Dragonfire, p.1
Dragonfire, page 1
Table of Contents
DRAGONFIRE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
VALGARD
THE MAIDEN OF FIRE AND FURY
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE BRIDE OF LOVE AND SACRIFICE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THE PRINCESS, THE QUEEN, THE KEY
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The AFTERMATH
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
A GUIDE TO OLD VALGARDAN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Read On For a Sneak Peek at
CHAPTER ONE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY R. DUGAN
DRAGONFIRE
THE STARCHASER SAGA
BOOK VI
R. Dugan
DRAGONFIRE
Copyright © 2022 by R. Dugan
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
R. Dugan
PO Box 1265
Martinsville, IN 46151
reneeduganwriting.com
Cover design by Maja Kopunovic
Map by Jessica Khoury
ISBN: 978-1-7339255-9-4
First Edition: June 2022
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
DEDICATION
To Katie and Meaghan,
who embody all that Sillakove Court is.
Never stop chasing your stars.
The
MAIDEN
of
FIRE AND
FURY
CHAPTER ONE
WITH EYES TIGHTLY shut and dawn’s cold light painting her face, Princess Cistine Novacek chased the thread of a fallen star through the chasms of her mind.
She’d followed it for two days now, a beckoning power pinioning along the distant horizon, carrying with it the faintest trace of cedar and charcoal, dust and weapon polish, warmth and home and family. Or at least, she imagined it held those things; it was difficult to tell when this ability to sense that storm of power was so new to her, as unfamiliar and cumbersome to her mind as blades and fists once were to her hands. And the one she was trying to track had never tasted of this power before; he’d been a scarred and quiet but ordinary man as long as she’d known him.
Maleck Darkwind, her mentor and protector, her friend, the survivor of the former visnprest Order, had walked away from a life of augment-wielding and worshiping the power of the gods to become a warrior, a formidable blade, and a teacher to anyone who needed his wisdom, like Cistine.
And then the war camp. Then Kosai Talis. Then the marks around his valenar’s neck.
Cistine had promised she would bring Maleck home. So here she stood, awake before dawn on yet another crag in the lower Vaszaj Range, unspooling the fingertips of her strange and unwieldy might to sense the current of augments forever moving across Maleck’s body—to give them some direction to travel today.
If it was even him she sensed. The other Bloodwights must’ve rallied from their defeat at Kosai Talis by now. They were likely hunting her.
Her hand drifted down to the augment pouch lashed at her side, tracing the dark, churning current of power they’d stolen from Kosai Talis: one of the seven Stor Sedam, unique and terrible in its might, harvestable only once from a single well long since run dry…and coveted desperately by the Bloodwights. Just as they coveted Cistine’s blood to open one of the Doors to the Gods and unleash augmentation’s full might back into the world.
Then they would take Valgard in the north; then Cistine’s beloved Middle Kingdom, Talheim; and even Mahasar in the south, where old enemies dwelled. Then the Bloodwights would take the rest of the kingdoms of the world, crowning themselves new gods, aided by their power-forged Balmond and mirothadt followers, augurs, criminals, and kidnapped children.
All they needed was to capture Cistine and spill her blood on a Door; yet she was searching, fighting her way toward them anyway, and toward the chance to do that very thing on her own terms. To bleed, and then come back fighting.
A rogue shiver swept across her armored body with the wind, nudging the tangles in her hickory hair and ghosting panic along her frayed nerves. Shifting her focus, she followed the dips and arches of the Sotefold Forest below the crags, and the faraway spine of the Isetfell Mountains capping the north; she searched for a thin strand of reason, the Key’s sense of where augmentation pooled—where Maleck might be. But panic hummed and flurried louder than any power, its cruel song playing relentlessly in her exhausted mind, and with a curse she gave up, rubbing the chills from her arms. “Where are you going, Mal?”
The only reply was the wind in the pines, struggling to feel like early spring even while the darkness of Nazvaldolya still held the north in a furious grip; and then the even tread of footfalls from behind, careful to be known and heard.
She was no longer alone.
Strong arms wrapped around Cistine’s waist, the scent of sandalwood and leather chasing out the chill from the air. “Good morning, Wildheart.”
