A dark blot appeared above the snow-dusted treetops of Spanglewood. And then another. Giddi cursed Starrus for his stupidity—and himself for taking the bait.
“Let’s meet these beasts, head on,” Septimor snarled.
“Last time, those screams fractured your skull,” Giddi said. “Perhaps we should turn back.”
“I’m not doing anything until I’ve killed one of those beasts.” Heat surged through Septimor’s mind into Giddi’s. “Tomaaz and Maazini said it helped when they broke mind-meld.”
“But then we’d be flying blind, unable to communicate.”
“Not completely blind.” Septimor snorted. “I can still see.”
Giddi gave a wry smile. “We’ll charge, aim to kill, and dart away.”
“Did you think I was going to request a cup of tea and a chat about the weather?”
Septimor dove down low, whipping over treetops below the dark dragon. With most of the trees blanketed in snow, there’d be little chance of going undetected, but they could try. Giddi hunched in the saddle. They had to avoid those strange slicing eyes at all costs.
Above, the dark dragon spread its black wings, casting a shadow over them. Cries ripped through Giddi’s head, even as he tried to block them.
Septimor shot up toward the beast’s belly, belching fire. Giddi thrust out a hand, shooting green mage flame at the creature. The dragon wheeled, ducking away, and blasted fire at Septimor. The blue dragon dodged the roiling heat as Giddi sent back a volley of flame—which the shadow dragon nimbly dodged with a spin. Septimor beat his wings, gaining height and swooped at Zens’ monster.
Wait, there was a rider on the dragon’s back.
As Septimor flew closer, Giddi’s jaw slackened. That brown hair. Those blue eyes. “Sorcha?” He melded again. “Sorcha?”
A man’s scream scraped through his head, over the dragon’s anguished screeches. Giddi’s temples throbbed.
The noise intensified as Septimor melded, “This is the missing mage?”
“Yes, it’s—”
Another dark dragon rose from the forest. He thrust a wall of fire below them, but the dragon’s beams cut through it, slicing his forearm. Gods, that hurt. Like a mage burn but more intense. Thank the Egg, it wasn’t too deep. Pulling on the sathir of the surrounding snow, he built an ice wall around himself and Septimor.
Sorcha laughed. His mage flame and his dragon’s yellow eyes melted the ice. The other dragon angled its head and swept past Septimor, yellow beams springing from its eyes and slicing into Septimor’s wing.
Septimor bellowed, his wing drooping. Blood sprayed over them. “They’ve cut my wing tendon.” They were plummeting toward the treetops.
“Can you land?”
Anguished bellows ripped from the dragon’s maw. His wing was bloody, fluttering uselessly at his side. He flapped valiantly with the other wing but was too late. As they approached the forest canopy, Giddi rose in the saddle, flinging his arm out. Roiling green flame churned into a massive molten fireball which split in two glowing orbs. A fireball shot toward each dark dragon.
Giddi gasped. There was a second figure on the other dark dragon. Another rider. Impossible. It was Sorcha again—there were two of him.
The Sorchas lifted their arms, creating a wall of flame. Giddi pushed with sathir for all he was worth. A fireball crashed through the fake Sorcha’s wall, engulfing the dark dragon and fake mage. The beast dropped, impaled on a spruce. The mage’s burning body crashed through branches, spraying sparks, dropping to become a burning dot on the forest floor.
The second fireball darted toward the other dragon, catching its tail alight. Giddi pushed the sathir and blazing green mage fire engulfed the dragon.
Sorcha’s screams rang in his ears. “Oh, gods, oh gods!”
The stink of burnt flesh washed over Giddi. Nauseous, he leaned to the side and retched. His vomit flew behind them in the wind of their downward plunge.
Septimor smacked into the top of a mighty oak. His body smashed through its branches. Tatters of shredded wing flew around them as his head smacked into the trunk. The dragon’s blue body came to rest, suspended on the lower boughs.
“Septimor?” Giddi laid his hand on the dragon’s hide. With broken wings and the dragon gods knew what else, it’d take some effort to get back to Dragons’ Hold, but they could walk if the dragon lived. “Septimor?” He slapped the dragon’s bloody shoulder. He pushed with his mind, battering to get into Septimor’s head.
Giddi turned.
