CHAPTER
25

The iron dragon loosed its breath first, cascading waves of lightning pouring from its mouth. Maelstrom spun to life around Rienne, gathering the lightning into a whirlwind that crackled and sparked around her but didn’t harm her. Drawing a deep breath at the eye of that storm, Rienne planted a foot firmly on the ground and directed a focused blast at the red dragon, just as it was inhaling in preparation for loosing its own gout of fire. The lightning struck it in the face and filled its mouth, turning its exhalation into a roar of pain.

“Barak Radaam,” the iron dragon rumbled. “I didn’t believe it.”

“We will deliver it to the Blasphemer,” the red one said, wisps of smoke trailing from its mouth. “With the body of this one.”

Rienne was too tired to repeat her boast that the Blasphemer would have to take her himself. She crouched, waiting for the dragons’ next attack, trying to keep them both in view as they circled her warily.

The red dragon lunged first, springing at her with surprising speed, half running and half flying. She ducked and sprang aside so the dragon’s mouth snapped at empty air, but the iron dragon—smarter than it had first appeared—had anticipated the direction of her dodge, and it was ready. Its heavy claw lashed out and raked across her back as she tried to arch away from it, pushing her back, stumbling, toward the red.

Maelstrom swung around and bit into the red dragon’s snout as it snapped at her again, and trailing a line of steaming blood, it cut into the other dragon’s claw. Rienne followed its momentum, whirling dangerously close to the iron dragon’s claws until it stumbled over her. For one terrifying moment, the dragon’s feet were stamping the ground all around her. She swung Maelstrom up to cut a wide gash across the dragon’s belly, showering blood around her, then it staggered past her and crashed into the red, landing on its side.

Rienne wiped the acrid blood from her face as the iron dragon scrambled to its feet and the red circled her again. The barbarian tide had parted to give her and the dragons a wide berth, and at a glance Rienne couldn’t see any of the Eldeen defenders behind her—the barbarians must have pushed the line back. She was alone, then.

The prospect of dying on this battlefield had not occurred to her until that moment. Her dream in Argonnessen had convinced her that she was fated to confront the Blasphemer at the Wynarn—alone and perhaps in failure, but at least not yet, not until the barbarians had advanced that far. But now she stood alone in the midst of the horde, flanked by dragons as her every muscle screamed in exhaustion, cut off from any aid. She shook her head ruefully.

Then a shriek like an eagle’s cry pierced the air overhead, and she glanced up to see three hippogriffs circling in the brightening sky. Both dragons chose that instant to lunge at her, coming in from opposite sides. The iron one was slower, perhaps because of the wound in its belly, so she leaped toward it to avoid the red’s bite. As the iron dragon opened its jaws to snap at her, she threw herself at its mouth. She planted one foot just behind its front teeth, and before it could close its jaws on her leg she flipped up and over its head, landing solidly between its shoulders. The dragon reared up to throw her off, but she grabbed a wing to steady herself, and drove Maelstrom down behind its shoulder. With a roar that made lightning crackle in its mouth, the iron dragon collapsed.

Now the red was distracted, looking up at the sky. Rienne followed its gaze. Two of the hippogriffs were still high above her, but the third was swooping low, and she saw Sky Warden Kyaphar on its back. Did he hope to extract her from a losing battle? As she and the dragon both watched, Kyaphar stood up in his stirrups and lifted one leg over the hippogriff’s back, then jumped off. Rienne gasped—he was still a long way from the ground. But Kyaphar spread his arms wide and they became wings, and the rest of his body transformed until he was a great eagle, diving rather than falling down to her side as his hippogriff flapped upward.

The red dragon roared a tremendous blast of fire. Rienne pulled the dead dragon’s wing up as a shield to block the brunt of it, and she saw Kyaphar pull up from his dive in time to avoid most of the flames. Emboldened by the Sky Warden’s unexpected appearance, Rienne charged.

The dragon reared up to meet her charge, exposing its belly to Maelstrom’s arc. But in order to reach it, she would have to put herself in easy reach of the dragon’s claws. She didn’t look up, but she could hear the beat of Kyaphar’s wings, so she took the bait, leaping the last few yards with Maelstrom drawn back over her shoulder, ready for a mighty swing. As she reached the dragon, she saw its head and claws start down, but when Maelstrom cut through the scales of its belly, Kyaphar swooped past the dragon’s head and slashed his talons across the dragon’s eyes. It pulled back away from the eagle and fell wildly off balance. Rienne drove Maelstrom into its heart.

She heard a rustle, then Kyaphar stood beside her, clutching a short wooden rod adorned with eagle feathers. “Perhaps you didn’t need my help after all,” he said with a smile. “I’ve never seen anyone wield a sword quite like that.”

“I appreciate it nonetheless,” Rienne said. She looked around at a wide circle of barbarians watching her. They had kept their distance while she fought the dragons, and they seemed reluctant to approach now that she’d killed both wyrms, but she suspected their leader would soon drive them forward again. “Can you get us up and out of here?”

In answer, Kyaphar gave a piercing whistle, and his hippogriff swooped downward. But the encircling barbarians also seemed to take the whistle as a signal to charge. With a ragged shout, “Kathrik Mel!” they surged in from all sides.

