Heat blazed across Sunny’s scales. She burrowed into the sand, feeling the tiny particles drift across her talons and tail. The Obsidian Mirror caught the sunshine as if it were trying to suck all the light into itself, and the black wisps of smoke on its surface looked like small sandstorms.
“Why wouldn’t we go straight to Burn’s stronghold?” Fierceteeth’s voice demanded.
“Because she’ll have us slaughtered the moment she sees us coming,” Preyhunter said impatiently. “Burn is a ‘kill first, ask questions later’ kind of dragon.”
“It makes sense to start at the Scorpion Den,” Strongwings agreed. “We can find someone there to take a message to Burn that we want to see her.”
Sunny closed her eyes. The Scorpion Den. That might be where my parents live.
“I thought the Scorpion Den was full of lowlifes and criminals,” said Fierceteeth.
“It is,” said Preyhunter.
It is? thought Sunny. Is that what my parents are?
“But they’re the kind of criminals who know how to get things done, from everything I’ve heard,” said Strongwings. “That’s exactly what we need right now. Besides, the Scorpion Den isn’t far — just over those dunes.”
Sunny sat up and narrowed her eyes against the bright glare of the sun. The NightWings were far ahead of her, but she thought she could see a dark shape against the sand off in the distance, which might be the Scorpion Den.
“All right, all right,” Fierceteeth grumbled. “Waste of time, if you ask me.”
Sunny cleared the mirror, feeling excitement prickle through her scales. She knew it was unlikely that she’d find out something about her past in the Scorpion Den, but it was still the closest she’d ever been to her parents. Even if they were criminals, she still wanted to know who they were.
Also, a detour to the Scorpion Den would give her more time to slow down the NightWings. She still hadn’t come up with any plans to stop them from telling Burn everything.
In the distance she saw the tiny black shapes lift into the sky. Cautiously she followed them. There was really nowhere to hide in the desert, unless she burrowed under the sand, so she was staying as far back as possible.
But it was hard to stop her wings from beating faster and faster as they drew closer to the Scorpion Den. Sunny could see that it was a walled city full of winding alleyways, ramshackle stone buildings, tattered canopies, and dilapidated tents in colors that had been faded by the sun over a long period of time. And it seethed with dragons: scales glittered from every shadow and venomous tails slithered around corners.
She was so preoccupied staring at the town that she had to stop herself abruptly in midair when she realized that the three NightWings had not gone inside, but were standing outside the tall gates at the single entrance. It looked as though they were arguing with the muscular SandWing guard, who stood with her wings folded back and her tail raised menacingly.
Sunny dropped quickly to the sand, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She flattened herself against the dune, even though she knew her scales were not quite the right color for camouflage.
Now that she was still, she could hear the dragons’ voices shouting.
“You have no right to stop us!” Fierceteeth roared. “Can’t you see that we’re NightWings?”
“Yeah,” answered the guard. “So read my mind. The part that says go eat your tails.”
“We have business in the Scorpion Den,” Preyhunter insisted.
“No one gets inside without a contribution to the Outclaws,” the guard said firmly.
“The Outclaws?” said Preyhunter. “That’s what you call yourselves? You must be joking.”
“Are you asking for treasure?” Fierceteeth demanded. “Of course we don’t have treasure! Our home was just —”
“Surely you can make an exception for us,” Strongwings interjected, cutting her off. “I mean, we’re NightWings.”
“And?” said the guard.
There was a pause. Sunny grinned, imagining the apoplectic fit Fierceteeth was probably having.
“We could give you a prophecy,” Preyhunter suggested after a moment.
“Hah,” the guard said, sounding moderately more interested. “That would be funny. Qibli! Tell Thorn we have three NightWings offering their pathetic services.”
“I think you mean prophetic services,” Fierceteeth said.
“Uh-huh,” said the guard skeptically.
There was a long silence as everyone waited. Sunny wriggled higher up on her dune, hoping for a view of the city gates, but a long slope of sand dotted with prickly spheres of cacti blocked her way.
