Thuds continued to come in a steady beat. It slowly dawned on Nessa that they were, in fact, the dragon’s steps, filled with purpose and weighted with malice. She tried to identify the direction from which they came. The entire ground rattled and shook ferociously, such was their strength. She couldn’t tell where they originated from.
Can’t you see the dragon at all? Nessa enquired, lurching forwards, stumbling towards a gap in the wall of flames, determined to continue with her escape.
No, Aoife said shortly. I thought I did for a second, but many of the fires are burning taller than he stands, and the colour of his scales makes him blend in all too well. They reflect the light perfectly. The distance between us is making the task a lot harder too. If I were to take flight and view the town from above, then I’d be able to spot him without a problem.
But you’d run the risk of it seeing you.
Him, Aoife corrected. He is a him.
How do you know that?
Because of his build and facial spurs.
Facial spurs? Nessa kept the conversation going, genuinely intrigued but mainly using it as a distraction.
Magic was once again floating through the air, heavy and syrupy, sickly. It weighed down on her, flowing against her, around her, slowing her down. Each breath, each step, suddenly seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort. A headache formed behind Nessa’s eyes, and she found it ever harder to listen to what Aoife was saying.
Yes, facial spurs, Aoife murmured, seeming not to notice Nessa’s difficulties, her voice fading to the back of Nessa’s mind.
Nessa was grateful because she knew that, without a doubt, if Aoife sensed that she was struggling, she would come flying no matter the danger. Males have them along their jawline, Aoife continued, and they have extra pairs of spikes atop their heads. The strongest males have up to four pairs.
You only have one pair of head spikes, Nessa said as she clambered over a mound of rubble, broken bits of brick and tiles slipping underfoot, releasing little plumes of smoke and lively embers, and they’re only little.
That’s because I’m young and not anywhere near being fully grown. Once I reach my first year, mine will have grown quite substantially.
I think you’ve got quite a lot of growing to do before you’re as big as the other dragon.
Indeed, but it will take a few hundred years, by my estimate.
Nessa blinked in surprise. It’s going to take that long before you’ll be big enough to match him in a fight?
Not necessarily, Aoife mused. The first few years are when we grow the most. After that, while we still continue to grow, it’s at a much slower pace.
Huh.
Nessa battled against the sickness rising up inside her, pushed against the current of warped magic that wanted to send her to her knees and staggered down another street. She had no idea where it might take her, or what might be waiting for her at the end. For all she knew, the dragon could be sat there, patiently waiting for her to venture closer. Or the street could come to a dead end, blocked by either fire or collapsed buildings. Maybe both.
Oh, the joy of surprises.
The occasional thud of the dragon’s steps came every now and again, shaking the earth violently, seeming to come from all directions, offering no hint of the dragon’s whereabouts. Nessa eyed the buildings on either side of her with trepidation. The fires had eaten much of them; the roofs and upper floors were gone completely. Riddled with holes where the wattle and daub had burned away, or where bricks had been knocked loose, what was still standing didn’t look like it’d be for much longer.
Nessa hurried forwards, her eyes running over the flame-licked walls, watchful for any sign of an imminent collapse. With each shaking dragon step, small cascades of glittering cinders would come spilling from cracks, raining down like delicate waterfalls before floating away on a rush of sweltering air.
Managing to make it to the end of the street without incident, the dragon nowhere to be seen, Nessa paused briefly, peering around. Any hope she felt faded to nothing as she realised that she was well and truly lost.
Right or left? Nessa asked.
Left, Aoife said hesitantly. No, wait. Maybe right?
That’s not particularly helpful.
Well, my guess is as good as yours. I have no idea where you are. And before you ask, no, I don’t know where the other dragon is. I still can’t see him.
I’ll go left, I think. Left looks like a decent option.
Right or left, they both look identical. But whichever one you take, I would advise you to hurry up. You only have another six minutes before Hunter and I come charging in there for you.
