Chapter 32 #2
Leita flew back through the hole, the ground beneath her upturning and splitting. She landed on Thalia, and together they led the reaching roots for the nearest dragon.
The faelands fought against the invasion, reaching with grasping roots. Dragon roars turned to shrieks as the very ground turned against them. Woody fingers broke through the dirt to wind round ankles and tails.
One after another, dragons fell to the ground, bound there by constricting roots.
Thalia jumped to the side, avoiding a stream of flame from above. Dragonfire rained down onto the roots, trying to burn them away.
Leita reached out for the nearest fire and clenched her fist shut, snuffing it.
Back and forth Thalia ran, Leita buffeting out fires. Her warriors cheered, adding their magic to encourage the roots and put out errant flames.
With her fae handling the fires, Leita lifted her hands into the air and began to swirl her fingers.
The sea breeze off the cliffs grew into mighty gales, shaking the cypresses and overfilling dragon wings.
Those trying to hover over the battle went head over tail, jettisoned out to sea or back across the strait.
Unleashed, the faelands rumbled underfoot, an earthquake shaking the cliff itself.
I think it knows it’s time to end this, Thalia told her.
Agreed.
Changing course, Thalia ran hard for the battling brothers.
The ground around them had been utterly devastated, scorched and slashed beyond recognition. Both dragons panted, tired from the duel, but neither would yield.
Riding around to catch his peripheral vision, Leita called, “Attalus!”
His long snout swung in her direction, and his large golden eyes narrowed into a scowl. He sprang at his brother, putting himself between Leita and Araxos.
She tried to summon roots and magic to hold the anax, but Attalus was too close.
Thalia leapt away to avoid a swiping tail, whickering in annoyance. Attalus ducked the front half of Araxos, claws swiping across his brother’s throat. The wicked curves caught on a loose scale, ripping it away, and blood welled at the exposed skin.
It was a wonder neither had bled until now, their hard scales scuffed and dented but holding.
The blood though…
Leita’s stomach churned.
Something’s not right. I can sense…
I can smell it, too, Thalia confirmed.
Then remember to take my side when this is over.
Leaping from Thalia’s back, Leita flew at the dragons, hitting the ground at a run as she closed in. Diving beneath their scrabbling front legs, she caught hold of a scale at Araxos’s throat. Getting her nails under it, she wrenched it away, making the great anax yowl in pain.
More blood welled up to the exposed skin, the smell of metal stinging her nose. It wasn’t the tang of iron but something else, something slippery and wrong.
Leita slashed at the skin, opening a wound.
His arm caught her in the middle, tossing her away. Attalus screamed in outrage, pumping his wings to crash down onto Araxos and pin him.
Pushing herself up, she ran back into the fray.
“I can smell it, the poison in him,” she cried. “Hold him down while I—”
Attalus roared in her face, blowing her hair off her shoulders.
“I know!” she shouted back. “I was wrong, I get it! But I’m not wrong now.”
With his strength and focus on keeping Araxos down, Attalus had no choice but to snort and let her approach.
Araxos struggled, roaring when Leita thrust her hand not just against the wound but into his very flesh.
Attalus clamped his maw around Araxos’s nape, holding him down while Leita reached deep, deep inside.
Hot, sticky blood oozed around her hand, and she could feel the anax’s very pulse against her palm. Her magic seeped into his veins and tissues, hunting down the strange metallic stench in Araxos’s blood.
At first, she couldn’t root out what the abnormality was. She searched as she had in Attalus’s system, destroying the venom that attacked his tendons and muscles.
But what afflicted the anax wasn’t in his tendons or muscles. And it wasn’t venom.
It was, indeed, poison.
Not the kind Attalus had been accused of using. No, a kind administered slowly, one that not only clouded the mind but clustered in it.
Her magic delved into the delicate sacks of his organs, and within the swollen bags of bile and blood and breath, she found what she sought.
The extraction was excruciating, given how much the anax fought her and Attalus. Leita’s hand slid inside the wound as Araxos bucked, trying to unseat Attalus, but her dragon held.
His hot breath cascaded over her, and when she met one of his large eyes, blinking not far from her head, understanding thrummed down their bond.
Do it. Finish it.
She pulled the poison from his kidneys and liver, condensing it in her palm. Leita dragged a handful of silvery, slippery liquid mercury out of the dragon king.
Then went in for more.
His brain was more difficult, requiring a gentler hand.
Attalus’s lungs heaved like bellows with the effort to keep Araxos down, but Leita forced herself not to rush.
She skirted his skull, keeping to the fluid suspending his brain.
Within this she drew out the toxin, coaxing it along through veins down his long neck.
The final few drops dribbled out of Araxos’s wound, pooling on the ground beneath him.
Leita jumped out of the way as the anax collapsed with a groan.
Rolling over, she sat up on the scorched earth, her bloody hands trembling with what she’d done.
Attalus, though, didn’t move. His muzzle wrinkled up like an angry cat’s, bloodlust clouding his vision as his fangs sank deeper into Araxos’s hide.
“Don’t,” Leita called. “We don’t need to start a war today.”
Come back to me, she pled down their bond.
Her words and a blink of his nictating lid brought clarity to his eyes. He snorted smoke, his gaze sparking as he finally released Araxos.
His large head glided through the air to hover before her.
I’m not the one who left, he thought loudly back.
Tears stung Leita’s eyes. “I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She threw her arms around his muzzle, sagging in relief to feel his warmth.
We’ve done it.
Attalus huffed, a croon building in his throat.
Which died just as quickly when Araxos began to stir.
His golden head lifted from the ground, and clear if bewildered eyes flickered open. The anax lay there surveying the meadow as though seeing it for the first time.
Attalus’s body contracted, shifting to his two-legged form. Standing, he spat out a mouthful of Araxos’s blood. “Shift, damn you!” he demanded.
Face slack with shock, Araxos’s glassy gaze found and fixed on Erastus, still pinned on his belly by chains. A hissing exhale flared the anax’s nostrils, making even Leita shiver.
“What have you done?” rumbled Araxos Anax.