27. Twenty-Seven #3
Callan joined the Wyldling, the two of them maneuvering to stay on the beast’s blind side, but the drak snapped its head in their direction.
Its mouth fell open, and a blast of flame burst forth.
The blaze didn’t travel far, however, halting in midair as it crashed into a wall of Callan’s ice.
The frozen shield melted as it made contact with the crackling flames, but Callan stood firm, stance wide with his feet planted and arms outstretched, a steady flow of ice replenishing itself.
Nova used the momentary distraction to scale the drak’s long neck.
At last, the beast’s fiery breath ran out.
Blood spewed forth from its injured eye in time with its heartbeat as Nova sprinted toward the summit.
Another sharp whistle of an arrow from Bryn’s bow, this one striking the drak in a vulnerable spot under its chin.
The creature shook its head violently, and Nova hooked an arm around its neck to avoid being flung into the molten lake.
A disgruntled noise rumbled in the beast’s chest; the drak was injured but not yet ready to give up the fight.
The harsh odor stung her nostrils, and, in the time it took the drak to summon its flaming breath, Nova finally reached its head.
Fire poured once more from its gaping mouth, and Nova shot a glance to Callan below, a squall of wintry magic rising to block the flames.
Bryn had retreated to the stone footbridge, ready to make a quick escape when the time came.
The Wyldling sent forth another arrow, narrowly missing Nova as the drak ducked its head.
Nova slashed her sword at the side of the beast’s neck, but the thick scales acted as a plate of armor, and the blade glanced off.
She tried again, striking at the same spot, but the blade barely sank in at all.
It’s no use, she thought, chest heaving and muscles burning; her steel was no match for its scales.
She watched as, far below, Callan’s legs buckled.
He braced himself on one knee, arms extended above his head, the flames eating up his opposing ice until they lapped only a short distance away from him.
Finally, the drak’s breath ran out, giving Callan a brief respite.
Nova called his name, and his eyes shot to her.
“Run,” she shouted. “Go!”
Callan shook his head. The sharp stench of brimstone filled the air, and he tore his gaze away, returning his attention to the beast. Nova fell to her knees beside the creature’s still-seeing eye, raising her sword high. Summoning all the strength remaining within her, she plunged her weapon down.
Nivalian steel pierced the soft globe of the beast’s eye, the blade driving deep inside its skull.
Nova held fast to her buried sword as the drak thrashed from side to side.
A strangled screech filled the cavern, the sound wild and desperate, and the creature’s head dipped suddenly as if it were on the brink of losing consciousness.
Nova spied Bryn and Callan below, both stumbling back as they tracked the drak’s jerky movements.
Nova kept her grip on the hilt of her sword as the beast’s head dropped out from beneath her, careening toward the lake of molten rock.
The chamber rattled with a deafening crack as the beast’s neck collided with the ledge, its spine surely broken and its head hanging at an unnatural angle.
The impact carried Nova forward, but her sword held, firmly embedded in the drak’s skull. Nova shot a glance at her boots, her legs kicking uselessly in the open air above the fiery pit.
“Nova!”
She tore her gaze from certain death below to potential salvation above. Callan had already recklessly thrown half his body over the edge. Bryn peered down at her from behind Callan’s shoulder, presumably holding his legs.
“Here,” Callan rasped, reaching for Nova, a sheen of sweat and soot coating his brow, his kerchief pulled down beneath his chin. The molten rock reflected in his dark eyes, glowing like embers. “Take my hand.”
She would need to let go with one of her hands and swing herself up somehow to reach him.
Rebelling against every instinct of self-preservation, she let her left hand drop.
She swung her legs side to side a few times, hoping to use the momentum to haul herself up, but the sword slipped, and she choked on a gasp.
Her body weight was working against her; gods only knew how much longer the blade would hold.
Nova exhaled sharply through her nose. No more cautious test swings.
It was now or never. Resisting the urge to look down, she focused her gaze on Callan.
He gave a tight nod then gritted his teeth as he shimmied himself closer, extending his arm as far as he could.
Nova swung her legs forcefully and pulled herself up with her right hand.
The sword slid free from its sheath within the drak’s skull just as Callan clamped his fingers around her left wrist. Nova squeezed her eyes shut, and Callan roared through his teeth, dragging her into his arms as Bryn wrenched him back over the ledge by his cloak.
Once they were both safely on solid ground, Callan rolled onto his back and crushed Nova to him. She lay limp across his heaving chest, her sweat-drenched forehead resting against his jaw.
“Have you got it?” he panted.
With a weak pat of her hand, Nova confirmed that the final shard remained secure in her belt. She could only nod.
Between ragged breaths, Callan muttered against her temple, “Barely a nuisance.”