My uncle winks at me now and I give him a sass of a smile. I feel love beam from him, as my energy expands and I take his hand, gripping it.
Though Maryse’s drakes have always been like stepfathers to me, Huttr made my entire life possible. He helped me train in his Kingsguard and gave me a place in the military and here at the palace after my parents died. Maryse and her drakes trained me in my magic, and they loved me to my bones, but Huttr made sure I was strong when battle came calling.
And he made sure I knew I was loved, all the way.
A deep moment moves between us now, as he and I hold hands. The moment is soon over, however, since we have to move on to other things. With a deep sigh, my King grips my hand then releases it.
He stares me down hard again, along with my drakes.
“You three will go to Copenhagen and see what you can find there,” he says now, giving us his official instructions, despite the many paths we could take. “I will send my best military personnel up to Riksfold to trace the Black Dragon’s whereabouts by its blood-trail. We’ll find the bastard, monitor its next moves and see if there’s a pattern, or anyone it’s coming home to. You three need to follow Ström’s breadcrumbs in the Danish Blood Dragon clan. Get us concrete names of these Bone Mages who keep wielding the Black Dragon to assail us.”
“Yes, my King,” Bjorn, Ström, and I say as one, with fists to our hearts.
“In the meantime,” King Huttr eyeballs us, “no more heading up to Magnussen lands without my direct support. From our sources, we cannot prove that Jarl Magnussen has been plotting against me—not yet.But things have been stirring among the Jarls who withdrew their military support from me, and matters with the Ice Dragons have been tense over that Outer Island blast. We are on the brink of renewed war, younglings, between the Blood Dragons of Sweden and the Ice Dragons of Russia. We need to find the renegade Bone Mages who are wielding the Black Dragon and prove it was them who raised it from its grave upon that island. We need to prove they are enemies of our Lineage. Only then, I believe, will the Ice Dragons listen to us. Time is of the essence… and I fear it is already running out.”
“We will see what we can find in Copenhagen, my King, and report back to you at once.” I am formal as I pound my fist on my heart.
“Be careful in Danish Blood Dragon country, niece.” King Huttr regards me. “Those bastards may be part of our Lineage and I may be their King, but they stand on ceremony with no one—and have even less patience. It may be best if you do not telegraph the fact that you are my niece and Sweden’s Hög Skjaldmær while you are there. The Danes dislike such things as Kings and foreign rule. They have rebelled many times from foreign Blood Dragon kings in the past… despite how bitterly they fought, and had their rebellions quashed.”
“Noted, my King,” I say, as both Bjorn and Ström nod. King Huttr doesn’t need to tell us our Blood Seal may mean nothing down in Danish Blood Dragon territory. They thumb their noses at anyone.
And those who cross them often wind up dead.
There’s nothing more to say, as the King stands and we all clasp hands. But before we can depart, one of King Huttr’s top military Generals, a commander by the name of Einar Lufthellen, barrels in.
He doesn’t even wait to get to the dais—just bellows his news as he runs.
“My King! An attack! At Velleshavven, northwest of Uppsala!” General Einar skids to a stop at the foot of the low dais. “The entire village has been decimated, caustic black runes burned into every stone and timber everywhere. The village was leveled; only a few survived. The talesthe survivors tell are of a black demon, which rained terror upon them from the skies… it is the black beast you hunt, Sire.”
“Time to move out.” King Huttr trots down the dais and his son joins him. Thunderclouds are in both their eyes as Huttr turns back to me. “Go. Now, tonight. Do not wait for rest here, my niece—get down to Copenhagen at once. We need your intel as soon as you can get it. If the black creature has attacked villages twice now, it will come again. We need to find those that are wielding it and bring them down… before it develops a mind of its own. And decimates us all, anew.”
With that, the King, the Prince, and his General are gone, striding out of the throne hall even before I can open my mouth to tell them to be careful. As the enormous doors boom shut, Bjorn, Ström, and I are alone now in the vast chamber. As Ström heaves a sigh, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head, Bjorn thunders a deep basso growl. I set my teeth, knowing we’re just at the beginning of what the Black Dragon can do.
Total destruction, far worse even than what happened at Seerselen.
Unless we stop it.
“You heard our King. Let’s go,” I tell my drakes now, and they nod. As we stride back to the entrance, we boom through the doors, where our fly-bags were left with the guards who escorted us. We receive them, thank our hosts, then stride for the nearest flying plaza.
No rest for the wicked, who let the monster out of its box.
That’s not entirely true; Bjorn, Ström, and I weren’t the ones who blasted the Black Dragon out of its resting place beneath that ancient Bone Mage temple on that Outer Island. We were the ones, however, who let some dire soul-energy out of its lockbox in that cathedral beneath Seerselen; we’re now responsible for how strong the black creature becomes.
And how indestructible, as my uncle’s forces rush off now to fight it.
I hope they don’t engage it. I pray with all my heart they’ll fall back and only track it, to see if they can predict where it’s going and who it’slistening to. Because I know in my heart of hearts, it’s already too strong for any normal military forces to bring down; if they engage it, they’ll die.
No matter how many big, strong drakes they get to fight it.
“It has to be brought down by metaphysical means,” I know suddenly, as Aesa’s Truthstone sears on my chest. As a wash of white-gold floods me, a flash of red light devouring me deep inside, I know my instinct about the Black Dragon is right, even though I don’t want it to be.
Bjorn and Ström glance at me as we stride up to the flying plaza and strip down, shoving everything in our fly-bags. But we say no more, as we shift up and begin our long flight down to Copenhagen.
The hour is beyond late as we arrive across the water; the Swedish city of Malmo has a bridge to Copenhagen even in the Twilight Realm. We shift down now, donning black motorcycle leathers as we take out our magically shrunken Ducatis, restore them to normal size, then hop on.
We fire them up and are soon peeling out over the bridge, roaring down into the tunnel beneath the Øresund that separates Sweden from Denmark. We roar less furiously on our bikes as we make it back up into downtown Copenhagen.
Ström takes the lead now as he maneuvers us through the city, most of his memories from his time here intact, the ones that had nothing to do with the thieves. He takes us through several artist areas and stately regions; Copenhagen is just as beautiful here in the Twilight Realm as it is in the human world, the modern city twinkling with copious lights.
