Chapter 16 #2
Leander handed me my sword. I admired the sheen of the imbued silver before sheathing it across my back.
Everyone stepped back, granting me space.
I clutched my bag, committing it to memory so I could recall it later.
Then I shifted. Bones popped and reformed as the bag, blade, and trousers winked out of existence.
Scales stretched, horns grew, and my dragon form filled the clearing.
Shaking out my wings, I watched Tyrin slip from Frode’s embrace and take his own flight form. Then we took to the air.
Without my father’s ward shimmering around this slice of earth, the sky looked strangely larger. Leaving had never been forbidden; it had been impossible. Now, with the rain pelting against my scales and the artifact beckoning to me, my departure became unavoidable.
It was terrifying.
And oddly exhilarating.
We flew over the hedge and kept going. Creatures fled or hid as we passed a field of blooming apple trees and the ruins of a farm, steadily gaining altitude to stay well out of range of any weapons we might pass.
The rain intensified as we climbed, fat droplets hammering against my scales like tiny fists.
I squinted through the deluge, straining to make out the landscape below.
Everything was gray. The clouds swallowed the horizon, blurring the ground into smudges of muted green and brown, and not even Mount Rainier was visible behind the curtains of water.
Naturally.
How many times had I fantasized about soaring over wild forests, following sparkling rivers, and chasing unfamiliar game? Twenty-five years spent trapped behind a ward, dreaming of the world beyond, and my first flight into freedom took me through the inside of a storm cloud.
A gust of wind buffeted us sideways. I corrected, banking into the turbulence, and tried to find something worth remembering about this view.
There. A break in the clouds revealed a sliver of green valley far below, threaded with silver waterways before the cloud cover swallowed it again.
Annoyed, I pressed northward, following the insistent tug of my stolen treasure, and hoped for better weather on the return journey.
We are approaching the wolves, I said directly to Tyrin’s mind, since this form lacked the vocal cords to do more than roar.
Where? His response was also telepathic. My gargoyles could understand each other in flight form, but to the rest of us, their language consisted of indecipherable grunts and grinding noises.
There. I strained to see through the clouds before recognizing my own foolishness.
I was a dragon who commanded ice and water, squinting through condensation like a hatchling who had forgotten his own gifts.
I shaped the moisture with a thought, carving two clear tunnels through the gray. Directly below.
I widened the tunnels, straining to hold my position. Hovering in turbulent air was an exercise in controlled exhaustion, and my wings were already protesting the sustained effort.
Below lay nothing but ruin. Crumbled structures. Overgrown streets. The skeletal remains of a city that had died long before I was born. Rain hammered the wreckage without discrimination, and nothing stirred beneath it.
The artifact insisted otherwise. Its pull was vertical—directly below my claws—yet the wolves had concealed themselves so thoroughly that even my superior eyesight could not spot them. Either they were underground, or I was losing my mind.
Beside me, Tyrin struggled to hold his position.
He had been locked inside my sire’s ward nearly as long as I had.
The laps we flew around the estate every day had not prepared us for hovering after extended, continuous flight.
I was not exhausted, merely winded, but there was more than myself to consider.
More importantly, we were heading into my battle with the wolves, and I had in my possession new information about their location.
As much as I longed to forgo my training and rely on the element of surprise, wisdom insisted we rest first and strategize.
There are islands off the coast, I said.
Relief was evident in the dip of his shoulders as he realized I had no plans to drive us directly into battle. Yes, m’lord. Bainbridge Island is across the Sound.
I could point to the islands on a map, but having never navigated, I was at a disadvantage. The gargoyles had roamed the globe for centuries before tying their lives to my safety. No matter how loudly my instincts ordered me to take the lead, I was neither rash nor impetuous.
Can you lead us there? I asked.
Yes, m’lord.
Before turning away, I swept my gaze across the ruins one final time.
Movement seized my attention. Two guards loped with purpose across the rubble.
I tracked them until they stopped before a massive metal pipe that went into the ground.
They glanced in both directions and disappeared into the pipe.
I waited for them to reemerge from another point, but they did not.
It was all the confirmation I needed, so I nodded for Tyrin to lead the way.
The clouds thinned as we flew over the Sound, allowing precious glimpses of the vast, dark depths. We flew so long I began to wonder if the gargoyle had taken us off course when he said, There. Just ahead.
Tyrin dove, and I followed. Concrete crumbled beneath my claws when we perched atop the remains of a crumbling old hotel, but the structure held.
The rain eased to a drizzle as I surveyed the island below.
Trees choked the streets, their roots buckling pavement and splitting foundations.
Vines strangled abandoned vehicles as nature claimed its spoils of war.
The corner mart’s shattered windows gaped like missing teeth, and its parking lot was now a pond, reflecting the gray sky.
Nearby, a deer picked through overgrown gardens, utterly unconcerned by our presence. No smoke rose from chimneys. No lights flickered in windows. The entire island appeared deserted, swallowed by decades of wild growth.
Did you see the wolves? Tyrin asked, shaking out his wings.
Two. Did you see the pipe going into the ground?
The one large enough to drive a tank through, but not a dragon?
Having seen memories of military tanks, I confirmed. The wolves disappeared into that pipe.
Many cities have underground dwellings, Tyrin said. However, that is deeply problematic for us.
An understatement. Subterranean tunnels eliminated any hope of reconnaissance.
I could not gauge their numbers, map their defenses, or identify escape routes from the air.
Worse, confined quarters meant I would be forced to fight in my human form, surrendering the protection of my scales, teeth, and claws for the indignity of crawling through tunnels like a rat.
It was, without question, the worst possible battlefield for my first true engagement.
We lingered only long enough for our wings to recover before crossing the Sound a second time. As we neared the city, I focused on the artifact, fully expecting the pull to draw me back toward the den.
Instead, the bloodstone was in motion, and the distance between us was not diminishing nearly as quickly as it should have.
The artifact is no longer in the den. It is moving northeast.
Perhaps this will be beneficial, Tyrin replied.
Agreeing, I adjusted my flight path and followed the tug, dipping beneath the cloud cover to catch the scent of exhaust and wolves. We followed the trail north, out of the district, closing in on the artifact.
Then, the tug of my treasure vanished like a snapped fishing line.
My flight faltered in surprise as panic squeezed my chest.
What is it? Tyrin asked.
I lost it.
Then the thread snapped taut.
Not the steady pull I had grown accustomed to, but a savage wrench that relocated my treasure to the far side of the world in the space of a heartbeat. The distance was staggering.
I could feel it in my marrow. A fracture spread through the foundation of my sanity, creating hairline cracks that would widen with every hour the artifact remained beyond my reach.
The distance stretched between us like a wire pulled to its breaking point, and I felt every agonizing mile of it vibrating through my bones.
M’lord? Concern sharpened Tyrin’s voice.
The artifact. It is now far to the northeast. Very far.
We tracked the wolves’ scent in grim silence, following exhaust fumes and the musk of shifters to a church that butted against the Mondeine boundary. A ward hummed across the entrance, and a sign identified the building as the Seattle Teleportation Station.
I had feared as much.
We landed, shifted, and passed through the ward to find four motorcycles cooling in the lot. Their riders were gone, my treasure with them. Half a world now separated me from the only thing keeping my mind intact.
“I need to retrieve it.” I had intended the statement to sound commanding. Instead, I sounded like a man fighting to keep his head above water.
Tyrin’s gaze held mine for a long moment. Recognition settled into his features. He showed no pity, for he would never insult me with that, but the sober understanding of a warrior who recognized the stakes.
“Yes, m’lord,” he said. “We will make haste and reclaim your prize.”