Ten
Ariadnne
Minutes flew by, knights moving like a well-oiled machine. Weapons were stowed and flight belts secured, each member of Ariadnne’s company swinging themselves into position and securing themselves tightly to the harness like so many knots on a rope.
Her knights. Ariadnne’s dragon soul was nothing if not possessive, and with Nieve amongst their number that pressure became more pointed. Somehow, the Iceling had managed to charm the beast’s stony heart.
The firedrakes postured, restless and steaming. Lucius snapped at Regulus’ throat until Ariadnne growled. Ice curled round Ariadnne’s toes and froze on her rumbling breath. Both firedrakes stopped still at the sound, eyes on her.
It took all of fifteen minutes for the engineers to be satisfied with the harness.
Fifteen minutes of staring the firedrakes down, daring them to move, before the engineers were satisfied that no points of failure or weakened straps could be found, and grease was liberally applied to all the chafe-points.
Finally, Melixanthe’s palm landed on Ariadnne’s neck.
‘It’s time, Ari. Take us up,’ she muttered.
Ariadnne bunched her trunk-like muscles for the giant leap skyward, then they were aloft, the plains of Monmouth Pass dropping away like a paper map.
Ariadnne’s ribcage vibrated as her dragon soul fought for control.
The sky called, as did war and blood—and her beast was desperate to be free.
There was the damp kiss of a cloud, which parted to reveal an abnormal shadow spread across the horizon.
Humans. Tens upon tens of thousands; a hundred clans united.
Ariadnne’s far-sighted eyes took them in—ugly, spiked armour and curved weapons included.
The sheer size of the horde made her dizzy, siege towers and catapults dotted the plain, too, pulled by ten-foot giants with craggy, rock-like skin.
That was a surprise. Giants were anti-social creatures. For them to get involved in another race’s war…
Nieve placed a hand to her shoulder and Ariadnne focused on that point of contact.
It eased the edge of her nerves. Three dragons against so many…
she couldn’t help but think their numbers were an oversight on the Guild’s part.
If the humans had access to tenethium the dragons could be in trouble.
Dragon-hunters fashioned the metal into nasty, barbed projectiles, designed to tear and penetrate.
Immune to an Earthling’s influence, tenethium was hard to remove once embedded, preventing the dragons from shifting for faster healing.
They hovered as the army advanced, dark blots against the sky. The sharp bleat of a horn pierced the air, followed by shouts as the dragons were spotted, and the army surged forwards.
A rumbling built at the base of Ariadnne’s throat, ripping out her maw in a bellow that sent shockwaves through the enemy. Either side, the firedrakes dropped like stones, wings tucked for speed.
This was the part Ariadnne didn’t like—when waiting became action and she was forced to watch.
Her dragon was better at this—the death and destruction.
Soon, once she relinquished control, a reptilian calm would ensconce her guilt, worry and other pitiful emotions in a corner, waking the primal part of her brain that was good at war.
Resigned, Ariadnne held up her hands and the dragon took charge, plummeting toward the ground to shoot forwards with a snap of her wings.
The front lines buckled, a wave of her ice freezing men solid before her body shattered through them, lent unnatural speed by the two Gales summoning storms beneath her wings. Melixanthe barked a command and Dantro shifted his focus to the battle, whipping a maelstrom of air through the ranks.
Exhilaration screamed through her veins as her dragon ripped into the first row of soldiers, ignoring their feeble efforts to raise lances and pikes. She was invincible, snapping at a soldier who had turned to flee and revelling in the crunch of his ribcage.
A spear of ice flashed past her jowl, its impact freezing a ring of men. Nieve. The dragon bared her teeth in approval.
Across the killing field, the firedrakes flamed.
As those nearest fled the fire, a shudder ran through the ranks and hope surged as Ariadnne thought that was it; that the humans would flee and the killing would stop.
That hope was dashed as more war horns sounded and the humans pushed on, the terrified soldiers at the front forced forwards by the mass behind.
Fodder for the beast of war.
Heart aching, Ariadnne rose from another sweep, leaving a trail of carnage behind her. Her wing joints already ached with the first hint of strain, but she swooped again, decimating orderly rows until the ground was strewn with dead and her hide needled with arrows.
She was lost in the battle when a deeper, sharper pain struck and her head whipped round.
A lance lodged in the meat of her flank.
Shallow, but painful. Immediately, knights scrambled down the harness, reattaching around the lance and working to heave it free.
Han grunted as an arrow struck his calf before his companion could shield him. Ariadnne quivered with rage.
He was hers. She refused to lose a single knight.
Her eyes fixed on a giant raising another lance across the field, but before she could act, Lucius broke formation, flaming him to a crisp. She snorted. Good riddance.
Ariadnne’s wings stuttered as her lance was ripped free, but she bore it.
She healed fast, after all, and there was work to be done.
Swoop. Destroy. Get out of range. Ariadnne wrestled her dragon back into a rhythm, keeping one eye on the towers as they advanced.
Regulus’ flame was exhausted, and he had resorted to ripping them with his claws.
Melixanthe sounded her horn, signalling him, disgruntled, back to the keep where teams waited to restock his harness while he caught his breath.