With the reminder that she was working with a deadline, Aoife withdrew to the edge of Nessa’s mind, leaving her to navigate the burning maze.
There was a gust of hot air, a breeze of sorts, carrying the hiss of flames and urgency. And something else…something that was rather out of place…
Nessa turned her head and listened. It was faint, nothing more than a whisper. It came from somewhere ahead of her.
At first, it kept itself hidden from Nessa, staying just far enough away that the fires and buildings concealed it, but close enough that Nessa could hear it, just. Then, as if it knew that it was being followed, it revealed itself in tantalising flashes, the briefest of glimpses, a tip of a wing here and there, a gleam of deep-blue eyes.
Misgivings fluttered in Nessa’s stomach, the gentlest of warnings. For a second, she felt something niggling at the edge of her mind. It was the sense of familiarity, of recognition, a ghost of a memory. As soon as she reached for it, though, the feeling vanished, slipping through her fingers like a shadow, vanishing as if it had never really been there.
Cool air brushed against her cheek, as soft as a brush of a feather.
Nessa blinked, roused from a daze she didn’t recall slipping into. She found herself standing at the edge of a wide square.
The raven was the first thing that captured Nessa’s attention, what with it being the one from the forest, the one with the blue eyes. It was perched on a branch of a burning tree, a limb yet untouched by the flames. Briefly, Nessa wondered how it had come to be there, why it had come to be there. Of all the places in the world it could have flown to, it had decided on a burning town. Her queries were quickly forgotten when the raven let out a piercing caw! and turned its gaze away from her.
Nessa followed its stare.
It took a second for her to realise what she was seeing, for her to fully comprehend what was happening. When the scene finally sank in, horror rooted Nessa on the spot, a wordless scream rising in her throat. She wanted desperately to run, to hide.
It was too late for that.
The black-armoured Dragon Rider turned around.
And his eyes locked with Nessa’s.
Chapter 16
His gaze cut through her like a spear, sharp and hard, painful and jolting, his eyes glimmering like diamonds, like the finest black opal. They were beautiful. They were terrible, filled with menacing truths and sinister deceptions. Those dark eyes ran over Nessa, examining her, scrutinising her. They missed nothing, not even the smallest of details, from the smudges of soot on her face to the rips and holes in her baggy clothing.
Nessa had been found, discovered by one loyal to King Kaenar.
Terror flooded her veins, terror and a sad sense of finality, of defeat.
What will he do? Nessa wondered bleakly. How is this to end?
Escape seemed like a pointless venture, futile. It could only lead to humiliation and death. Would her demise come by his hand, or would he let his dragon do the deed, swallowing her whole or incinerating her with Dragon Fire? Maybe he planned on presenting her to the king like an offering, a gift of sorts.
Nessa wasn’t quite sure which scenario was the worst.
The Rider’s gaze lingered on Nessa’s face, committing her features to memory. He smirked, his perfect lips curving mockingly before his black eyes went skywards and
locked onto the moon hanging low overhead, heavy and full. His syrupy magic brushed against Nessa, wrapping around her stupefied form like a boa constrictor, tight and crushing.
He wanted her to watch, to witness something.
Nessa searched for help, an escape, anything.
She was alone, save for a raven and an enemy Rider, ensnared by ropes of malevolent magic, immobile and spellbound.
There was no escape.
Aoife’s mind brushed against her own. Before she could ask anything, say anything, Nessa slammed up her walls of amethyst, shutting Aoife out. It may not have been the best idea, but it was the only thing Nessa could do. She had to protect her dragon, her bonded partner, by any means possible.
Their bond would allow Aoife to sense that Nessa was alright, that she was alive and, so far, unhurt. But with the walls around Nessa’s mind, Aoife was locked out, unable to talk to her, but also unable to see what was happening. That was what Nessa wanted. That’s what Nessa needed. Nessa knew that if Aoife saw what she had stumbled into, then Aoife would come to her rescue in a blink of an eye, no matter the danger, no matter the practically nonexistent chance of them making it out alive.
