DAGAR
But I’ve been a burden to them long enough, he told himself as he scrambled down a slope of slippery shale, then struggled up the far rise. He had no plan, except to put as much distance between himself and his friends as he could.
As he crested the hill and hurried along the ridge through the moonlight, he thought with shame of all the hours Pocha had spent babying him since he’d lost his dragon.
Of all the ridiculous outbursts he’d had.
Of all the moments his friends had given him patience and understanding.
They were saints, all of them, the way they’d put up with him.
But setting that fire was one mistake too many.
Ever since he’d lost Barnard, his mind had felt like a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t make sense of his thoughts.
He felt damaged, broken, unable to think or sleep or control his emotions.
A person like that, in times of war, was nothing but a liability.
And without a dragon, he wasn’t even a Skrathan anymore.
He had nothing to offer. He was a burden.
The only way he could help his friends now was to leave them.
And yet, he already ached to go back. To slip back into line with his comrades.
To share a joke with Lure. To hear Pocha’s gentle words, to feel one of her big, all-encompassing hugs.
But he forced himself to keep going, to hurry away from them even though it felt, in his heart, like a scab being peeled off a wound.
They’ll worry about me, sure. But they’ll be better off, he thought. And eventually, they’ll see that—
A shout went up directly ahead of him, and he froze. Off in the distance, he saw movement. Armor glinting in the moonlight. The flap of robes. The gray blur of a golenae’s lumbering body.
For a second, he was confused. Then, he understood. The mountain path was full of switchbacks. In proceeding at a right angle away from the path to escape his friends, he’d headed straight for another part of the path—where their pursuers were. And he’d been spotted.
“Of all the addle-brained, dumb-arse things…” he cursed himself, changing course, angling off to his left and sprinting, stumbling, over the rugged terrain.
Stupid. I was stupid to leave my friends, he thought. And now, now…
Now they’d capture him. Torture him. And he’d probably hurt his friends even more by giving some piece of important information to the enemy.
No, he had to get away. But when he looked back and to his right, he saw three massive golenae coming for him, two galloping down the far slope and a winged one flying straight at him.
With a shout of terror, he redoubled his efforts, scrambling down a slope and sprinting up another rise. He slipped, stumbled, almost fell, then managed to right himself and keep on going.
But the golenae were closing in—especially the flying one. It was some twisted approximation of a massive crow, its talons the size of wagon wheels, its beak like a pair of longswords, its eyes a pair of burning coals—terrifying.
Dagar looked ahead. He was nearing the top of this rise. If he could just get there, maybe there was something on the other side—shelter, a defensible spot. Something.
And so, he hurtled forward, reaching the ridge’s top seconds before the golenae overtook him.
At the summit, he skidded to a halt—and his heart wilted in his chest. His feet teetered at the edge of an abyss.
There was no shelter here. No safety. Just a sheer, hundred-span drop into a canyon filled with jagged rocks.
“Oh, piss…” he whispered to himself.
The crow golenae gave a shrill caw as it swooped down on him.
Dagar spun, reaching for his blade, but he’d only gotten his sword halfway drawn before the beast struck him. He sidestepped, dodging the worst of those wicked talons, but as he did, his left foot slipped over the edge of the precipice.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. He was falling, his hand grasping at nothing, his feet slipping off the crumbling edge of the cliff.
For a moment, he was in disbelief. Surely, he wouldn’t really fall.
Surely, he’d grab onto something at the last second and save himself.
But as he tipped, he drifted further from the ridge, not closer to it, the outstretched toes of his boots barely brushing the earth as he plummeted sideways.
He was comfortable weightless, had spent half his life on dragon back, had fallen into the Cauldron more times than he could count.
And so, he felt an eerie calm even as the air whistled in his ears and he accelerated backward, falling.
Falling. Hands grasping at the wind. Feet treading air. Mind rising into a siren wail of panic.
Then, the impact.
A sudden stop. An explosion of pain from every bone, every joint, every cell. Scintillations of light exploded across his vision, then blackness, filled only with the fast beating of his heart.
Somehow, a normal scene returned. A landscape. Stones. Mountains. Night sky. A massive, gray-winged bird wheeling far above.
Then came the pain. It overtook him in one huge, nauseating wave, until his whole body pulsed with it.
He felt hot trickles of blood slipping down his skin in more places than he could count.
He felt profoundly uncomfortable, with jagged stones poking into his legs, his arms, his back—but he was far too afraid to shift, to turn his head, or even to blink.
I’m dead, he thought. Or dying... Gods, I hope it happens fast...
He lay there, staring up at the night sky, watching the world blur out of focus, then return to focus, then blur again. Agony sat on him like a material object, like he was a candle wick and pain was a flame.
He found himself staring at the glowing white disk of the moon. Then he blinked, and it changed. It was still a vivid white, but now it had glowing orange eyes and long, wicked-sharp teeth.
Something serpentine and scaly slithered over his hand, then brushed lightly up his body, from toe to crown.
I’m hallucinating, he thought numbly.
The moon still hung over him, its flaming eyes even closer now, boring into his, but he was too terrified and hurt to move.
You’re dying, the moon said, its voice ringing out in his mind like the voice of some terrible goddess.
The last thing Dagar saw was the moon opening its jaws, exposing rows of glistening, deadly teeth—then, blackness took him.