Qibli was on fire. He was buried in sand in the middle of the desert, the sun beating down on him, as dry branches snapped into flames all around him. His scales were melting, but he couldn’t move a muscle or twitch a talon.
Wake up, wake up. Dragons are dying. Wake up, wake up, you have to save them.
He clawed his way out of the dream with excruciating slowness and finally opened his eyes to find Winter sitting beside him, staring glumly at his talons.
Qibli was pleased to see his earring glowing in Winter’s ear. (Even if Winter was right and it did clash horribly with the IceWing’s scales.) They were in a sunbaked brick room with light pouring in the windows and skylights. Qibli glanced down and saw that his arm was submerged in a cauldron of heated water. It still looked damaged here and there, but most of the scales had returned to their normal color, and he could feel all his talons again.
“All right. I’m ready,” he said to Winter.
Winter snapped his head up and stared at him. “You’re … ready for what?”
“Your heartfelt apology,” said Qibli. “The tragic face is a good start, but I’m sure the speech is even better.”
Winter scowled at him. “My apology? You’re the one who attacked me! I was defend —” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Why must you make everything impossible?” he growled.
“Needs work,” said Qibli. “But maybe it gets sappier as it goes along. Sorry, I’ll shut up and listen attentively now.” He put on his most sincere, thoughtful face.
“I am sorry,” Winter said grumpily. “I can’t believe I did that to you.” He glanced at Qibli’s arm, winced, and looked away quickly.
“Well, you know, evil spell,” Qibli said, waving one of his wings as if he was clearing away smoke. “The important thing is that you can think clearly now. Do you feel better?”
“No,” Winter huffed. “Because now I feel like an idiot. A friend-freezing, enchanted-moony-eyed idiot.”
“Friend!” Qibli cried with delight. “You called me your friend! You DO adore me! Life goals: accomplished.”
“I’m just saving syllables,” Winter snapped. “‘Friend’ is faster to say than ‘annoying clawmate.’” He hesitated. “I wish I could blame the spell,” he said in a lower voice. “But I was so angry, and so afraid of any magic that would change me the way Hailstorm was changed …”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s sand in the wind,” Qibli said.
“I’m going to kill Darkstalker,” Winter said. “I promise you that. It’ll be bloody and long-winded. He’ll be sorry he started another war with the IceWings. He’ll be sorry he messed with my mind. Rrrrrrrrgh, I knew he was evil — I mean, when my mind was my own, I knew it. I don’t understand what Moon sees in him.”
There was an uncomfortable beat while they both thought about Moon.
I wish I knew she was safe. Or what she’s doing. I wish she could come tell me what to do. Qibli looked around for his pack, wondering if Turtle had finally sent an update.
“Maybe she’s under a spell, too,” Winter suggested.
“Maybe,” Qibli said. “Although she trusted him even before he had his powers back, remember? Just from talking to him in her mind.”
Winter growled softly.
“First things first,” said Qibli. “Did Queen Thorn send protection earrings to the IceWings?”
“You said that before you passed out,” Winter said. “But there were only two left in your bag. Typhoon agreed to take them and fly as fast as he could to Queen Glacier’s palace.”
“What?” Qibli sat up fast, spilling hot water over the sides of the cauldron his arm was in. “That’s not enough! I can give him more!”
“He already left,” Winter said, pushing Qibli’s arm back under the water. “The minute we found the other earrings in your bag. I wanted to give him mine as well — but Queen Thorn said she wasn’t sure what I would do if I went back under Darkstalker’s spell.” He fiddled guiltily with the tassels of the rug Qibli was lying on.
“I agree with her. What time is it now?” Qibli asked.
“Late afternoon,” said Winter. “The queen’s healers gave you something to make you sleep longer.”
“No, no, no, sleeping, arrrrrrgh,” Qibli said, pulling his arm out of the cauldron and shaking water droplets off it. He rolled off the rug and hurried to the nearest shelf, where someone had left his pack.
While he slotted the parts of the bowl together, he checked the slate — but there were no new messages from Turtle. It’s been an awfully long time. Could I have missed one while I slept? I thought he said messages wouldn’t disappear unless I erased them. But then what has he been doing for two days? Has Darkstalker caught him? Did Tsunami ever find them?
Is Moon all right?
He dropped his own earring into the bowl and whispered, “Twice as much, please,” hoarsely. Winter watched, open-mouthed, as an identical earring popped into existence beside the first.
“Whoa. Are you secretly an animus dragon, too?” he asked.
“No,” Qibli said ruefully. Thanks to you, whispered a bitter, dark side of his brain, which he hustled back into darkness as quickly as he could. “It turns out some of Turtle’s spells aren’t as useless as they look.”
He put his own earring back on. “Get me a large sack,” he said to Winter. “And two dragons — one willing to fly to Possibility, and another that can make it to Queen Glacier’s palace.”
Winter hurried out of the room without arguing. By the time he returned, Qibli had made a pile of two hundred and fifty-six earrings and was starting again with eight. Thirty-two was the maximum the bowl could hold, so it was not as fast a process as it could have been with a larger bowl. (Turtle, Qibli thought disapprovingly, and then caught himself — poor Turtle had never guessed that his little food bowl would be used or needed for such a strange, urgent task.)
“Holy smoking vipers,” Thorn said, coming into the room behind Winter, with another SandWing at her side. “Qibli, what in the world are you doing — no, I see what you’re doing, so the question is how.”
“Animus magic,” Qibli said, holding out the bowl. “We have a friend who made this and the earrings. It means I can create more for all the IceWings. If I’m right, and the plague is sent by Darkstalker, it should cure them instantly.”
Thorn watched him intently as he made more and more earrings. “Can’t this animus friend just make a spell to stop Darkstalker completely? Perhaps instantly make everyone in Pyrrhia immune to his magic? Or send something to kill him? I thought animus magic could do that kind of thing.”
