Chapter Text
"The fate of a leader is to suffer for the benefit of his subordinates." Fan Riorson.
From Lieutenant Riorson's memories of his father.
They were going to escape to Tyrrendor. Again. Let the Wards in the province, none of the defected professors, members of the Assembly, even those who simply have influence on the Uprising, but flew to save Basgiat, like Phyllis Grain, as the Marquise of Tyre, did not agree with the demands of the Navarre command. Negotiations had been going on for several days, but the parties still could not come to an agreement.
But, in between the debates, the rebels were able to heal many wounds and find out something about the venins.
The fact that Riorson had to become a dark sorcerer was told to the whole family from both sides. Well, except for Mira. It was not safe and useless, in the sense that her seal would not have helped in any way, and Sorrengaile herself would have found another reason to take Xaden's head off his shoulders. But Brennan and Phyllis were aware of how close they were, as well as restorers, and Liam, who had just recently been dragged out from beyond the grave, and Bodhi, who had been devoted to his uncle's house all his life, as his own, Xaden simply could not lie anymore.
Brennan, surprisingly, was in no hurry to grab his head or a sword with an alloy pommel, but reacted calmly enough, hiding his face in his hands and letting out a forced groan... Or tired, after swearing with Melgren, and later working in the infirmary, not to mention exhausted by the death of his mother... Bodhi and Liam stared at nothing for a couple of seconds, but then obediently lowered their heads, accepting the situation. And Phyllis just sighed, shook her head and patted the named older brother on the shoulder, saying, "it's never been easy with you.".. Maybe she's tired too, though. The restorers have a lot of work to do right now, both with humans and with dragons.
After several days of heated arguments in Violet's room under a soundproof shield, a pile of Nolan's rummaged records about Jack Barlow's treatment and a detailed interrogation of the old restorer, they found out that it was theoretically possible to turn back into a human by building anew a barrier between veinin's body and the source — earth. The main thing is that veinin himself wanted to become a man and did not break down the barrier again.
In theory.
In practice, this turned out to be true, but the barrier restored even by two of the best spellcasters was thinner and flimsier than the previous one. The energy flowing in the source, which was attracted, shone through it. But very faintly, almost imperceptibly. Of course, it was a half-measure. Surely, over time, the barrier will deplete and collapse again. But now it was the solution to at least one of the many problems. Phyllis and Brennan promised to go through all the books donated by Viscount Tecarus, Nolan's notes, which they decided to take with Jack Barlow, and books in the secret libraries of the Marquessate of Grain, where the veinins and their magic would be described.
Yes. It was a good chance. But first they had to get to Tyrrendor. Navarre was unable to offer satisfactory terms even on the third day of negotiations, so they had to leave as soon as possible before the rebels were forcibly shut down in Basgiat.
To say that Xaden was nervous is to say nothing. Anxiety bound his chest with heavy chains, made it impossible to breathe normally. Sgaeyl was nervous too. She and Xaden reconciled after all and shared each other's feelings again. Now Riorson's anxiety was multiplied by his own dragon. And looking at Violet's pale, drooping body and feeling all the emotions that overwhelmed her—longing, bitterness, fear—it became even worse. But she held on, even despite the death of Lilith Sorrengaile, her own mother, which means he had to all the more. For her sake. For the sake of everyone Xaden took responsibility for.
Not only those who joined the uprising from the very beginning volunteered to fly with them, but also a good quarter of the cadets who remained in Basgiat that time, a dozen more scribes, about twenty healers (Xaden managed to interrogate them all and did not know whether to be surprised at their honest desire to escape or not), as well as fifty more free dragons. Mostly those who fell on the field, among their dead brethren and wyverns, whom Brennan, Phyllis and Nolan with healers were able to pump out and cure, and they spent a lot of effort on treating all of them... But, on the other hand, how many lives they managed to save. The wounded were able to fly on their own. Even people like Sawyer...
