Chapter 53 Evander
Chapter fifty-three
Evander
Evander faced the Dread Five crew. They looked like nervous children on their first day of school, with their red dragon scale vests flashing out of their jackets.
If he’d thought it would help, Evander would have spun on his heel, marched down to the commander’s office, and demanded that he send them home to their mothers. But there was no saving them now.
Evander wasn’t one for speeches, but they were waiting.
“The reason we are flying in first isn’t because we are being punished,” he said, trying to force his quiet voice to carry.
“It is because the Scathmore Barrens belong to you. You are reclaiming it so your mother can plant a garden in this soil, so your father can build fences for his dragons, and so your little brothers and sisters can play among the wildflowers. When spring comes, and spring will come, the Sunbird will return. The Botania will restore the waste. You can all go home.”
The crew nodded, their eyes brighter.
“Mount up,” Evander ordered. “This will be easy.”
He climbed onto the dreadnought and directed the others to their places—Samara at the head, with the reins in her hands, Giles at the right wings, Ignatius at the left wings, all clipped to their tethers; Rosemary at the tripod shotfire, and Elspeth overlooking the creature’s twisting tail.
A commotion caught his attention, and he turned to see Hera across the camp, pitching as six Sennalaithic soldiers tried to wrestle a harness around her necks. She saw him and tried to lunge toward him.
He lifted his hand and channeled magic toward her. She soothed, still gazing at him. Then she curled her heads down and submitted.
Cadmus strode toward her, resplendent in his blue uniform with its gold epaulettes.
Behind Cadmus came Valenna. She was dressed in skin-tight pants and a dragon scale vest the color of aconite flowers.
Her hair was slicked into a viciously tight bun, her eyelids and fingernails were painted black.
She looked every inch the witch child Evander had met on the battlefield all those years ago.
She glanced at him, and her dark-stained lips twitched into a grim smile. How had it come to this? Evander’s nerves melted into rage. How dare Cadmus take this gentle, fearless woman and try to transform her into some demon? How dare Cadmus touch his wife?
Evander clenched his fist against the urge to whip out his shotfire and shoot the king dead. In a few hours, it would be over, and they could begin plotting their future and how to take Talwaith from Cadmus’s clutches. Everything was in motion; he just had to survive.
Turning away, he checked the weapons on the dreadnought’s back, the cannisters under her wings, and gave last-minute instructions to the crew.
Don’t release the canister on an upward wing beat.
Remember, fifteen seconds between fire breaths.
If we need to bail, wait for my command, then run off the tail as it beats downward.
Glide clear of the dragon as she crashes or you’ll be caught in the explosion when she hits the ground.
“Dread Five!”
To Evander’s right, the Dread Seven crew mounted their dragon. Ryland, always grave, stared coldly at Evander.
“Take out the manor quick and clean. I won’t lose any crew because of you,” he said.
“I was about to say the same,” Evander replied.
The scrappy blond laughed. “Stop being a cocky skat, Ry,” he said, taking his place at the tripod.
“Don’t call me that, Raleigh!” Ryland snapped. “I’m your captain.”
“It takes a cocky skat to know a cocky skat,” the aft-razer said sharply.
“Don’t worry, Trevelyan,” Raleigh said, “if the enemy gets too close, Lucinda can breathe fire at them.”
“Do not call me Lucinda,” the aft-razer shot back. “I swear, I’ll turn this shotfire around and shoot you myself.”
Evander ignored them, focusing on his own crew. Last night, the aft-razer had been kissing Raleigh like he was the love of her life. Today, she acted as though she hated him. He supposed not everyone loved the way he and Valenna did.
Evander clipped his sliding hook to the long cable down the dragon’s spine, then knelt on one knee behind Samara. “Up,” he said.
Samara looked over her shoulder. “Captain, you’re going to need to be a lot louder if you expect me to hear you in the battle.”
“Worry about getting this dreadnought in the air, pilot,” Evander retorted.
