James Maxey: Dragonforge

By now Graxen had reached terminal velocity, words that possessed a double meaning. He could fall no faster, but if he collided with Arifiel at this speed, it would kill them both. He opened his wings into twin parachutes, tilting his hind-talons down. He dropped the scroll and craned his neck to catch it in his teeth as it flew upward. In the space of a heartbeat the distance between Arifiel and himself vanished as his hind-talons reached her left wing.

Graxen grabbed Arifiel's fore-talon, the three-clawed hand that sat at the middle joint of her wing. In a fluid motion, he snapped the first cuff of the manacle around her talon. The impact caused his body to flip, as his legs tarried at her wing while his head snaked downward. He reached out his fore-talons and grabbed her left hind-talon. She tried to kick him free.

Arifiel's sharp teeth sank into Graxen's thigh, but the awkward angle of her bite kept her from doing real damage. She growled and shook her head as they tumbled, free-falling a hundred feet in a blur of gray and blue. She opened her jaws, perhaps in search of a more vital body part. Graxen spread his wings and darted away, leaving Arifiel with her left wing manacled to her left leg.

For a sun-dragon, this would have been a death sentence. Fortunately, sky-dragons were masters of the air. Arifiel spread her free wing to its maximum capacity and pulled her body into a tight ball. She became a blue whirligig, descending toward the forest in a dizzying spiral. Her landing wouldn't be delicate, but she'd survive.

Graxen tossed away the bell he'd stolen from her belt, the leather hood once more covering the clapper. From the time he'd started his dive to the time he'd shackled Arifiel, no more than ten seconds had passed.

Something fell past him, barely glimpsed from the corner of his eye. At first, he had difficulty identifying it as it tumbled. Then a silver disk flashed as it caught the sun. It was a valkyrie's empty breast plate. He looked over his shoulder to find Teardrop barely ten yards behind him. She'd shed her armor, even her helmet, leaving her groomed for speed. Her breast muscles moved like mighty machinery beneath her scales. Graxen's heart beat joyously. He always enjoyed a good race.

Graxen turned away from his pursuer and dove once more, aiming for the river. He pulled from his dive to skim along the surface. The spray from the whitewater moistened his face in welcome relief. If not for the letter in his teeth, he would have risked a quick drink. He banked toward the forest, the jagged tree trunks looming before him like a maze. Beating his wings for a further burst of speed he plunged into the woods. Flying above the treetops was one thing. Flying amid the branches of an unfamiliar forest was a feat most dragons would regard as suicide. His eyes tracked every limb and shadow as momentum carried him forward. He beat his wings to stay aloft in the gaps between the trees. The tips of his wings knocked away twigs and vines. A whirlwind of dry leaves followed in his wake.

Ahead, he spotted a bright patch on the forest floor-a clearing three times his body length. With a sharp, hard burst of energy he zoomed heavenward, flitting back above the trees. Only now did he allow himself to glance over his shoulder. He was certain the valkyrie had been stubborn enough to follow, even though her longer wings would have made the feat impossible. He hoped she hadn't injured herself too badly when she snared in the branches.

To his astonishment, she was still in flight, now many yards behind, about to reach the clearing. He watched, slack-jawed, as she found the open space and rose back over the treetops, her gaze still fixed upon him.

Very well. If he couldn't outfly her, he'd have to cheat.

He banked in a sharp arc as he reached up with his hind-claws to the leather satchel. With a violent grunt, he yanked the bag so hard its strap snapped, freeing it. He darted back toward Teardrop with all the speed he could manage. His eyes locked on hers. Their paths would intersect in seconds. She showed no fear as the space between them closed.

At the last possible instant, Teardrop lowered her head to dodge, passing beneath his body. Graxen snapped the bag in his hind-talons, opening the satchel wide. With a satisfying shudder, the leather ripped from his claws as the makeshift hood slipped over her head.

He bent his whole body in the air, heading once more for the dam. He glanced back to find Teardrop whipping her head, trying to free the hood, obviously disoriented. Instinctively, she was climbing slowly, as any temporarily blinded dragon would do. Graxen was relieved she showed no sign of injury. The high-speed hooding had carried the risk of snapping her neck.

Leaving his last opponent far behind, Graxen raced toward the dam, rising quickly over its massive stone wall. He found himself over the deep silver-blue waters of the mountain lake. The Nest, an impressive fortress of stone and steel, jutted from the waters like a racial memory. He knew this place in his blood. He'd been born within its walls. The air smelled like dreams as he breathed in great heaves through his nostrils.

There were dark shapes dashing all over the sky now. A dozen valkyries had spotted him. None were closer than half a mile. Unless there was another among them as swift as Teardrop, none could intercept him before he reached his goal. He darted upward as he reached the outer wall of the fortress, rising above the iron spikes that edged it. The Nest would be a bad place to fall. Every surface was covered with sharp metal shafts pointed skyward to discourage any males who might wish to land. Ahead, the central bell tower began to clang out an alarm. He heard a command shouted somewhere below: "Get clear! The gates are closing!" A rumble came from deep beneath the island as ancient gears slipped into service.

He aimed for the tallest spire of the fortress and a balcony that jutted from it. As he rose above the lip of the balcony, he saw the open door to the chamber beyond. A metal grate was sliding down to seal the room, like the jagged teeth of some great beast. He hoped that the marble floor beyond was as smooth as it looked. He flattened his body, slipping beneath the teeth. He slammed against the marble, sliding forward. He snaked his tail into the room as the grate clanged shut. He spun and pivoted as he slid, spreading his wings to lift himself back to his hind-talons, his sharp claws splayed out, desperate to halt his forward slide. He skidded to rest inches from the opposite wall.

He opened his jaw and let the scroll drop. He caught it with his fore-talon as he spun around. The scroll was damp with spittle. He held his wings in a gesture of surrender as countless valkyries rushed into the room, spears pointed toward him.

"Greetings," he said, in as calm a voice as he could muster. "I have a message from the king."

The valkyries drew into a half circle around him as he pressed his back against the cold stone wall.

"Your kind is forbidden here!" one growled.

"We should gut you where you stand!" snapped another.

"We should," said a firm voice at the back of the room. "But not yet."

Graxen looked over the wall of valkyries to see an aged sky-dragon, the weight of her body supported by a gnarled cane. Her body was stooped but her eyes were bright. Her face was lined with an aura of dignity that made her instantly recognizable. The matriarch!

"He's made it this far with his precious message," she said, her voice raspy with age, yet still firm with authority. "We shall allow him his say."

"Thank you, Matriarch," Graxen said. He cast his gaze over the guards. "I've been ordered speak to you privately. Would you dismiss your attendants?"

"Do you think we'll fall for this trickery?" a valkyrie snarled, jabbing her spear to within a whisker of Graxen's ribs.