the name of their group once—it was in Draconic, which was one of the only languages he hadn’t dabbled in. The name translated roughly to “nestminders” or “egg-tenders”. These kobolds and their ancestors had cared for the children of many dragons, it was possible they were descended from the kobolds who had cared for Anya herself while she was in the egg. They understood the needs of a dragon’s egg better than any human or elf ever could and were the last line of defense should the nest come under attack.
Centuries ago, when the nestminders failed in their duty to protect Anya’s daughter from the Irkallu, they pledged their bloodlines to her service. They became her most devoted followers, though Anya always tried to dissuade them from treating her like a goddess the way some kobold flocks did with others of her kind. Even still, she knew that every single one of them would give their lives before they allowed a scratch on her daughter’s golden shell.
So focused were these hooded and robed kobolds on their duties—taking careful warmth measurements of the egg using the sensitive membranes on the underside of their chins, and adjusting the nest materials accordingly—that they barely looked up when Dimitri entered and approached the simple wooden chair where Anya sat.
“Grandmistress.” Dimitri bowed low in respect.
Anya smiled, a thin, wan expression. In the weeks since the incident at Castrum Ustarius with Bhorovane the Red, Anya had been patrolling the skies in the dead of night—something she hadn’t had to do for decades. Thankfully, there weren’t any signs that Bhorovane, or any other dragon, remained in Aurelia but the exertion had taken its toll.
Currently in her human form, Anya’s wrinkles had deepened with worry. Several strands of her gray-blonde hair fell messily forward from her bun as she stood to greet him. “I hope you won’t think me rude for skipping straight to the point, Agent Vasiliyev.”
“Quite the contrary, Grandmistress.” Dimitri flashed a roguish grin in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I am a rather busy man.”
“That you are, agent,” Anya chuckled, a quiet, breathy sound that was only truly perceived through the slight rising and falling of her shoulders. “And you will only be becoming more so. I suspect you’re going to be very happy with what I’m about to tell you.” Dimitri’s heart skipped a beat as the next few words came out of Anya’s mouth. “I’m sending you to the Steppes.”
“In what capacity?”
“You will be heading to the ferix citadel at the foot of the Grayspurs—”
“Forgeheart?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Anya corrected wearily. “You are to meet with Vyrkad Gleamgear, commander of the Free Ferix Legions. You must convince him to sign onto an alliance with the Empire and meet Gorzog Ironfang on the battlefield.”
Dimitri could hardly believe what he was hearing. A part of him wanted to abandon any decorum, snap his fingers by his ears, and see if he woke up. Instead, he settled for more information. “If I may be so bold: what changed?” he asked.
Anya turned away and folded her hands against the small of her back. “We’ve received some distressing reports from the Datharian line. I know what you’re thinking, agent—don’t give me that look. I’d like to remind you that I’ve always believed your assessment of the region and shared your opinion. But the Empire is at a delicate point in its history and some things must take priority over others.”
“And what has convinced the Emperor that a shift in priorities was required?” Dimitri asked, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“Our patrols report orcs flocking to Ironfang’s banner by the thousands, and those clans who choose to refuse him are being extinguished or driven out. I don’t believe his sudden domination over the fractured clans of the Steppes is a coincidence,” she paused. “Rumors have been circulating of dark rituals and fanatical devotions.”
Dimitri’s eyebrows raised. “You think the Irkallu are involved?”
Anya nodded. “And, if that’s the case, the Empire cannot afford to sit by and let them grow stronger. Yet neither can we commit to fighting them alone.”
“So the Emperor wants the Free Ferix Legions to aid us.”
“No, we will aid the Free Ferix Legions,” Anya corrected.
Dimitri understood the distinction immediately. What price was the Emperor going to demand from Forgeheart for the Empire’s “help”?
Sensing his question, Anya continued. “I’m assuming you’ve read the reports about the ferix weapons?”
