Chapter 5
Look out!
Before Leita could react, Thalia pushed her aside with her chest, throwing them both out of the way of a falling tree.
Smoldering ash choked Leita’s nose and throat, and it was a moment before she regained her bearings enough to climb to her hands and knees.
Thalia lay beside her panting, her beautiful white mane stuck to her neck with sweat, and the rest of her turned a sooty gray.
Leita doubted she looked any better, her lips cracked from the heat and stinging with sweat and ash.
The fallen tree crackled, its charred black skeleton all that remained as flames ate past the bark.
All around, the world was gray save for the wicked orange and yellow of scattered fires.
The heat was unbearable and the choking smoke was worse.
Tears clumped her lashes together as she blinked the grit from her eyes.
There’s something strange about this blaze, Thalia said.
It isn’t wholly natural, agreed Leita, her throat too irritated to speak.
Pushing up from the ground, Leita looked around what had once been a lush valley. Everywhere her gaze touched had been razed by fire, only smoldering coals and carcasses left behind.
The fire had grown large enough to create its own weather, and high winds battered her scalded cheeks. The sky had gone gray, but not with the promise of rain; no, it was tinged a sickly brown, polluted by smoke.
It moved so quickly—too quickly. She’d only ever seen a fire move so fast through drought-ridden prairie, where there was nothing to stop it. The forest here had been dense and healthy, though. The trees should have slowed the blaze, some even resisted it with their thick bark and waxy leaves.
Instead, the flames jumped from treetop to treetop, burning from top to bottom rather than bottom to top.
Someone set this fire with magic, she couldn’t help suspecting. But why?
It couldn’t be a mistake that it was so near the border. Could it have been to weaken it? To what end? No one had come through—which left only that someone had tried to leave.
Leita’s stomach clenched anxiously. The orcs were their allies now, at least in Balmirra under King Vallek Far-Sight; there were sanctioned, official ways to travel to orcish territory.
Why, then, create a weak spot in the eastern border and sneak into the Griegens here? Unless…they meant to continue east. To human lands.
The implications gave Leita no comfort. The council will want to know about this, she feared.
First things first, Thalia said, regaining her hooves. Shaking out her coat, a cloud of soot exploded from her body, leaving her a lighter shade of gray. We need a new strategy.
Leita was dreading it, but she had to agree.
For the past two days, she’d been using her own magic to throw water from every stream and creek onto nearby hotspots.
She’d tried to coax the waterways to help her, to overflow their banks and seep into the land.
She’d tried to reason with the faelands, to offer her aid.
She’d shot magic into the sky, trying to bring the rain.
Nothing so far had worked. Wary of her already, the faelands was spooked by the fire, unable and unwilling to listen.
Taking in a deep breath, tasting the smoke on the back of her tongue, Leita widened her stance. The faelands couldn’t help her, but she had her own well of magic. What kind of Queen would she be if she couldn’t defeat a wildfire?
Focusing on the nearest blaze, Leita reached for the flames, beckoning them to her. The licking orange fires bent toward her, but they wanted to resist, clinging to the branches. They didn’t want to go, they wanted to feast.
Gritting her teeth, Leita poured her magic onto the ground below her, pooling it in a great deluge over the earth. In an enormous wave she cast it at the blaze, overtaking its heart in one swift volley.
The fire hissed and sizzled, an angry scream as it fought to stay alight. Its will was strong, stronger than Leita had guessed, but hers was stronger still.
Shouting her own scream, Leita thrust her arms back, pulling the trees down and the fire and all the air with it. Without air, the fire snuffed out in a haze of smoke.
That was one.
Turning to face the next, Leita shrugged to loosen up her shoulders. Brute force wasn’t what she wanted to do. It would take time, energy, but if she had to do it herself, then it was the only way.
I asked for your help and you refused, she warned the faelands. So don’t blame me if this hurts a little.
The world Attalus woke to was so barren and gray, he was convinced at first that he’d ended up in the afterworld. Surely, though, if he was truly dead, he wouldn’t ache so terribly?
His groaning exhale sent whorls of ash into the air, making him sneeze.
A little squeak caught his ear.
Curving his long neck, his chin dragging through the ash and charcoal, he peered hazily down his body to one of his collapsed wings. Something tickled the sensitive undersides, and with effort, he raised his wing a few feet off the ground.
