Chapter 20 The Third Rider
THE THIRD RIDER
Venrick’s sword hung in his sweat-slicked grip, the Yogo Sapphire forged into the pommel offering him nothing that could help Lark in her collapse.
He jumped when the dragon’s roar shattered the air, buzzing the windows in their frames.
His instincts screamed at him to flee, but deep within that earth-shaking bellow, he recognized the tone.
It was that specific pitch he’d heard countless times before.
Ingamar burst through the ceiling of the hideaway in an explosion of splintering wood and breaking tile.
Each of his massive foreclaws, the size of wagon wheels, ripped through centuries-old timber and slate as if they were parchment.
The debris rained down upon the surrounding streets in a deadly hail, forcing terrified onlookers to dive for cover.
Venrick stood his ground, knowing the precise distance to maintain.
The great dragon’s neck, corded with muscles and adorned with scales, descended into the building.
Ingamar’s breath came in hot, sulfurous gusts, washing over Venrick in plumes.
“I am not going to harm her,” Venrick said steadily, still holding his blade. “I am here to help, just the same as you.”
Ingamar peeled back his upper lip in a deliberate snarl, each ivory fang like a polished blade waiting to sever him in half.
The growl that rumbled from the dragon’s throat carried tones too deep for human ears to fully perceive.
Ingamar swung his horned head away, each movement precise despite his rage.
His foreclaw cupped around Lark’s unconscious body as he cradled her gently.
The dragon’s crowned head swung like a battering ram, his spiral horns smashing through the stone wall as if it were made of sand.
Debris cascaded down in a waterfall of stone and mortar, but Ingamar’s barbed tail swept away the chaos, preparing his launch pad.
Ash, I can’t lose her like this, Venrick thought.
Ignoring the screaming protest of his battered muscles, Venrick surged up the mountain of broken stone Ingamar had created.
Each step sent more debris skittering beneath his boots, but he found purchase in the rubble, letting his innate elven speed guide his feet.
At the crest of the ruined wall, he launched himself into empty air, arms outstretched toward Ingamar’s back.
His fingers met the smooth, scaley surface.
The impact knocked the wind from his lungs as he scrambled for a handhold on the living armor.
Each scale was a polished surface that offered no grip.
He panicked as he slid downward, his fingers finding no fissures in the pristine scales.
In desperation, he grabbed wildly at anything within reach: scale edges, ridges, even the spaces between them.
Above him now, Ingamar’s wings unfurled like vast golden sails, blocking out the newly exposed sun.
Then Venrick’s fingers finally caught onto something solid.
A leather strap from an old saddle, half-hidden between the scales.
He locked his grip with the strength of a drowning man.
Ingamar’s launch shook the very air, each downbeat his wings rattling windows throughout this section of the city.
The force of their ascent threatened to tear Venrick’s arm from its socket, sending white-hot bolts of pain through his shoulder.
His teeth ground together as he endured, suspended like a desperate flag in the turbulent wind.
The city shrank beneath them, its proud spires reduced to toy blocks as Ingamar carried them north, climbing higher into the cooling air.
How? The question echoed in his mind, nearly drowned out by the cacophony of warning bells and sirens that had begun to wail below, across Astral City.
The sound marked the death of any hope for a peaceful resolution.
The Vermillion Keep’s crimson banners seemed to wave in accusation as the unlikely trio soared past. Venrick knew the King of Lamar would see this invasion of Nordraven orcs, Morsythians and a riderless dragon as nothing less than a progression of their war.
Word of the opening of a portal to the North would travel along the streets and up the hill to the Vermillion Keep within minutes.
The full might of the kingdom would set out after them.
The elite Knights of the Keep, battle-hardened dwarves, elves and magi wielding powerful spells, and the legendary dragonriders themselves would come hunting.
Although they would not know exactly what they were looking for, since Venrick and this woman he’d been tracking didn’t actually know what they were after either.
Ingamar trembled violently, nearly dislodging Venrick’s white-knuckled grip on his sword.