“I have,” Dimitri said steadily. It was all coming together now. “Something about summoning fire without magic and the ability to slay a foe without touching him.”
“We need to make sure that these weapons stay out of Irkallu hands. Whatever it takes.”
“I agree, Grandmistress.” Dimitri swallowed the rest of his doubts. As long as Ironfang was stopped and the peoples of the Steppes and Datharia free from his suffocating shadow, Dimitri would gladly handle whatever else may come of it. That was a problem for his future self. “Shall I assemble the usual team?”
“Yes, plus a few others. I want you to take the zmaj, Kaja, and her friends along with you. If the Irkallu are indeed active in the Steppes, then you may encounter Fallen and Kaja is the only one who can face them and hope to survive.”
Dimitri shot Anya a quizzical look. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, but he was still dubious that such a shy, young girl possessed the power he had heard rumor of. “You know that one of her companions is a Stjornugaardian, right? Perhaps a Volgarian is less than an ideal choice to bring him on board—our people aren’t exactly known for camaraderie.”
Anya smiled and answered Dimitri’s facetiousness with some of her own. “Are you telling me that there’s someone out there who’s immune to your charms?”
“Now I wouldn’t go that far.” Dimitri returned her smile. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as possible,” Anya said. “And Agent Vasiliyev?”
Dimitri stopped mid-stride and turned back to face his Grandmistress.
“This is a diplomatic mission only,” she said sternly. “No heroics.”
He flashed his most charismatic grin. “Understood.”
*
*
Sakrattars gazed out the window, chin in hand, and watched the thunderstorm roll through. With the onset of early autumn it rained more frequently, but rather than being a cooling relief from the oppressive heat of Aurelian summer, it created a thick blanket of humidity that settled over Aurea like a fog.
It had been almost one month since they had their brush with death at Castrum Ustarius and learned of the zmaj’s true nature. Fortunately, the time since then had been quiet, if a little boring. Sakrattars spent his days reading at the Academia Arcana (the Ordo Draconis granted him special permission to peruse any part of the collection he liked) while Jo, Leif, and Amale picked up odd jobs around the city for coin.
On their days off, Leif and Jo would spar in the courtyard, to the delight of the residents at the convent eager for an entertaining reprise from their illness or worries. Ever the showman, Leif played off of Jo’s easy superiority to create a scrappy underdog character for himself that had sick children hooting and hollering and young women tittering. He always seemed to put on his greatest performances whenever he thought that Christina might look their way, but of course she never did.
“I don’t think she’s noticed that you exist,” Jo would tease between strikes.
But Leif would only smile and laugh. “A woman so dedicated to her work is a woman I can deeply admire!”
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Occasionally Kaja would go out with Leif and Jo and play with the children staying at the convent. More often though, she was at the Ordo Draconis headquarters with Anya and her egg. She would sometimes return home late in the evening, escorted by the Grandmistress’ private guard. Kaja discovered early on that any mention of Anya around Jo would be met with prickly scorn and so she would ramble in Draconic to Sakrattars about all the things she learned from the ancient dragon. Sakrattars noticed that she seemed brighter and more confident after spending time with Anya. Perhaps they shared a certain kinship, as dragon kind, that neither he nor any of the others could truly understand or provide a substitute for.
The low growl of thunder rumbled in the sky, reverberating into Sakrattars’ chest and prompting Bartholomew to open one yellow eye. There would be no sparring in the courtyard or trips to the Ordo headquarters today. Everyone was trapped inside by the weather, which was why it was surprising when a knock sounded at the door. Amale, who was sitting at the table with Kaja, pricked his ears back towards the sudden noise.
“I got it,” Sakrattars grumbled wearily, rising from his comfortable perch in the window nook. With a few arcane words and a pinch of sand, he activated one of the spells he had previously etched into the door. As he peered through the peephole, Jo moved in quietly behind him, ready to provide support should the guest prove to be a problem.
