“WING BEATS, LOTS! SOMEONE IS COMING! IT’S BIG!” All heads turned as Kulinger shouted from the door betwixt the halls, raising the alarm. Paulin began directing all who could stand towards the greeting hall where Yldril waited. 

Fengi turned back to the sobbing Linkosta. She needed to go, they both did. If Rashan was coming, they would need Lin’s magic. She let go of the hug, grasping Lin by the shoulders, giving her a gentle tug. “We need to go. We have to fight.”

Linkosta did not budge, remaining put. “No, no I can’t,” she protested, hiding away under her wings like a scared child. 

“We have to, come on. They killed your father, Lin, you have to fight them.” Fengi tried again, pulling a little harder.

“I killed my father, I DID!” she protested, loudly and correctly. Like she always was. Fengi sighed for a moment, then, with a tear in her eye, she leaned back down, embracing the mage and whispering into her ear as she felt her magic start to stir.

“They killed your father, avenge him.”

Linkosta tensed beneath her, the crying ceasing in a moment. She looked betwixt her fingers towards the doors and spoke in monotone. “Avenge him.”

She threw off Fengi like shackles, rushing over the table, making for the doors as quickly as her legs could carry her. Fengi quickly gave chase, holding the steady flow of the enchantment, tears in her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry, Lin. I’m so, so sorry.’

“Paulin, grab that weapon!” Kulinger shouted out, pointing to Esmeralda’s discarded shotgun. “HOLD THE DOORS!”

“I am no archer! Someone grab that thing! Remember his witch! You cannot shoot him till she is dead!” the archivist shouted before making for Fengi, bottles in hand.

“I WILL GET IT!” Raulf shouted out as he emerged from the stairs beside Sapphire and Wiperna, coming up from below. “I’m out!”

“WHERE ARE THEY?!” The furious voice of Rachuck rang out, the wounded captain emerging behind the others from below, earning more than a look or two.

‘Dude, don’t you dare wind up dead too.’

---

“If they have another fire spewer, I am ready!” Gehenna shouted over the wind as they watched the wave form up for attack.  “But what about the bombs? I cannot do both!”

“I will get so close they dare not use them. They are soft! All keepdwellers are! They are in the open; we can overwhelm them. But firstly, make ready for the dragon’s acid. Once I have her, you may take the next spell. I may weather their little sparks. I fear only what the dragon wielded.” 

“Right you are, sire! And we let the little ones go first! They will shoot what is closest!”

“Indeed, Gehenna. Indeed.”

The booming voice of the dragon gave the order, and darklings and terrors descended upon the open landing platform and the hall it led to. They were noticed on the approach, torches being lit and thrown out onto the platform to light up their forces.

Spurts of fire crackled out, the same they had seen all night, but it was far less than what the young blue had spat at them. Smaller magical artifacts, perhaps. It would explain why the blue was so tired; perhaps it was the weapon feeding on him. 

And there were so many fewer shots now than there had been. The very life of the keep was being drained. It would leave what remained easy prey.

“My liege! The weapons are magic! They are not shooting; they must be exhausted!” she shouted over the wind. She received no reply aside from a contented grunt as she felt the grand dragon steepen his descent.

Below chaos unfolded. Exactly as had been intended. Darklings charging down with lances and spears couched. Archers firing from above, some even dropping rocks. This was what they had remaining. Either victory was assured or they faced a long difficult retreat.

The keep dwellers clustered about the two doors leading further inside, leaving their draconic companion open to assault. A beautiful sight if ever Gehenna had seen one. It was a shame they could not take her alive. She would have made a fine servant to the cause.

Rashan came down steeply, swooping in from the right flank to make any long range shooting more difficult and to obscure himself from those holding the inner doors. As he came down claws skidded for a moment before finding purchase, letting him turn to face his quarry as the darklings kept the rest occupied.

Gehenna raised her spell to his front in anticipation, seeking to turn anything the black may try to spew at him. She anxiously observed the keep dwellers on their flank: they were open to attack, her especially. 

But none were fired their way. The dwellers were busy with the onslaught. There were so few of them? She almost wanted to chuckle at their pitiful little faces. She had gotten a good scare earlier, but this was not scary at all, it was just like normal, sitting high while looking down at strange little figurines as they were dealt with.

