Page 86 of The Sundered Blade

From somewhere overhead, a scream split the dawn sky. He looked up and saw only dragons. Three of them—red, gold and black—locked in a deadly aerial dance of wings and fangs and fire.

The golden dragon dove lower, only to barely avoid a burst of flame from the black. It was outnumbered, but still fighting. Outweighed, but unwilling to quit, just like Karreya. And like Karreya, it was bleeding from multiple wounds. One of its wings seemed to falter, and then it was struck from the side by the red dragon.

The golden let out a cry and began to fall, but from between its shoulders, a tiny figure made a daring leap through the air, landing on the red dragon’s back and engaging its rider in a furious battle for control.

Vaniell looked down at Karreya’s pale, still face, and begged for a miracle.

Even if they won, even if the imperial invaders were defeated, how could he face the aftermath without Karreya? Without her daggers and her glares and her blunt honesty?

Overhead, the golden dragon was out of the fight, and the red dragon’s rider fell to earth without a sound. And then the red was circling, climbing, roaring in rage as it tangled with the larger black dragon, biting and clawing for supremacy.

The black dragon somehow twisted in midair, clamped its jaws around the neck of its adversary, and began to rip and tear at its scales. The red screamed and flailed, but it was caught and could not break free. Vaniell’s heart ought to have sunk at the sight, but his heart was in his arms, bleeding from a dagger wound that he could not heal.

If the red dragon fell… It seemed to somehow carry all his hopes and fears on its wings. The weight of the entire battle for Garimore might yet rest on that single conflict, and as Vaniell watched, holding Karreya against him with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, he began to fear that it was lost.

Until a familiar scream sounded from far overhead—the harsh cry of a hunting wyvern—and the dark form of Kyrion arrowed out of the dawn sky to collide with the black dragon.

It screeched in annoyance—a sound that quickly turned to pain as the more agile wyvern attacked from above and below, with teeth and claws, and brief, white-hot bursts of flame.

The red dragon disentangled itself and then rejoined the fight, and within moments, the tide seemed to have turned. The black dragon faltered, its wings folded, and with a heart-stopping roar, it plummeted from the sky, landing somewhere out of sight.

And suddenly, it was over.

The imperial dragons had fallen, the Zulleri general was defeated, and Garimoran troops flooded the city. It began to seem possible they had won the day.

But at such a cost… The city was in ruins. Many had died, and who knew how many more had lost everything?

Vaniell knew he ought to feel the grim weight of those losses, alongside the exultation of their unlikely victory. That he ought to be driven to action by the urgency of his people’s needs. But he could not seem to feel any of those things. He could only kneel on the bloodstained ground, pressing his coat to Karreya’s side in a desperate effort to bind her to life while wondering helplessly what greater price he might yet be asked to pay.

He almost didn’t notice when the rays of a hopeful sun began to break through the clouds. And he barely even glanced up when riders on enormous wolves raced out of the misty dawn light and came to a stop before the shattered city gates.

“Niell?”

It was Karreya’s name for him, but the voice was not hers. It was… an entirely unexpected arrival.

Danric strode towards him, wearing an expression of shock and concern as he dropped to one knee on the churned and bloody earth.

“Niell, what’s happened here?”

He had no answer. It would take far more words than he possessed, and anyway, there was only one thing that mattered.

“Help her.” The words were hoarse and his voice cracked, but Danric called back over his shoulder immediately.

“Lythienne! Come quickly!”

A tall, silver wolf loped into view, dissolving in an instant and reforming into the silver-haired regent of the night elves. She crouched in front of Vaniell and took in the situation with warm, compassionate eyes.

“I can help her,” she said gently, “if you will trust me enough to allow it.”

Trust? Again?

But Danric was nodding in reassurance, so with a choked cry, Vaniell let go, and watched as Karreya was lifted and taken away. Out of his sight. Perhaps forever.

And then he simply had no more to give.

A sob tore from his chest, and then another, and then in perhaps the strangest moment of his life, his brother’s arms came around his shoulders, comforting him, holding him together as he wept for the senseless death and destruction that surrounded him. He cried for the people who had died in the name of greed and conquest, for the innocent caught up in the violence of war, and for the enslaved mages and dragons who had never asked to be forced to kill.

And at last, he wept for himself. For the child who had only ever wanted his father’s approval. For the boy who had sacrificed his own innocence to protect his mother. And for the man who had finally found his heart, only to have it ripped away again.

---