Sakrattars recognized the man outside as the one they had seen at the Ordo Draconis meeting all those weeks ago, the one who delivered his report on Gorzog Ironfang. He was dressed in padded traveling clothes now, with a stylish outer coat in the Ordo Draconis’ signature dark blue color and a rapier sheathed at his hip. He pulled his dripping hood back and shook out a mop of messy black hair.
“Who is it?” Sakrattars called.
“Dimitri Vasiliyev of the Ordo Draconis,” the man introduced himself in a heavy Volgarian accent. “I hope I’ve caught you at a good time?” He grinned, rubbing the dark stubble on his chin.
Sakrattars pressed his fingers lightly to the wood of the door, letting the spell’s magic flow into him. He sensed no malice or dishonesty from the energetic imprint Dimitri left behind and so he dispelled the lock and opened the door.
“That depends what you’re here for,” Jo replied before Sakrattars could say any words of greeting.
Dimitri slipped inside, removing his soaking wet coat and hanging it casually on a peg. “I come with a job offer.”
“We don’t work for the Ordo.”
“You have no problem living under our roof,” Dimitri chuckled, gesturing broadly to the room. Jo did not share his amusement. If anything, her expression only darkened.
“What’s going on?” Leif asked groggily, leaning against the doorframe of his bedchamber with a hand under his shirt. He stopped mid-scratch when he saw Dimitri. “I thought I heard a foul Volgarian voice.”
Ignoring Leif’s scathing remark, Dimitri clapped his hands together. “Good, you’re all here. I’ll get straight into it.” He sat down at the table, across from Amale and Kaja. “I’m being sent to the Snowskull Steppes and I want you to be a part of my team. You’ll be paid by the Ordo, of course.”
“Snowskull Steppes?” Jo repeated. “Why would we go there?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Gorzog Ironfang problem. I’m going to Forgeheart to take care of it.”
“You?” Jo laughed mockingly. “With what? That toy sword? The orcs and ferix will eat you alive.”
“It’s no toy. If you’d like, I can show you.”
Sakrattars, Leif, and Amale all exchanged alarmed glances and sucked in anxious breaths. But, rather than getting provoked, Jo’s amber eyes softened ever so slightly. “You’ve got guts,” she said with a hint of respect.
“Alas,” Dimitri replied nonchalantly, “‘guts’ won’t be enough. I would love to have a natiuhan warrior on my side, especially one with prior experience on the northern border”—he turned to Leif and Amale—“and two former members of the auxilia”—finally, his eye settled on Sakrattars—“and you too.”
“I’m a wizard.” Sakrattars crossed his arms, his lips pursed. “Trained by the School of Divination at the University of Barsicum.”
“Really? Wonderful.”
Sakrattars scoffed at Dimitri’s blase attitude, but was ignored.
“And Kaja?” Jo asked acidly.
“I’ll be honest with you, because I would like for us to be friends,” Dimitri said, leaning forward on the table and steepling his fingers. “We believe that the Irkallu may be involved with Ironfang somehow. The Grandmistress thinks it would be prudent for Kaja to be present.”
“So you want to use her to kill demons again,” Jo accused. “Why should she have to get involved in Imperial affairs? She’s not a citizen.”
Dimitri looked over everyone present. “I’d guess there are only two Imperial citizens in this room: myself and the elf—”
“My name is Sakrattars.”
“—but this is not just about the Empire,” Dimitri continued. “The Irkallu and their Fallen brethren will not just go away, and the Ordo will not be able to shelter you forever. We can either face them now or you can wait for them to find you again.”
“I want to help,” Kaja said firmly, her eyes hardened with determination. “If I can, I want to help.”
Jo shot her a surprised look. “Kaja—”
“Jo, a word please?” Sakrattars interjected quickly. Jo glared at Dimitri, who shrugged and nestled back into the chair, crossing his legs.
“Take your time,” he said. “The weather out there is abhorrent.”