The griffins agreed to carry one person each, even the dragons somehow managed to persuade them to carry the rest, yet the authority of Anga, the orange swordtail Phyllis, as the elders of the nest was huge. But literally anything could go wrong. Kodag was not on their side, and although his connection with Anga had lost its former strength for many years, and the black dragon himself was in no hurry to tell Melgren that he felt terrible excitement from his mate, he could do this at any moment and jeopardize the entire plan of the rebels. Moreover, griffins could not fly as fast and high as dragons, which means that even if the rebels were not noticed during departure, they would still be able to catch up with dragons during the flight.
But there was no way to retreat.
That night there was dead silence in Basgiat.
Guided by Brennan and Violet's knowledge of poisons, as well as the received recipe for a medicine that blocks forces and communication with dragons, on the eve of the escape, several groups of marked ones collected special winter berries similar to ordinary rowan, squeezed out the juice from them and mixed with a microdose of medicine and wine, which they were going to serve at dinner. On the intercom, it was strictly forbidden to drink it. The management and all the drinkers that day fell into a deep, unbroken sleep. Violet and Brennan estimated that it would last about fifteen hours. It would not have been enough to fly to Aretia, but it gave a very big head start to get to the cliffs of Dralore and hide in their caves before the Navarrese caught up with the pack. Walk through the tunnels to the marquisate, which was a little closer, leave the wounded there in the care of healers and flyers with griffins so that they could get used to the altitude again, and then, with the remaining flock, fly at full speed to Aretia. The plan was unreliable, but the rebels had no other option.
The lords of the winds and storms drove dark clouds into the low December sky, hiding the moonlight. The corridors were flooded with impenetrable shadows, hiding the cadets and teachers from the magical lights. One by one, they went out through secret corridors to the airfield, along the edges of which dragons and griffins were waiting for them. A magical darkness covered the earth. It took Xaden more strength than planned, but in the end, after the last wounded man was helped to mount his dragon, and Jack Barlow was stuffed into a Riberstad closet sent from Aretia and picked up by Sgaeyl (Andarna resisted, but she was forced to put on a harness and cling to Thairn), they flew out.
The Marked ones surrounded the formation, saving the rest from Melgren's power. Thick darkness enveloped the flock from all sides, giving it the appearance of an ordinary black cloud, hiding it from prying eyes. The flock was smaller in size than the one that flew away last time, but in numbers... Two hundred and forty-seven winged ones, counting griffins. Taking into account the fact that many freshmen and flyers still remained in Aretia and some dragons took care of their eggs and chicks there, the flock, having lost several dozen combat units in the battle, flew with a big addition. Now most of the riders of the quadrant joined the revolution and Navarre could not let them go so easily... They will be flown after them as soon as the sleeping pills stop working and the riders take the antidote. But it won't be for at least fifteen hours. Cadets and riders in lower ranks who have not drunk will not rush in pursuit of the pack without an order from the leadership.
They've had the whole night so far.
Xaden continued to be nervous. He knew that his strength would be enough to maintain a huge cloud close to the late winter dawn, but then he would barely be able to stay in the saddle. Sgaeyl would pick him up if necessary, but if the Navarrese horsemen caught up with them, Xaden would not be able to resist them.
"No one will catch up with us. Just because Melgren knows which province we're hiding in doesn't mean he'll find us there. The Empyrean is still split and Kodag is not on our side, but he will not dare to go against the pack. He will not dare to contradict Anga. The dragons who fought for Basgiat wished to fly away. His mate, the elder of the nest, wished to fly away. He respects her choice and will let us escape. And as for the desire of people... Well, you know. Dragons don't care about them." — Sgaeyl said this so confidently that Riorson wanted to believe it too.
After a few hours of the flight, Xaden began to get tired. Maintaining the cloud didn't require much concentration. It is not a definite figure, not something that should be tangible. Just a shapeless, disembodied shadow. But it was huge. Xaden drew energy from his daggertail and realized that by the end of the flight he might just burn out. He had not slept for the last two nights, and a three-hour nap could not replace a full sleep. What Riorson managed to eat at dinner was almost digested, but he, like other riders and flyers, managed to quietly stock up on a small amount of supplies. In the flight bag, he had a cold meatloaf, several sandwiches, a handful of baked potatoes and... Three chocolate tartlets with a liter bottle of lemonade... yes. The addiction to sweets was not interrupted even by a stressful situation. This will not be enough to replenish energy and not burn out, but at least it will get rid of the unpleasant emptiness in the stomach and hungry fainting.