The thunder of the dreadnought’s wingbeats pounded deep in Evander’s chest like a second heartbeat.
The grass splayed out beneath them, and a mist of insects rose in their wake.
Startled from the marsh, three saltwater cranes flew into the sky ahead of them, a solemn van guard.
Evander braced for the shock of cold as they dove into the clouds.
The camp diminished like a child’s play soldier set.
Samara gripped the reins, her thick eyebrows drawn together in a determined scowl.
Evander clapped his hand on her shoulder. “You are ready for this!” he shouted over the whistling wind.
Evander tried to steel his mind against a torrent of anxious thoughts.
What if he was killed because he gave Samara his shirt? Valenna would hate his memory forever.
She would understand. She had to understand.
What if they crashed and he couldn’t save the crew?
The crew would be alright. This was a light skirmish at worst.
What if Valenna was killed because he was up here on Dread Five instead of protecting her?
No, she didn’t need his protection. In the past few weeks, she’d saved his life more times than he’d saved hers. She could take care of herself.
The day warmed, brightened. The air smelled of salt, and waves crashed below. Then they passed over the mountains, and Evander’s stomach rose as Samara directed the dragon down. He checked the altimeter and his compass. They should be approaching the beach soon.
Ahead, there was a faint boom, and the clouds flashed orange.
Dread Five didn’t have time to react before a hail of scattershot tore into them.
Tiny steel pellets, no larger than a grape, ripped through their jackets and deflected off their dragon-scale vests. Rosemary gripped her throat, blood gurgling from her mouth. Her knees buckled, and she tumbled over the side.
Evander lunged, trying to catch her before she fell, but he wasn’t near enough.
The scattershot had severed the girl’s safety line, and she tumbled over the side.
Samara shrieked, and Ignatius dove after her, catching at the end of his tether.
But Rosemary plummeted down and down and down until she was out of sight.
Evander stared in horror at the empty space where Rosemary had been a second before.
They dipped below the clouds, and Evander lost his breath.
Below them, on the beach, Ashkendoric infantry stretched like ants all the way to the dunes. The fortifications had doubled, club dragons with their armored plates and heavy tails waited to charge into the landing force, and sharp stakes were embedded in the sand.
There was no time to turn around. Before Evander could bark an order, the manor and bunkers on the dunes flashed, followed by the rattle of shotfire.
Heavy iron balls soared into the air, exploding at their peak and sending more scattershot, shredding the clouds.
One pellet cracked against Evander’s vest, and one stung his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye.
The Dread Five razers fired down into the infantry, aimless with terror.
Samara looked to Evander for instructions.
Behind them, Manwester’s crew panicked and released their cannisters. They exploded on the beach, blowing a gap in the infantry that was instantly filled again, like sand sliding into a hole.
Giles reached for the canister release.
“Wait!” Evander shouted. “Elspeth, take the tripod!”
His mind scrambled to catch up. When the army made landfall, they would crash into the Ashkendoric forces and be mowed down by razers and artillery before they could reach the shore.
The manor had to be destroyed; the bunkers had to be neutralized because Valenna would be there, in the heart of the bloodbath, and so would the little Sennalaithic invading force.
They would lose their chance to retake Talwaith, and everything they’d sacrificed would be for nothing.
They had to destroy the manor, or go down trying.
“Nothing has changed,” Evander shouted to the crew. “We complete our mission as before. Keep going straight!”
Already, the Sennalaith landing force was struggling in the surf, trying to gain the beach as heavy fire shredded their lines.
Amphibious dragons thrashed in the foaming shallows, throwing their riders as they tried to turn and slink back into the depths.
Boats, reinforced with steel, lowered their ramps only to be pummeled with scattershot and columns of flame from the dragons ranged along the shore.
A few had made landfall, but were being mowed down by a barrage of artillery and sparksparrows below.
Flying through bursts of smoke and ash, Dread Five pushed toward the manor and its flashing windows. The bunkers opened fire, and so did a line of artillery on the forest’s edge. Black smoke puffed in the air.
