Chapter 20 The Third Rider #2
“The Archmagus knows they don’t need to chase you. That amulet you wear will warn him if you complete your mission. If you want to help Lark in getting back the Hyalite, you must not share the same path. It’s too dangerous. She doesn’t remember how to control our power.”
“Why should I listen to you? You weren’t there to help when that woman stole the Hyalite.”
“I want Lark to come back to me, but I can only be away from him for so long before…”
“Before what?”
“He knows I’m not there. I have to go,” she said.
“Wait, are you coming back?” Venrick asked.
“He is suspicious. If he knows where I’ve been sneaking off to these last weeks, he’ll stop me from being able to help her. Don’t let Lark fall victim to your curse,” she warned, then vanished in a spray of sparks.
She’s right, Hierro will know where we go unless I can go somewhere that’s hidden from the Magi. We need to go somewhere with protective spells that only a rider can create.
“Go to the Floating Islands…. Ingamar, did you hear me?” he said louder. “Go to Tel’s safety zone.”
The world twisted as Ingamar spiraled through the air, the horizon spinning like a potter’s wheel.
Despite his secure position in the saddle, Venrick’s insides lurched with each rotation.
Bile rose in his throat. As the dragon leveled out, sliding behind a towering storm cloud, nausea won out.
He leaned out to avoid fouling Ingamar’s scales.
His fingers brushed against something that changed everything.
The object jutting up near his left leg was something he hadn’t noticed, with its hilt and pommel resting in line with Ingamar’s shoulder.
The instant his hand touched it, a tempest was unleashed.
Divine electricity surged through Venrick’s arm, a current of raw power that flooded every nerve.
It thundered through his chest, each heartbeat a drum of pure energy that echoed through his being.
Venrick’s eyes flew wide open, seeing what true magic was for the first time.
Everything around him became vibrant with life.
The patterns of the world swam around him.
He could access true strength far beyond any that he could’ve imagined.
With this power, Venrick felt he could reshape the world.
The connection broke as he yanked his hand away, leaving him gasping as the world returned to its mundane state. The abrupt loss felt like plunging into darkness after staring at the sun.
“Stormbreaker,” he breathed, recognition dawning on him as he identified Tel’s brismil blade still secured to Ingamar’s saddle.
This time, when his hand closed around the hilt, he was ready, or thought he was.
Nothing could truly prepare him for the flood of energy that crashed through him again.
Power surged through his being like a celestial river breaching its banks.
The blade sang with energy both creative and destructive.
Within this blade forged from an ancient dragon’s claw was a god’s might.
The sensation was so complete, so all-encompassing, that part of him believed if he jumped off Ingamar he could fly.
Ingamar rolled again, but Venrick no longer feared falling.
His legs gripped the dragon’s sides with supernatural certainty as they inverted, hanging upside down beneath the clouds as casually as walking on solid ground.
When they righted themselves once more, Venrick released the sword with a laugh of pure joy.
The blade vanished in a trail of smoke, rematerializing in its sheath like a magic trick.
“Amazing,” he grinned, traces of power still tingling in his fingers.
After an hour of hard flying, the Floating Islands materialized in the distance.
The massive chunks of earth hung suspended, defying the laws of gravity.
They hovered in majestic silence hundreds of feet above the heart of the Everburning Forest. Venrick continued to scan the horizon behind them only to see empty skies, untouched by the silhouettes of pursuing dragons.
They banked around a towering cliff face among the westernmost islands, Ingamar’s wings cutting through cloud-wisps with surgical precision.
The dragon suddenly angled right, then barreled straight toward an imposing wall of stone.
Venrick’s heart hammered. He knew of this hideout from the weathered lines on Tel’s maps.
It was one of many sanctuaries the Paragon had warded with layers of protective enchantments against prying eyes and hostile magic.
“Ingamar, the cliff,” Venrick called, his knuckles whitening on the saddle handles. The dragon’s only response was a dismissive snort that carried traces of smoke.
“Ingamar, watch out for the cliff!”
Venrick clamped his eyes shut, muscles tensing for impact. Instead, they passed clean through the illusion of rock. Ingamar’s wings cupped the air as they descended. Venrick opened his eyes. They were gliding over a pristine meadow nestled into the forested hillside.
