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Book 3: Chapter 40: The Sentinels

Except… there weren’t any insignia visible. Some of the crafter dragons wore elaborate collars to show off their skills with their craft. Woodworkers had intricate pieces made of wood, for example. Metalsmiths and jewelry makers had much the same.

These dragons didn’t have a thing that set them apart from the rest of the hive’s population.

In addition, they looked down at Arthur with expressions completely devoid of anger, worry, or even triumph that they had caught their prey. There was practically nothing in their eyes. It was as if they had all come to meet Arthur on a random lovely night out on the shores of the lake.

The largest of the four was a female yellow nearly as large as Horatio’s dragon, Sams. However, she carried many more wrinkles about her eyes and nostrils, indicating she was older. She was the first to speak.

“So, you are the survivor.”

The survivor. They knew he’d come from the dungeon.

Arthur didn’t bother to answer her. Instead, he stepped to the side of the dungeon’s entrance.

A moment later, Brixaby erupted into the air. He took a split second to look around at his surroundings. Then up at the dragons.

Immediately, he flared his top two wings menacingly while the bottom two continued to buzz to keep him aloft.

“And who do you think you are?” he demanded. “Don’t bother trying to raid the Dungeon after us. We have just cleaned it out. Ha!”

Well, there went Arthur’s half-baked idea to pretend he didn’t know what they could possibly mean by ‘dungeon’.

Again, the yellow spoke. Though her expression remained oddly blank, her voice dripped with menace. “You ask who we are? I will tell you. We are the—”

Another bright flash of light from behind Arthur. Joy appeared.

“Oh, it’s still nighttime!” she exclaimed before looking up at the other dragons. “Hello! Who are you?”

“We are—”

Another flash and Cressida was there. She took a startled breath upon seeing the four dragons. Immediately, her political mind went to work. “I suppose you’re from the council? No.” She corrected herself with a shake of her head, “You aren’t wearing the proper insignia. What is this about? Who are you?” She glanced at Arthur for an explanation, and he shrugged.

The yellow dragon spoke. “We are the—”

Another two flashes, one followed quickly by the other. Laird and Shadow had arrived.

Now we outnumber them, Arthur thought smugly. Assuming I ever find out who they actually are.

“Who by the card who spawned you, are you?” Laird barked, going instantly into aggressive mode. He was smaller than the yellow dragon but when he flared his wings in anger, he cut quite the figure.

Arthur couldn’t help himself. “They’ve been trying to tell us.”

Despite the many interruptions, the yellow dragon didn’t seem perturbed. No exasperation or annoyance crossed her features. The same with the others. It was as if they were completely accepting of the circumstances and only vaguely interested in whatever happened next.

And there was something else. One of the dragons, the smallest, kept catching Arthur’s attention. By his size, he was perhaps only six months old and vividly scarlet red. Even his claws were colored like blood. Outwardly, he looked just as passive as the others. But there was… something else that Arthur couldn’t put his finger on. Something was wrong with the dragon. Whatever it was put Arthur on edge.

He caught Brixaby glancing repeatedly at the dragon, too, with his muzzle wrinkled in distaste. It looked like he wanted to snarl, or wanted to sneeze, but couldn’t decide on which.

The yellow dragon waited an extra moment as if to make sure no one else was about to pop out of the dungeon before speaking. “We are the—”

“Oh, I do know you!” Joy cried. “You’re the scouts I saw flying overhead earlier. I’m sorry to say you didn’t do a very good job. You missed us completely when we were over by the mesa.” Joy looked like she wanted to pat the other dragon’s paw in sympathy. “I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll do better next time.”

“Joy, let them talk,” Cressida said.

The yellow dragon, who still had not shown a hint of impatience, was finally able to complete a full sentence. “We are the chosen emissaries sent to deliver a message to Arthur Rowantree.”

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“Emissaries?” Immediately, Arthur’s mind flashed to the Wolf Moon hive. Had he been discovered at last? He dismissed that worry a moment later. These dragons didn’t look familiar to him at all, and Wolf Moon was a smaller hive.

“Yes,” the yellow said, finally showing some emotion: A curled lip over a fang. “We have been sent to express our Lady’s displeasure to Arthur the Liar.”

The second dragon, a blue, added, “Arthur the deceiver.”

The third, a brown, intoned, “Arthur the betrayer.”

Arthur glanced at the scarlet dragon, but she remained silent.

“So, you’re from the Mind Singer,” Arthur said flatly. He reached for bravado that was easy to fake, considering he had just come from multiple life-and-death battles. Was this night ever going to end?

Or maybe it wasn’t false bravado but a sense of relief. The Mind Singer was the best to find them from a lot of bad choices.

If Wolf Moon had discovered he and Brixaby were at Mesa Free Hive, the King would be told at the very least. He might choose to move against the entire hive. Considering the unstable man was partnered with a Mythic… that was the last thing Arthur wanted.

Assassins paid by his uncle’s side of the family was an equally unappealing choice. Arthur didn’t give a damn about Lional Rowantree, but his feelings around his cousin, Penn, were complex. It didn’t help that Penn had a combat card within the same set as Arthur’s own. Those future implications weren’t something he felt comfortable thinking about, much less sharing with Brixaby who hated Penn with a passion.

One cousin would have to kill the other.

So yes, being confronted by the Mind Singer’s minions was the lesser of those evils. Also, Arthur had a growing list of enemies. He should do something about that.

“Have you come to try to assassinate me?” Arthur added. He figured the answer was yes, but it was worth asking. “Again?”

“No,” the yellow said. “We have come to raze everything you love and hold dear to the ground. Then we will bring you pain as you have never known before, until you give up your cards, including the ones you just stole from the dungeon – Yes, our Lady knows of that as she knows of all things-- to make the pain cease. Only then will we grant you your wish and put you to death like the animal you are—”

With an outraged roar, Brixaby flew in front of Arthur. “You have come too late. We have plundered the dungeon of all its treasures. Now we are stronger than you could possibly imagine. Move aside, Uncommons, and perhaps I will let you live.”

Arthur knew Brix was tired down to his core, but one would never know based on his attitude.

Half grinning, Arthur opened his mouth to snark something like, ‘You’d better listen to him, but something Brixaby had said caught his attention.

Uncommon.

Yes, the four dragons were Uncommons, weren’t they?

But the scarlet didn’t feel like one.

That sense of oddness pinged in Arthur’s mind, and he finally realized what had been bugging him about the dragon. She felt magically heavier, though the outside was Uncommon. The inside… was different.

Mind Singer, what have you done?

As one, the four dragons rose onto their hind legs, their wings spread wide. It wasn’t the best pose for battle since that move exposed a dragon’s more vulnerable underbelly. But doing it in perfect unison, wing-tip to wing-tip made for an impressive sight.

Joy’s whispered, “What are they doing?” was drowned out by the dragon’s speech.

The yellow was first. “We are no mere Uncommons.”

The blue piped up next. “Our Lady has granted us purpose.”

“And she has granted us vision,” added the deep voice of the brown.

For the first time, the scarlet spoke. Her voice was as young as Arthur thought. “And she has granted us power.”

It hit Arthur and Brixaby at the same moment. Arthur, because he had come to a terrible realization. Brixaby, likely, because of his danger sense.

That Uncommon had a higher card in her core.

Arthur only had time to yell, “Cressida! Shield!”