There was a gaping rent in Septimor’s side and a trail of entrails tangled through the blood-splattered branches.
Giddi retched again.
And again until his gut was hollow and aching.
Straightening, he pounded his heart with his fist and closed his burning eyes. “Septimor, may you soar with the spirits of your beloved rider and departed dragons.” His voice cracked in a sob.
Even if he was the last mage standing, he’d make Zens pay for this.
He sat for a few long moments, honoring the loyal dragon.
He tore a strip off his cloak and bound his bleeding forearm, using his teeth to tug the knot tight. He checked his little-used weapons were still at his belt and pulled his cloak tight around him. The saddlebags had been torn off Septimor, the bow and arrows smashed beyond repair. Not that he’d need them—his magic thrummed powerfully beneath his skin.
He gingerly climbed off Septimor’s back, swinging to a bough, then down to the ground below.
The sight and stench of the gut-strewn branches sickened him. He’d do right by Septimor, give him a proper send off.
Hands shaking, he blasted mage flame at the base of the oak. Emerald fire danced from his fingers, melting away the snow and licking up the trunk. Flames climbed up the branches and engulfed Septimor’s body. The sickly-sweet stench of burning dragon flesh filled the air. Despite the stench, Giddi stood there, flinging every last scrap of sathir at the tree until the dragon and the oak were wreathed in flame.
At last, he stumbled back and leaned against a strongwood tree, gasping, sweat beading his face. His arm was throbbing. A blazing pillar of green fire and gray smoke rose above the trees, a beacon for every tharuk and dark dragon in Spanglewood. A funeral pyre fit for such a valiant dragon, who’d given long service to Dragons’ Realm.
A dragon he’d risked by accepting Starrus’ vengeful challenge.
This had to end. Starrus was incompetent. Always had been. Years ago, Giddi had stepped down, ashamed at his own mistakes, and let Starrus lead the council. But he hadn’t led them—he’d misled them.
Giddi pulled the fire back, coiling the sathir—the life energy—inside himself, and doused the flames. A pall of gray smoke hung over the forest. They could easily find him now.
Panting, boots crunching through snow, Giddi ran. He cast out his mind, searching for a blue dragon on patrol.
No answer.
He kept running, the stench of tharuks drifting on the wind.
Village Square
A billowing cloud of dark dragons roiled over Lush Valley, their wings blotting out the sun and casting dark shadows upon the snowy landscape. Farmhouses and crops were ablaze. Marlies shifted in Liesar’s saddle and fired an arrow, piercing the wing of a low-flying dark beast. It plummeted to a haystack, shooting flame, setting the hay on fire, smoke staining the sky. The beasts swooped over the buildings, picking up villagers and tossing them into the air, blasting fire at people running down the streets.
Marlies spied Klaus yelling and gesturing in the middle of the square. In a blinding flash of white light, her mind was hot, searing. She screamed, clutching at her scalp as shrieks ripped into her head. She grasped at her temples, pressing on them with her thumbs, trying to banish the pain.
Liesar bucked, thrashing her head with her talons. Behind Marlies, Leah hung on.
Gods, there had to be a way past this. She had to mind block, get these creatures out of her head, and get the girl to safety. But the anguished screams
of terror in her head made it almost impossible to think straight.
“Liesar, break mind-meld, and drop Leah in the square.” Marlies snapped away from her dragon’s consciousness. Screeches still bounced around her head, but the pain was lighter.
“Leah, we’re taking you down to Klaus.” Gods, what if something happened to the girl? Seppi’s gut wound flashed to mind. That was less likely if they set her down.
Liesar dove to the square.
“Marlies!” Klaus ran over, snatched the girl from the saddle and ran off with her.
They winged to the air again and a dark dragon bore down on them, the yellow rays from its eyes struck Marlies’ boot. She flinched and yanked her foot away. The beams sizzled into Liesar’s hide. Blood dripped from the wound. Liesar roared and shot higher.
Marlies nocked another arrow and loosed it at the beast’s glowing eye. Its beams shredded the arrow, charred pieces clattering to a rooftop.
Roars and screams filled the air. The stench of burning flesh and fur. On the rooftops, village archers were firing at dark dragons. An arrow struck true, plunging into a shadow dragon’s breast. The creature screeched and plummeted through the air, crashing into the square, scattering villagers.
