Chapter 42 Rhea #2
The silvery Tethers anchoring Silas to Fragor pulse with light, then shift.
Moving up. Away. Fragor banks, rising above me in a steep climb that puts the sun at his back.
I squint against the brightness, tracking their ascent.
Then the Tethers vanish, so there's no way to predict where Silas will direct Fragor next.
No way to anticipate the angle of attack.
I spin, searching the sky above. Shadows and light play tricks on my vision. Zephyros shifts beneath me, equally tense.
Suddenly, Fragor's massive head snaps downward, nose pointing like an arrow toward the ground. And from directly above, plummeting with terrifying speed, comes Silas, arms extended, a Wind Spear blazing in his hands, aimed straight at my chest.
Time slows.
Silas jumps off his dragon and hurtles toward me, Wind Spear gleaming, death written across his face.
I should move, should counter, should do something. But my body freezes. Not from fear, but from recognition and hyperawareness.
Through the tetrad bond, I feel Vaylen's sudden spike of terror. His own awareness snaps toward me like a string yanked taut. He realizes he's too far away, fighting Tahr. He can't help me.
Zephyros roars beneath me, twisting violently to shield my body with his own scaled hide.
—No! I won't let him take this blow for me.
Unfiltered power erupts from my elemental core. Every element at once. Fire and ice and lightning and wind and earth and metal, all converge in my palms, burning through my veins like molten glass.
The air around me ignites.
I thrust both hands upward and the elements combine into something unimaginable. A barrier that swirls with the joining of every element to become a solid wall.
Silas's powerful Wind Spear collides with my shield.
The impact sends shockwaves rippling outward in concentric circles. Dragons scatter. Screechclaws shriek. The barrier holds but cracks spiderweb across its surface, fractures spreading like lightning through ice.
Silas is thrown backward, his momentum reversed. He tumbles through empty air, limbs flailing. Fragor dives to catch him.
I don't wait.
Metal and rock lift from the battlefield below. Dozens of fallen weapons and boulders. They rocket upward at my command, responding to the Forge and Earth power singing through my blood. The metal and rock merge mid-flight, no longer swords or stones but something fluid. Something deadly.
Liquid magma streams through the air like ribbons and wraps around Fragor's wings.
The dragon roars, beating frantically, but the substance hardens instantly.
His flight falters. Silas scrambles back into position, using Vortex Lift to reach his dragon's head.
Tethers reappear to anchor him, then his hands glow as he tries to break his dragon's bonds with concentrated wind.
But I'm already moving to my next attack.
Lightning crackles across my fingertips.
I gather it, compress it, let it build until the charge makes my hair stand on end, then I release it.
The bolt cuts through the sky, white-hot and screaming.
It splits and strikes Fragor's wings. The dragon convulses. Silas’s Tethers vanish.
And they both fall, crashing to the ground with a thunderous boom as the dragon breaks, his rider crushed beneath him.
My sadness at the sight travels through the tetrad bond.
I did that. I killed a dragon and his rider.
In the next instant, Vaylen's own grief floods my chest. He once called Fragor his.
Once trusted him with everything. Even after their bond severed, some part of him still loves that dragon, and now he fell because of me. The guilt threatens to drown me.
An urgent warning flares through the bond. I whirl.
A boulder the size of a wagon is hurtling toward me. It's mere feet away. Wind erupts from my palms, a blast strong enough to reverse its momentum. The stone rockets back toward its source.
Cliffbecker crouches atop Lithos, weathered face carved from fury. He doesn't dodge. He recaptures the boulder. The Skydune doesn't hesitate. More rocks tear from the battlefield below, forming a deadly barrage. They hurtle toward me in rapid succession.
I bank left. Right. Drop. Rise. Zephyros moves on instinct, anticipating each trajectory.
I don't need to guide him with Tethers, never have.
They only serve to keep me in place. Wind shields deflect what I can't avoid, sending stones spiraling harmlessly past. Cliffbecker's attacks intensify.
Spears of stone. Walls of earth. Avalanches of gravel.
But I don't want to fight him.
