Skywall

A knock resounded on the side of the stone wall. Everyone in the room tensed, irritated. Lisbeth cast her eyes over to the curtain acting as a door.

“What is it?” Skywall huffed in irritation.

Very few dragons held sufficient authority to enter the War Room, and fewer still had the gall to interrupt an active meeting of the War Council. It couldn’t be Mirek – while he was clueless and overindulged enough to think it permissible, he’d just come in instead of knocking. It could be Westward turning up late – he was technically entitled to a seat as the leader of the Religious Council, although he rarely bothered showing up.

“I bring news of a raid.” A muffled voice thick with tears came through from the other side. Skywall couldn’t place it. Too nervous to come in. Good.

“You can tell us about it later.” Lisbeth said dismissively decided. “Talk to Immer or Liquid and they’ll pass it on.”

Alyosha, Adamska, Skywall and Svetlana made noises of agreement. They needed to work out how to consolidate their territorial gains, this was no time to mourn the fallen. So many were dead and dying. Sometimes Skywall felt that if they stopped, they would not be able to start again.

The shadow lingered at the door, reluctant to leave. Perhaps they had lost someone close to them. So be it. They all had.

“If we send Warren in solo with Svetlana supporting him from the air we should be able to do some serious damage.” Lisbeth suggested, apparently ignoring the person at the door. “Maybe if we can cloak him we could get him in unawares. Then Plagia and Bubbles can come in on the sides. We need to start using the ridgebacks more.”

Svetlana frowned. “While I can defend myself well enough, I cannot protect the ridgebacks. Especially not three at once – you know how it’d be. He’d be swarmed by mirrors and we’d lose one of our best three fighters.”

“Well, what would you suggest? We have to use him, and apparently he can’t fight alongside other ground troops because he’d slice them apart. The only other viable option is solo.”

“But we don’t have to send him out against an entire army alone! Warren is better suited for fighting small groups of enemies.”

Lisbeth shook her head. “Anyone could take down a small group of enemies. We need Warren to start taking risks like the rest of us.” She rubbed at her leg absent-mindedly. It was still healing from their last battle – even the Clan’s tactician wasn’t exempt from the fighting, talented combat mage that she was.

Skywall sighed. He hated that he, one of the Clan’s three leaders, should have to physically endanger himself. When had they gotten that desperate? At the beginning of the Great Migration it had been like their other bids for territory – bloody but brief with minimal casualties. But moments later more dragons struck, and after that still more. Their enemies were diseased zombies, many undead reanimated to serve in vast armies. They did not tire; barely even stopped moving when cut up badly enough. It was a stark contrast with their Clan and its many non-plague denizens perpetually struggling with disease. They almost seemed outmatched…

“Skywall? We need to talk.” He startled at his name. Someone was peeking through the doorway. The intruder. It was… Obadiah? The mate of one of his daughters. A common scout.

Worry seized his heart. Could it be Griefswald, his daughter? Skywall picked up his pearl and left in a haze. He noticed that Obadiah was shaking. The lightning nocturne had a rock clutched in one claw, instinctively mimicking Skywall.

“Who was it?” Skywall demanded, chest tight.

Obadiah’s eyes were closed. “All of them.”

Skywall’s pearl fell out of his hand and rolled across the floor. He didn’t look to see where it had gone or retrieve it. Instead, he picked up Obadiah and slammed the smaller dragon against the wall.

“Who was it? Griefswald?”

Obadiah nodded. More tears kept falling. Skywall felt his muscles lock.

“…Liquid?” He felt so sick.

Obadiah nodded, his body vibrating with sob after sob. Skywall’s vision went black. He couldn’t even hear himself ask the third name.

“Ostsee..?”

A nod. Skywall fell to his knees.

“Nordsee?”

His voice was barely a whisper, but Obadiah heard and he answered in the affirmative.

“Immer?” His voice shook. Please not her. Mother to his children, treasured consort… Her daughter, Cadell lived in the Clan…

Obadiah nodded, entire body quaking, and Skywall threw up.

He couldn’t think of another name. Of someone else to lose. It felt like there couldn’t be more to lose – couldn’t be worse than this. But he kept saying names, almost unconsciously, inching towards destruction, and Obadiah kept nodding.

The last name: “Eel?” A part of his brain prayed for her safety in particular. She was High Priestess – her loss would destroy the Clan.

“Beelzebub is safe.”

Relief crashed through his body. There were three of them left, then. Three from the largest family in the Clan. Skywall stared straight ahead, unthinking. Distantly, he registered Svetlana asking if he needed healing. After an uncertain amount of time he stood and found that she had left, as had Obadiah. Somehow he found himself in front of Lisbeth.

“Wyrmwound.” He said before she could give her condolences. “It’s not worth it. It’s just more of this. More disease.”

Lisbeth knew him too well to argue. He wouldn’t listen to her anyway, she was plague. Not like him. Instead, she asked a more useful question.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He said blankly, wondering if he was really that easy to read.

“Good luck.” Her eyes were dark. “I hope we’ll be here when you get back. Svetlana. Beelzebub. Obadiah. You’re sure you wouldn’t rather stay and fight for what you have left?”

He didn’t reply. Turned and walked away, kept walking. Left the Clan. Left the Rotrock Rim. Left the entire Wandering Contagion.

It was three days before he realized that he’d forgotten his pearl.