Assassin

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  TITLE PAGE

  ASSASSIN

  EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT FROM WINGS OF FIRE BOOK EIGHT: ESCAPING PERIL

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  COPYRIGHT

  Note: This story is set approximately two years before the brightest night when the prophecy dragonets hatch.

  Deathbringer was a dragonet who followed orders.

  Read this scroll, sweep this cave, catch that exact fish, kill that misbehaving prisoner — whatever it was, he did it, no questions asked.

  (Well. He’d wanted to ask questions about the prisoner. Such as: Why did anyone bring a mud dragon to the secret night dragon home in the first place? Of course he would have to die; no one could know where they lived. And why make a four-year-old dragonet kill him? There were plenty of NightWing guards who would have been happy to take that order instead. But that was his assignment, and so of course he did it, as cleanly and quickly as he could.)

  Obedience to your elders: the most important thing a young NightWing had to learn. That, plus loyalty to the tribe and how to keep a secret.

  But his new assignment was a bit … confusing.

  “You want me to spy on the queen?” Deathbringer tilted his head at Quickstrike, the dragon who had taught him everything he knew. “Our queen?”

  “If she’s there,” Quickstrike answered. “I’ll be meeting with Greatness in an hour in the council chamber, and I want you to sneak in and listen, if you can.”

  He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this order. It rather confused his idea of who was in charge of him.

  On the other talon, Greatness wasn’t really the queen; she was the queen’s daughter and her mouthpiece. No one had seen Queen Battlewinner herself since she’d abruptly disappeared from public view several months before. Maybe she’d be there, hidden and listening, but maybe not.

  And possibly this was a test that the queen actually knew about. Quickstrike always had bigger reasons behind her orders, even when they seemed mysterious. Besides, what else was he going to do: disobey her? Not likely; not ever.

  “Be as stealthy as you can,” Quickstrike said before turning away. “And meet me afterward at your sleeping cave.”

  Deathbringer headed straight for the council chamber, giving himself time to avoid any guards that might be posted. The shadows swallowed him up, black against black, and he kept his wings folded to hide the glittering spray of silver scales underneath.

  He slipped through one of the back tunnels into the chamber that emerged directly below the Queen’s Eye, and then slithered along the wall to the closest cave. There was no way to know if the queen was there, watching from behind her stone screen, but just in case, he stayed out of her line of sight. He tucked himself into the darkest recesses, feeling jagged rock press against his back and tail.

  It felt like hours before he finally heard approaching talons. But this was something he’d worked on with Quickstrike, too: staying perfectly still, no matter how much his muscles screamed.

  “There had better be a point to all this,” growled a deep male voice. Deathbringer wasn’t sure who that was.

  “You don’t have to be here,” a female voice snapped. That one was easy; Deathbringer had been listening to Quickstrike’s voice every day since he’d hatched, after all. “Greatness, this is a matter for you, me, and the queen. Nobody else.”

  “Morrowseer is one of the queen’s most trusted advisors, and she wants him consulted on anything that might affect the prophecy,” Greatness answered. She always sounded a little nervous, as if she wasn’t sure anyone would believe anything she said.

  “That’s right,” Morrowseer said smugly. “So what are you trying to get away with now, Quickstrike?”

  “Wait,” Greatness said. “Let me stand by the Queen’s Eye, in case Mother has anything to say.” The sound of her wings flapping filled the cave, and Deathbringer pictured her flying up to perch beside the screen. “All right,” she called. “Go ahead.”

  “You know I’m being sent to the continent,” Quickstrike said, plunging right in. “To carry out the council’s new strategy of targeted assassinations, starting with the growing threat from the Kingdom of the Sea. I’m here because I want Deathbringer to be on my team.”

  It took all of Deathbringer’s concentration to keep still. He hadn’t realized this meeting was going to be about him.

  The continent!

  “No,” Morrowseer growled. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “You don’t get to decide,” Quickstrike snapped. “The queen is still the queen, despite all your pretensions lately, Morrowseer.”

