Page 66 of The Sundered Blade

No horse-sized wyvern like Kyrion, but a true dragon, with a hulking scaled body that filled the gap in the wall as it advanced towards them.

Golden scales glittered in the light of its own flames, and amber eyes glimmered with barely contained rage. It was the size of a merchant ship, even with its wings tucked close, and its teeth were the length of a man’s leg. Each step was a drumbeat that echoed through the earth beneath, and Vaniell was so paralyzed by horror that he almost passed over an incongruity. And yet it lodged in his brain, insisting that he look, that he pay attention, that hesee…

There, between the dragon’s wings, perched between the base of its neck and its shoulders—a harness. A saddle. Arider.

And somehow, he knew.

Empress Phaedrin Myrna Draguris, Queen of the Dragur…

Karreya’s grandmother was through waiting. She had come for her heirs, and the clouds they had been watching all day were not clouds at all. She had sent her legions and her dragons, and Garimore was now aflame. And if they did not somehow accomplish the impossible, all of Abreia would follow.

On the periphery of his vision, he saw Kyrion turn and lift his sword, as if preparing to simply attack the winged monster on his own.

“Kyrion, no!”

The sound of his voice broke Modrevin out of his stupor, and the imposter king’s gaze jerked to Vaniell’s face. Recognition lit his features, and as if a spell had been broken, he turned and ran—back into the palace, at a speed Vaniell had never imagined the man could reach. A coward at heart, just as he had always been.

And yet, his flight left Vaniell with a terrible choice. He needed to follow the imposter, but the dragon was the greater threat. The prisoners had scattered, but it would be all too easy for the dragon to hunt them down and pick them off. Reaching into his pockets, Vaniell sorted desperately through his enchantments, but he’d designed none of them with dragons in mind. None of them could stop fire, and as for teeth…

Two figures raced up the steps towards him.

“Go,” one of them urged, and despite the grime on his face and grim set of his mouth, Vaniell recognized golden-haired Lord Kellan, holding a sword in his hand as if he knew what to do with it. “I’ll get the prisoners to safety as best I can. You do what you must.” He jerked his head towards the doors where Modrevin had vanished, as if he understood all too well what Vaniell was planning.

“Wait…” Vaniell reached out and grasped Kellan’s shoulder. “A red-haired woman. She was with you. What did Melger do with her?”

Kellan shook his head, blue eyes revealing his unease. “He did nothing. She simply disappeared from the cell last night. She was injured, but still trying to use her mirror to free us when…” He held up both hands in a gesture of helplessness. “She began to glow, and then… she vanished. As if she melted into the air. I have not seen her since.”

Hope flared to life in Vaniell’s chest, even as the dragon took another step forward and bellowed in rage, flaring its wings but not taking off. As if it were waiting for something.

“Get out of here,” Vaniell ordered grimly. “Do what you can to evacuate the city.”

“Don’t worry about us.” Kellan shot him a razor-edged grin. “We’ll improvise. Do whatever we can to hold off the dragon while you find that bastard and deal with him.”

“No.” The second figure paused two steps below Vaniell, looking up with an expression that nearly stopped his heart.

It was Karreya, and her golden brown eyes met his with confidence, with urgency, and with a heart-breaking sense of farewell. “I will confront the dragon,” she said. “And his rider. This battle was always meant to be mine. I honor you for your willingness to sacrifice, Lord Kellan, but it will do you no good to fight this creature.”

“Karreya…” The words stuck in Vaniell’s throat. What words could there be for this moment filled with blood and smoke and death and an uncertain future?

But it was Karreya who found the only thing there was to say. “I love you,” she said. “Do not die, Abreian.”

“And I love you,” Vaniell said. “For once, I won’t tell you not to stab anything, as long as you promise to come back to me.”

“I will not risk a lie,” she said softly, “but I will give everything in my power to save this land… and you.”

And then she was gone, before he could tell her not to risk so much, that he wasn’t worth it, and that he could not bear it if she died for him.

It was not how he wanted to leave her, but there was no time, not if he hoped to catch up to Modrevin, so he gritted his teeth and turned his back on the dragon. Turned away from the flames and the chaos and the battle that raged beyond the palace doors.

His place was the darkness within, wondering if he was doomed to forever be caught between two terrible choices. To forever find himself alone, hoping for the impossible.

And yet as he took his first step across the threshold, into the strangely empty entry hall beyond, he felt a presence at his shoulder. Glanced to the side, and found the tall, menacing form of Kyrion, eyes still aglow and massive sword held in a one-handed grip. As if prepared to plow through anything and anyone in his path, including Vaniell…

“Leisa may still be alive,” he told the night elf urgently. “Kellan says she disappeared.”

“I heard,” Kyrion growled. “And I am not here for her. If what I hope is correct, then she is well, and she is beyond both my help and Modrevin’s reach. Leisa is strong, and she is wise, and wherever she is, I must trust her to find her way back.”

Once again at a loss for words, Vaniell could only nod.

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