Two dark dragons swept down and snatched the carcass. They shredded it with their jaws in a feeding frenzy, tearing great chunks of flesh and spraying fleeing villagers with black blood.
Oh, Gods.
One of the beasts swung its head and snapped up a man, biting his torso in two, gulping down the neck and head, then slurping up the man’s entrails with its long tongue. Marlies fired an arrow into the feeding beast’s skull. Then another and another until it slumped over, dead.
The other beast turned, opened its maw, and bit a chunk out of the haunch of the beast Marlies had just killed. Then pounced on a tharuk, shredding it. Fur flew and stinking tharuk blood stained the cobbles of the square.
Liesar melded, the anguished screech of shadow dragons ripping through Marlies’ head. She could barely understand her dragon’s words, “Look, Marlies. To the South. Zaarusha and Erob are here.”
§
Zaarusha soared on a thermal beside Erob. The Queen’s outspread wings caught flashes of sunlight, sending hues shimmering across her scales. That same beauty had entranced Ezaara when they’d first met in Lush Valley.
“I don’t know what I’d be doing without you,” Ezaara melded.
“Probably still collecting herbs in Lush Valley,” Zaarusha replied. “And stealing kisses from Lofty!”
She swatted Zaarusha’s hide. “Don’t let Roberto hear you say that. He’ll get jealous.” She didn’t even like Lofty, never had. Well, as friends, sure, but not like that, not the way she felt for Roberto.
Roberto’s deep chuckle echoed through her mind. “The comparison is insulting.”
At least he’d relaxed a little. Amato had finally fallen asleep, slumped over Erob. They were riding thermals, waiting for Matotoi to catch up to them. Each morning the three dragons flew together, enabling Matotoi to strengthen his wings. After breaking for a midday meal and letting the dragons doze, they continued, Zaarusha and Erob soaring ahead of the old dragon and dancing in the thermals. After three days’ travel, they’d made good headway and were nearly at Lush Valley.
“Good headway? We could’ve been home within moments if Bruno hadn’t stolen that ring,” Roberto said. “Look, Matotoi’s caught up.”
§
Matotoi’s wings flashed, glimmering jade in the sun. His pale scales had slowly taken on a fresh hue, turning green again as he regained his strength. Roberto was surprised at how fast he’d recovered. No doubt the sunlight, good food and exercise were helping him.
“That’s the bottom end of the Eastern Grande Alps,” Ezaara shared the image of them, closer up, in her mind.
Roberto looked up to the horizon. There, they were: pristine snow-tipped alps beckoning them in the distance. Although he’d flown over Lush Valley, he’d never been within the horseshoe-shaped formation of alps that protected the valley from the outside world. “Looks like a storm’s brewing.” Above the Western Grande Alps there was a dark cloud of roiling bad weather.
The mass was moving swiftly over the meadows and forest, rapidly approaching Lush Valley Settlement.
“Better get our wet weather gear on,” Ezaara tugged on her jerkin and pulled a weather-proof cloak out of Zaarusha’s saddlebag.
§
They were about half an hour’s flight away from Lush Valley when something silver flashed in the sky. “Is that lightning?” Roberto asked. “Looks like we’re in for a raging storm.”
There was something odd about those clouds. They seemed to have a life of their own. As they were watching, parts of the mass broke off, drifting downward.
Zaarusha melded with both of them, “That’s no cloud, Roberto and Ezaara…” A flash of orange shot through the dark clouds—fire. “It’s a swarm of black dragons.”
“Are you sure?” asked Roberto. “I don’t know of any black dragon, only the browns far over the Northern Alps.”
Another gust of fire spurted from the clouds, blazing against the dark mass.
“That’s not bad weather. It’s dragon fire,” Erob chimed in. “Tie my tail, if it’s not.”
There was another flash of silver.
Silver? Oh, gods! There was only one thing that could be. “Roberto, it’s Liesar.” Something had gone horribly wrong. Her mother shouldn’t be here. “If only I had Anakisha’s ring, I could be there in an instant.”