  “It does go against all our rules,” Greatness said apologetically. “He’s just too young, Quickstrike. You know we never let dragonets leave the kingdom until they’re ten years old. Isn’t he only four?”

  “Yes, but he’s the smartest dragonet in the tribe,” Quickstrike said. “And if we want to train him to be our next assassin, he needs to start now. He needs to know the geography of Pyrrhia and the way the seven tribes work. He needs to understand the politics of this war for the SandWing throne. He needs to learn how to slip into a tent and slice open an IceWing’s throat without waking the rest of the army.”

  Deathbringer knew he could learn all of those things. He wanted to learn them so badly.

  Please let me do this. Don’t make me stay here for six more years instead.

  He’d heard rumors about this new strategy. The other dragon tribes were locked in a vicious war, and it was up to the NightWings to make sure it went the right way. Assassinating specific targets was part one of the plan … but making sure no one ever found out the NightWings were involved was parts two, three, four, and five.

  Secrecy: that was the NightWing watchword.

  And also the reason for keeping dragonets away from the other tribes. The older dragons didn’t trust anyone under ten to keep their mouths shut if they were ever captured by, say, the SkyWings or SandWings.

  “He can’t learn to be an efficient assassin from here,” Quickstrike went on. “And if I die on this mission, you’ll have no assassin, and no way to train another.”

  “Can’t you train an older dragon?” Greatness said over Morrowseer’s skeptical snort. “Choose someone who’s already ten.”

  “Like Vengeance,” Morrowseer suggested. “Or Slaughter. They would love to practice killing other dragons.”

  “Vengeance and Slaughter both have boulders for brains,” said Quickstrike. “Deathbringer could stab out their eyes and tie their tails in knots before they even noticed he was on the same island as them. I want him and no one else. He can keep your secrets, even though he’s young. And I’m not leaving him here to be trained by someone inferior to me.”

  “This has nothing to do with him being your son, I suppose,” Morrowseer hissed.

  “I don’t treat him like a son,” Quickstrike growled. “I treat him like a student. He’s my apprentice. The council agreed to that when he hatched; that’s why he’s called Deathbringer. And he’s lived up to the name. He’ll be the greatest NightWing assassin of all time if you let me take him on this mission.”

  Please say yes, Deathbringer prayed. Please please please say yes.

  “He’s killed one MudWing prisoner,” Morrowseer said. “That’s hardly a prediction of future murderous greatness. Leave him with me and I’ll make sure —”

  “I would never leave him with you!” Quickstrike shrieked.

  “Wait,” Greatness called over the two dragons’ shouting. “Stop! Shh! The queen is speaking.”

  Silence fell in the council chamber. Deathbringer had seen this before: Greatness leaning toward the Queen’s Eye, listening intently to the voice only she could hear.

  “The queen has a proposal,” she said finally. “The
dragonet must prove himself to be as good as you claim, Quickstrike. If he can kill either Vengeance or Slaughter tonight, in stealth, before the sun rises, then he can go with you. If not, then you must choose one or both of them instead.”

  There was a long pause.

  Why is she hesitating? Deathbringer wondered. Doesn’t she know I can do this?

  “What if — what if one of them catches him and kills him?” Quickstrike asked, her voice suddenly much slower than usual.

  “Then we’ll know he was all wrong for this mission,” Morrowseer said with a smug chuckle.

  “Tonight,” Greatness said. “This is his one chance, if you think he’s really ready. Or if not, you can choose not to test him. Then you must leave him here when you fly to the continent tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? Quickstrike was leaving so soon?

  Deathbringer tightened his jaw muscles. I’m going with her, no matter what it takes.

  The first step was finding Vengeance and Slaughter, which should have been easy after Quickstrike’s training. One of Deathbringer’s regular assignments was memorizing the new guard roster and the rotating hunting schedule every week. So he knew that Slaughter was supposed to be on watch, patrolling the outer towers, and Vengeance was not scheduled for hunting.