Before them the black drake had been forced to contend with the darklings. Her paws were raised, batting, as Rashan came into view. Such efforts were immediately forgone in favor of letting loose a stream of dark grey acidic goo. Far less than one such as she should be capable of. She too was running out. 

Her spell deftly turned the stream aside, sending it careening out into the night. An unfortunate darkling was caught, a brief scream marking its demise. Like a moth to a lantern flame. 

As the flow subsided, her glorious mount lunged, and she held on to the straps and bars tightly as she reached for her next spell. Each circle was carefully prepared beneath coverings of tarp, along the dragon’s sides. Cast through the armor itself for the highest efficiency possible. 

The modified arrow spell sprung to life once more in her fingers. She was certain Rashan would make swift work of the black. She must concentrate on her craft. It was not a moment too soon.

The dwellers had made a hole thanks to the limited number of darklings remaining in their force, and shots peppered her spell not but a few seconds after she raised it. They had no effect, much weaker than what she had already seen. There was no cause for concern.

‘Do you part for once, Kalesi, you second rate sewer mage,’ she grumbled as the keepdwellers kept firing. Finally, late as always, black smoke enveloped the doors, one at a time. If they intended to throw any bombs they would need to do so blinded.

Rashan forced the black dragon back, claws scratching and jaws snapping. A deep female scream of pain betrayed his inevitable success. Oh what a noise, a dragon screaming in pain, with fear and terror. She knew she wouldn’t live to see the sun again. It was all Gehenna could muster to only dig her claws into the leather of the saddle. What a plaything that dragon would have been.

Then came movement, blue and white in her vision to the right. She turned, readying the spell to deflect from the new direction. She still had enough coverage.

There were two of them, a huntress and a scholar? No, a mage! Running up along the wall closing in fast.  They both made the jump up to Rashan’s side, wings helping them ascend swiftly, the huntress doing so rather more deftly.

“Boarders!” she shouted as the huntress leveled a metal stick at her and it spewed fire. The spell handled it well despite the terribly short range. She felt the hot smoke blow against her face; it smelled like dragon’s fire.

Soon darklings would be here to help clear their master’s back, so she simply had to remain at her post, then she may have the artifact to examine. If possible she should keep them here, and the mage was a prize worth taking.

It must be the one who bested Kalesi. Though supposedly with a dragon for her to use. Hardly a grand achievement aside from the ability to cast a spell drawing from a drake in the first place.

“What brings you here? Looking to strike a bargain?” she shouted at the pair with glee, hoping to see them spend their last moments chatting away.

“Not in a million years. Do it!” the huntress ordered as an arrow came down from above. But it turned away as if by magic. A talent to turn away attacks like the enchantments of armor? A variant of telekinesis, fascinating and quite rare indeed.

The mage dropped down atop Rashan’s armored neck, placing a palm against the metal. The huntress went to stand over her like a guardian. The mage reached out with her other hand, not towards the smoke, where her prepared spells were likely to be found, but instead she grasped the huntress’s leg? Then her eyes burned with green fire, no spell to be seen at all. That could mean only one thing. She was moving magic from one place to another, not spending it herself.

Gehenna tilted her head in confusion as the huntress turned towards the oncoming darklings and fired, quickly going to fondle her weapon. Gehenna paid close attention as some action was conducted, then the weapon spat again. A cylinder ejected and was replaced.

‘A fuel source perhaps? Fascinating.’ But surely she knew now that the weapon would not defeat Gehenna’s spell. Did they seek to draw things out to waste as much of Rashan’s precious energy as they could? Or did she aim to engage Gehenna hand to hand? If so, she would have to lower her spell to throw off the huntress. She was close, very close. Best not take any chances.

She glanced at the smoke: there was no sign of change. Quickly she dropped the spell to make ready the next. The huntress shot another darkling coming in on the wing, another arrow sliding off an invisible barrier as the mage screamed, pleading.

“Now, Fengi, NOW!”

Gehenna ignited her spell and grasped the huntress in her magical grip, but before a flick of the wrist could smash her against the nearest wall she shouted.

“DON’T MOVE!”