Xaden closed his eyes and reached for the familiar shimmering strand of silver. Violet didn't shield herself, either she had decided something for herself, or she was too tired to do it. Therefore, the man felt the measured pulsation of her energy, and when he touched her with his own, the force vibrated and stretched sleepily in response.
"She's sleeping. Don't wake her up, Lieutenant." — Tairn appeared in his head immediately and with his tone alone discouraged any desire to argue with him. Right. Let her rest.
Looking back, Riorson counted another three dozen cadets clinging to their dragons and griffins. Half of the first squad of the Tail section of the First Wing, part of the Claw section of the Third Wing, a few more from the Second. Violet's entire squad, except for Aetos, who was surprisingly cheerful (perhaps he knew where the coffee was hidden in the Basgiat), tired but awake Quinn and Imogen, and Aarik nodding off. It's only the ones he could see. Probably a good half of the people in the pack were sleeping, if not more. Well, that's right, as long as they were not in danger, they should gain strength.
His cheeks burned as if they had been hit with special ferocity. Why, the cheeks, the whole body seemed to be dipped into a bubbling cauldron. Even the frosty December air did not save us. He was generally missed at altitude. Everything was blurry in front of his eyes and I felt like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer. Weakness rolled in hot, thick waves mercilessly over the tired, exhausted body. If it wasn't for Sgaeyl's strength, Xaden would probably have fallen off her back by now. He was getting closer to the edge of burnout. The food supplies in the bag did not run out, but Riorson was so sick that he did not dare to send it to his weakened stomach. It would be very embarrassing if he vomited on someone flying below...
"That's enough. Take away the shadows and rest. You've been broadcasting for almost seven and a half hours now. Just a little more and you'll burn out. We're already flying over Deaconshire. We still have time before dawn and the awakening of the leadership. The flock merges with the clouds, even if there is a person at the outpost who can see from a distance, he will not be able to see us in the darkness. — Sgaeyl said sententiously, arching her long neck to look at her rider.
"What if they do?" — Xaden objected, shaking his head weakly, — "And if the snow starts and blocks our visibility? My shadows will be able to block him. I have to keep them going."
If he hadn't been turned into a human in Basgiat, perhaps he would have been able to hold his power for the entire flight, but then there was a risk of not restoring the barrier between the source and the border of the active Wards.
"I'll hold the cloud just a little longer. Just in case."
Sgaeyl sighed resignedly, and ill-concealed anxiety spread over the general connection. Xaden didn't think much of it.
"A little more" meant another hour. The cold winter sun was already barely breaking through the cloudy veil of the horizon. Over the past half hour, the shadows have begun to fade and fade. The general connection has already been overwhelmed by anxiety. Violet, who had woken up, joined Sgaeyl's plea, and Xaden did not have the strength to block at least one of them.
When the first ray dimly illuminated the gray firmament, Xaden collapsed on the back of his dragon. His whole body felt like it was burning with boiling oil, his stomach was turning inside out, and red-hot iron was poured into his skull. But he did it. He kept the shadows until dawn and probably did not allow extra eyes to see the flock flying south. But Riorson is not capable of anything else. He would not be able to help his men if the Navarrese caught up with them...
"We can defend ourselves and protect all of you if necessary. Don't worry about it."
Tairn bursts into his melting, floating mind in a calm, even cradling tone, so similar to his father's. It was as if Riorson had come back ten years ago, when Aretia had not yet been burned to the ground, there was no uprising, he was a rebellious teenager, and his father was still alive and came late at night to put his obnoxious son to bed...
"Sleep, shadow caster," the black dragon whispers almost softly, and Xaden catches in his voice more and more similarities with the tone of his late father. Or so it seems to him from fatigue...
There is no strength and desire to argue, and Xaden closes his eyes, immediately falling into a black void.