  But he also knew these dragons, at least by reputation. They were cousins, both of them bad-tempered and mean to everyone except each other. Even from a distance, Deathbringer knew that Slaughter was lazy and Vengeance was greedy and disobedient.

  He also knew that no one had been enforcing the guards’ duties since Battlewinner’s — disappearance? Retirement? Whatever she was doing behind those screens. Greatness was too overwhelmed, Morrowseer was focused on the prophecy, and most NightWings felt that patrolling and guarding were stupid, unnecessary tasks that no one should have to do. After all, if none of the other tribes could find the NightWings, then what was there to guard against?

  So probably the last place he’d find Slaughter was patrolling on the outer towers. And Vengeance could easily be slithering around hunting when he wasn’t supposed to be.

  But the most likely scenario? Was that they were both fast asleep.

  Deathbringer considered finding his mother first — she’d left the council chamber with Greatness and Morrowseer. He knew she was expecting to meet him back at the dragonet sleeping caves. But he already knew his assignment, and he wanted to prove he could do it without her help. Midnight was fast approaching. There weren’t many hours for him to complete his mission.

  He closed his eyes and consulted the map in his head. Slaughter and Vengeance both slept in communal caves with other NightWings; he could find those easily, but it would be very difficult to kill them stealthily if other dragons were there.

  Vengeance’s cave was the closest — and Vengeance was in luck, because two dragons were playing a game with bones and tiny skulls in the entranceway. Deathbringer glanced in, acting casual, as he went by. He didn’t think Vengeance was one of the three sleeping dragons in the far niches, but he had no way to make sure without drawing attention.

  So, Slaughter’s cave. Up a long, winding tunnel, past the library, past the throne room, down another tunnel.

  The hall was empty. No sounds came from the yawning mouth of the cave ahead.

  Deathbringer crept toward it on silent talons.

  A faint sound made him freeze for a moment. It came again, and he realized it was a snore, but nothing like the giant snores he heard every night from Strongwings, the noisiest sleeper in the fortress. He waited a moment, then crept forward again until he could see into the cave.

  Six sleeping dragons, their black wings rising and falling as they dreamed.

  He slipped between them, studying their faces in the orange glow from the walls.

  And there he was. Slaughter, fast asleep, drooling a little. He was too thin, like most NightWings, and had a twitchy, furious look, even in his sleep. Deathbringer remembered him from a training class in which Slaughter had injured a small dragonet by playing too rough and then bragged about it afterward.

  He’d be no big loss to the tribe.

  And yet — he was a NightWing. A dragon Deathbringer had actually spoken to. A member of his tribe.

  The weight of the order suddenly hit Deathbringer like a cave collapsing. Could he really bring himself to kill a fellow NightWing? In his sleep, no less, like a coward?

  Not like a coward. Like an assassin. Stealth is the whole point. This is what I’ve been training for.

  The sleeping dragon let out a long sigh through his nose, breathing smoke into Deathbringer’s eyes. Deathbringer blinked until he could see clearly again, keeping the rest of his body as still as a stalactite.

  If I don’t do this, I’ll be left alone here. His father was dead. He had no brothers or sisters. His mother could be gone on this mission for years, she’d said. What will happen to my training? Will Morrowseer take over? What will he turn me into?

  I need to go with Quickstrike.

  Not only that, but going with her would mean leaving the Night Kingdom, which was everyone’s dream. The continent was safe (apart from the war), and clean (apart from the other dragons), and there was so much prey there that he’d be able to eat every day.

  That’s where his destiny was. The greatest assassin in Pyrrhia would never hesitate over a small matter like killing one of his own. The queen herself had ordered this.

  His claws wavered in the air as he reached for Slaughter’s throat.

  He’d do it to me in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t need a reason, just an order.

  That’s the real test: Can I follow orders? Will I do exactly as I’m told, no matter what it is?

  I can. I will.

