“I have to admit, I was expecting way more storms. Those storm dragons need to up their game.”

Saskia stood aboard Iscaragraithe, looking out across the clear blue skies of Tarthaxis. Below, a wide river wound its way between stark, rocky hills. A pack of huge shaggy creatures lurked in the water, honking up at the airship. Looming ahead of them was a great deep split down the middle of Tarthaxis, rimmed on either side by jagged mountains. It looked as if some apocalyptic monster had taken hold of the branch and prised it apart. The silhouettes of distant dragons circled in the sky above the peaks, like tiny birds.

“Storm drackens are not what they once were,” said Rover Dog. “Abellion drove them from Ciendil long ago. Made a new home for themselves here on Tarthaxis. Here, removed from seed of storms, drackens are weakened.”

Huh. That wasn’t how it worked with other species. You either had a worldseed’s magic or you didn’t. After conception, proximity to the worldseed didn’t matter. The adorribles were a little different, though. Dragons might be another kind of different.

“They will be strong enough, yes?” said Zarie.

“To fight off the fire dragons?” said Saskia. “I really hope so…”

“Seed of storms is diminished from days of old,” said Rover Dog. “Storm drackens are empowered by worldseed, but also give power to worldseed. Together, both are stronger.”

Perhaps that explained why Ragnold, the dwarf from her recent dreams of Rover Dog, had seemed to possess the power of a tempest, but he’d also been able to do things she’d never seen a tempest do before; not even Zarie or the frostlings, who, as her vassals, had greater power than the rest of their kind. Ragnold had been an elementalist, not just a tempest—with the magic of both water and air at his fingertips. The frostlings could form ice, but that was different. Their magic simply cooled things, causing any water already in the air, or in another object, to freeze. Not even the power of two worldseeds let them control water in its unfrozen form.

“We don’t have time to go to the Vortex Roost and wait for them to recharge,” said Saskia. “Cloudtop burns. Several other queendoms have also fallen. We might already be too late.”

“We won’t need to take them there,” said Ruhildi. “Make them your vassals, and they’ll regain all the power they would have got from the seed of storms, and more.”

“If they agree to it, I suppose that’s an option,” said Saskia. “But why would they agree to be bound to me, someone they don’t know?”

“The alternative is to risk being bound to Abellion,” said Ruhildi. “They’d be fools to reject your offer.”

“I don’t know about that,” muttered Saskia. “Hell, we’re rocking up to the storm dragons inside the bones of a storm dragon! What could possibly go wrong?”

“’Twere your decision to bring Iscaragraithe, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “The airships are too slow. Nui is still with child, so she couldn’t bear us to Tarthaxis. And having her here in fire dracken form weren’t going to win friends among the storm drackens. Fire drackens are storm drackens’ natural enemies.”

Hearing Ruhildi spell it out for her, Iscaragraithe’s presence made a little more sense. Nuille must be due to lay her egg any day now (yeah, it still felt weird and a little squicky to think about that), so she obviously couldn’t risk a field trip. And with Grongarg burning, they had no time to waste. Even so, it was disconcerting to know she’d made a decision without remembering the mental steps that had brought her to it.

“What else have I done that I can’t remember?” she wondered aloud. She looked at her corrupted arm. “Are we any closer to fixing this?”

Zarie sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Her hands came away damp. Rover Dog let out a sigh. Odd. She’d never heard him sigh before. Ithanius simply looked uncomfortable.

It was a while before Ruhildi spoke. “After you got…worse, we went to Ciendil to consult Calburn. He told us there is no cure. ’Tis only a matter of time afore…”

Saskia’s breath caught in her throat. She’d suspected as much, but now it was a near-certainty. One way or another, her brief stay on Arbor Mundi was almost over.

“How much time?” she asked.

“I wish I kenned,” said Ruhildi. “Just ken that wherever you go, I’ll be coming with you.”

Saskia looked at her in surprise. That was one of her biggest worries. What would happen to Ruhildi when this body died? “Is that possible?”

“Aye, not only possible,” said Ruhildi. “It has already happened. I’m with you already, on Earth. I don’t understand how, but right now, there are two of me, just as there are two of you.”

Saskia felt her jaw drop. “Seriously? That’s fantabulous!” She frowned. “I take it I had another memory download from Earth during the…gap month, and now I can’t remember that, either.”

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “Not just you. I remember the past few…months on Earth.”

“I guess you’ll have to fill me in on that too, when we have more time,” said Saskia. She looked at Ithanius. “This may sound a bit rude, but why are you here? The others all have an obvious purpose here, other than to keep me company, but you?”