What can I offer the guard to get inside the Scorpion Den? she wondered. She glanced down at the Obsidian Mirror. It was the only thing she had — was it worth giving up her one advantage over the NightWings? On the other talon, she knew she’d be happy to have its sinister weight out of her claws. But on the third talon, she didn’t know who would end up with their claws on this potentially dangerous weapon. What might the Outclaws do with it?
Hmmm. Moreover, even if she didn’t offer it to them, what was to stop a band of outlaws from just taking it? Sunny thought for a moment, then quickly dug a hole in the sand next to one of the cactus balls and buried the mirror. Of course there wasn’t anything here to help her distinguish one brownish rolling sand dune from the next. She’d have to cross all her claws and hope she’d be able to find it again. But a dangerous mirror nobody could find was better than a dangerous mirror floating around the Scorpion Den, surely.
She lifted her head as the guard below spoke. “All right,” he said. “Thorn wants to see you, don’t ask me why. Follow Qibli — and no funny business.”
Sunny waited as long as she could bear it, then scrambled up and started over the dune.
A SandWing was standing there, no more than three steps away, staring straight at her as if he’d been waiting for her. His side was pocked and dented with old scars, and he had six claws on each foreleg, instead of five. She had no idea where he’d come from, or how he’d snuck up on her so quickly and quietly.
“Oh!” she yelped.
“That means you, too,” he said calmly.
“M-m-me too what?” Sunny stammered.
He tilted his head and studied her curiously, registering the odd color of her scales and eyes, and no doubt noticing her venomless tail as well.
“You’re to come before the Outclaws as well. Thorn wants to know why you’re following those scumdwellers.” He jerked his head in the direction of the den and the NightWings. Sunny had never heard anyone refer to NightWings with that much disrespect before, except perhaps Tsunami or Glory.
“I’m — I’m not following anybody,” Sunny said, folding her wings back. She could hear how unconvincing she sounded.
He shrugged. “Lie to me all you want, but I wouldn’t recommend trying it with Thorn.” He flicked his tail and she flinched away. “Come.”
It was not a request. At least he wasn’t threatening to chain her up — and at least going with him would mean getting into the Scorpion Den without the problem of payment.
“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “Take me to Thorn.”
They flew down to the city gates and the guard nodded impassively as they went past her, straight into a crooked stone alleyway with steps leading up and down. Sharp, spicy cooking smells filled the air, along with the scents of smoke and crowds of overheated dragons. The streets around them were lined with rickety stalls and tents, and voices began pressing in on Sunny.
“Crocodile stew? Roasted scorpion? Bag of crickets?”
“Bet you’d like some gold for them golden scales!”
“Stock up on brightsting cactus — you never know when you might need it!”
“Need anyone killed, little lady? Here, take my card.”
A small, flat piece of metal, inscribed with a name, was pressed into Sunny’s talons, and the SandWing who’d given it to her vanished almost immediately. Sunny blinked and glanced up at the dragon escorting her.
“Whose is it?” he asked, plucking it out of her claws. “Nah, you don’t want him. Too expensive, barely competent.” He tossed the card into another stall as they went by, and a snout poked out of a pile of carpets to growl at them.
“Ouch!” Sunny yelped as someone rushed past and stepped on her tail. She tried to sidestep a pair of quarreling dragons and got smacked in the face by a sandy wing.
These streets are so narrow … and there are so many of them…. They must accidentally scratch each other with their tails all the time. She looked more closely at the stalls around her and realized that many of them sold the cactus that was the antidote to SandWing venom. As far as she could see, it was nearly as popular as the giant camel-hide pouches of water being sold by every other merchant, or the tiny blue dragons and shiny black spheres that also seemed to share all the tables with other merchandise.
A wooden signboard caught her eye: three dragons’ faces carved under the words wanted. Sunny twisted to try and stare at the faces as her guard hurried her past. She could have sworn one of them was Dune … and one of the others was … but surely it couldn’t be …
Her guard steered her through the tangles of dragons, keeping one wing firmly settled against her back. Other dragons jumped out of his way when they spotted him, or ducked their heads as he went by, or slipped into shadowy corners, hissing. Soon Sunny realized that the same wooden wanted sign was posted everywhere, hung from walls, pinned to tent flaps, and nailed to the stallboards. She got a chance to peer at one more closely when they paused to let a cart of gold-painted boxes clatter by.