“I still have mine. I’ll go.” Roberto grimaced, gesturing at Amato hunched over Erob’s back. “I can’t go.” He pulled the jade ring off his finger. Zaarusha sidled closer to Erob until the dragons were only a wing’s breadth apart. He held the ring up, ready to throw it. “If we lose this…”
They couldn’t afford to lose it. Ezaara shouted, “No, don’t risk it.”
Erob swooped up. Roberto leaped from his saddle, landing squarely on Zaarusha’s back. He flung his arms around Ezaara, kissed the side of her face, and passed her the ring. Zaarusha ascended slightly as Erob descended, and Roberto leaped back into his own saddle.
Ezaara put the ring on her finger. “Ana.”
With a pop, she and Zaarusha were in a golden cloud-lined tunnel, a transparent being floating toward her. “I’ve told you to use caution with the rings, Ezaara,” Anakisha, the former Queen’s Rider, mind-melded. “Look around you.”
Dark cracks in the clouds leaked black mist that swirled and eddied around Zaarusha and Ezaara. The first time she’d used a realm gate there had been nothing but billowy gold clouds.
“The more often you use a realm gate, the higher the likelihood Zens will discover them. Instantaneous travel would be a dire weapon in his hands. Need I remind you of this?”
“But my mother is battling dragons. I must help her.”
Anakisha nodded. “I understand. But I urge you to weigh your choices carefully. It would be a dire tragedy to save the life of one if it sacrificed many lives in the future.”
Ezaara’s throat was dry, palms clammy as she and Zaarusha appeared with a crack above the settlement. The sky was teeming with black-scaled dragons, rays shooting from their glowing eyes. Their leathery wings beat like crashing waves. And there was Ma, charging on Liesar, her face fixed in an anguished grimace as she loosed arrow after arrow at the dragons’ wings.
A hideous scream ricocheted through Zaarusha’s mind. Sharp pain pierced Ezaara’s skull. Her head throbbed with a blistering screech that shuddered down her spine. Gods, the pain was awful, spiking down her limbs.
Zaarusha roared, shaking Ezaara’s bones.
Despite the crushing pain in her skull and that awful tortured scream, Ezaara nocked an arrow.
§
After transferring Amato to Matotoi’s back, it took Roberto half an agonizing hour to reach Lush Valley Settlement, Erob straining every dragon’s length of the way. He nocked his bow and loosed an arrow the m
oment they were in firing range of the shadow dragons, way before Erob’s fire could touch the dark beasts that swarmed over the settlement. Zens had outdone himself. Roberto and the Council of the Twelve Dragon Masters had suspected the commander had been breeding dragons when he’d seen large amorphous shapes covered in dark cloth—wings—in Zens’ tanks in Death Valley. That’d been less than two weeks ago.
“Let’s get closer so I can flame them.” Erob roared as they plunged into the fray.
An earsplitting scream rang through Roberto’s head, reverberating down his jaw. He clutched his temples, nearly dropping his bow, but snatched the tip at the last moment. The screams seemed to go on and on. He could hardly think, hardly see straight, the pain was so intense.
Erob broke mind-meld.
The scream lessened, an angry echo throbbing in his head. Roberto straightened, letting an arrow fly straight for a dark dragon’s head.
The creature turned, yellow beams shooting from its eyes, the arrow disintegrating in a spray of splinters that shredded the wings of a shadow dragon below. The beast plummeted, listing to one side.
Roberto raised his bow and shot again. The dragon turned its golden eye beams toward Roberto, rays slicing through the air. The string on his bow snapped. Gods, what manner of creatures could slice through things by looking at them?
He breathed heavily as he fumbled in the saddlebags for another bowstring. No time.
The shadow creature dove at them. Unable to meld with Erob, Roberto kicked his sides like a common horse. His dragon’s neck swung up. Erob blasted flame at the approaching dark dragon. The beast whirled, shrieked and plummeted to the earth, wings blazing, neck wreathed in flames. Two other dark dragons attacked it in midair, shredding its hide with their talons and dragging off bloody haunches to feast upon.
Roberto watched, horrified. The beasts were devouring their own kin. Zens had created living nightmares.
More dark beasts plunged from the sky, flaming fleeing villagers. Thatch roofs caught fire. Houses were smoking charred ruins, a vegetable wagon on the village square was alight. Something pale flashed at the corner of Roberto’s eye: Amato on Matotoi. What in flame’s name was his father doing?
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