“My parents were elementalists, apparently,” said Ithanius. “And elementalists were close kin of the storm drackens. My presence might calm them. That’s the theory, anyway. And I had nothing better to do on Lumium, so…” He gave a very human-like shrug. “…here I am.”

“You can calm those ones, yes?” said Zarie.

She pointed outside, where two of the distant dragons had wheeled about in the air, and were swooping toward them. Would they see Iscaragraithe as a desecration? An enemy to be torn from the sky?

“Nice drackens,” murmured Ithanius as they drew closer. “Gooood drackens. You don’t want to hurt little old us, do you?”

Screeching, the dragons dove for them.

“It’s not working!” said Saskia. “Calm harder!”

Oh yeah, this had been such a bad idea. What had her forgotten self been thinking? Could Ruhildi control this pile of bones well enough to make Iscaragraithe fight them off?

Then, at the last second, both of the dragons banked sharply. Almost, their wings brushed against Iscaragraithe’s. Then they were hurtling past on either side of the bone dragon, setting it swaying violently in the wind of their passage. There was only so much Zarie and the frostlings could do to compensate for that. The dragons spun about in a corkscrew flight path, chirruping to each other.

“They’re playing,” said Saskia. She broke into a nervous chuckle.

“I’m not amused,” said Ruhildi. “I’ve a mind to paddle their scaly backsides.”

Some of the frostlings floated out to meet the dragons, spinning in mad spirals about the pair, who seemed entranced by the spears of lightning arcing groundward from the tiny critters. Halting their aerial manoeuvres, the dragons fell into a stationary hover, eyes tracking the adorribles like cats watching a dangled toy—or meal.

“Uh…I don’t think that’s such a good idea, little guys,” said Saskia. Granted, frostlings were too tiny to even count as light snacks for a dragon. Hopefully.

After watching them play for a few minutes, Saskia was starting to get the feeling these really were nice dragons. They weren’t trying to eat anyone, at least.

“Is there any way we can communicate with them?” she asked Rover Dog. “How were you planning to convince them to help us? Do you speak dragon?”

“Drackens not have words,” said Rover Dog. “They listen, sometimes. We find Great Scale. If he wants to fight for us, many other drackens will follow.”

“What, so this Great Scale’s like a dragon king, or chieftain?”

Rover Dog nodded, then tilted his head ambivalently. “Not all storm drackens follow Great Scale. They are very…individualistic. But he has greatest following.”

“Okay, good to know. And let me guess, Great Scale is deep inside dragon country.” She pointed to the great cleft between the mountains.

Rover Dog nodded. “If he is still alive. It has been…very long time.”

Entering dragon country, they began to attract considerable attention from the rest of the storm dragons. Not all were as friendly as the first playful pair. Some nipped at Iscaragraithe’s wings, until Zarie sent gusts of wind and spears of lightning to drive them away.

The further they went, the more dragons they saw in the sky, and sunning themselves on the mountainsides.

“They seem to be doing pretty well for themselves,” she said. “I thought you said they were weakened.”

“A little weaker in body,” said Rover Dog. “Much weaker in magic. Still have big teeth, claws; fast; strong. They are only weak compared to fire drackens.”

“What do they eat?” asked Saskia. “I don’t see many prey animals around here.”

“They do not eat mer, yes?” said Zarie.

“Most beasts are not so stupid as to live in dracken dens,” said Rover Dog. “Drackens range far to feed. They do not need to feed often.”

The largest dragon nest was high on a ledge, overlooking a steep scree slope at the back of the cleft. Deciding it wouldn’t make the best impression if they were to swoop down on the nest from above, Ruhildi and Zarie dropped Saskia, Rover Dog and Ithanius off further down the slope, then took to the skies, ready to come to their defence if needed.

Climbing this kind of loose, rocky terrain was often a case of sliding a step down for every two steps up. It was slower going than she’d have liked, but nothing they couldn’t handle.

They were nearly there when a shadow blotted out the sun, and something huge and blue and scaly slammed down onto the slope in front of them. Saskia stared up at the immense form looming over them, maw agape. Electricity arced from one of his wings as it folded back. She swallowed.

“Great Scale, I presume,” she murmured. “I thought you said they’d lost their storm magic.”

“Not all of them,” said Rover Dog. “Great Scale is more powerful than most.”

Rover Dog and Ithanius stepped toward the dragon, who craned his neck to peer down at them.

“Great Scale, it is I, Dougan,” said Rover Dog. “Long has it been since I basked in your magnificence. This is Ithanius, child of storm-kin. We come with…proposition.”