Once they were alone in Sakrattars’ chamber, Jo snorted in frustration. “What is it?” she asked gruffly. “Don’t tell me you agree with that guy.”
Sakrattars paused for a little too long and Jo’s lip curled, her eyes narrowing. “Yes, but not for the reason you think,” he said carefully. “He’s irritating and I don’t like him, but I’ve also spent weeks combing through the Academia Arcana’s library. I must have handled practically every book in their collection by now and I’ve found absolutely nothing in any of them about the zmaj.”
“What’s your point?”
Sakrattars sighed and ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “My point is that we’re not going to be able to help Kaja find her people by staying here in Aurea.”
Jo folded her arms on her chest. “So your solution is to throw ourselves into the Empire’s affairs?”
There was more to it than that, Sakrattars knew, though he couldn’t possibly share it with Jo. The past several weeks had afforded Sakrattars a lot of time to think and reflect and the conclusions he arrived at were nothing less than terrifying. The only reason they had survived their encounters with the Irkallu thus far was because of Kaja, even Anya and the Ordo Draconis must have realized this. Why else would Dimitri be in their foyer, asking a group of strangers—civilians lacking in any extraordinary quality except for one—to accompany him on important Imperial business into hostile, foreign lands?
And that truth belied another, more sinister one: without the help of the zmaj, the Ordo were fighting a war they could not win. He wasn’t naive enough to think the Ordo was telling them everything so if the situation seemed this bad from the outside, the truth had to be much, much worse. More than his own selfish reasons for wanting to find Kaja’s people, Sakrattars recognized that bringing the zmaj into the fight was important, if not vital, to the continued survival of his homeland.
Jo wouldn’t understand. Her interest in the shadow war between the Ordo Draconis and the Irkallu began and ended with the details that would be of benefit to Kaja, and Sakrattars couldn’t see her reacting too kindly to the idea of using Kaja as a stepping stone to get to her people. He had to broach the subject from a different angle. “You said you were living in the Goldenwoods when you found Kaja, right?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“And that she said she came from the mountains?”
Jo paused before answering. “Yeah.”
“There are two mountain ranges that surround the Goldenwoods: the central Calthian range to the northwest and the Grayspurs to the northeast. Forgeheart sits at the foot of the Grayspurs. If we go, we might be able to track down some more information or perhaps Kaja could lead us—”
“Kaja’s terrified of that place. She won’t lead us anywhere. Believe me, I’ve already tried.” Jo turned away. “Whatever happened to her home, whatever she saw. . . she’s not ready to face it.”
“We may not have a choice!” Sakrattars said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bite of frustration from his voice. “You said that Kaja didn’t know if anyone else escaped the attack. There could be other survivors. If we could just find where her village—”
“She won’t guide us there and, without her, we have no idea where it is. We’d just be stumbling around the mountains.”
“Alright, it doesn’t have to be her village. There must be other zmaj living in the mountains too, don’t you think? And at least this way we’ll have an Imperial escort to help protect us. To protect Kaja.” When Jo didn’t respond, Sakrattars pressed forward, more gently this time. “It’s not fair to her if we’re not doing everything we possibly can to help her.”
With a grunt, Jo threw open the door and stepped back into the common room. Sakrattars shook his head, uncertain if his words got through or not, and followed her out.
In the brief time they had been absent, the entire atmosphere of the room had shifted. Amale had moved to lean against the wall, ears pinned and arms crossed. Kaja was still sitting at the table, her eyes bouncing back and forth between Leif and Dimitri as they exchanged a heated conversation.
“I come here in friendship and you spurn me,” Dimitri was saying with feigned injury.
“I don’t trust Volgarians.”
