Page 1 of Of Steel and Scale

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I heardher well before I saw her.

She was a roar of wind, a caress of power, of wonder.

Excitement pulsed through me. I might have discovered the hunting places of the drakkons more than fifteen years ago, but being in their presence never grew old.

While drakkons weren’t scarce here in Arleeon, they no longer soared over highly populated areas. That wasn’t surprising, given the old ballistas still existed in both Esan and Zephrine—the two mighty fortresses that guarded the east and west gateways into Arleeon. It might have been well over a century since the large, crossbow-like devices had been deployed against the drakkons, but they’d nevertheless killed large numbers of the magnificent beasts. Drakkons weren’t stupid, no matter what some thought, and they’d learned to remain in the wilder sections of our continent.

Which didn’t mean they were any safer. I’d seen the evidence of that myself.

The Black Glass Mountains—the rugged sweep of mountains that lined the far reaches of East Arleeon, and whose foothills were a three-hour ride from Esan—was one of those sections.

I kept close to the shadows haunting the mountain’s face and hurried along the narrow ledge. Up ahead, dawn had broken through the cover of night, and her golden fingers were bright against the starless sky. The stiffening breeze was icy and filled with the scent of the sea and the oncoming storm, though I was far enough away from the coast that I couldn’t hear the crash of waves.

The path went sharply right. I slipped a hand into the hold I’d scored out of the black rock long ago and gripped tight as I edged around the corner. The wind hit hard, throwing me back a step as it snatched at my plaited hair and cloak and streamed both behind me. I caught my balance, then moved on, slipping my hand from one hold to the next. The ledge along this portion of the mountain was very narrow, and the drop to the grasslands far below sheer. If I slipped, I was dead.

Which might not be such a bad fate, given what I faced tomorrow. While I had nothing against marriage, Ididobject to the whole “marry a man who was basically a stranger” plan.

Unfortunately, my father was not only the Esan garrison’s commander, but also the king of East Arleeon. I was his only child—and a woman atthat—and while he was more liberal-minded than most, he would not—couldnot—ignore traditions and treaties. The confirmation of trading and military ties via a marriage that bonded the two great houses every one hundred years was a necessity born out of a long-ago war that had almost torn our lands apart. “It’s a ritual as necessary now as it was then” was my father’s standard response every time I’d asked why.

Having finally met Zephrine’s king and witnessed his arrogant “Zephrine does everything better” attitude, I understood the necessity of the treaty.Thatdidn’t make the fact I’d be living under that bastard’s roof for the rest of my life any easier to accept, however.

The creak of leathery wings got stronger; she was close. So very close.

The path swept around to the left and then widened out, finally allowing more speed. A shadow swept past, and my pulse jumped. She’d swooped so low that the claw on her wing’s tip scored the boulder half blocking the path ahead, sending a spray of black stone chips into the air. She flicked her long, barbed tail back and forth inches above my head, then her head snaked around to look at me. Her dark eyes were bright with intelligence and playfulness. I couldn’t help but grin in delight. This wasn’t the first time she’d acknowledged my presence, but itwasthe first time she’d flown so close that my sword could have sliced her wing or tail apart had I wanted to.

I didn’t, and she was well aware of that.

She continued down into the valley, her burnished golden scales fiery in the rising glow of the day. It was such a glorious sight that my breath caught in my throat. She was at least eighty feet long, with a wingspan more than double that. The four main phalanges on each wing shimmered like flame, the leather membrane in-between glowing embers. Few drakkons ever got this big, but she wasn’t any old drakkon. She was a queen. A mother.

She also wasn’t one ofourdrakkons, but rather part of a grace that lived high atop the Red Ochre Mountains—the range that divided East and West Arleeon. Red Ochre graces—the name given to a community of at least twenty drakkons—tended to be this burnished color rather than the straight red of Esan’s drakkons or the gold of Zephrine’s drakkons.

The capras asleep in the grasslands far below showed little awareness of her approach—and wouldn’t, I knew from past experience, until she was in their midst, scooping them up in her claws. The longhaired ruminants weren’t the brightest of animals, and because the drakkons never consumed their kill in the valley, the capras had no lasting reminder of the predator that soared high above.

I slipped past the rock she’d scored, then swung my pack around, pulled out the rope, and quickly tied myself onto the heavy metal ring I’d rammed into the stone a few years back after a slip had almost cost my life.

Once secured, I moved onto the flat boulder that projected out over the valley and sat cross-legged near the edge to watch. She wasn’t the only show; her drakklings would be here soon.

They appeared a few seconds later, and another happy smile escaped. The larger of the two—a female—was the same color as her mother, but the smaller male was red. They were less than a third of the queen’s size and were obviously still learning flight skills, as they held none of her grace and were amusingly wobbly in the air.

I rested my chin on my hands and watched the three of them swoop toward the capras. The queen swung around near the valley’s end, then dropped low and bugled. It was a deep, haunting sound in the stillness of the rising dawn.

The capras started to their feet and raced away from her—straight into the path of the drakklings. The female swept up several capras that were far too large for her to carry, and dropped one back to the ground. It didn’t run off. It couldn’t. One of her claws had pierced its body, ripping its insides apart. The smaller male missed his first grab, but not the second. Bugling in anticipation and hunger, the drakklings rose, their wings pumping hard to gain height while carrying the additional weight. As the rest of the herd fled for the forest at the far end of the valley, the queen swooped into their midst, scooping three into her murderously large claws before rising to follow her drakklings. They might have no enemy in these mountains beyond man, but they always retreated to the peaks to eat.

As the queen disappeared over the ice-capped mountaintop, I sighed and pushed to my feet. If I didn’t get a move on, my father would send out the troops to retrieve me. While he’d long ago accepted my driving need to learn all I could about the drakkons, I wassupposedto be spending the day getting ready for tomorrow’s commitment ceremony. But I might never see these magnificent beasts again, and I simply had to come out one more time.

Zephrine—a fortress built deep into the volcanic rock of the Balkain Mountains—was the traditional range of the golden drakkons, but I had no idea where the aeries were in relation to that city. No idea whether they were within walking or even riding distance. No idea, in fact, how Zephrine or indeed my husband-to-be viewed drakkons.

For all I knew, an eradication order might remain in place. Just because I’d seen no mention of it in the missives we’d gotten from Zephrine’s king and commander didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

But Ihopedit wasn’t. I wasn’t sure what I would do or how I would cope if it were.

I moved back to the scored boulder, undid the rope, and tucked it into my backpack.

It was then I noticed the smoke.

I straightened sharply. It wasn’t just a thin stream, either, but a thick, black forest of the stuff. Something burned, and if the source location was anything to go by, that something was Eastmead.

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