The dragon tilted his gigantic head from side to side. Saskia got the distinct impression he was saying the draconic equivalent of, “I’m listening. Speak your piece. Then I will decide whether to eat you.”

Okay, that last part was probably just her imagination. Probably.

Rover Dog spoke about their war against Abellion, and the fire dragons he controlled. He pointed up at the branches of the Crown of the World, high in the sky. Great Scale turned his head upward, and let out a snarl of rage.

“Yeah, we’re not big fans of his, either,” said Saskia.

Great Scale turned to regard her with slitted eyes, as if seeing her for the first time.

“I’m Saskia,” she said, giving him a wave. “Nice to…meet…”

Her words stumbled to a halt as his head drew back, and she found herself staring up into a gigantic gaping maw. Energy crackled between his jaws. The air around her seemed to vibrate.

He was either going to eat her, or smite her with a lightning bolt. Neither prospect was appealing. But she could do nothing to protect herself, because at that moment, the tremor of another seizure began to hold of her.

Rover Dog’s voice receded into the distance, even as the white fog of unconsciousness closed in around her. “Great Scale, she does not mean any disrespect. I ask only…”

His words faded away before she even hit the ground.

Then she was…somewhere else. Not the between, as she might have expected. She stood at the lip of a craggy outcropping of rock and windswept vegetation, rising from a raging vortex of air and clashing thunder. At this altitude, above the storm, the air was clear, but there was a brisk wind whistling around her. Beyond the outer edge of the storm, she could make out the roiling blue waters of a wide sea, and beyond that, the familiar geography of Ciendil. But Ciendil as it had been: lush and green, rather than the frozen, ash-covered landscape of today.

Another vision of the past, then. She hadn’t teleported, which meant her body was…yeah, best not to think about that.

This was an island. Perhaps a floating island, although she couldn’t see far enough down through the storm to confirm that hypothesis. The island stood—or floated—in the same location as the tower of the Vortex Roost did in her own time. So it hadn’t always been a tower? Fantasinating.

Something rose up through the raging storm: a stone platform, nestled in a bubble of calm air. On the platform stood two people, both of whom she recognised.

Ragnold, the dwarven elementalist, and Sarthea.

The platform set gently down at the cliff’s edge. Sarthea and Ragnold stepped down onto the island, and began to make their way inland. Saskia followed silently at their heels.

It wasn’t long before a large, azure-scaled form rose up from behind a copse of bent trees, regarding the pair with inquisitive eyes; eyes that seemed eerily familiar to Saskia.

“Fair greetings, young Oronchulon,” said Ragnold. “My companion and I wish to meet with your father, the Great Scale.”

The dragon tilted his head up the slope of the island’s central peak, pointing the way for them.

Nodding his appreciation, Ragnold led Sarthea up the mountainside. Oronchulon trailed a short distance behind them. Several more storm dragons sat on the rocky slope, and circled the skies above. As they climbed higher, Saskia began to discern a flickering blue-white light coming from inside the crater atop the peak. She was pretty sure she knew what that was…

Yup. She crested the edge of the crater, and there it was, still looking like a Tesla coil, electricity arcing into the air around it.

The seed of storms.

A series of small rocky huts lined the inner edge of the crater. Sarthea and Ragnold made their way to one of these huts, where they spoke briefly to a tall drengar, who pointed down into the crater.

At the base of the crater, a huge dragon stood guard over a clutch of eggs. Saskia could tell at a glance that he wasn’t the same Great Scale whom she’d just encountered in the waking world. This dragon had a wide, deep scar across his eye, and others down his flank. Two smaller dragons stood beside him—his mates, most likely. One leaned close, with her neck coiled about his.

Sarthea and Ragnold stepped gingerly toward the trio, until the dragons finally took notice of them.

“Great Scale, I have brought someone you will surely want to meet,” said Ragnold. “This is Sarthea of the Night, Dreamweaver, Wormbane, Champion of the Third Wall…”

Mother of Chains, and Breaker of Dragons, thought Saskia.

Sarthea raised her hand, breaking him off. “Just Sarthea, please.” She gazed up into the dragon’s eyes. “There is one among your kin with a certain spark…” Her lips curled up at her own words. “…that I seek. She will know who she is. I ask that you allow her to join me on a grand adventure. One that will shake this world to its foundations.”

