Chapter 26 #2
He blows a hole in the first wall, and I follow him through, dust and grit stinging my eyes, as my heart slams against my ribs.
We pass through empty cells, dark and cold, and then more rooms. All the while, I keep waiting for the sound of boots, for an arrow, clutching the little dragons tight in my arms. When a guard rounds a corner, the rider hits him with a wave of magic before I can even react, and the man falls back.
More stairs. Another ceiling brought down behind us with a crack like thunder, and then a hole through another wall. We reach the outer edge of the castle, where the stone meets the hillside and cool, fresh air hits my face. I can finally breathe—but only for a second.
The rain has turned into a pitiful drizzle, and Auranius’ roar echoes in the sky.
My entire body goes stiff. “He’ll smell them.”
“He’ll smell me first. Wait here.” He pauses, noticing something among the trees. “No. Let’s go.”
A red dragon, female, I sense, emerges from the tree line, her wingspan folded tight against a body not much larger than a bull.
In two steps, she’s beside us. The rider swings onto her in one motion and reaches down.
My insides turn cold and empty. The hatchlings.
I don’t want to say goodbye, but this is the only way.
“Go,” I whisper to Ava and Vos.
The little dragons climb into the rider’s arms without fuss, and the sight of them leaving opens an unexpected, selfish wound.
Still, I’m glad they’re on their way to safety, on their way to freedom, even if tears sting my eyes.
Happy, sad, and terrified tears. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but at least the little dragons are free.
The rider holds Ava and Vos with one hand, and the staff with the other, and stares at me, something dark glinting in his eyes.
“Climb. Now,” he says between gritted teeth.
There’s no mistaking the desperation and fear in his voice. It mimics mine, and I decide it’s better to risk the unknown than to stay here and face Alayel’s wrath. With some difficulty, I hold the scales and find myself sitting behind the rider.
In a second, we’re up in the air, Ava and Vos clinging tight to him.
They wouldn’t have accepted him so easily if he meant to harm them, and that thought puts me at ease.
I wrap my legs around a ridge on the back of the dragon, holding onto its scales, hoping I don’t hurt her, but more worried about not falling.
As we rise, the castle shrinks beneath us until its towers are small as teeth. Beyond it, the hills and dark woods spread out on either side toward glints of ocean, and then, far past it all, the wall dividing us from the Kingdom of the Riders looms impossibly distant.
A familiar smell of wings hits me, and my stomach drops before I even turn around. When I do, Auranius fills the sky behind us, a vast beige shape blotting out the clouds, his wingspan alone wider than the castle gates, closing the distance between us as if it’s nothing.
The red dragon’s wings beat in a frantic, ragged rhythm—this is as fast as she can go. My throat tightens. There’s no way we’ll cross the wall before Auranius reaches us.
“Can you use the staff?” I yell, trying to cut through the wind. “Against him?”
The rider passes me the object. “You try it.”
There’s no time to explain that I don’t know how to use it, and his hands are occupied with the hatchlings anyway. I turn and see the golden dragon lunging toward us, his mouth open, a brilliant spark on his throat. Shit.
Eight seconds before he unleashes his fire. I can do it. I can save the little ones.
As the gigantic dragon closes in, I scramble toward the red dragon’s tail and launch myself into the air, as high as I can.
A leap of faith.
I manage to land on Auranius’ head.
I point the staff at the spot between his neck and body, then realize I can’t do any magic, so I slam the artifact on his scales as hard as I can.
Auranius emits a high-pitched scream, but no fire comes out of his mouth. Up ahead, the red dragon flies on, unharmed, although still too close.
Beneath me, the gigantic golden dragon dives—or falls. I hold on tight to a scale and keep banging the staff on the back of his neck, but I slide forward onto his head. Even though I’m barely holding on to his snout, I stab his eye with the tip of the staff.
His scream pierces the air, and then he flies upward. This time, I scrabble for purchase on his body, but he’s too wide for my legs to grip, and his scales offer no hold, so I keep sliding. Fearing to reach his tail, I jump onto one of his wings and hit it with the staff.
