Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW OVER THE CAPITAL
The air rushed past Isra’s ears in a deafening scream as Kira plummeted toward the canyon floor. Below, the two armies looked like swarms of angry armor, their banners whipping in the mountain gales.
"Kira, pull up!" Dean bellowed, pulling back hard on the primary reins.
The dragon ignored him. She was not panicking; she was calculating. Fifty feet above the canyon floor, Kira spread her massive wings, catching the thermal draft with a shockwave that threw up clouds of dust and shattered pine branches. The sudden deceleration slammed Isra back against Dean’s chest plate.
The dragon landed squarely in the narrow choke point between the vanguard of the Western Resistance and the front lines of the Imperial Third Legion.
Silence crashed over the battlefield.
On the western side, Commander Bren sat atop his armored warhorse, his jaw slacked in disbelief as he saw Isra sitting on the back of the Emperor’s dragon—and behind her, Emperor Dean himself.
"Isra?!" Bren screamed, his voice carrying over the wind. "What is the meaning of this treason?!"
On the eastern side, General Vance of the Imperial Third Legion raised his sword, his eyes wide with shock. "Your Majesty! Fall back! The enemy has trapped you!"
"Stand down, both of you!" Dean’s voice boomed across the canyon, amplified by the natural acoustics of the rock walls. "General Vance, hold your line! Commander Bren, halt your advance!"
Bren’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage. "She betrayed us! She was sent to disable the dragon, not sleep with the tyrant! Archery units, target the imperial crest! Fire at will!"
"Bren, no!" Isra shrieked, leaning over the saddle. "It’s a trap! Check your map coordinates! The imperial forces were tipped off!"
It was too late. A volley of black-fletched arrows arched into the sky from the resistance ranks. But they weren't aimed at Dean. They were aimed directly at General Vance’s command unit. Simultaneously, a horn sounded from the high cliffs above—a deep, metallic tone that belonged to neither army.
Crossbow fire erupted from the cliffs.
Dozens of bolts rained down, striking both imperial soldiers and resistance fighters indiscriminately.
"Ambush!" General Vance shouted. "The westerners are attacking from the heights! Return fire!"
"It isn't us!" Isra screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the chaos of battle.
Kira roared, sweeping her tail to deflect a shower of falling arrows, her scales ringing like struck metal. Dean realized in a fraction of a second that the situation was unsalvageable on the ground. Whoever was on those cliffs had engineered a situation where both sides would butcher each other, believing the other had launched a treacherous surprise attack.
"We have to get out of this kill box!" Dean shouted in Isra’s ear. "Kira! Up!"
The dragon kicked off the earth, her powerful hind legs shattering the bedrock as she launched back into the sky. Below them, the two armies collided in a bloody frenzy of steel and scream.
Isra watched in horror as the valley turned into a slaughterhouse. "We have to stop them! You're the Emperor! Command them to stop!"
"If I drop into the middle of that panic now, my own men will shoot Kira thinking she’s been subverted!" Dean said bitterly, his teeth gritted. "Look at those shooters on the cliff! Those aren't resistance soldiers, and they aren't my legionnaires!"
Isra squinted through the cloud cover as Kira circled high above the canyon. The shooters on the cliffs were dressed in unmarked grey surcoats, firing heavy, repeating hand-ballistas—expensive, specialized weaponry manufactured only in the deep foundries of Highspire.
"Those are imperial weapons," Isra whispered, her stomach dropping. "Your own high command is firing on your troops."
Dean’s face went deadly pale. "Lord Chamberlain Malakor... He oversaw the weapons distribution for the border garrisons last month."
The realization hit them both like a physical blow. The war was not being driven by mutual hatred between two nations; it was being meticulously fueled by a third party within the imperial court, profiting from the endless slaughter and keeping both the Emperor and the Resistance blind.
"We can't go back to the border camp," Dean said, his voice cold as ice. "If Malakor has infiltrated the border legions, my authority there is compromised. They will claim I was compromised by a western witch."
"Then where do we go?" Isra asked, her knuckles white as she gripped the leather harness.
Dean looked toward the eastern horizon, where the spires of the imperial capital pierced the sky like obsidian needles.
"We go to the capital," Dean said. "We walk into the viper's nest before Malakor realizes his ambush failed to kill me."
The journey to Highspire took three hours of relentless, high-altitude flying. As Kira cut through the sea of clouds, the landscape below shifted from rugged, scarred borderlands to sprawling green estates, aqueducts, and finally, the colossal obsidian metropolis of Highspire. The city was built in concentric rings around a towering inactive volcano, with the Imperial Palace perched at the very summit.
Kira did not make a grand, ceremonial entrance. Following Dean’s muted psychic commands, she glided low through the cloud cover, sweeping into the private, secluded aviary at the rear of the imperial spire—a secluded stone landing pad reserved exclusively for the sovereign.
The moment Kira’s talons touched the polished marble of the aviary, a dozen imperial guards stepped out from the shadows, their spears leveled.
"Your Majesty!" the captain of the guard stammered, dropping to one knee before noticing Isra dismounting behind the Emperor. "Sire... reports reached us from the border. They said... they said you were taken by a western assassin!"
"The reports were false, Captain Valerius," Dean said, his voice echoing in the grand cavernous space. "Tell me—where is Lord Chamberlain Malakor?"
"He is currently in the High Council chamber, Sire," Valerius replied, glancing nervously at Isra. "He has called an emergency session of the War Cabinet. He announced that you had fallen in battle at the border and is preparing to enact the Regency Protocol."
Dean let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Regency Protocol? He didn't even wait for my body to cool."
Isra stepped closer to Dean, her eyes wide as she took in the opulence of the palace—gilded pillars, velvet tapestries, and stained glass depicting ancient dragon lords. "What is the Regency Protocol?"
"It grants the Chamberlain absolute military command in the event of the Emperor's death or capture," Dean explained, his eyes burning with a dangerous light. "It allows him to draft every able-bodied citizen in the empire and launch a full-scale total invasion of the western territories."
"He’s going to erase my people," Isra said, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Not while I still breathe," Dean said. He turned to Captain Valerius. "Captain, who holds your loyalty? The Crown, or the Chamberlain's gold?"
Valerius slammed his fist against his breastplate. "I bled with you at the Siege of Oakhaven, Sire. My blade belongs to you."
"Good," Dean said. "Take four of your most trusted men. Escort this woman to the secret archives beneath the West Tower. She needs access to the original border survey records from four years ago."
Isra blinked. "What about you?"
"I am going to attend a council meeting," Dean said, unsheathing his longsword and checking its edge. "And I am going to see how brave Lord Malakor is when a dead emperor walks into his room."
Isra grabbed Dean’s forearm before he could turn away. The sudden contact made the surrounding guards tense, but Dean held up a hand, stopping them.
"Be careful," Isra said, looking into his eyes. "If he arranged that ambush, he isn't acting alone. He has people in this palace."
Dean looked down at her hand on his arm, then up into her dark, fierce eyes. "Find the proof regarding Renth, Isra. If I am to execute a Lord Chamberlain for treason, I need irrefutable evidence to show the High Lords. Otherwise, we trigger a civil war."
Kira let out a soft, low rumble, leaning her head down to nudge Isra gently, as if wishing her luck.
May you like
Isra nodded, letting go of Dean’s arm. "I'll find it."
As Dean strode away down the grand marble hallway, his red cape billowing behind him, Isra followed Captain Valerius into the dark, winding stairwells beneath the palace. She was deep inside the throat of the empire she had hated her entire life, working alongside the tyrant she had sworn to destroy, to stop a war that neither of them had truly wanted.