Ariadnne’s heart throbbed. They’d been fighting for what felt like hours.
Regulus returned, more cautious now. He’d pulled on his magic too hard and too fast and almost burned out.
Ariadnne’s well ran deeper so when it was her turn to rest, her dragon rebelled.
It wanted more blood and death and vengeance for small pains.
It took Ariadnne all the steel of her will to backpedal from her sweep and wing to the camp.
Dust billowed as she landed, the waiting team leaping forwards to swarm over her harness, tightening straps and re-stocking arrows. Healers darted underneath her belly to pull barbs free, tapping into their coveted affinity with flesh to speed her natural healing.
Ariadnne snorted, impatient. Her belly was on fire, stabbed by a thousand pins, her wings ached, and her consciousness strained against her dragon’s desire to destroy every human that had ever lived.
She wanted the fight over so she could work on forgetting what it felt like to rip so many bodies to shreds.
So many mothers had lost sons and daughters to her dragon’s wrath—
Her dragon scorned her weakness.
The supply team were done within minutes.
Bracing her trembling wings, Ariadnne launched, sailing over the wall to rejoin the battle.
The humans had gained ground, their war machines creeping closer to the front while the firedrakes were distracted by a unit of ballistae working together.
The clever humans fired in a defensive pattern, preventing either dragon from getting near.
Ariadnne set her jaw, intending to help when Lucius bellowed and Ariadnne swung to see him diving on a cluster of humans aiming a small canon.
The shape was familiar. She realised she’d seen plans for it in her lessons.
Panic gripped her chest—those were tenethium canons.
Her nostrils flared as Lucius ripped into the men with savage fury, grabbing the weapon, blood streaming down his hind legs. He’d been wounded.
Melixanthe screamed something but her words were lost on the wind.
Ariadnne was furious. Livid. Lucius was hers!
The instinct to destroy overrode Melixanthe’s commands as she noticed two rocky giants straining against the straps of a catapult.
She roared, the catapult grinding to a halt as the nearest giant glanced up.
Ariadnne lunged, talons reaching to rip out his insides as her jaws closed of the arm of the catapult.
She shook her head and men screamed as it collapsed in a crash of wood and metal.
The wounded giant slumped at its base, clutching the wound in its abdomen and his partner howled, drawing an immense spear—
Thud. One of her archers caught him in the eye with an arrow.
He toppled. Dead.
Ariadnne bared her teeth and spun, roaring in displeasure as a barrage of crossbow bolts found homes deep between her scales. Pesky humans. She turned to retaliate and—
BANG
A ripping, tearing pain seared across her belly, burning its way under her scales, forced into the tender flesh beneath. Ariadnne’s wings faltered, stumbling through the air as pain clouded her vision.
Tenethium.
The canon smoked beneath her, the men around it both cheering and reloading in a flurry of desperation.
With a roar, she was upon them, ripping the weapon from the ground and flinging it across the field, men and all.
She fled before they could fire more arrows, her tolerance for pain dwindling as dark blood dripped from her abdomen.
She used the safety of height to gather herself as Melixanthe’s hand soothed her spines.
Below, siege towers advanced, and with Lucius wounded, Regulus had his claws full. The task ahead suddenly seemed mammoth.
The enemy numbers were simply too great for three varanyen to dismantle.
This was the Council’s fault. They hadn’t heeded the reports or simply hadn’t cared, believing Ariadnne capable.
The dragons had decimated close to a third of the human force, but those left were still enough to destroy the gentle folk living in the soft southern lands if they broke through the wall.
That couldn’t be allowed. It was as simple as that—she had to do everything she could to stop the advancing horde before it swallowed Eradiata whole.
Glancing across the field, Lucius and Regulus had teamed up to take out another catapult that had come into range.
Lucius’ blood dripped at a steady pace and the wound stilted his movements.
It was Ariadnne’s turn, and this time Melixanthe didn’t stop her as she swept towards a lumbering tower.
The sweat-soaked giants pulling it jumped as Ariadnne roared, ploughing into the side of the tower, smashing the supports and shaking off splinters.
Her chest inflated and she climbed higher, searching for another target when she heard Melixanthe shriek, followed by a jolt in her side.
Pain blossomed, a sharp, stabbing dagger that sent waves rippling through her shoulder.
One of the giants had thrown an enormous spear—impaling her beneath the wing joint.
Her wing was flailing, struggling to catch the wind.
Horror rose. Up, up, up, her inner voice screamed as she willed that wing to keep moving.
She felt as knights re-attached around the spear, desperately trying to lever it out. Melixanthe yelled commands, but all Ariadnne could think was that she was going down. They were going to crash.
Panic overtook her. It filled her limbs with stone as the ground hurtled toward them. Her company. Nieve. They were all going to die, and there was nothing she could do. Terror, pure and unadulterated, enveloped her.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It couldn’t.
With her remaining strength she forced her flight towards a patch of ground where the enemy lines were thinnest; away from the deadly rows of archers near the front, desperately flapping her remaining wing to keep upright.
Seconds before impact, Ariadnne pleaded the gods to keep her from rolling.
To roll would be to crush everyone on board.
To roll would kill them all.
Hard ground rushed towards her, and her vision blurred—