  Slaughter was about to draw his last breath when suddenly there was a scraping noise from the hallway. Deathbringer pressed himself to the floor, out of sight of the entrance.

  Heavy talons stepped into the room. Deathbringer could hear wingtips brushing the roof and the sound of a growl in the back of someone’s throat.

  He crept backward, away from the rocky niche where Slaughter slept, until he was hidden behind the next sleeping spot and the snoring dragon there.

  But he could still see the top of the wings that approached Slaughter’s bed, and he could hear the whispering voice that woke him.

  “Slaughter,” it hissed. “Wake up. Silently. Come with me.”

  Slaughter let out a long grumbling whine and then a muffled yelp as whoever it was wrapped strong claws around his snout.

  “I said silently. Get up.”

  Scrambling noises followed. If Slaughter thought that was silent, then he definitely shouldn’t be allowed on any stealth missions. He’d probably get Quickstrike killed, Deathbringer thought angrily.

  “What’s happening?” Slaughter whispered as the two dragons began to pad out of the cave.

  “Someone is coming to kill you,” the other dragon growled. “But we’re going to prepare you to kill him first.”

  Morrowseer. Deathbringer had guessed it from the moment he heard the talonsteps. Morrowseer was sabotaging his chances of completing the mission. Fury gripped Deathbringer in its powerful claws.

  Breathe through it. Don’t get caught. Don’t do anything foolish. Don’t let your rage be the queen of you.

  Don’t let him win.

  “Wow,” Slaughter said, sounding a little more awake. “Great. I’ve been asking for someone to kill for ages.”

  Deathbringer waited until they were just outside the cave and then he glided after them, navigating the other sleeping dragons cautiously. He glanced around the corner and spotted Morrowseer leading Slaughter up the tunnel toward the throne room.

  “Where is your cousin?” Morrowseer growled at Slaughter, who was still rubbing his eyes and making sleepy noises.

  “How should I know?” Slaughter grumbled. “Sleeping? Like anyone would be?”

  “No, he’s not there,” Morrowseer said.

  “Then hunting, I gue
ss,” Slaughter said with a shrug.

  “It’s not his turn —” Morrowseer stopped with a hiss. “Yes. You’re probably right.” They reached the narrowest part of the tunnel, where dragons could only walk single file, and Morrowseer strode ahead, muttering furiously.

  “Who’s trying to kill me?” Slaughter asked. “Do I get to kill them with a spear or with my bare claws?”

  Deathbringer darted along the wall until he was right behind Slaughter. In a pouch around his neck, deadly silver discs thumped against his chest. He’d only started training with them last week; normally he’d be more comfortable with his claws. But the discs were faster and quieter. He’d only have one shot to get this right. Carefully, he slipped one out and palmed it.

  “A dragonet with an inflated sense of his own abilities,” Morrowseer called back. “He’s been told that he will be a great assassin one day, and the queen has decided —”

  As the huge dragon kept speaking, Deathbringer leaped onto Slaughter’s back, clamped his snout shut, and slid the serrated edge of the silver disc neatly from one ear to the other, across Slaughter’s throat.

  There was a soft bubbling sigh from the wound, and then a gentle thud as Deathbringer lowered Slaughter’s head to the floor. Both were muffled by the echoing sound of Morrowseer’s voice waxing on about impertinence.

  By the time Morrowseer turned around, Slaughter was dead, and Deathbringer was gone.

  Quickstrike was pacing in front of the dragonet sleeping caves, her forehead furrowed with anxiety in a way Deathbringer had never seen before.

  “Deathbringer!” she cried when he appeared from the shadows. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you follow my orders?”

  “I did,” Deathbringer said, surprised. “I was there. I heard your whole meeting with the queen.”

  “You — but I didn’t sense you there —” She eyed him with distrustful, glittering eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

  “I wouldn’t!” he said indignantly. “I hid myself well, just like you taught me. I was listening the whole time. You’re leaving for the continent tomorrow and I’m going with you.”