And Gehenna’s blood ran cold. She froze in place as if encased in ice, not even able to twitch a finger.

It was an enchantress, not a telekinetic! Here! On the frontier! Why hadn’t they known?! If they could have taken her alive, who knew what they could have achieved! Normally you could resist them, for a time at least, but the mage. Rashan’s strength. She couldn’t fight, she couldn’t even beg. She could only think. 

‘RASHAN!’ her mind screamed with fear over their bond, master and servant. It was no way to talk, to converse, emotions, feelings, closeness. She could let him know things were desperate. Hopefully he would know what to do. To cut the magic. To cut out the outsider.

“Do you want the honors, Lin?” the huntress questioned, looking back to the mage before once again raising her weapon to shoot down a darkling, trying with desperation to come to its master’s aid. Her aim remained true, to Gehenna’s horror. “Shit that was close, never mind.”

“KILL HER!” the mage shouted, through gritted teeth as she drew every ounce of magic she could from Rashan. Then her eyes extinguished, the dragon had cut the flow.

The unrelenting pressure of the order relented and Gehenna reached for the saddle, she needed the small orange vial, she never reached it.

---

“WITCH IS DEAD!” was heard through the smoke. That was the signal. It was time to go. It was time to do what she had dreamt of for so so so many nights. It was time to kill the bastard.

Shiva leveled the gun into the darkness, grasping the barrel with a cut down pair of tongs. The potion of strength flowed through her veins. She let off a quick burst at chest level to clear the way. Then she charged. Behind her followed Kulinger, perhaps the worst shot they had, then came Wiperna and Raulf. At least the farmers had held a gun before. 

They were to keep her safe. Her fate was sealed, and so be it. She rushed forward, as fast as her hobbling leg could muster, wings keeping her steady as she advanced. As she cleared the smoke there he was. The monster.

Tall as a building, and black as night, one could see the evil oozing off him. Two specks of white made their hasty retreat as the dragon backed away, confusion on his face. His plan foiled it would seem.

She must be swift, before he ran away again or her path was blocked. A terror stood waiting when they emerged from the smoke. Perhaps it had already been hit by her opening salvo. She could not waste her munitions. Turning left, she made to run past the creature as it moved to face her.

Behind her shotguns fired, striking true. They did not kill the creature, but they stole its attention. It was no smarter than an animal, and Shiva was not an active threat. She had no time to ponder if they would survive said attention. It would be stupid to stop with darklings above and her target within reach. 

As she ran to get her shot, she heard an explosion ring out behind her. Good or bad she did not know as she passed the terror by and threw herself, legs first, across the smooth stone. Worn over many years and slick with blood, she slid as she hefted her weapon onto her chest, tongs still grasping the barrel. She could not truly aim, so the direction would do, and she squeezed the trigger.

The fifty caliber machinegun Roared her fury louder than she ever could, pushing her back across the floor as it did, wings all that kept her facing her target as she slid.

The impact marks first struck Rashan’s armored rear, then walked across his chest. Little fountains of blood erupted from every strike. Despite her efforts, the weapon wandered, many striking against the wall behind him, but she let it chew. She would kill the monster. Whatever it took. 

The weapon coughed and sputtered, but it chugged along, barrel burning against her chest as she held it steady. The dragon wheeled about to flee, barking orders to protect him and attempting to shield his face with a gargantuan paw, leaving Yldril behind, a crumpled bleeding mess.

Shiva did not care. She did not even care if she hit the black by accident. She would have her kill, and she was taking a toll. Rashan limped as he moved, turning his back to her. His armor was still intact to his rear, taking many of her rounds. With disbelief she watched the titan complete his turn and leap into the night. She could not turn to point at him as she slammed into the far side wall, the weapon having propelled her across the floor.

Her right elbow stuck first, snapping her lower arm in twain, likely claiming her wrist as well. She screamed with pain and fury as the gun was flung from her grasp and she watched helplessly as the dragon escaped into the night, smelling the burning of her own flesh as he made his escape.

Behind her the noise of battle raged, but the sound of guns and blades faded into nothing as she stared at her failure. And she screamed, rolling onto her chest then sitting up on her knees as she stared into the darkness, unable to see even a silhouette of her failure as it got away, scot free. There was no chance he would come back for a second attempt after this. Almost thirty years she had waited. And she had failed. She had failed her mother, her father, her family name. She had failed Jackalope.