Great Scale narrowed his eyes, and let out a low growl. Crackling energy seemed to erupt from his every pore, arcing into the ground around him. His mate unwound her neck from his, and nipped him in the side. The crackling—and growling—abruptly ceased, and he gazed at her with something very much like a wounded expression. Saskia stifled a giggle, even though they couldn’t hear her.

Great Scale’s mate lowered her head to Sarthea, and gazed into her eyes.

“Iscaragraithe?” said Ragnold, looking sidelong at Sarthea. “You seek the Great Scale’s consort?”

“If you wish to join us, you would be most welcome,” said Sarthea, meeting Iscaragraithe’s gaze levelly.

A good deal of what might be described as draconic bickering followed. It involved a bit of nipping, some wing-flapping, lots of lightning, and more than a few ear-splitting snarls.

Several minutes later, Great Scale was left gazing mournfully into the sky, as Iscaragraithe winged it, with Sarthea and Ragnold sitting astride her back.

Atop the crater wall, her son, Oronchulon, watched her go. Without crossing the intervening distance, Saskia found herself standing before him. In a matter of seconds, he expanded, growing to his full adult size. Saskia sucked in a breath, as she realised she was staring into the eyes of the present-day Great Scale.

How old must Oronchulon be, if he’d been alive in Sarthea’s time? She had no idea how long dragons usually lived, but they weren’t immortal. Only the eternals had been granted that mixed blessing. And maybe her own kind, although she was a little fuzzy about that.

Greatmother never came back, Oronchulon’s accusatory eyes seemed to say, though she heard no audible words. She died because of you, and now you come to me inside her hollow shell.

“I’m sorry,” said Saskia. “I didn’t know she was your mother. It was cruel of us to bring her here. But I wasn’t the one who got her killed. I’m not Sarthea.”

You do as she did. You seek to steal one of my mates away.

“No, you misunderstand! I’m not stealing anyone. I invite all of you to become my vassals. Yourself included.”

He let out a low rumble of discontent. Why would I agree to this? Why would a dracken serve a lowly creature such as you?

“You wouldn’t be serving me,” she said. “It would be a partnership. A mutually beneficial arrangement. You would gain power. I’d get your help, if you are willing.”

Power? What kind of power?

“A huge supply of essence, basically. As my vassals, your people could do as much stormy stuff as you want.”

And what do you ask in exchange for this power?

“Not eating me would be a great start. But also, the fire dragons are attacking my friends, and only you can stop them.”

Oronchulon snarled at the mention of the fire dragons.

“There’s one other thing I can offer you,” she said. She’d be stepping on some toes by doing this, but what the hell. “Once this is over, you can return to Ciendil if you wish. Although, I must warn you, it has…changed since the time when you were there.”

You offer our home to us? How? The tyrant will just drive us out again.

“That’s just it. I seek to slay the tyrant. Once he is gone, you, and I, and everyone will be free to go where we please.”

Oronchulon stood regarding her for a long moment. Then he threw back his head and roared up at the heavens.

I require proof that you can do as you say. Make a vassal out of Linitheleske, our weakest runt. If she can produce a spark, I will agree to become your…vassal, and help you devour the tyrant. And all who wish to follow will do likewise.

“That sounds reasonable,” she said. It was more than reasonable, actually.

If she cannot produce a spark, I will devour you.

“Okay, that’s…less reasonable. What’s with you and devouring? But I’d be happy to test the vassal bond on one of your smaller kin.”

Saskia awoke to the feel of an enormous sandpaper-like tongue smothering her face. She rolled away, spluttering, soaked from head to foot in dragon saliva.

“Now don’t get excited,” Ithanius was saying. “Trows aren’t very tasty, I assure you.”

Rover Dog looked as if he’d been about to gouge out the dragon’s eyes. Upon seeing Saskia was safe, he backed away, lowering his claws.

The one doing the licking had not been Oronchulon, the Great Scale. This dragon was less than a quarter his size, and had a distinctly feminine vibe.

“Oh,” she said, looking up at the runty dragon. “You must be Linitheleske.”

The dragon gave a happy chirruping sound, and a huge gobbet of drool splashed across Saskia’s face. She wiped it away with a sigh. Who would’ve thought dragons could be the slobbering puppies of this world?

“Okay, Zarie, could you bring Iscaragraithe down?” she said. “Slowly. We don’t want to alarm them. But I need to make this dragon my vassal, and for that, I’ll need the keystone.”

Linitheleske’s head drew close, and Saskia patted her lightly, drawing a crooning sound from the dragon. Then her hand halted mid-pat.

Something shone behind the dragon’s ear. She circled around, and let out a surprised, “Huh,” as she looked at a tiny bead of crystallised arlium.

