But there is no battling the Black Dragon as it roars in its terrible wrath. I watch as curses riddle all through the dragons trying to ambush it, snapping their bones like twigs and jettisoning their blood from their bodies like their veins are made of tissue paper. The village defenders plummet from the skies, into the rune-charred and oilslick-diseased carnage, full of broken bodies below.
Before the Black Dragon flies on—to wreck its terrible ruin elsewhere.
As the silver mirror swirls out, dark, a trembling rage fills the underground library. It’s coming from us, as we stand in shock now after what we’ve just seen, horrified and furious all at once.
We heave hard breaths in the ancient library, our inner dragons roaring and gnashing their teeth inside us, as Bjorn, Ström, and I churn. Our dragons seethe for vengeance at what we’ve just seen.
I quite agree with them—all joviality ripped now from my day.
“Well. That’s not what I saw before.” Ström growls, beyond furious, as we stand before the dark mirror.
“Clearly, Litha and Emil Beck, and whomever else they’re Bloodbonded to, are not halting in their agenda of taking down all Blood Dragondom to put themselves and other Bloodwalkers at the top of the food chain.” Bjorn snarls now as I feel his inner drake rage. A searing goldBloodwind whirls all around him as he churns, even though it’s far less than his usual.
“Emil lost some of his Bloodmates at the palace in Copenhagen, but he still has his connection to Litha and her drakes. They still probably have a lot of firepower between them to control the Black Dragon, both being Bloodwalkers.” As I tremble with a sensation that’s blacker than black now, I fight my own darkest dragon rising inside me.
Wanting to punish our enemies forever, for the village they decimated here.
“Litha and Emil have an entire network of Bloodwalkers and their mates, also, who support them in their agenda. At least in Copenhagen.” Ström growls, as we watch the silver mirror swirl. It doesn’t give us any pictures now, though I notice minuscule Blood Dragon runes and sigil-phrases scrolling through it in insane patterns, like a blowing wind.
When the picture lit up before, it was less like watching an actual scene, but like watching a silvered image through an antique mirror. I understand why now, as I realize all those tiny, infinitesimal runes coalesce to form the images we see.
Ancient magic—nothing that could be replicated today.
“I think this place is some sort of library, this central area a scrying-chamber for the silver mirror-stone.” Ström gestures at it, then nods at the high vaults all around. “I think this hall focuses the energy of whatever you’re thinking about onto the stone… and whatever you want to see appears.”
As Ström indicates the vaults all around the silver stone, I see those vaults have a strange shape, pointing down like daggers at the mirror as they support the dome far above. The silver and gold runes in their arcane patterns are also far more vivid and complex here than elsewhere in the city, unique.
“What did you see before?” I ask him now as I glance over.
“When I first found this place, I was actually wondering if my last tattoo-dragon made it to my great-grandfather, the Jarl. To tell him to takethe True Knights to our King and join forces,” Ström says as he watches me. “I came in here and the stone lit up as I was thinking about my great-grandfather Jorg. It showed him in conference with our King, Huttr Erdhelm, and our Prince, Halfdir Erdhelm. With my grandmother Annika. Plus that drakaina who helped us up in Magnussen lands—Svanhild Magnussen.”
“If my great-aunt is there with those others from your lands, it’s guaranteed to be a meeting of the True Black Dragon Knights, with our King,” Bjorn rumbles now as he heaves a hard breath of relief. “At least we know the True Knights have joined forces with the King, at last. We couldn’t just leave King Huttr fighting the Black Dragon alone, not when there was expert help available.”
Bjorn doesn’t mention how Ström maimed himself and nearly caused his own death down here, to get his last tattoo-dragon off to his great-grandfather and give him our message. Approval shines from Bjorn’s gold eyes at Ström, however.
As Ström gives him the barest nod, acknowledging it.
“If I could see my great-grandfather with this mirror-stone,” Ström juts his chin at the silver stone now, “then I bet we could probably use it to check up on a whole host of our allies, right now.”
“Evaluate our situation, and how fast we may or may not need to move once we recover enough to leave this place.” Bjorn nods, in total agreement with Ström.
Though my Second Drake gives Bjorn hell, a deep mind lives inside Ström. He’s no slouch, having done his time in a curse breaking sector of the Grand Palace Guard, and was chosen by his great-grandfather, Jarl Jorg Eriksson, as his Jarl-Heir for a reason.
“Mirror,” I say now as I feel like the Evil Queen in Snow White, addressing it, but push on anyway. “Show me the Blood Dragon Grand Palace at Stockholm.”
Even as I say it, I feel both my drakes focus on the place we once called home in the Grand Palace Guard. Tension fills me, as the silver mirrorswirls—then relief, as an image of the Grand Palace in Stockholm fills the mirror’s antiqued view.
Hale, there is no diabolical curse-work from the Black Dragon spiraling through the palace’s stones, nor evil ropes of black char decimating its grounds. A bright midsummer day, green is everywhere as I see dragons flying through the city’s airspace just like on any regular day.
Even I can see the tight cordons of King Huttr’s military and palace guards, however, not in human form but all in dragon-form, as they police the skies. Though everything still looks normal, Stockholm is on red alert, as I see those sweeps going through the air.
Not to mention ridiculous cordons of shifted-up Blood Dragons perched on every tower and bridge.
“Our King has called up the entire military,” Bjorn says as he studies the scene. “He’s got a large force protecting Stockholm and the palace, probably every local brigade that could fly in on such short notice. Hopefully, it’ll dissuade Litha and her allies from attacking the city just yet.”
“Until the Black Dragon grows stronger.” Brimstone flashes in Ström’s green eyes as he glances at me, a sheen of his maroon-green magic whirling through the air. “I don’t think that village we saw being attacked was in Sweden; their clothing and building style looked Danish. Probably sympathizers to the old Jarl that Emil wanted to root out.”
“It’s only a matter of time before Litha and her cronies send the Black Dragon back to Sweden, though, to deal with our King.” I set my jaw, feeling my inner dragons snarl as I try to predict where our enemies will move next. “She might want to root us out first, though, to finish us before attacking the Grand Palace.”