The sound of her Name soothed some of the shivers, and her selvenar’s heat dealt with the rest. Lips curving of their own volition, she leaned back into Thorne’s chest, curling her arm behind his head and burrowing her numb fingers in the sleep-mussed strands of his silver hair. “Hello, you. Sleep well?”
“Until I heard you leave.” His chin hooked over her shoulder, nose brushing her neck, pebbling her flesh with a different chill altogether. “Had enough of being alone, or should I come back later?”
“Your timing is perfect, actually. I was just about to turn from thinking to panicking.”
His arms cinched tighter around her waist. “What is it?”
She blew out her breath in a frustrated puff. “What isn’t it? Being hunted by the Bloodwights, being hunted by the Chancellors, Ashe and Aden and Kristoff and Bres going to Oadmark, and us tracking Maleck…I’ve never been the best at tracking anyway, he only gave me a few lessons—”
Thorne squeezed her waist, halting the rambling tide. “You are more than capable, Logandir. You’re the only one who can track him in this state. I trust you to find him.”
A seam of pain cracked his steady voice—pain for a friend closer than a brother, lost to the chaos of addiction and his own worst fears. Maleck had fought desperately not to become like his elder brothers, twisted and insatiable to wield augments, to grasp more and more power; yet when they’d seen him last, when Ashe fought him near Kosai Talis, his only concern was to take the power she wielded.
Already, he was so far from their reach; the man who’d taught Cistine how to wield weapons and track and drink mead seemed lost. All that remained of him was that trace of cedar and charcoal and the strip of dark cloth tied around her upper arm, twin to the one around Thorne’s—a banner of hope against these fears.
When she didn’t speak, throat swollen with emotion, he pressed a kiss below her ear. “Tell me how I can help.”
She nestled her head back into the scoop of his shoulder, fingers combing absentmindedly through his hair. “Just this, for now.”
“You know you have me, however you need me.”
She did know that; the betrothal ring on her finger was proof of it. But unspoken between them hung the choice they had yet to fully confront, had not even spoken of in the two days since she first broached it: whether Thorne would marry her if she went to bleed on the Door beneath the City of a Thousand Stars. Whether he would help protect her kingdom by the binding oath of matrimony, a wholly Talheimic tradition that would grant him the title of prince-consort—that would allow him to protect her kingdom if she died.
But the peace of this moment was too fragile to raise that subject again. So they stayed silent, wrapped up in each other, watching dawn chase out darkness from east to west: an outlaw Chancellor and a princess who’d set aside her crown for war, blended hearts sleepless together, watching another day break across a weary, war-torn kingdom.
Thorne broke the silence again after a time, his tone careful. “If you’d like, while the others are busy, we could train.”
The hair on Cistine’s arms and nape prickled. She twisted in his arms, looking up at him. “Already?”
“Time is short, and when we close in on Maleck, it may become dangerous to wield. Better we do it now, while there’s still some distance between us.”
So he wouldn’t sense the augments she trained with and decide that her life, like Ashe’s, was worth less than the power streaming over the reinforced threads of her armor and the Atrasat inkings below.
Oh, Maleck. His name ached within her.
Thorne unwound his arms from her waist and beckoned with a tilt of his head. Feet and heart heavy, Cistine followed him away from the open air and into the denser pack of evergreens. They moved south by the sun’s light, away from the small camp they’d pitched the previous sunset. Thorne spoke over his shoulder while they went: “Ari and Tati went to Aoelvik this morning for supplies and to see if they have any augments to spare.”
Cistine’s stomach twisted at the notion. With augments in such short supply already and the cabal hunted by the Chancellors, they could not simply be asked for; Ariadne and Tatiana would have to discern if the nearby village could do without them, and if so, steal them.
She had never felt like a filthier thief, but they’d wasted too many augments breaking in and out of Kosai Talis. There were so few left for her to train with, and the promise of that training was all that had kept her from falling into the Courts’ desperate hands and losing her life already.
Wartime necessity, she chanted to herself. Aloud, she said, “Is Quill on watch?”
“Unfortunately.” Thorne held aside a snapped branch for her to pass below. “I don’t know if he’s slept since Kosai Talis. Pippet’s fate still haunts him, and now that we’ve stolen personally from the Bloodwights…”
Cistine winced. She hadn’t considered at the time how the Bloodwights might abuse Pippet in retaliation for Kosai Talis. There was much she hadn’t prepared for in recent weeks, driven by desperation to end this war and save her Valgardan family.
