Page 53 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

The scene at the rift is far different today from when I descended with Caindra the first time. The two armies that arrived yesterday have doubled our force, their tents stretching beyond the perimeter of the original camp, all the way to the forest’s edge. And despite another night of battle, the camp is alive with activity—smoke from cook fires swirl in the air, fresh stacks of wood await tonight’s burn. If soldiers aren’t washing last night’s battle off in the nearby river, they’re working in teams to heave carcasses over the edge of the cliff.

It has definitely earned its Valley of Bones title by now.

Caindra glides in smoothly, Xiaric flanking her right. The two were entwined and asleep when I emerged from the gates today—Caindra protecting the smaller dragon’s body within her own. Any doubt that he could be her child vanished at the sight.

With a deafening screech, the orange dragon—Valk—propels himself off the stone wall roost, wings spreading as he soars toward us in greeting. I cling to one of Caindra’s claws as she swerves, barely avoiding a collision. They circle each other once … twice … almost as if in a dance.

Below us, horses buck and soldiers struggle to keep them in place, their wary eyes on the sky as we descend. Those in our path rush to get out of the way before the dragons touch down, the ground shaking beneath their weight.

As always, Caindra sets me down with ease, allowing me a moment to gain my bearings so I don’t stumble like a drunken fool. And as always, save for yesterday when she showed gentleness toward a poisoned Jarek, she tosses him like trash. He’s ready for it and lands with a graceful roll.

“You’re getting better at that,” I tease.

“Not a skill I strived for.” He pulls himself up, dusting off his pants. “When can we return to traveling by horseback?”

“I second that.” Abarrane steps out from a tent, weaving her lengthy wheat-colored hair in a thick braid. “Your Highness. You look well rested.”

“And you look … clean.”

She grins. “You should have seen me an hour ago.”

“Where is Zander?” I search around us. These two are never far apart.

She nods toward the tent she just vacated. “He has finally drifted off after days without rest. I would give him an hour before you wake him. Anything beyond that and the fool will fill my ear with complaints for days.”

My shoulders sink. I’m desperate to feel his arms around me, but she’s right. He needs rest.

I take in the camp again from ground level. It buzzes with adrenaline—or perhaps it’s my own adrenaline that invigorates me. “How was last night?”

“Not as eventful as the first, though we fear the beasts have begun crawling up elsewhere.” Abarrane secures her hair with twine. “Only two wyverns emerged, but the great winged beast scared them off. Where they go to, I wish I knew.” She juts her chin at the orange dragon soaring in the sky. “He has a name, by the way.”

“Valk.”

She frowns. “How do you know this?”

“Lucretia. How do you know?”

Her lips purse with hesitation. “That is a story best shared by His Highness. Come, I have something of interest to show you.” She leads Jarek and I deep into camp.

I grimace at the desiccated corpses, stripped of their armor and weapons. “You thought piles of skeletons would interest me.”

“These are the bodies we could not explain before.” Abarrane stands between the two heaps. “Some of them have turned to dust.”

“Did you find the beast that does this?” The soldiers will need to avoid it as readily as they should avoid the vrog that poisoned Jarek.

“In a manner of speaking.” Her face turns grim. “Lord Rengard’s army was marching toward us at the height of Hudem’s moon when the change happened, as it did for us. They were far from any Nulling beasts when a dozen of their soldiers suddenly collapsed, dead. Same thing with the eastern army. And even within our camp, soldiers noticed those near them falling before the first attack.”

“So, it wasn’t a beast that did this?” I struggle to follow her thinking.

“We believe these soldiers were turned Islorian immortals. Not born by the nymphaeum’s blessing. When the nymphs reversed Malachi’s blood curse, all those who lived immortal lives because of the blood curse returned to their mortality.”

“Because they weren’t born this way.” And in mortal years, I’m sure many of them were several hundred years old.

“Exactly. We did not come to this conclusion until last night, after we received word from Lyndel that Lady Telor had succumbed to the same fate.”

I gasp. “Lord Telor’s wife is dead?”

“Yes. And His Highness knew intimate details of her … path to immortality, shall we say.” Abarrane gives me a knowing look. “After some pressing of those closest to the dead, we feel confident this is the answer.”

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