“The magic can, but this particular dragon can’t,” Qibli answered. Poor Turtle, so afraid of everything — afraid of being discovered, afraid of making the wrong decision, afraid of killing. That’s a good thing, though. Better an animus who’s afraid to kill than an animus who has no problem with it.
“Are we entirely sure this animus is to be trusted?” Thorn asked. She picked up one of the earrings from the growing pile. “There’s no hidden spell in these? How would we know if there was?”
Qibli took his earring off. “Look,” he said. “I can take it on and off freely. I am still myself, with or without it. It just cleared my head of the spell that made me find Darkstalker so charming and trustworthy.”
“But the spell on him —” Thorn said, pointing to Winter with her tail.
“Was different,” Qibli said. “Targeted to make Winter worship him and agree with everything he said, I suspect.”
Winter growled again and started pacing the width of the room.
The queen cupped the earring she held in her talons and squinted at the warm amber glow. Qibli wondered if she was thinking about how small it was, to protect against such a dangerous dragon. “Does Sunny have one?” she asked.
Qibli nodded. “Everyone at Jade Mountain should be wearing one now.”
“Then I want them for the SandWings next, after the IceWings,” she said. “I want one for every dragon in my kingdom.” She thought for a moment. “And all the queens. You must have sent one to Glory, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t know if she got it,” Qibli answered.
“I’ll check the Obsidian Mirror, but if we can’t tell for sure, let’s send another. I’ll have a dragon go through the tunnel — three dragons, so the other two can go to Coral and Moorhen.”
“We’re going to inflict Qibli’s terrible fashion sense on this whole continent?” Winter asked, joking awkwardly.
“I’m afraid we have no choice,” said Queen Thorn.
“I think you mean ‘wow, what a lot of lucky, soon-to-be-stylish dragons,’” Qibli said. He glanced at the slowly growing pile of earrings. “Um … how many dragons would that be?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Keep making them. This is my fastest messenger; she will take as many as she can carry to Possibility, for the IceWings there.”
“And I’ll take the rest to the Ice Kingdom,” said Winter.
“Will they let you in?” Qibli asked in between “twice as much, please” whispers. “Will they trust you? Don’t they think you’re dead?”
“Yes — but if I’m there to save lives, surely …” Winter trailed off, as if he wasn’t actually sure how his tribe would receive him, magic-plague cure or not.
“One of the IceWings in Possibility can take the rest of the earrings to the Ice Kingdom as soon as they’re healed,” Thorn ordered. “It’s essentially on the way; we won’t lose much time. You stay here and figure out how we’re going to fight this demon dragon.”
She turned and swept out of the room, muttering calculations under her breath.
Before long, the sack was full. The messenger seized it in her claws and soared out the window. They could see her pale scales flashing in the sky as she shot away toward Possibility.
I hope this works, Qibli prayed. I hope I’m not sending false hopes to all these dragons.
The day faded into evening, the golden light into deep purple dusk outside. Qibli kept making earrings. Winter brought him food and water and took over whispering to the bowl while Qibli wolfed down the meal and checked the slate again. Turtle, WHERE ARE YOU?
“I just had a horrible thought,” Winter said as Qibli took the bowl back.
“No, thank you,” Qibli answered. “I’ve got quite enough of my own.”
Winter barreled on. “Darkstalker can see the future, remember? So if this works, mustn’t he know by now that his plan to wipe out the IceWings will fail?”
Qibli felt that cold talon slide down his spine again. “Maybe the future doesn’t completely change until the earrings get there — maybe we have a little time before he notices. But you’re right, surely he will soon. I wonder if that will make him suspicious about who’s working against him,” he said. Poor Turtle, exactly as he feared. But Turtle, I have to save these dragons. You’d do the same thing in my place, wouldn’t you?
There was a muffled boom somewhere not far enough away.
Winter and Qibli stared at each other, and for a panicked moment, Qibli thought, It’s Darkstalker; we brought him here just by talking about him; he’s come to kill everyone and I don’t have enough protection spells —
And then there was another boom, and another, very close, that shook the bricks under their feet. Earrings slid and bounced off the pile, scattering between Qibli’s claws.
He jumped to his feet, flinching slightly as he put weight on his wounded arm. He wanted to fly out there in a wild rush, but he couldn’t lose the only items they had to fight Darkstalker. Quickly, he took apart the bowl and slipped it back in his bag, around his chest, along with several earrings, while Winter shoveled the rest of the earrings into more sacks and hid them among the jars and medical paraphernalia on the shelves.
They hurried out into the corridor and found themselves in a sea of running dragons. Qibli struggled against the tide for a moment, thinking the dragons were running away from whatever this attack was. But then he realized that most of them were Outclaws, and he knew these were the dragons who would run straight into the danger if it threatened Queen Thorn. He turned and ran with them. Winter’s icy scales cast a chill over his tail and back as the IceWing ran close behind him.
They emerged onto one of the balconies that overlooked most of the palace. Qibli skidded to a stop with a gasp.
Smoke was pouring from a gash in one of the outer walls; more smoke rose from a hole in the roof of the treasury. It sounded as though dragons were fighting, but it was hard to see exactly what was going on. Qibli glanced up, wishing for brighter moons, and realized that much of the moonlight was blotted out by the wings of dragons filling the sky.
NightWings? he thought in confusion for a moment, but the firelight from the palace below reflected off pale scales like his own.
“It’s not Darkstalker,” he said to Winter. “It’s the Talons of Power. It’s my grandfather.”
And as he said that, he recognized the nightmarish shape of Vulture rising triumphantly from the hole in the treasury roof, wreathed in smoke and holding aloft the Eye of Onyx.