“Good, me neither,” he laughed. “You know, I always found Stjornugaard to be a wonderful country. Beautiful rolling hills, belly-warming meals, and the most interesting language.” Seamlessly, Dimitri switched to speaking Stjornugaardian. “Difficult to get the pronunciation down at first but it’s so unlike any other language on Calthia.” Leif’s jaw dropped open. Stjornugaardian was notoriously hard for outsiders to pick up, but Dimitri spoke it as if he were born there. “Ah, but you’re probably used to speaking like this, right?” As Dimitri shifted to the dialect of his home, the isle of Stielheim, Leif felt an unexpected pang of nostalgia. It had been many years since he had heard anyone speak his native tongue and now here he was hearing it from the lips of a Volgarian.
“Impressive,” Leif muttered.
“Your handle on Imperial Common is quite impressive too. It’s my understanding that most Stjornugaardians don’t bother learning it. Were you a trader? Or perhaps—”
“I came to Aurelia a long time ago. Of course I know how to speak it by now.”
The corner of Dimitri’s lip curled up in a knowing smile. “You know, one can tell a lot from someone’s dialect if one knows what to look for. But if you don’t want to discuss it, I’ll respect that.”
Leif groaned, then turned to Jo and Sakrattars. “Please tell me that he’s leaving. He’s driving me nuts.”
“Get used to it,” Jo replied grimly. Dimitri perked up, as did Sakrattars and Amale. Kaja beamed, her eyes lighting up.
Leif’s face fell. “You don’t mean. . .”
“Yep. We’re going with him.”
*
*
That night, Jo reached under her pillow and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment. She sat down on the side of her bed and opened it up, letting her eyes linger on the words contained within. Ever since she received it several days ago, the information had haunted her, pried apart her muscles and sinew and wormed itself deep into her gut. She took a breath and reread it one more time by the light of the moon and stars.
Jo,
While rooting out Irkallu encampments in the unsettled wilderness of northern Aurelia, our agents reported something unusual. One of the scouting teams discovered the ruins of a village in the central mountains. It was not on any map and the architecture was unlike anything they had seen before. They also found the remains of its people—of zmaj. They estimated they had been dead for around a year. I know you found Kaja alone in the Goldenwoods, that she said her village had been attacked last winter. It is probable that this village was hers.
The likelihood of other survivors seems slim. I don’t know their culture, but no one came back to tend to the dead or to retrieve belongings. My team buried the bodies and said a prayer for them to Aia. It was the best we could do. I have included with this letter a map of where they were when they discovered the village.
You are the closest thing Kaja has to family so I leave the choice of when and how to disclose this information up to you.
Sincerely,
Linnea
Jo closed her eyes. She hadn’t said anything to Kaja about the letter, hadn’t said anything to anyone about it. She slipped a hand into her pocket and felt the wooden cat effigy her sister had carved. Jo knew how hard it was to lose everything. She wanted to spare Kaja that pain, to let her pick up the pieces of what was left of her childhood and arrive at a place where she felt ready to deal with her past organically.
Maybe, deep down, Kaja already knew what happened. But she had also been coming out of her shell bit by bit the past few weeks. She smiled more, she had more confidence, and overall seemed more happy than any other time Jo had known her. Jo wanted to protect this new, fragile state of being for as long as possible, hoping that it would harden into something more permanent that could withstand the cruelty of reality. That meant not tearing open a freshly scabbed wound.
Though she wouldn’t admit it outloud, Jo credited Grandmistress Anya’s relationship with Kaja with helping her to get this far. If they could find others of her own people, surely they’d be able to support Kaja in all the right ways and make processing what happened to her more bearable. She wouldn’t be the lone zmaj in a vast world anymore, and she wouldn’t need to feel the burden of having to fight an enemy only her people could hope to face.
Jo took one last, long look at the map. If she could gently guide everyone away from the ruin site, she’d be able to both shield Kaja and put forth the effort to locate more of the villages. Jo folded the letter and map back up and tucked it deep into her travel pack.
What Kaja needed right now was hope.
Then one day, when she was ready, she could face the truth.