A dozen pairs of wide eyes stared back at him.
There was a good chance he was still in the throes of venom delirium, but he thought a collection of woodland creatures huddled under his wing. Although fireproof himself, the animals must’ve been truly desperate to seek shelter with a dragon.
Blinking the soot from his eyes, a look around his landing site told him, yes, the situation had been desperate.
The fire had moved on from the area long enough ago that the land and air retained an eerie coolness.
Gray particles hung in the still air, and what was left of the forest stood charred and silent.
A mother deer and her fawn were the first to flee, bounding away and kicking up ash in their wake. Next out ran a mother fox and her three kits, her bright orange coat stark against the gray landscape. Then came a badger and a little family of hedgehogs, slower in their escape and eying him warily.
Last was a group of martens in their brown summer coats. They stared at him with their glassy black eyes, little noses twitching as they sniffed. One by one they slipped out from under his wing.
All but one.
One was more cautious, looking this way and that but refusing to leave the shelter of his wing.
Attalus gave a warning growl—he needed to move and find his own shelter. His red scales were more noticeable than even the fox, and he didn’t doubt the gorgoroi would be looking for him.
When the marten still didn’t move, Attalus just shrugged. His wing folded closed creakily, nestling the little creature within the membrane. So long as it didn’t start trying to chew its way out, he could take it with him for now. Perhaps a little morsel for later.
His legs shook violently beneath him, but Attalus forced himself up. His wings wouldn’t lay flat to his sides properly; something was probably broken, but he couldn’t feel it so didn’t care. Tail dragging behind him, Attalus trudged through the devastated forest in search of a safe place to rest.
The venom coursed hotly through his veins. There was an antidote to dragon venom, of course, but he wouldn’t find it outside the Droplets. Without it, there was nothing to do but ride out the fever and pain and hope he survived it.
He wasn’t sure of his chances, given how much Damianos—Demetrios—whoever—had managed to pump him with. He hoped whichever bastard it was looked downright stupid without their missing fang.
Attalus wasn’t sure how long he walked. Every step was arduous, and the ground beckoned him as surely as a siren’s song. He lifted one heavy leg after another, though, determined to not stay out in the open.
The land began to incline, and Attalus followed the ridge of hills north. A hill could be just what he needed, as hills sometimes had—
The yawning mouth of a cave appeared to his right, and Attalus could hardly believe his luck. Limping inside, he didn’t even care that there was probably a bear further in. Within the shelter of the rocks, Attalus finally let himself collapse.
Rolling onto his unabused side, he gingerly probed the bite wound with gentle claws—and came away hissing. The exposed flesh was hot and angry, the cauterization still fresh.
With a mighty sigh, Attalus let his muzzle slump onto the ground at the cave entrance. Here, at least, he might die in peace.
Leita strode into the water, clothes and all. Thalia followed her in, releasing an appreciative nicker as the cool water washed away the worst of the grime.
The wide spot in the stream was deep enough to sit down in and let the water flow around her shoulders. With a flick of magic, Leita cleared the surface of its sooty top layer and plunked her face into the cool relief. Gobbling down great gulps, her parched throat ached with the succor.
Three days it took her to finally put out the blaze. A few hotspots likely lingered, but the remaining forest and wildlife were, for the most part, safe from the fire.
Now they could worry about possible mudslides in late summer and how to encourage new growth next spring.
That sounds like a worry for tomorrow, thought Thalia, dipping her long face into the water. Flicking droplets from her ears, she reminded Leita, You deserve a rest.
You’re right, tomorrow’s for worrying about mudslides. Today, we need to check the border.
Thalia whinnied unhappily, blowing bubbles just under the surface. Since when are you such a responsible monarch? You can rest for a day, Leita. You’ve earned it.
Maybe she had, but that didn’t mean Leita would stop just yet.
It was true that whatever caused the fire was long gone.
If they’d set it to weaken the border and pass through undetected, they were likely days away.
So, the best, smartest thing Leita could do was investigate and reinforce the border if possible, so that whoever had slipped out couldn’t slip back in.
Plunging underwater, Leita shook out her hair and scrubbed her face before resurfacing. Spitting an arc of water at Thalia, she told her mama mare, C’mon, don’t be difficult.