Atropatena

Albaner pressed his heels to Falkona’s sides and sent her higher. Below them lay a rocky hollow near the forest: huge white shapes, round as stones—dragon eggs. Nadovar searched nervously for their mothers. The quiet was wrong. He feared Artaban had set a trap.

Falkona struck the ground beside the hollow and drove her beak into the nearest egg. Its shell cracked with a report like breaking pottery. She swallowed greedily. Albaner watched the pale membrane collapse and wondered whether destroying an enemy before it was born counted as victory. Then a shadow crossed the stones.

The blow that struck her came without warning. She rolled aside and faced a massive dragon staring directly into her eyes. Albaner, who had climbed with Nadovar to a cave above the hollow, moved to help, but Nadovar caught his arm.

“Not yet.”

Albaner fitted an arrow to his bow. The dragon’s fire scorched Falkona’s face. She struck back with her beak, tearing at it, while smaller dragons emerged and ringed her in flame. Nadovar panicked.

“We must reach Falkona and flee. Otherwise they will eat us here.”

Albaner looked at him coldly. “We did not come here to run. If you are afraid, take your bird and go.”

Nadovar swallowed his fury. From his bag he drew a sealed vessel and an iron ring on a handle. He dipped the ring into the foaming liquid and blew through it. Great bubbles drifted out of the cave.

“Do not let them touch you,” he warned. “They burn skin to ash.”

The dragons abandoned Falkona and flew at the bubbles, thinking them food. The first to swallow them had their mouths and innards burned away; they crashed into the forest below. But the largest dragon understood. It flooded the bubbles with fire until they melted, then flew toward the cave.

Albaner and Nadovar backed into the darkness. From inside came approaching noises. In the firelight, Artaban’s man-eaters appeared: two-legged wolfish creatures with great canine teeth, spears, and axes.

Albaner shot arrow after arrow to hold them back. Behind him the great dragon thrust its head into the cave mouth, preparing to burn both men. Albaner turned and loosed an arrow into its right eye. The dragon roared, fell backward, and rolled through pines and firs toward the forest, breaking trunks beneath its body.

Falkona, harried by arrows from Artaban’s palace, saw the monster rolling down the slope and flew toward the cave. The man-eaters closed to within a hundred paces. Nadovar, hiding behind Albaner, screamed for Falkona.

When she came, both leapt for her back. Nadovar slipped. Albaner saw him hanging by one hand from Falkona’s spine, unable to climb while the raven bucked through the air.

“Albaner, help me!” Nadovar cried. “Please!”

“Albaner!” Nadovar screamed. His fingers slid along Falkona’s feathers. Below them the rocks rushed closer. Albaner had time to see how easily the sorcerer might disappear—and how much safer the world might be without him. He caught Nadovar’s wrist anyway. The weight nearly pulled them both free. With his other arm hooked around the bird’s neck, he dragged the man back onto her spine. Nadovar lay gasping, too frightened even to thank him.

Falkona climbed toward Artaban’s palace. Below, the wounded dragon tore itself free of the trees and returned to the cave. Believing Albaner still within, it poured flame into the entrance. The man-eaters reached the mouth at that instant and burned to ash.

Then the dragon turned and saw Albaner alive on Falkona’s back, bow raised. Its one remaining eye widened. Albaner gave it no time to think. His arrow took that eye too. Blind, the dragon lunged toward Falkona, lost the direction of her flight, and struck the mountain with such force that it rolled down to the forest. There it shuddered once and lay still.

From Falkona’s back, Albaner watched the hollow dwindle beneath the smoke. The shattered eggs shone pale against the black stone. The wounded dragon lay still, and the man-eaters had disappeared into the cave where its flames had met them. Nadovar clung to the feathers behind him. The sorcerer had commanded a raven large enough to swallow cattle, yet a young knight had saved him from falling into the jaws of the creatures below. Albaner looked toward the east, where the darkness was beginning to thin. “Home,” he told Falkona. The bird turned toward Albania.

On the return flight, Albaner could still feel the dragon’s breath against his cheek. Nadovar talked of victory, of titles, of the rewards a grateful king might bestow. Albaner heard him only in fragments. He remembered the cries rising from the rocks, the men-eaters closing around the cave, and Nadovar slipping from Falkona’s back. For one terrible instant the sorcerer had hung over the darkness. Albaner had seized his arm without thinking. Only afterwards had he wondered whether the man would have done the same for him.

Shamon presented Albaner to the king. “He faced the dragons and brought our people home alive. I ask that he be received among your knights.”

Nadovar stepped forward to claim his share of the victory. He described Falkona’s flight, the shattered eggs, and the sorcery that had turned danger aside. When he reached the moment Albaner had hauled him back from the rocks, he fell silent. Albaner noticed; so did Vache.

“You saved his life?” the king asked. Albaner glanced at Nadovar. “He would have done the same for me, Majesty.” Vache was not so certain. He descended from the throne, drew his sword, and touched its blade to Albaner’s shoulders. The nobles bowed as the young man rose a knight. Nadovar bowed with them, but his eyes remained on the king’s hand.

The king’s sword had barely left Albaner’s shoulder when the courtiers began to congratulate him. They spoke as though the title had changed his blood. At supper servants bowed before he could ask their names. He had faced a dragon without feeling so completely out of place.

That night, in a room furnished for a prince, Albaner lay awake listening to footsteps beyond the door. Somewhere in the city, followers of the Dark Night were raising new temples. He thought of Yelisey’s quiet house and Oghuz laughing over a burnt supper. By morning he had decided to send for them. If the palace meant to change him, he wanted someone nearby who remembered who he had been.