Page 5 of Klauth
I land first in the courtyard. I shift smoothly into my human form before my feet meet the slick, dark stones. The courtyard reflects the moody sky above. Each stride echoes in the vast, enclosed space. Low-hanging mist swirls around my ankles like restless spirits.
Atrum strides out to greet us, waving the missive I sent yesterday. Behind him, heavy wooden doors groan shut, sealing out the biting wind. I feel scattered gravel crunch beneath my boots.
“Congratulations are in order, friend,” Atrum says, extending his calloused hand. I grip it firmly.
“We’ll see,” I reply. My mood sours at the thought of the hen’s frailty. I kick a loose stone; the clack of rock on stone bounces off the high walls. “I’m unsure about the hatchlings’ strength, given how weak the hen is.”
“It’s all about the breath weapon,” Atrum declares as he slaps my shoulder. The impact rattles me, and I catch a faint, earthy scent of sweat on him. “Crystal dragons have a deadly breath weapon, even if their bodies are frail. Hopefully, the hatchlings take after their drake.”
We leave the courtyard and enter the fortress. Torchlight flickers along stone corridors. Walls bear centuries-old carvings of black drakes in mid-flight. Their scales shimmer in the sporadic light, and the archways loom closer with every step. At the corridor’s end, Atrum’s mate, Hallah, appears. Her thin frame is dwarfed by the towering arches, and exhaustion dulls her eyes.
“Greetings, Hallah. I hope you and your hatchlings are well,” I say. My voice echoes off the vaulted ceilings. She brushes a strand of lifeless black hair from her face, her hand trembling. A tightness grips my chest as I watch her—too many clutches and too little time for recovery.
She leads us deeper into Blackhaven. We pass through corridors carved into the mountain. The stone shifts from black basalt to a softer sandstone, designed for insulation and humidity control.At last, she pushes open heavy doors that groan in protest, their sound echoing through the winding halls.
Warm, humid air washes over my skin as I step inside the egg chamber. The walls, carved from pale sandstone, glisten with condensation. Torches line the perimeter, their flames dancing in the moisture-laden air and casting wavering shadows. In the center, an egg cradle forms a hollowed depression in the floor, cushioned with damp straw and faintly steaming peat.
A cluster of newly laid eggs rests there. Their glossy shells reflect the torchlight in opalescent streaks. Nearby, Hallah’s hatchlings—less than a year old—tumble and scrabble as they chase the rats released for feeding. Their tiny claws click against the smooth stone, and the hiss of their playful fighting sets my nerves on edge.
“Everyone is doing well, as you can see,” Hallah says. Her voice is worn and thin. She steadies herself against a sandstone pillar, and I notice droplets of sweat glistening on her brow. The strain of too many clutches in too short a span is etched into every line of her face.
I grimace. It is obvious she is over bred; life drains from her with each new clutch. Atrum either does not notice or does not care. He wants his lineage in every den on the continent, no matter the cost.
“Hallah,” I say quietly, fighting the disquiet roiling in my stomach, “thank you for showing me the eggs. I hope you have everything you need here.”
She forces a wan smile. Her gaze flickers to the hatchlings tussling over a squealing rat. Then her shoulders droop as she nods. I glance at Atrum. He stands tall and proud beside her,oblivious to the toll on his mate. Bitterness simmers in my chest, but I bite my tongue.
We stay for dinner. The scent of spiced meat and simmering vegetables clings to my nostrils. A low fire crackles in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. By dusk, the sky drapes itself in deep purple and bruise-colored red. Then we depart Atrum’s lands, the chill evening wind tugging at my scales.
I reflect on Hallah—the haunted look in her eyes and the metallic tang of blood that still lingers in the air. I vow never to let such suffering befall my mate. My thoughts drift to Syrax, nesting high in the mountains that border my domain and hers. I picture her perched protectively over her clutch, wings half-furled. I decide to be humane and offer her freedom if she leaves the eggs with me.