Nessa felt that there was no point in both of them dying needlessly. Anyway, there was a tiny voice of optimism that told Nessa that she might be able to get out of there alive. Granted, it was a very small, incredibly quiet voice, but it was there nonetheless. That’s all that mattered. That tiny voice gave Nessa hope. Nessa clung to that hope with everything she had.
But the hope was short-lived.
The earth rumbled and shook, and a shape detached itself from the ground, standing tall and strong, its venomous, red eyes trained on Nessa. She trembled, redoubling her struggles against the chains of magic that twisted around her, dismayed to realise that the Rider’s dragon had been there all along, hidden in plain sight.
The dragon’s scales, surrounded by the chaos of raging fires and broken buildings, offered a strange kind of camouflage, drinking in the light and offering nothing but darkness. When the dragon had held himself still, he was almost unnoticeable amongst the ruin and flames, his scales reflecting what was around him. Uncurling from where he had been lying, coiled around his Rider and what he stood upon, it was as if the dragon had emerged from the earth itself, manifesting from nothing more than shadows, fire and wickedness.
Upon stumbling across the square, Nessa’s attention had immediately gone to the raven, and then the Rider. She hadn’t had much time to look at her surroundings. Not once she realised what the Rider was standing on; not once he had turned, and his eyes had locked with hers. Trapped as she was, Nessa couldn’t shield herself from the horrors in the square.
The Rider was standing atop a towering mound of bodies. The number of people resting beneath the Rider’s feet must have been in the thousands. The scale of the pile of charred limbs and departed souls was revealed as the dragon shifted.
Stepping around the bodies, the dragon circled the dead, coming to stand proudly behind his Rider, the king of anarchy and destruction. Together they openly displayed the carnage they’d so happily brought about.
Nessa’s eyes ran over the heap of bodies, over the blackened and twisted limbs, over the outstretched hands that had been reaching for mercy. People who had escaped the initial attack, those who had fled from their burning homes, had been corralled there, herded like a flock of sheep to slaughter. The dragon’s path, the pattern of destruction, had all been strategic. They had wanted as many people as possible in one place.
Tears ran down Nessa’s face, blurring the image, but not getting rid of it entirely. The sight was imprinted in her memory, there forever. Every time she blinked, she saw burnt, twisted forms with haunting detail, with savage clarity.
The dragon ruffled his wings, settling them comfortably against his side as if preparing for an arduous chore, and turned his venomous, red eyes upwards, following the gaze of his Rider.
Nessa couldn’t help but glance up as well, wondering what had captured their attention, why the moon held such interest to them. Whatever it was, it wasn’t obvious to her, at least not yet.
The Rider flung up his arms, spreading them wide like he was about to embrace something unseen. His dark armour glinted, the firelight accentuating the red inlay perfectly, highlighting a slim waist and broad shoulders. His eyes and mouth were all that was visible to Nessa, the rest of his head and face concealed by his helm, but it was enough for her to see his evil delight, his ecstasy. It was clear in the way that his lips curled, the way his eyes shone.
He was saying something, chanting, his words a hum in the hot breeze, indecipherable over the hiss of angry flames and the clatter of falling bricks.
A charge filled the air, static and heavy, sweeping over the ruined square like a thunderstorm. The smoke was pushed away, dissolving into nothing.
Nessa’s Rider’s Mark tingled in warning.
The Rider’s chant grew in strength. The charge began to crackle. And the Mark started to itch and burn.
She looked down at it, only to find that it was hidden by the arm warmer Eliza had given her. A saving grace, Nessa thought faintly. Otherwise, the Rider would have seen it, would know without a doubt what she was.
The possibility, the hope that he didn’t know, at least not fully, sprang to mind.
But if he didn’t know, then why was she still alive?
Why wasn’t she like the others in that square, broken and burned, trampled beneath his feet?
Was it little more than a game to him? Did it give him a sick thrill to have a witness?