Maybe I’ll die here, but I’ll take this dragon with me—or at least I’ll give Ava and Vos a chance to escape.
The wing is much sturdier than I thought, but also large, and I feel steadier here, surrounded by this enormous membranous leather.
Until he turns upside down.
My hands reach out, trying to hold onto something, but there’s nothing. Auranius becomes smaller above me, already turning around to pursue.
I’m falling. I try to point the staff down and slow my fall, but nothing happens, and the ground rushes up to meet me.
Perhaps this is the end, but what a beautiful end it is. I helped to save the little dragons. I faced Auranius. I made mistakes, yes, but I gave everything to undo the damage I caused.
I’m ready to meet Thantos.
But something is diving toward me—fast—and suddenly there is a dragon beneath my body, and I am on his back.
The purple and black dragon who saved me. I can’t believe he’s here.
“Thank you,” I mutter, as I caress his soft, dark scales.
My relief vanishes as a roar echoes above me. I look up—and go still. Auranius is diving toward us, even though one of his wings is bent at a weird angle, and one of his eyes is closed. I also realize we’re heading to the bay, not the wall.
My dragon makes a half-circle turn, heading toward the rider’s kingdom, but Auranius is approaching fast, bellowing high-pitched screams.
I point the staff at the gigantic dragon—and nothing happens. Auranius dives at us, and I have no time to scream before his tail connects with the dark dragon like a crack of thunder.
His barbed tail—raking across him. The dark dragon shudders beneath me as red blood covers his scales. Too much blood.
I exhale a small breath of relief as the huge dragon banks away, retreating toward its mountain lair instead of continuing its pursuit.
But the reprieve is short-lived. A dark shape cuts through the air ahead—a ballista bolt, dashing toward my wounded dragon.
With surprising ease, he dodges it, then dodges another projectile, and another.
The wall rises ahead, but so do our defense towers—from where they’re firing nonstop.
Something slams into us with a sound like a snapping bone, and I nearly fly off. I look back. A bolt has buried itself deep between the dragon’s scales.
No, no, no. I want to beg Dracolius’ towers to stop firing. We’re not attacking anyone. Just let us through. This beautiful, sweet dragon shouldn’t get hurt because of me.
His wingbeats grow shallow and slow, and we sink—closer and closer to the towers. Another bolt lodges itself deep into his scales, with a sound like flesh tearing, as a lump forms in my throat.
When we finally cross the wall, I want to break down and cry in relief, even if bolts still chase us.
We fly on, the dragon’s wingbeats growing more labored and shallow, his breathing strained, until a small break in the trees appears below. He angles downward, his descent unsteady, and hits the ground with a heavy, skidding crash that sends dirt and torn-up grass flying.
I slide from his back and check the wounds. Oh, no. My breath stills and my stomach lurches. The dragon has long gashes where the bolts tore through his scales, still welling dark red, dripping steadily into the bushes beneath him.
A desperate scream rips out of my throat. If I could, I’d lick his entire body and heal him, but I don’t have that magic. I can’t do anything.
“I’m so sorry.” My words come with a strangled sob.
He turns to look at me, purple eyes soft and tired, each breath a shallow labor, and I press my cheek against the warm scales of his jaw, feeling the vibration of a low sound in his chest.
Then his weight shifts under me. A single step back, then another. I try to touch his scales, but my hands find only air as he swings his great head away, tucks his wings, and runs past me into the dark tree line, branches snapping under him until the forest swallows him whole.
“Wait.” I chase after him. “You need a healer. You need to rest.”
The trees press in so close that I can barely see him ahead of me, let alone understand how he can move through this dense forest.
“Wait!” I call out again into the dark, stumbling forward.
As I take a careful step, a hand clasps around my mouth.
“The last thing I’d do here is yell.” The rider’s voice has a threatening, dark edge.
I push his hand away. His grip tightens, so I bite down hard on his fingers. He pulls back, but leans close to whisper, “Don’t yell.”
“Fine,” I whisper back. “Where did he go? The dragon? He was hurt.”