Chapter 1 #2
Because they’re being coordinated by one mind as Lithava’s wicked intent courses through all the Knights now, to take us down.
Familiar faces are in that horde, dragons I didn’t know were Knights.
Roaring my dawn-fire at them, I slash bellies with my talons and hammer wings with my tail, even though I know these dragons are my kin.
They’re people I worked with in the Grand Palace Guard; they’re friends I once knew in Jurggadden. As snarling dragon-faces come at me like devils of old, possessed by the black oilslick ravaging their flesh, I know this devilry is not theirs.
It’s not even my sister’s or Hedda’s, as I heave a massive blast of auric wildfire from my wings now with a frustrated roar. It’s something far older, the product of whatever schism broke this place long ago.
Which has been breaking us ever since.
I can’t escape this battle as dragons come at me over and over, furious and fast. My drakes and I fight in a tight circle now; my First Drake Bjorn Magnussen’s gold dragon blazes with crimson markings at my right as we dive to escape a Bloodnet and hammer a gargantuan wave of auric flame back.
My Second Drake, Strom Eriksson, is on my left as we barrel-roll. His dark crimson and forest green dragon hammers our foes with blazing wildfire, coursing with his intense Bone Magic, to swamp their minds and thrust them back.
A wrathful black mamba dragon, my Third Drake, Mikkel Thorsen, flies at my back left as terrible bright lines of chartreuse and copper fire race through his scales.
Coordinated with the white and chartreuse dragon of his sister Laerke, Mikkel jettisons auric acid into the fray, the twins blistering the False Knights in droves as they make them drop from the skies.
My Fourth Drake, Baldur Siguresson, fights beside Mikkel and Laerke as his sky-blue and dawn-colored drake. A magnificent cobalt tinge sears through his beautiful scales as he hammers our opponents with auric drives so powerful, they make cosmic starbursts seethe through the sky.
Baldur holds our Soulstone in his jaws as he fights, protecting that precious item, which contains the undead souls of Hedda’s drakes. We coordinate now to push back sections of this horde; but it’s all we can do as we’re hemmed in, over and over.
Lithava roars down below that we’ll soon be goners; but even as she celebrates, a massive battle roar shakes the clear dawn skies, opposing the forces that fight us. It’s not just one voice but hundreds—as a tremendous force suddenly slams into the dragons that assail us.
A second army has come; our allies, as I see the furious gold and blue scales of a massive matriarch drakaina cut through our opponents like a knife. She comes straight to us, throwing up a towering blue-gold shield around us in the dawn.
I feel Bjorn celebrate as he recognizes the furious, ball-busting drakaina of his great-aunt, Svanhild Magnussen. It’s then I understand the True Black Dragon Knights have joined us—plus other allies, as the battle turns.
A strong cadre of Magnussen dragons, behemoths bred for size and strength, crashes in with Svanhild. Bjorn bellows a roar of triumph as the big gold and black drake of his friend, Captain Olander Mortensen, blasts in at their lead.
Everyone we love has come to aid us, as I celebrate with my own towering roar to see my stepfathers just a wingspan behind, darting in to fight with Svanhild, Olander, and their Magnussen forces.
Never have I been so overjoyed to see my stepfathers, as the furiously serrated drakes who were once Maryse Allbright’s mates whirl and slash to defend us now, roaring their own coordinated drives of magic at the False Knights.
With them is a small drakaina I don’t recognize; as Strom suddenly celebrates, however, I know this fast spring-green and gold fighter is his youngest sister, Mathilde Eriksson.
The elder opal-gold, crimson, and bright green drakaina beside her is Strom’s grandmother, Annika.
As the two Eriksson Bloodwalker drakainas form a powerful trio with Svanhild Magnussen now, blasting enemy dragons all around, the Magnussen contingent unites with six other fierce drakainas of spring-green and crimson Eriksson coloring.
I know those are Strom’s sisters defending us as more green, red, and gold Eriksson dragons barrel in. Strom’s aunties, uncles, and cousins—it’s just what we needed, as my entire Bloodbond celebrates in roaring triumph now.
Our families united against the force assailing us.
The fierce cadre of allied dragons smashes its way in now, blasting back the False Knights. The small, viciously serrated Eriksson Jarl is at their lead; Strom’s great-grandfather, Jarl Jorg Eriksson, is a beast in the skies, and not because of his size.
It’s his sheer speed and masterful drives of magic, as I see him flash through the dawn so fast now, he’s a blur. Lithe and terrifying, Jarl Jorg rips into a section of False Knights, then flashes away, hammering into a different section before I can blink.
It’s only then that I understand he can make portals as he fights. He flashes through them over and over to heave back the strongest of the False Knights, keeping them from us.
It’s a masterful talent, as Jarl Jorg wields it in battle—a living Bone Mage using his incredible abilities to counter our foes. And it’s not what Lithava wants, as she roars like a harpy now and surges up, rejoining the fray.
Her drakes are with her, as the most terrible oilslick-black and crimson-violet sigils careen out everywhere now—infecting everyone. Diseased sigils explode through all our enemies, as my sister and her drakes heave up into the skies, smashing into Jarl Jorg’s forces.
As they retaliate, the ancient power that divides us roars back. As if triggered by my proximity to my sister, terrible white sigils re-emerge upon me and my drakes, spiraling throughout our dragon flesh.
My drakes’ and my power infect our allies, too, as furious white sigils write over every inch of our allies’ flesh. The battle becomes unhinged, as the most horrid roar goes up from both sides now, our fury and wrath reignited thanks to the power in this valley.
We fight with insane ferocity now as we rip, rage, and roar against each other, Berserk and Wraith. As the horror of a million dead voices consumes me at what’s happening, I’m thrust right back into my spontaneous Bloodwalking.
I see how those too-bright sigils spread in a massive shockwave from my drakes and me, inundating our allies and pushing them to fight. Lithava’s black magic does the same, as darker sigils heave out in a terrible cacophony of oilslick-violet and crimson madness to devour her fighters as well.
My Ancestors roar at me to stop this insanity, as I understand we’re engaging in a battle that just won’t quit. We’re about to kill each other off, to the last dragon—there will be no escape from this fight.
As my skin sears, burning viciously from our doom, I realize something else flies far up in the stratosphere above us. So high I thought it was a jet, a terrible bone-white eye opens in my mind-sight now, pinning me with its ancient, dead regard.
As Lithava goes ballistic, overjoyed her Black Dragon has come.