“The cliff was a fake,” he breathed, equal parts relieved and impressed by Tel’s masterwork of magical deception.
Ingamar landed smoothly in the soft grass.
As he carefully set Lark down, Venrick went to work loosening his legs from the saddle.
His hands shifted to the worn clasps securing the dragon bone scabbard.
Without warning, Ingamar’s shoulder dipped, the motion sending a tremor through his entire frame.
The subtle shift in the dragon’s muscles beneath the saddle was all the warning Venrick needed.
The intent was clear in that deliberate tilt.
Ingamar meant to roll, with or without his unwanted passenger free of the saddle.
Venrick launched himself away from the rolling dragon, but he got caught in one stirrup. His boot was wedged firmly in the reinforced leg sleeve, the metal edges biting into his ankle as he twisted. The momentary snag was all it took.
“Hey! Ingamar, stop!”
Ignoring him, Ingamar continued to roll.
The weight of his side pressed down. The ground rushed up to meet them.
Venrick’s leg was pinned there between the ground and Ingamar.
The pressure built instantly, bones creaking under stress they were never meant to bear.
The saddle’s intricate metalwork dug into his flesh, transforming from safety equipment into an instrument of torture.
“Ahh!” Venrick cried out. “Stop, my leg, you’re breaking my leg.”
The pressure let off slightly. Ingamar held himself partially on his side, still trapping Venrick there. He wriggled like a fish on a hook, finally wrenching his foot free so he could scramble away from the dragon.
“What the ash is wrong with you? Are you sick in the head or something?” The words had barely left Venrick’s mouth before Ingamar’s head snapped forward, jaws clashing like metal doors a few feet away. Spittle carrying the scent of brimstone sprayed across Venrick’s face and body.
The dragon coiled protectively around Lark’s unconscious form, one membranous golden wing spread over her like a living pavilion. Every movement was calculated, every gesture a clear warning for Venrick to keep his distance.
“I’m not the bad guy here,” Venrick protested, hands raised from his sides.
“We all want the same thing, to get that Hyalite back before Nordraven taps into it. I’m just trying to do it before I’m killed by this curse.
Maybe then I’ll finally be seen for what I am and become a Knight in training,” he said, then considered what Ingamar’s motive were.
“Why are you doing this anyway? She’s not Tel.
I don’t know where you went off to after he died, but it sure as ash wasn’t to help me.
Selfish beast,” he muttered, settling on the grass dozens of yards away.
Ingamar cocked his head back and sent a burst of flame at Venrick, igniting the grass at his feet, and forcing Venrick to roll away. The fire crept through the grass without wind to drive it, creating a natural boundary between them.
“Thanks,” Venrick’s sarcasm drifted through the still evening air. “It’s almost dark and I’ll need a warming fire.”
Two perfect rings of smoke drifted from Ingamar’s nostrils in reply.
As darkness drew in around them, Venrick busied himself with tending a small fire fueled by the dried branches he found along the edge of the meadow.
The whole while, Ingamar never took his gaze off him.
As he sat down to bathe in the warmth of the fire, Venrick leveled his stare at Ingamar’s unwavering golden eyes.
The dragon released a low growl that sent vibrations through the ground, a constant reminder of the fragile truce they’d established.
“I’ll stay over here, and you stay over there. And you don’t have to worry about the glow from the fire. Tel has this place masked into the rock to look like a cliff and I’m sure the wards would turn around anyone who thought they smelled smoke,” Venrick said.
Ingamar seemed to accept the words, easing into the grass as he lay his muzzle on the ground.
“I saw your tracks outside Fletcher’s Passage. Did you know she had the Hyalite then?” Venrick asked.
Ingamar’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“I wasn’t sure of it until I saw that other woman steal it,” Venrick admitted. “But I’m sure you felt where it was the whole time. It’s the one Tel had, isn’t it?”
Ingamar raised his upper lip, showing the fronts of his teeth.
“A different one? But what are the odds of that. Hyalites don’t go missing and then we find a random woman who is hiding one just a few weeks after ours was stolen. You know the Nordraven kings haven’t found it yet either. Or at least they hadn’t when I went to pry information from Zorjan.”
Ingmar perked up at the mention of the goblin’s name.
“That’s right. I faced that slippery goblin on my own. He bit me, you know,” Venrick said, showing his healing forearm to the dragon.