Tears welled in her eyes as she glanced towards the edge. It called to her. It would be easier that way. Then a beam of light illuminated the night. A solid beam of bright blue, striking down from above against a shadowy figure. And a mighty drake roared, echoing against the old stone walls as he fell from the sky. 

She stared, dumbstruck. Was he dead? Had it been enough? 

The screeches of darklings and the high pitched whines of the terrors tried to demand her attention, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was if the dragon was dead. If he was, then she had done her part. If he was not, she did not wish to stay.

But none sought her, they all made to flee. As quickly as they could muster, many taking fire as they ran, some more accurate than others. 

And she stared with bewilderment. Were they running because their master was dead? That would be a miracle. They may be saved?!

She allowed herself a chuckle, then a laugh as she watched the remains of the flock disappear from view in disarray. There were shockingly few. Had they truly killed so many? What a feat, what a story. It was a shame no one would ever believe it.

“They aren’t running! They are going for Jarix!” a voice shouted out. Paulin of all people. The eternal bringer of bad news.

Then there was a second strike of lightning, smaller than the first. It struck the ground. A faint groan was heard despite the great distance, then no more.

“Never mind, I think he’s dead now. I suppose we shall see what their contingency order is.”

‘Itova please forgive me for wishing to end this bitch’s life. I promise, it is nothing like with my son in law.’

---

Dakota had heeded the call for aid from below, heading down at once and leaving Anchor to mop up what remained on the top floors. She was battered and bruised, but she was not finished. The wounded remained behind on the fifth floor by the library alongside Unkai just as the sounds of battle erupted from below.

She hurried down alongside Edita, Balethon, and Pho to aid however they could. They arrived in time to join in the defence of the doors leading to the greeting hall. Smoke was billowing inside, obscuring what was happening. On Paulin’s order they plugged the doors tight and held firm against the probing assaults by the equally blinded darklings whilst others carried the offensive.

It was highly disorienting, but with the proclamation of the dragon’s retreat, they had charged out into the clean air to see the damage.

Dakota had not seen the results of the first attempt on their center, so she knew not which had been the worse struggle. But the spilled blood told a chilling story. Worst of all was the condition of the accursed drake, Yldril. Much as she was worth despising, Dakota could not help but feel a twinge of pity as she beheld the dragon.

She laid on her side, panting, grievous wounds racking her sides and neck. Spears and lances protruded from her like spines on a hedgehog. Her fate may very well be in the balance still. Then Jarix’s thunder had heralded the death of the beast that had tormented them. With the second shot, Paulin had declared his demise.

‘Is it over? Did we win?’ Dakota dared to think, keeping her thoughts to herself as she looked around. There were people from both above and below standing in the cold evening air. Many battered and wounded were amongst them. Her brother, her one-armed brother. She had only heard he was badly wounded, and here the idiot stood at the front, missing an arm. She hurried to his side as he stood staring into the abyss.

“Rachuck! What are you doing here?!” she scolded. She could not imagine Nunuk would have sent him forth in such a condition. The bandages were still wet and dripping.

The captain did not immediately answer her. Remaining frozen for now, he stared out, occasionally looking up at a screech or similar. The darklings retreated as swiftly as could be mustered. It was clear to hear they were abandoning the keep above them. Taking to the sky, fleeing.

“Seeking vengeance for father… I failed at that too,”  he spoke somberly. She could hear the tears pushing to escape behind his voice. “LIIIN! LIN ARE YOU THERE?!” he shouted out. He sounded as if he may devolve into wailing at any moment.

“What do you mean ‘for father?’ ” Dakota asked quietly. She did not wish to say the words. She knew what they must mean. 

“SHE IS HERE, SHE IS OKAY, I AM SORRY!” the voice of Fengi shouted in reply, from behind the black dragon.

Rachuck did not bother with an answer to Dakota’s query, instead setting off at a sprint for their younger sister. Dakota didn’t know what Fengi was sorry about. Maybe Lin got hurt too? Fengi wouldn’t say she was okay if she wasn’t. But her dad… He was gone, wasn’t he?