The thought of keeping her longer twists my stomach. Even the idea of breeding with anyone other than my true mate unsettles me deeply. We all know hatchlings born of true mates share a stronger bond than those from arranged pairings. Rumors swirl of dragons mating outside our species, and the questions gnaw at me. How would that even work? A mammal and a dragon—would the offspring be an egg or live born?
I share these questions with Thauglor. He is as perplexed as I am. We guess it depends on the female. A dragon lays an egg; a mammal would likely endure live birth. The thought sends a tremor down my scales. It feels almost parasitic—carrying a living being inside for months, leeching energy day after day. My scales ripple with distaste at the image.
Suddenly, I catch a whiff of smoke on the horizon. I snap my head up. Black plumes coil in the dusk sky, and rage ignites deepin my chest. I roar. My cry echoes across the darkening plains. Someone has dared to attack my lair while I was away. By the elder gods, they will not live to see the morning light.
Chapter Five
The stenchof burned flesh hits me as I fly over the ridge. The thick, acrid odor clings to my scales and nearly chokes me. The den was nothing but a diversion. The shadow dragons set it to lure me away. They tricked me so they could lay siege to my territory in my absence. Fury blazes in my veins. I roar—a roar so fierce it shakes loose stones from the mountains below. How dare they strike at my home?
My legions swarm the attackers. I watch them surge forward, scales glinting in the fiery light, fighting to keep the battle away from the main buildings. I see shadow dragons and wyverns tearing apart my castle walls and the academy. Their claws rip through stone; sparks fly with every savage blow. Thauglor and I dive into the fray. We unleash our breath weapons, scorching enemy scales and flesh. Their shrieks echo against choking clouds of smoke and ash. The sky burns with dragon fire, and embers rain down, stinging my eyes.
Three wyverns close in from behind. They herd me toward the ocean, where the mountain thermals vanish. Their wings beat hard, and I can smell the brine growing stronger. They forgetthat the sea robs them of their own advantage. I push forward and lead them over the Sea of Whispers. The wind howls in my ears and bites at my scales as I climb higher into the cloud cover. Moonlight pierces the gloom—bright and nearly blinding.
The wyverns burst from the clouds behind me. They blink frantically against the harsh glow. Disoriented, they hesitate. That is all I need. I dive toward the nearest wyvern. My jaws open wide, and I clamp my teeth on its neck. My fangs pierce its thick scales as hot, metallic blood fills my mouth. It thrashes violently, tearing flesh and splattering blood across my muzzle. I feel the iron tang, sharp and raw. My talons rake through the leathery membrane of its wing before I release the dying beast. It tumbles into the dark sea below with a splash.
The other two dive for me. I twist just in time to collide with the nearest, plunging us into icy water. The shock of cold salt water burns my nostrils and sends a jolt through my system. A wyvern grapples me, but I drive a talon forward. I puncture its ribcage. Air bubbles escape its jaws as panic flares in its eyes. It goes limp. I kick away and swim toward the surface, lungs burning with desperate need.
I break through, gasping in the chilly night air. Dragon fire lights the sky like a hellish dawn. My chest heaves as I force myself through the frigid waves toward the shore. I struggle against a relentless current. My scales scrape over jagged rocks until I finally find solid ground. Salt and blood coat my tongue, and exhaustion claws at my limbs. But I cannot stop. Not yet.
I shake my scales and launch back into the sky. The battle rages deep into the night. Blood and ash swirl amid wings and fire. By daybreak, we have killed or driven off the last of the shadow dragons and wyverns. A small contingent has broken away, vanishing into the darkness.
Thauglor and I land between the dragon and mixed-species dorms—the heart of the new academy. The academy itself is barely damaged. But my fortress suffers greatly. Several exterior walls have collapsed, and one tower teeters on the edge, threatening to shatter the foundations I built over centuries. Flames lick the ruined stone, and the heat is a bitter reminder of loss.
Thauglor claps me on the shoulder. “We did good, old friend,” he says. We watch as flames dance over what remains of my stronghold.
“We did,” I reply, my voice tight with fury. “Thank you for your help.” I shake his hand and keep my eyes fixed on the rubble.
