Page 47 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
Yes,Sirrax agreed simply.But are here. Now must decide what do about.
That was the question that had been haunting me since we'd left the capital. When the fighting began—and it would begin, probably sooner than any of us wanted to admit—what would I do? How could I raise my sword against people defending their homes from genocide? But how could I not, when the alternative might be death for Marcus, Antonius, and myself?
I've been thinking,I said carefully,about what happens when the battle starts.
And?
I can't fight the Talfen. I won't.The decision felt right the moment I voiced it, like a weight lifting from my shoulders.Whatever the cost, I won't be part of this slaughter.
May mean fighting Imperial soldiers instead.
I know.The thought terrified me, but it also felt inevitable.Will you help me? When the time comes?
You freed mind,Sirrax replied without hesitation.Gave back humanity. Of course will help.
The relief I felt at his words was overwhelming. Whatever happened in the coming battle, I wouldn't face it alone. We would find a way to protect ourselves without participating in genocide, or we would die trying. There were worse fates than death.
We were perhaps three hours into Talfen territory when the landscape began to change again. The devastation was older here, the burned villages reduced to mere stains on the earth. But there were also signs that people had tried to return—small gardens carved out of the ash, temporary shelters built from salvaged materials. The Empire might have burned these places, but they hadn't succeeded in driving the Talfen away entirely.
"Movement ahead," one of the scouts called out, his voice carrying the tension of a man straining his eyes against the distance. "Smoke rising from the south!"
I followed his pointing finger and saw it—a dark column rising from what looked like a valley far behind us. For a moment, I thought it might be another burned village, but the smoke was too thick, too fresh.
"That's not a settlement," Valeria said, her voice sharp with sudden understanding. "That's the baggage train."
The realization hit our formation like a physical blow. The supply column that had been following hours behind us, carrying the food and equipment that would sustain our campaign—it was under attack.
"Signal from the rear guard!" another scout shouted, pointing to a series of light flashes coming from a ridge to our south. "Dragons attacking the supply lines!"
My heart hammered against my ribs as I processed what that meant. Talfen dragons. Free dragons. Striking at the Empire's vulnerable logistics chain with the kind of tactical precision that spoke of careful planning.
Jalend's voice cut through the rising chaos, calm but commanding. "Fourth wing, with me! Sharp turn and dive—we need to get there fast!"
But even as Sirrax responded to my guidance, wheeling around in a tight arc that pressed me hard against his neck, I could see we were too far away. The smoke was rising from a point at least twenty miles behind us, and by the time we covered that distance...
"We're not going to make it in time," Marcus called out from where he rode behind me, his voice grim with tactical assessment.
He was right. The other dragons of our wing were following suit, racing back the way we'd come, but we were flying into the aftermath of a battle that was already decided. The Talfen had chosen their moment perfectly—hitting the supplies when the main force was too far away to respond effectively.
This is it,I thought.The fighting has started.
As we flew, I found myself watching the other dragons in our formation. They were moving faster than I'd ever seen them move, their powerful wings beating with an urgency that seemed to go beyond simple obedience to their riders' commands. It was as if the prospect of combat had awakened something in them—some buried instinct for battle that the collars couldn't entirely suppress.
But there was something else too. The way they moved, the subtle changes in their flight patterns—it was almost as if they were remembering how to be dragons rather than just mounts.
Do they know?I found myself wondering.Deep down, do they remember what they really are?
Some remember more than others,Sirrax replied, somehow catching the drift of my thoughts.Collars block much, but not all. In moments of strong emotion... things surface.
The landscape blurred beneath us as we raced south, but it was clear we were fighting a losing battle against time and distance. The smoke column grew thicker as we approached, and I began to make out details that made my stomach clench with dread.
Dragons. Multiple shapes wheeling and diving through the smoke, their movements wild and organic compared to the rigid formations of Imperial forces. These weren't enslaved creatures following programmed responses—these were thinking beings making tactical decisions in real time.
"Gods," one of the other riders breathed, his voice carrying clearly in the thin air. "Look how they move."
He was right. There was something beautiful and terrible about the way the attacking dragons fought—not the rigid precision of military training, but the fluid adaptation of creatures thinking for themselves. They worked together without apparent coordination, each dragon seeming to know instinctively where the others would be.
Free dragons,Sirrax observed, and I could hear something like longing in his mental voice.See how move. Remember how was, before.