An explosion on the ground caught Evander’s attention. Dread Seven had dropped their canisters early.
“Sir!” Giles shouted. “If we go down with these bombs, we’ll be blown to pieces!”
“Wait …” Evander insisted.
“But sir, the others are turning!” Ignatius protested.
“Wait …”
Shotfire balls pattered against their dragon’s scales.
She bellowed in rage as they lodged, painful but not deadly, in her thick hide.
Manwester’s dreadnought pivoted, trying to head toward the sea, but as they banked, the dragon exposed its back and crew to the artillery.
Manwester’s crew fell out of formation and then spiraled down, flaming.
Evander’s flesh prickled as he heard the screams of the crew burning on the dragon’s back.
They crashed, the gas in their dreadnought’s belly burst, and a plume of fire shot into the sky.
Dread Seven continued behind them, moving fast without the weight of their canisters.
“Do not bank,” Evander told Samara. She was transfixed with horror, her gaze locked on the pillar of smoke from the wreck. Evander gripped her shoulder. “Focus.”
A hazy black mist rose out of the trees, stretching and bulging like putty held in an invisible hand. Evander’s heart froze.
Not sparksparrows. Please, not sparksparrows.
The mist was made of birds no larger than brass thimbles. They arced overhead and then plummeted into the dreadnoughts, their wings at their sides and their tiny, razor-sharp beaks slicing through flesh.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” Evander shouted, running toward Samara. She tapped the dragon behind its jaw, and its mouth gaped.
Evander grabbed Elspeth from her exposed position on the tripod shotfire and threw her to the side as the sparksparrows whistled into them.
One struck her shoulder in a spray of blood.
She shrieked and fell, lurching at the end of her tether.
Another struck Samara between her shoulder blades, but the magic shirt saved her.
The dreadnought heaved a huge breath, its ribs constricting, and billows of flame erupted from its throat, enveloping the flock of spark sparrows and burning them to char. The remaining birds zipped past Dread Five.
Evander flipped an hourglass mounted on the tripod. Fifteen seconds before they could breathe fire again.
Below, the battle was a snarling cat, its body writhing bonelessly across the beach.
“Captain!” Samara yelled. “Orders?”
“Make for the manor! We have to take out the manor!”
“The resistance is too heavy!” she screamed.
She was right. Curse it all, she was right. But if they banked, the dragon’s back and the crew would be exposed to the shotfires below. It was too dangerous.
“Between the bunkers!” Evander replied.
Pellets tore Dread Five’s wings, and the dragon bellowed in pain. Samara held the creature’s head forward as the pellets pattered into her thick belly. They flew past the manor, between two bunkers.
Elspeth lay bleeding, too injured to operate the tripod.
“Make for the forest!” Evander ran down the dragon’s spine, his cable scraping behind him, and reached Giles on the wing. He patted the boy’s shoulder.
“Take the tripod,” he said.
Giles scrambled up and unclipped, then put his hands on Evander’s shoulders as they returned to the front. Giles stepped up and adjusted the weapon, checking the belt of pellets that fed into its side.
Evander pointed ahead at the artillery between the dune and the forest. “Spray them! Give them everything you’ve got!”
The shotfire rattled, flashed, raking across the artillery. One cannon went silent, its operators dead. The others were forced to duck as Dread Five soared above them and then over the forest of brown trees.
The battle seemed to fade away. No scattershot from the artillery here. No explosions from the other dreads. Only the distant thunder of the invasion.
Samara pulled the dragon into a bank, but Evander clapped his hand on her shoulder. “No,” he said. “Continue straight. Level out. As flat as you can.”
“But sir, this is the time to turn …” Samara objected. “The artillery isn’t firing at us …”
Evander’s eyes ached as he strained them, searching the horizon. “Exactly,” he said. “Straight. Giles, Ignatius, get ready. The fighters are coming.”
A line of small dragons, each with two riders, rose out of the trees. At the front, their pilots held them in formation as a razer seated behind opened fire on the dreads.