Kyaphar held out his feathered totem, and a blast of icy wind threw barbarians back into their fellows, collapsing one side of the closing circle. Rienne crouched and waited for the nearest ones to reach her, but the hippogriff was faster. Kyaphar leaped onto its back before its feet touched down, and he held a hand out to Rienne. She swung Maelstrom in a wide sweep that killed three plague-marked men, then took Kyaphar’s hand and vaulted into the saddle behind him. A pair of shifters, their bodies and faces warped in their bestial rage, pounced on the hippogriff as its wings beat the air. Kyaphar kicked at one as Rienne slashed at the other, then the hippogriff bounded up and out of reach.

“Thank you again,” Rienne said. All her pain and exhaustion suddenly crashed down on her, making her vision swim for a moment—or perhaps it was the vertigo of their hasty takeoff. “How goes the battle?”

“Poorly,” Kyaphar said over his shoulder. “The Blasphemer’s horde keeps pushing our defenders back. Even our bears can’t stand against the dragons, let alone the farmers who call themselves soldiers. There are only a handful of us who are making any difference in the battle, and most of us are as tired and bloodied as you are.”

“What about the seal?”

“The Blasphemer marches at the back of his forces—there.” Kyaphar pointed down and behind them, turning the hippogriff slightly to give Rienne a better view. “He has almost reached the outer lines.”

From their altitude, the figure Kyaphar identified as the Blasphemer was a tiny shadow against a wall of flame. The forest blazed at his back, and he seemed to wield tongues of fire like whips to drive his horde forward. Even at such a distance, the sight of him brought her dream vividly to life in her memory—his demonic visage, his sword alight with blood red fire. Darkness closed around her vision.

Kyaphar caught her before she slipped off his mount, jolting her back to her senses. Only then did she see what Kyaphar had been trying to point out—the dimly glowing purple line that she had seen from the sky before the attack had already been crossed by the front lines of Kathrik Mel’s horde, and the Blasphemer himself would reach it soon.

“Are you hurt?” Kyaphar asked, his arm awkwardly holding her in place, pressed against his back.

“I’m fine. We should head back down. We have to stop him.”

“The Mosswood Warden is planning to lead a counterattack to drive the Blasphemer back from the seal. We will join her shortly, but you’ll see a healer first.”

“No, really, I’m fine.”

“You’re covered with blood.”

“Dragon blood! I’ve killed four dragons—”

“And no one alive can take down four dragons without suffering a single wound. Look at your shoulder. You’ll see a healer.”

Rienne looked down at her shoulder, where she had a vague memory of being injured. It did look terrible—the gold dragon’s fangs had pierced and torn the flesh, and it must have had fire in its mouth as well, for both skin and clothing were scorched black around the wound. She felt dizzy again, and looked away. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll see a healer.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll have you back on the front lines in no time.”

Rienne closed her eyes and rested her head against Kyaphar’s shoulder.

*  *  *  *  *

When she opened her eyes again, Rienne saw trees stretching up to a smoke-filled sky, and Kyaphar’s face looking down at her. The Sky Warden was carrying her, and his face betrayed his concern even as he smiled with relief. “Good morning,” he said. “We’re almost to the healer now. Stay with me, all right?”

She could manage only a nod. She watched his face as he carried her a dozen more paces, then she heard someone say, “Put her there.” Kyaphar looked around, took a couple of steps, and gently laid her on a bed of moss at the roots of one of the towering trees.

Startled, Rienne tried to lift her head and see where she was. A healer, to her mind, meant an heir of House Jorasco, a skilled halfling who combined the magic of the Mark of Healing with careful study and perhaps prayers for divine intercession. The Jorasco Houses of Healing were immaculately clean and almost as comfortable as the hostels run by the other dragon-marked halflings, House Ghallanda. Her mind had not been prepared for a bed of moss.

Nor could she have anticipated the healer, a shifter woman clad in leather and fur. Her wild mane of hair was woven with beads and bones, making her look every bit as savage as the shifters in the Blasphemer’s horde who had tried to pull the hippogriff back down to earth with their claws. Even so, she smiled as she crouched at Rienne’s side, and Rienne instantly warmed to the compassion in the woman’s eyes.

“So you are the dragonslayer,” the shifter said. “I am honored to have you in my care, Lady Alastra.”

“Thank you.”

“I am Kauna.”

As the healer spoke, Rienne saw an enormous bear lumber up behind her, then realized that she could still see the trees and sky through the bear’s smoky form. Kauna smiled and looked over her shoulder at the bear, then back down at Rienne.

“The bear is my link to the spirit world.” The smile faded from her face. “The spirits are troubled this morning. We must get you back to the battle.”

Kauna produced a basin and washed Rienne’s shoulder. Pain stabbed through her at first, but then the bear started a low grumble and she felt better. She could barely hear the low pitch of its voice, but it seemed almost like a song, and its vibrations soothed away the pain and weariness from her body. Kauna began to hum softly as well, and Rienne felt warmth spread gently up from the moss beneath her, as if she were drawing strength through roots like the tree that towered above her.

She closed her eyes again, lost in the peaceful song. She felt as though a warm river washed over her body, carrying away all her aches and wounds, cleansing her and refreshing her spirit. She started drifting to sleep, reached for it with longing—

The bear spirit roared—a terrible, pained sound that jolted Rienne awake. Kauna spilled her basin in surprise, and Rienne saw her panicked face as she looked at the bear.

“There is no more time,” Kauna said. “On your feet, Lady Alastra. Kyaphar will take you where you must go.”

As Rienne got to her feet, her eyes fixed on the bloodstained water from Kauna’s basin as it slowly seeped into the earth.