Her shoulders sagged as she put one foot in front of the other to follow behind her brother. Her mind raced as she walked, memories mostly. His many lessons, a quiet talk alone in her room about how she should not be so hard on herself. All the times he had been there for her, big and small. The smiling man she had watched grow old. Someone who had truly loved her, in a way maybe even her mother didn’t. And possibly the least violent man she had ever known.

Dead.

In a battle.

How could it have come to this? How could it be him of all people? 

She rounded the dragon’s side, seeing Linkosta sitting on the ground, head in her hands, crying. Screaming. Rachuck was by her side, consoling her, holding her.

Behind them stood Fengi, distant and afraid. What had happened? Dakota stared at the three of them confused, feeling so very empty inside. Was she supposed to do anything? Was she supposed to be angry at someone? Should she not be crying? On the ground, like her sister?

Lin truly was inconsolable. It made perfect sense. She had always been softer, cared more than her and Rachuck. And the pair had been close, very close. There had been little doubt Linkosta was the favorite of their father, they were so much more alike. He had often struggled to understand Rachuck and her, but never Lin. Like birds in the sky playing in spring.

And now he was gone.

“You don’t understand! I KILLED HIM!” she screamed at Rachuck, who did his best not to let go of her, hugging her tight. And Dakota felt pity well up inside her. So that was why she was so distraught. She blamed herself. Of course she did. She may well have done the same herself, Rachuck too. But fate put the burden on their kind little sister… What cruelty.

“I didn’t think! I forgoooot!” she screamed, pounding her fist against her brother’s armor. If it hurt him, he would never show it.

Dakota walked closer, standing and staring. Sword still in hand. She didn’t want to say anything; she so often made it worse with her sister. She wasn’t very good at feelings, hers or others. Instead she glanced to Fengi, who kept her distance. No question was needed, as the young huntress was quick to give what explanation she could.

“She used a spell with Apuma, dragon magic. To stop a beam of uhm… heat, I think. Darklings were coming, lancers diving. She turned the spell on them. She saved my life… But it wasn’t worth it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Dakota stared at the huntress with an empty expression. She did not know what to feel. Fengi had no say in what had happened. Linkosta was guilty only of being who she was. And she couldn’t help but feel the old man had known. One last favor for them all, for his dear little Lin.

She sighed, letting her head drop, but apparently the huntress wasn’t finished. 

“I then uhm. I used my magic to force Linkosta to help me kill the mage. I am so sorry, I- I had to, we couldn’t let her-”

“Quiet, Fengi,” Dakota interrupted. “Lin will live. Go tend to your own charge. She may not.” The dragon was evidently listening, letting out a deep pained grunt. She didn’t speak. She did not even have a curse for her captors. Which had to mean she truly was at death’s door.

“Of course, Dakota I uhm-… I- Yes,” Fengi stuttered out before wheeling about to go see what could be done for the dragon. It was likely not much, but it was likely better than her attempting to seek Linkosta’s forgiveness right now.

Dakota turned her attention back to Rachuck and Lin. “I am so sorry, Lin. But she is right. It is not your fault. You did what you thought was right.”

Linkosta didn’t answer, she simply cried into her brother, still seeming quite inconsolable.

“I am needed elsewhere, before more are lost. Stay strong, stay proud. The dawn will rise again. Even if the night is dark.”

She had nothing better to say, and the moment she did she regretted it. What a load of dribble. She quickened her stride to put distance between herself and the sound of the pain she ought to feel. But one part was true. She was still needed, and she would be damned if it were Paulin who decided their next course of action.

Once she emerged from behind the large dragon, she eyed the archivist, standing at the center of what was left standing of their forces.

Most were battered and bruised. Many covered in blood, theirs or others. Balethon stood without either sword or shield, clutching his hand. Along the wall she saw Shiva being helped along by Tink, her chest and arms badly burnt. More were likely already below or soon to head there.

“Paulin, report to me. Is he dead?” Dakota demanded as she approached. She wanted to make perfectly clear she was taking charge.