“Maybe I won’t need the keystone, after all,” she murmured.

Could it be this easy? Was this a kind of natural focus, or did the dragons have arlium all throughout their bodies? If she extracted it, would it do to them what it had done to the creatures of Fireflower Isle?

Inspecting Linitheleske with her medical interface, she came to the conclusion that the arlium extended only a short distance under the dragon’s skin, and there was no trace of the stuff anywhere else in her body. Definitely looked like a focus…

Inspecting Oronchulon and other nearby dragons, she realised that many of them had visible foci as well—in different parts of their bodies. Some had more than one. Oronchulon had five hidden under his scales.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she said. She pressed her fingers against the bead of arlium behind Linitheleske’s ear.

A jolt of pleasure shot through her. And then a jolt of…ow. Electricity surged across Linitheleske’s body. Letting out a squawk of alarm, the runty dragon rolled about in the scree, as if trying to rub the lightning away.

“Don’t think it works that way, Linitheleske,” said Saskia. She throttled back the amount of essence flowing into her new vassal. Then she looked up at Oronchulon. “See? Lots of power. I actually had to limit it a little, to give her a chance to adapt.”

Even as she spoke, Oronchulon raised his head, and roared loud enough to set scree tumbling down the slope around them. Dragons swooped in from every direction. Some landed atop nearby rocks. Others hovered in the sky.

Iscaragraithe also came in to land at Saskia’s back. The dragons regarded the bones of their ancestor with curiosity, but they didn’t seem offended or unnerved by her presence.

“Anyone who becomes my vassal will regain the full magic of the seed of storms,” announced Saskia. “In return you’ll help me drive back some fire dragons. Step up if you accept these terms. I won’t take anyone against their will.” After a long pause, she added, “Unless you try to eat me.”

All of the storm dragons had foci inside in their bodies, although the younger generations had much smaller—and fewer—foci than Oronchulon. Maybe this was part of the reason why their magic was stunted. The arlium must have formed naturally as they grew, but those who had been raised away from Ciendil had absorbed less arlium from their environment. It was a simple matter to remotely extract the arlium from any storm dragons who consented, and bam! Instant vassal.

In short order, more than two thirds of them did consent to be her vassals. She hoped they would be enough.

Soon afterward, a thunder of storm dragons was soaring across Tarthaxis, led by Iscaragraithe and Oronchulon. It was really happening. She might just be able to save the trolls after all.

Checking in with her frostling vassals on Grongarg, her hope faltered and died. All of the major towns and cities were smouldering ruins. Though the wildlands had been left largely unscathed, anything even remotely resembling civilisation had been razed. It wasn’t an apocalypse on quite the same scale as Ciendil’s, but it would take the trolls many years to rebuild.

And there was worse to come. With the trolls and mer driven underground, or hiding in the wilds, the fire dragons were turning to a new target: the icy wasteland containing the seed of frost. All too soon, they had the place surrounded.

A solitary figure made his way toward the worldseed, where none but Saskia and Ruhildi and the frostlings had trod for untold thousands of years. Heat and blazing light radiated outward from his body, shrouded behind a moving column of steam.

Given that Okael was long dead, there was no question as to who this was. Xonroth the Primordial had come for frostling queen. Frostlings swarmed toward him from both within and without the heart of frost. Those outside found themselves driven back by dragonfire. Those already within the circle desperately flung their magic and their bodies at the advancing Primordial. With barely a glance, he slaughtered them all.

She watched with growing despair as he drew close to the frozen spire, and the enormous frostling trapped in its core. He reached for her…

Saskia reeled in her seat. She felt as if she’d suddenly been struck blind and deaf. There was a gaping void in her soul; an emptiness she couldn’t fill. She’d made the frostling queen her vassal, and with the queen’s loss, her connection to all of them had been severed.

The frostlings in the cabin were acting even more perturbed than she felt. They ran in circles, and crashed into walls, and lay on their backs, twitching and screeching.

A terrible dread settled over her as she contemplated what might happen, now that the nexus of their hive mind had been killed. Could they survive as individuals? Could she make them her vassals again? Even if that was possible, she’d have to come to them in person to do that. In a single instant, she’d lost her network of spies.

Saskia could no longer see what was happening on Grongarg, but she didn’t need to. She knew full well what would happen next. Their task completed, the fire dragons would swarm back up the trunk to their next target. There wasn’t much left for them to destroy on the surface of Ciendil, so they wouldn’t go there. No, they’d be heading straight for Lumium.

And they would get there before she did.