It really does look like Morrowseer. Morrowseer, Dune, and a NightWing I’ve never seen before. But why? And who’s looking for them?
There was small print below the pictures, but Sunny didn’t get to read it before her guard hurried her on.
Nearly all the dragons she saw were SandWings, although she also spotted a couple of scarlet SkyWings and even, once, the pale blue scales of an IceWing, who must have been miserable in this heat. She also noticed a lot of war wounds: dragons with missing talons, mangled wings, clawed-up snouts, or ripped ears, many of them huddling in the spaces between the stalls, skinny and wretched.
Although she was sure the Scorpion Den was a dangerous place to live, she guessed that a lot of dragons came here to hide from the war — either before they could be pressed into service, or after they’d been so badly injured that they couldn’t bear to fight anymore.
One SandWing limped up to them and did an odd half salute to Sunny’s guard. “Going off-duty, sir.” He paused and squinted at Sunny, and she realized that he had a long scratch across one of his eyes that had also torn up part of his nose. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she was sure she would have remembered that scratch.
“Addax, quit reporting to me all the time,” the guard said. “That’s not how the Outclaws work. Also, I told you to stop calling me ‘sir.’ ”
“Yes. Right. Right.” The dragon coughed, clearly swallowing another “sir.” “Uh, who’s your guest?”
Sunny sidled closer to her escort, wishing Addax would stop staring at her. Her guard seemed to sense this; he casually spread his big wings to shield her from view.
“Just a visitor for Thorn,” he said. “Carry on.”
Addax bobbed his head and shuffled off into the crowd.
“Some of these former soldiers have a hard time breaking their military habits,” the big SandWing said to her. “But Addax is harmless, don’t worry.”
Sunny twisted to look back and saw that the limping SandWing had stopped in the shade of a stall that seemed to be selling poisons. His black eyes stared through her, and even when she ducked behind her guard’s wings again and after they’d crossed several more alleys, she still felt a prickling, creeping feeling along her spine, as if his gaze were following her.
They wound their way toward the center of the city, stooping under torn canopies and tripping over uneven cobblestones. Sunny could smell something new up ahead, like exploded fruit, and she caught a glimpse of dark green through the gaps ahead of her, incongruous against the sand-colored buildings, faded orange tents, and red or black brick walls.
A dragonet suddenly stumbled in front of Sunny, holding out its front claws.
“Hungry!” he bleated.
His pale yellow scales were slathered with dirt, and he was tiny, with bony ribs sticking out along his chest. His black eyes caught Sunny, and she stared down at him helplessly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t have anything.”
The dragon beside her leaned forward and caught the dragonet before he could run off again, casually pinning the little one’s tail to the ground with one talon.
“Don’t hurt him!” Sunny cried, but the guard didn’t even look at her.
“Where’s your guardian, squirt?” he asked the dragonet.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” cried a female SandWing, hurrying out of a nearby alley. “I would never have let him bother you, sir. Please forgive us.” She grabbed the dragonet and clutched him to her. He drooped, no energy left to wriggle away.
“You must be new here,” said the six-clawed dragon, squinting at her. “He shouldn’t be starving like that. Dragonets up to eight years old get a free meal every morning after sunrise at the pool. Start sending him, and he’ll be the size of a real dragon soon.”
The SandWing shivered and ducked her head. “But, sir,” she whispered. “I heard that was a trick.”
He sighed impatiently. “Let me guess — we feed them and then grab them to turn them into Outclaws, am I right?” She flinched, and her wings folded closer around the dragonet. “Listen, we’re not out to abduct a bunch of scrawny youngsters who’d be more trouble than they’re worth. Thorn just wants to make sure no more dragonets die of hunger in the Scorpion Den. It’s not complicated.”
“Yes, sir,” the SandWing whispered.
“Look, send him tomorrow morning, or I’ll come after you myself,” he said.
She nodded and scuttled away, keeping the dragonet under her wing.
“Some dragons,” muttered Sunny’s guard.
“Is that true?” Sunny asked. “The … um, Outclaws feed all the dragonets in the Scorpion Den?”