The charge continued to strengthen, growing more powerful with each word the Rider uttered, as did the pain coming from Nessa’s forearm. It felt as if her Rider’s Mark was coming alive, ripping at her skin to free itself, clawing and biting. The sensation wasn’t contained to just the mark for long.
Nessa stared, alarmed, as the ghastly feeling steadily slithered its way up her arm. For a second, she wished that she could see what was happening. But then, when it seemed like her veins were writhing beneath her skin like worms, like snakes, she was immensely relieved that she couldn’t. There was no telling what she might have seen if she wasn’t so well covered. Ignorance is bliss, as they say, and right then, Nessa desired to be as ignorant about her predicament as possible.
Something entered the ruined square, swooping down with a gust of unnatural wind that blew Nessa’s loose hair across her face, into her eyes. Blinded and afraid, she shook her head, trying to shake off the tresses so that she could see. She was met with some success. Only a handful of strands remained stuck to her cheeks, adhering to the tears that streamed down them.
Nessa blinked, disorientated and sick, and more than a little panicked. The Rider’s dark magic battered against her, crashing down on her like waves caught in a fierce storm, relentless and merciless. It was unstoppable. There was no point resisting it, in fighting against it.
Peering through strands of hair, Nessa searched for the source of the unnatural winds. They blew around and around the ruined square, never flattering or shifting course. They stirred up ash and embers, creating a tempest of glinting disorder. There was no one but her, the Rider and the black dragon.
No one alive, that is.
The magic, Nessa was sure that it was the Rider’s. She could feel it coming off him, almost powerful enough to be visible, the air wavering and shimmering around him. But the wind…the static charge…that was not of his doing. Not entirely. He was summoning something, awakening an entity that shouldn’t be.
It was a force unseen. A force to be reckoned with.
Although hidden from the eyes of mankind, Nessa could sense it all around her, a creature as old as time, one that whispered dark secrets and promised terrible things. It was filled with wrath and loathing, and had an insatiable hunger for more, a greed that would never ebb no matter how much it fed.
Intangible fingers brushed against Nessa’s cheek, pushing back a stray lock
of hair. She shuddered and renewed her struggles against her bonds, desperate to get away, to get far, far away.
The magic strengthened to an overwhelming degree, pushing against Nessa, holding her down. Nessa felt as if a cyclone was bearing down on her, one that would destroy everything she had ever known, everything she held dear. The sensation of her Rider’s Mark clawing, ripping at her skin, reached the top of her arm, spreading across her shoulders, and down her other arm. It seeped into her chest, her heart. It was taking over her, changing her. Nessa could feel herself becoming something else, becoming something other…
The Rider had awoken an entity of unimaginable power, and that entity was awakening something in her, something that was rising to the surface, readying itself to be released into the world.
Nothing would ever be the same again if it did.
The chanting, hypnotising and strangely inciting, rose in a frightful crescendo, the words finally reaching Nessa over the roar of the fires and the howls of the winds. They were foreign, a language that few had ever heard of, and one that even less had uttered. It was old, perhaps even as ancient as the formless entity that filled the ruined square with its unspoken promises and sweet but terrible lies, with its insatiable hunger and inhuman lusts.
Images flashed through Nessa’s mind, runes and sigils, both elegant and sharp. They were peculiar, having no place in the common tongue, and yet there was a sense of familiarity about them. Nessa had seen them before; she was sure of that.
When?
How?
A memory surfaced, and Nessa eagerly reached for it, hopeful that it would help her in some way. But just like every other time, the promise of a memory was a fleeting one. As soon as she came close to catching it, it faded away to nothing as if it had never really been there, drifting through her fingers like smoke.
The formless entity drew away from Nessa, allowing itself to be pulled into the swirling winds, its attention going elsewhere. Nessa could feel it spinning and dancing around the square, claiming it. Without its gaze focused on her, Nessa drew in a ragged breath, only then realising that at some point she’d stopped breathing.
House of Blood and Bone Page 15