Now was the time for deep breaths and measured steps. Now, despite the urgency pricking her fingertips and jostling her feet, was the time for training.
They reached a break in the trees, a flat span of rock against the backbone of the mountains dotted with smaller pinnacles descended from a long-ago landslide. It created a thick, natural barrier, the perfect sparring arena which Thorne stepped fearlessly into, shedding his armored shirt and tying his hair back. His Atrasat inkings glowed in the early-morning light when he turned back to face her, putting out his hand. “Augment.”
Cistine chose a flagon of ravaging darkness and tossed it to him; rather than breaking it, he uncorked it, allowing a thin ribbon of shadows to snake along his fingertips and up his arm, settling into the star maps inked across his torso. “All right. Show me what you can do, Logandir. First, try to take the augment from me.”
A memory of bleeding eyes and weakness and deep unconsciousness spun through her head, curling her fingers into iron fists. “I thought we were going to train to wield two augments at once.”
“If that’s where you want to begin.” His gaze bored into her. “But you’ve been training for that since before you came back to us.”
As was often the case, he knew her unspoken mind: the Chancellors might be convinced to spare her by a flashy show of wielding two augments at once, or three, or more; but it was the power to wrest an augment from another person’s grasp, even from a Bloodwight’s, that stood the best chance of saving Maleck. And more than that, training with two augments at once was an even greater waste until Ariadne and Tatiana returned from Aoelvik.
Cistine shook out her fists. “If this goes like it did with Vandred, back at the war camp—”
“You’re in command here. If you start to feel overwhelmed, walk away. I won’t stop you.”
Of course he wouldn’t. He was the shore, and she the sea—he adapted to her tides without trying to change them. If this training proved too much, she could give herself distance; but for now, she walked toward him, toward the call she’d been following for so much of her life without even realizing.
Come, it purred. Come and see.
Thorne offered his hand, and Cistine took it. Like a tether snapping taut between them, the bite of the augment reached out to her, too, lovingly caressing her knuckles, licking up her wrist. A smile tugged her lips when she met Thorne’s eyes, sparking against the shadows—wild, just like hers.
Then she felt the shift. He’d taken hold of the augment, drawing it back, keeping it from her; allowing her to feel the difference between sharing and stealing. She scrabbled for that current of power again and latched hold of it, and the battle of wills began.
It was the strangest training session she’d ever known. With Quill, training was mostly physical, a barrage of blunted jabs knocking the wind from each other’s bodies. With Maleck, the clash of steel was constant. But here in this forest glade, there was only the mountain wind stroking the treetops and playing the spires of rock all around them in low, moaning music. Nothing else. Not even their breaths created noise, muffled by the vastness of the world around them.
She felt strange. Internal. As if she was moving, but not—traveling the long paths into the dark recesses of augmentation, following the thread of that shadowy cord into Thorne’s own being, his quiet might. When she’d grappled for this power against Vandred in the Isetfells, her actions were desperate and undirected, like wild hacking with a sword. Now that she was concentrating, she felt the terrible weight that had dragged the blood from her nose and eyes that first time. The pressure mounted while she maneuvered around Thorne’s brutal grip on the augment, trying to pry his fingers loose.
He fought her silently but viciously. Sweat broke across his brow, and his mouth crooked to one side the way it did whenever he concentrated. His arm tensed, fingers locking around hers, and the cords of muscle rattled, dipping and rising like bucking waves. His boots scraped against the stone when he braced, and Cistine reached deeper and farther, heeding the call but also making a call of her own, tempting and coaxing the augment toward her fingertips, her own inkings.
He was so gods-forsaken strong, it took her breath away. And while she struggled to pluck the augment from his control, a strange, second focus took hold, gleaming at the edges of her mind, beckoning and prodding her to look, to pay attention, to take note of it.
Thorne broke away suddenly, dropping backward with his hands braced on his knees, and in a flash the augment was in Cistine’s grasp instead of his. Trembling, she sent it skimming down into the threads of her armor and stepped toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Holy stars,” he gasped. “Cistine, stars above, do you even know how powerful you are?”