He shifted his wings up and down and scowled. “We try to. Dragons don’t change easily, though, especially in a place like this. And especially when someone’s trying to help them. Brainless worms,” he muttered, turning to stalk away again.
Sunny wasn’t sure that she would trust a gift from this dragon either.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she caught up to walk beside him.
He looked down at her, his black tongue flicking in and out. “Six-Claws.”
“Oh,” Sunny said, glancing at his odd talons, and then, before she could stop herself, “Your parents were feeling pretty creative.”
He barked a laugh that made several dragons around them leap into the nearest hiding place in terror. Sunlight glinted off his light yellowish-brown scales as he held up one of his front legs and examined the six wickedly sharp claws there. “I guess so. Yours?”
“I’m Sunny,” she said. “I never met my parents.” She chanced a sideways look at his face, but there was no reaction there. He was old enough to be her father, and from the way he walked and talked, she guessed he’d been in the Scorpion Den for a while. Plus he had those six claws — maybe peculiar defects ran in the family. Maybe he hadn’t commented on her tail yet because he’d seen other dragons with the same flaw … dragons related to him.
Or maybe I’m totally desperate.
They stepped down a set of five stone stairs and their talons sank into sand. Sunny tore her gaze away from Six-Claws and saw that the shadows of tents and canopies had been replaced by the sweeping shade of large palm fronds.
There was an oasis in the middle of the Scorpion Den.
Well, that makes sense, Sunny realized. Why else would dragons build a city here?
She could see a rippling pool of greenish-blue water in the middle of the sand and the palms. She could also see multiple well-armed, dangerous-looking dragons patrolling around the outskirts of it.
“Are those all Outclaws?” she asked. “You guard the water in the Scorpion Den?”
“In the desert, she who controls the water, controls everything,” Six-Claws said.
“And here that ‘she’ is Thorn,” Sunny guessed.
Six-Claws nodded toward a large white tent set up beside the water. The walls billowed like swans’ wings, and venomous tail points stuck out under the edges here and there. Two particularly mean-looking SandWings guarded the entrance, where a flap had been rolled up to allow dragons to pass through.
As they approached, Sunny spotted a flash of black scales through the doorway and ducked behind Six-Claws.
He peered over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”
“I don’t want them to see me,” she whispered.
“The NightWings?” he asked. “The ones you were … not following?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
Sunny had a pretty strong feeling that it wouldn’t be wise to reveal her connection to the prophecy. Even if the Outclaws didn’t immediately sell her to Burn, someone else in the Scorpion Den was sure to pounce on that opportunity.
“They tried to kill me,” she said. That was basically true.
Six-Claws looked amused. “Here’s some free advice. When a dragon tries to kill you, fly the opposite way.”
“I’m keeping an eye on them,” she said, bristling. “I need to know what they’re planning.”
“That’s up to Thorn now,” he said. “Come along, and stay behind me.”
Sunny’s heart thumped as they approached the tent. Should she try to run? Wasn’t it possible — even likely — that Thorn and the NightWings would team up to sell her to Burn? Thorn was the leader of a gang of criminals, after all.
Sunny wouldn’t get far in this city, though, not with the Outclaws after her. Even in a place full of SandWings, she’d stick out like a fire on a dark night. She tried to keep the memory of the hungry dragonet in her head as she ducked under the soft white flap of the tent. A leader of criminals who fed small dragons didn’t sound so bad. Maybe Thorn could be reasoned with.
The three NightWings were seated in a row on a bright orange carpet woven with alternating purple and white claw shapes. A skylight in the tent ceiling was positioned to shine a ray of sunlight down on them, beaming bright and hot straight into their faces. Sunny had a feeling that was deliberate. They were surrounded on all sides by SandWings, many of them rippling with scars or missing teeth, as if they’d fought hard for a place in this tent and weren’t planning to move anytime soon.
The only clear spot was at the far end of the tent, where a pile of woven sky-blue rugs was arranged on a dais. After a few moments, the sound of laughter came from outside, and five more SandWings pushed their way into the tent.