"Cliffbecker, stop!" I gather wind around my voice, amplify it, send it cutting through the chaos. The syllables crack like thunder across the battlefield. "Please, listen to me!"
Another barrage of stone spears. I twist away, ice forming a protective dome that shatters under the impact. Shards rain down, glittering like diamonds.
"Cliffbecker, think!" My voice strains with desperation. "How long have you known Vaylen? Has he ever betrayed Embernia?"
He ignores me, his assault never slowing. Earth rises in a wall, racing toward me. I split it down the center with concentrated lightning, the halves tumbling past on either side.
"You've fought beside him. Bled beside him. You know him!"
Lithos banks hard, positioning for another strike.
"Where did she come from?" I shout, gesturing toward the massive dragoness beneath Vaylen. "There's supposed to be one female dragon. One! So which is the true Goddess? The one you follow? Or the one who can do this?"
I don't give him time to answer.
Fire erupts from my left palm. Ice from my right. Lightning crackles around my shoulders while wind spirals at my feet. Metal shards rise from the ground to orbit my head in a deadly halo. Stone dust swirls beneath Zephyros, forming intricate patterns that defy gravity.
All six elements. Simultaneously. Perfectly controlled.
The display burns brighter than the sun, casting shadows across every dragon, every rider. The battlefield goes silent. Even the Screechclaws pause their attacks, talons frozen mid-strike.
Cliffbecker's weathered face drains of color. His hands lower slowly, earth magic flickering and dying between his fingers.
Something shifts in his features. His gray eyes dart between Heratrix and Vestra, measuring, weighing. The confusion bleeds into his expression like ink spreading through water.
His gaze drops to the Screechclaws fighting in perfect formation alongside dragons. The disciplined ranks. The tactical quality. Everything contradicting centuries of war.
I press forward, wind carrying my words directly to him. "Why would they fight alongside dragons, Cliffbecker? Why would they protect us instead of slaughter us?"
His jaw works. Muscles tense along his neck. The indecision carves lines deeper into his face.
Then Lithos roars.
Earth power erupts from the brown dragon without warning. Massive stone spikes tear from the battlefield below, hurtling upward with lethal force. They streak toward me like javelins.
Cliffbecker jerks backward, shock widening his eyes. Dragons and riders move as one. Always. That's the foundation of everything we are. Cliffbecker’s hands move instinctively, trying to pull the attack back, but nothing happens. The stone doesn't respond to his command.
"Lithos, no!"
The dragon doesn't listen.
Ice crystallizes across my palms and hurls forward, shattering the spikes mid-flight, fragments raining down like hail.
The Skydune stares at his dragon, face pale as bleached bone. His hands drop to his sides. Earth power swirls beneath his boots. The signature brown glow of a Skydune creating his descent. He pushes away from Lithos, separating himself from his dragon with deliberate finality.
Cliffbecker abandons the fight.
Lithos dives. Not in retreat or surrender. He goes straight toward the ground, wings tucked tight, brown scales blurring with speed. My heart lurches. He's going for Cliffbecker, intends to crush his own rider for abandoning him.
"No!"
Zephyros banks hard. We plummet after the brown dragon, wind screaming past my face. Power gathers in my palms, ready to intervene, ready to shield Cliffbecker from his dragon's betrayal.
But Lithos ignores the Skydune completely. Instead, his massive talons extend and close around a broken shape… a Screechclaw sprawled across the dirt, feathers matted with blood, body beginning to twitch with the first stirrings of resurrection.
Lithos squeezes his talons. The harpy's body crumples like parchment.
Bones snap with sounds like breaking branches.
Then she disintegrates to dust, and there's no body to resurrect, no curse to rebuild her, just gray powder scattering on the wind.
All those deaths she must have endured catching up at once.
Horror rips through me. My eyes rove the battlefield in desperation. Other dragons—the ones fighting for Vestra—swoop low, talons extended, targeting fallen Screechclaws. Picking them up before resurrection completes, crushing them, destroying them forever.
Dust spreads across the ground like ash from funeral pyres.
Fuck! They're not just fighting. They're exterminating.