Somehow, dangling there on Ingamar’s side, he managed to sheathe his blade and immediately grab the saddle with his freed hand.
The dragon’s movements became deliberately erratic, each shake a calculated attempt to dislodge this unwanted passenger, making Venrick’s grip on the leather straps all the more precious.
“Ingamar!” The name tore from Venrick’s throat, harsh and raw against the wind. “You really want my death on your conscience, too!”
The dragon’s response came in a burst of orange flame that illuminated the clouds around them. Before the fire could dissipate, Ingamar plunged through his own inferno, the superheated air washing over Venrick in a searing wave that stole his breath and singed his exposed skin.
“Hey!” Venrick’s shout was half protest, half pain as the heat rolled past him. It was a mercifully brief blast that left him scorched but not seriously burned.
Despite Ingamar’s attempts to be free of him, Venrick’s years of combat training served him well.
Each movement was calculated, each grip tested before he committed his weight as he pulled himself up the dragon’s flank.
The golden scales beneath his hands still radiated heat from the flame-bath as Venrick pulled himself onto the familiar curve of Ingamar’s back.
Tel’s saddle waited there like a ghost from the past, its sophisticated engineering a stark contrast to Venrick’s current predicament.
His legs found the armored holsters, sliding into the open-backed stirrups.
The quick-release strap, an innovation that had saved countless riders’ lives, lay ready at the back.
The padded chest rest beckoned, designed to cradle a rider’s upper body during the howling speeds of dragon flight, while the tether ring stood ready to secure a proper riding harness.
Venrick’s armor of steel plate and padded leather served him well in ground combat, but now it worked against him.
It lacked the specialized attachments and anchor points of proper dragon-riding gear.
Left with no choice, he wrapped his hands around the two handles positioned ahead of his knees.
The worn leather felt like the hilt of his sword as he locked his grip, preparing himself for whatever aerial acrobatics Ingamar might attempt.
“What are you trying to do, Ingamar?” he called to the dragon.
Ingamar shook again, his golden scales rippling with his hide.
“Instead of trying to shake me, why don’t you fly outside the veil of protection before the Keep traps us inside with their wards?” Venrick shouted over the wind.
That shimmering barrier hung before them like a curtain of clear iron, its magical resonance creating ripples in the air that caught the morning sun.
The veil, a masterwork of magical engineering, offered Astral City a protective layer.
Its enchantments were woven through centuries of spell craft and had protected the dragonriders of Lamar for as long as anyone could remember.
“You realize if the wards have been changed, we’re going to boil from the inside out once we pass through the veil,” Venrick shouted, his voice tight with the knowledge of exactly how such a death would feel.
The magical barrier was designed to recognize friend from foe through complex enchantments tied to each dragon’s unique magical signature.
These enchantments could be altered with terrifying speed by skilled a magician.
Ingamar showed no hesitation, driving forward with increasing speed toward the shimmering wall.
Venrick’s muscles tensed involuntarily as they approached, preparing for pain he desperately hoped wouldn’t come.
The veil enveloped them in its ethereal embrace.
A moment of tingling pressure, like passing through a curtain of static electricity, washed over him.
Then they were through, alive and whole.
The vast expanse of Northern Lamar opened before them.
They headed directly for the legendary Everburning Forest, an ocean of trees that was home to the contested territory between Nordraven and Lamar.
The city’s warnings echoed behind them, tolling bells and wailing battle horns carried their message.
Venrick twisted in the saddle, scanning the skies for the telltale silhouettes of pursuing dragonriders.
The Vermillion Keep’s response should have been immediate and overwhelming, yet the sky remained empty except for clouds.
The absence of pursuit was nearly as unnerving as had there been one.
The chill he felt had nothing to do with the altitude.
“Why aren’t they coming after us?” The question slipped from his lips, heavy with suspicion.
Lark’s fire fae materialized beside him, her presence matching the dragon’s speed. Her hair writhed like living flames in the wind, her dress flickered with pure fire. Her words carried a grave warning.