Sunny could tell which one was Thorn immediately, although she was smaller than the others, and she wasn’t wearing more treasure than anybody else. A solitary gold bracelet circled one of her upper forearms: a chain of flying dragons made from twisted wires. Around her neck hung a simple copper chain with a moonstone pendant — an odd jewel to find in the desert, Sunny thought.
Her scales were sandy yellow and dappled with a pattern of small brown speckles down her back and along her wings. She looked young — probably barely twenty years old, if Sunny had to guess. Most dragons grew quickly for the first seven years of their lives, and then a little bit each year after that, so the oldest dragons were usually the largest, like Morrowseer and Burn and Grandeur. But Thorn was wiry and compact and looked as if she might stay that way no matter how long she lived.
What was it that made her seem so clearly the leader of this group? She was laughing with the others as they came in, but she walked a step ahead of them, her wings half open and tilted forward as if she had somewhere to be, and her eyes scanning the room as if she were searching for something. She radiated an intense energy; even Sunny caught herself wanting to follow her wherever she went next.
The laughter dropped from Thorn’s eyes when she spotted the three NightWings. She curled her tail up threateningly before stalking around them and climbing onto the dais. Sunny was glad not to be the one under that glare.
“NightWings,” Thorn said darkly. “Well, well, well. We haven’t had any of you visit our fine city in about seven years.”
“Why would we?” Fierceteeth challenged. “We’re only here now because we want to make a deal with Burn.”
“We need someone to take her a message,” Strongwings added.
Thorn leaned forward. “That’s irrelevant to me. Where is Morrowseer?”
All three NightWings looked startled.
“You know Morrowseer?” Preyhunter stammered.
“Unfortunately,” Thorn growled. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll seriously consider not killing you.”
Preyhunter flared his wings and several Outclaws took a menacing step toward him. “You can’t kill us!” he protested. “We’re NightWings!”
“I assure you NightWings die just as easily as any other dragon,” Thorn said. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“No, no, no,” Strongwings said hurriedly. “We’ll tell you what we know.”
“In exchange for a messenger to Burn,” Fierceteeth interjected.
“In exchange for your lives,” Thorn countered calmly. “I’m not sending any of my Outclaws into that deathpit. Most of them are here expressly because they’re trying to avoid her.”
“But —” Fierceteeth started.
“Morrowseer’s dead,” Preyhunter blurted out. “He died just a few days ago.”
There was a terrible silence. One of the dragons who’d come in last took a step toward Thorn, reaching out tentatively, her expression a surprising mix of horror and sympathy.
Thorn’s face contorted into a fury like nothing Sunny had ever seen before. With a cry of rage, she leaped off the dais, seized Preyhunter by the throat, and flung him to the ground, where she pinned him with her claws and swung her tail over his heart.
Fierceteeth and Strongwings didn’t have time to react before Outclaws were there, holding them back. It wasn’t necessary, though; Sunny could see that they were too terrified to do anything to help Preyhunter.
“Ssssay that again,” Thorn hissed in Preyhunter’s face.
“H-he’s dead!” Preyhunter stammered. “Isn’t that good news? It sounded like you hated him — aren’t you glad he’s dead?”
“He can’t be dead,” Thorn said. “Tell me the truth, you lying bag of bones. Tell me how to get to your secret home and where Morrowseer is and what he did to —” She cut herself off abruptly.
“I can’t tell you any of that,” Preyhunter whined. “We’re not allowed to! But I promise you Morrowseer is dead — really, really, really dead.”
“No!” Thorn shouted. A burst of flame shot out of her mouth, scorching a spot beside Preyhunter’s neck. He screamed with fear, and two Outclaws jumped forward to beat out the flames on the carpet before the fire reached the tent. At the same moment, Preyhunter convulsed and lashed out, slicing at Thorn’s underbelly with his sharp talons.
“Moons-blasted crocodile spawn!” Six-Claws roared, knocking dragons aside as he leaped at Preyhunter. Another SandWing, a male dragonet around Sunny’s age, also darted forward from the other side.
But they weren’t fast enough.
Thorn’s tail stabbed down into the NightWing’s heart, and with a shriek of pain, Preyhunter collapsed underneath her, dead.