“We believe so, yes. And their forces are retreating,” Paulin replied, bowing her head respectfully, or perhaps pleadingly. “We face a juncture, we mu-”

“Decide, do we give them time to salvage what they can, or do we drive them off,” Dakota interrupted.

“Essentially yes and no. Firstly we must know if it truely is a retreat and if so, how? We know there must be at least one witch still alive. And depending on what has happened below, perhaps a knight as well,” the archivist conveyed.

Dakota had not thought of that. They may be regrouping, not simply blindly fleeing. But without Rashan, would they dare another assault? Perhaps they would try something more underhanded. They may even attempt to set fire to the keep.

“I see… and if they truly are fleeing, I assume it is expected of us to make an effort to capture any artifacts and possibly important information to be found within the enemy camp or in the possession of the dragon?” Dakota questioned glumly, making it quite evident what her position on the subject would be. 

“It would be preferable, but given the circumstances I believe it would be understandable to wait ’til first light before venturing forth,”  the archivist replied. “Though it would give them time to secure the most valuable items and abscond with them.

“We may carefully attempt to have a look around when morn arrives,” Dakota yielded. It was a sound enough strategy to know what the enemy was doing. “For now, we must hold firm, secure the keep. And properly. There may still be those who lurk within. We must tend to the wounded. Clear every room and barricade any entrances that have been opened up.” 

“Yes, I do concur, there are many wounded which must be tended, and those who require a resupply and rest. All need rest. But may I suggest a count in addition to securing what enemy articles are already within our walls?”

“Agreed. Get me that count, we must know if any are missing from within. Please list those who may still fight, the rest are to be remanded to my mother’s care. Find a place suitable for the cursed items and such. Somewhere away from the sick and the children.”

“Of course, Dakota Bizmati. It shall be done.”

Satisfied the archivist could at least be trusted to archive, Dakota had something to do. Something other than mourning. She needed to know if they truly had managed to save their home. She must secure it, and she must learn what the price had been.

“Flier! Lone one, coming in!” Raulf shouted, pointing into the night. 

A quick commotion erupted, silenced by Dakota, and they listened. A single pair of wings, flying with an even beat, approaching.

They all stared into the night, and Dakota let a trickle of magic enhance her sight. Still she saw nothing. But the sound betrayed the range and heading as her ears swiveled. Were they white they would be close enough to see.

“Lone darkling or knight, ready yourselves!” she shouted out, and feet quickly started pounding the ground as positions were taken and weapons trained on whatever lone creature was making its way to them.

“Nobody shoot till I give the order!” she bellowed, stepping up front, brandishing her shield and drawing her sword. This was most unusual. A lone darkling? Perhaps it was Zarko or Radexi returning with a message from Jarix, blackened by soot.

Then it emerged from the gloom, landing on the platform. It was most certainly a darkling. But it did not attack, instead it stood there, holding a scroll in its hand, which it placed on the ground then backed away.

“It is a messenger, hold your shots!” Dakota ordered as she looked at the scroll, then to her hand. It could be a trap, did she dare pick it up? It would be very dangerous to do so. Luckily she did not need to take the chance. 

“Edita! Goggles, is that paper cursed?!” she shouted out, hearing footsteps behind her. The darkling waited patiently.

“One moment uhm… no, it carries no magic and only a little trace of corruption, of course; it has been handled by darklings most assuredly,” the artificer relayed with confidence.

“Very well. If it moves, you shoot it,” Dakota ordered, then she stepped forward with her shield raised.

Step by step, the darkling did not move, standing but a few steps back from its message. She had never stood so close to a darkling that was not attempting to kill her. It stood perfectly, calmly observing her through dead grey eyes.

She took the chance to study it closely. It appeared very ordinary. Just another dragonette of the frontier, painted ashen grey and devoid of color. It was a surreal experience.

She did not take her eyes off it as she kneeled down to pick up the message, proceeding to take a few steps back before she unrolled the parchment. It was a hand written note, done with excellent penmanship, and she read the message to both her horror and confusion.

‘Grant me the armor and the crowns. You know of what I speak. In exchange the white dragon lives, along with his two crew. One claims the name Radexi, he seems a shame to waste. You have ’til the first light of dawn. Most kind regards, Lucera Prince of Morkela…’

‘What do they mean white dragon?’