Page 201 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The smells of rain and fire mingled around her. Elder Vara pointed to the bridge.

“Go across. There is a cave on the other side—wait for me inside it, and we will climb down together,” Elder Vara said. “Doctor Moyaka and I must see that no one has been left behind.” He gave her a push. “Go, Tané. Hurry!”

“And keep pressure on the wound,” Doctor Moyaka called after her.

Everything moved as if through water. Tané broke into a loose-footed run, but it felt like she was wading.

The bridge was within sight of Vane Hall. She was closing on it when a shadow winged above her. Heat flared against her back. She tried to go faster, but exhaustion made her blunder and, with every step, the incision wept more blood. Pain beat at the padded armor the drug had wrapped around her.

The bridge crossed the ravine near the Falls of Kwiriki. An elder was already shepherding a cluster of scholars over it. Tané stumbled after them, one hand pressed to her side.

Beneath the bridge was a fatal drop to the Path of the Elder. Treetops rose from a bowl of fog.

Another shadow fell from above. She tried to shout a warning to the other scholars, but her tongue was a wad of cloth in her mouth. A fireball slammed into the roof of the bridge. Seconds later, a spiked tail turned it to an explosion of splinters. Wood groaned and split underfoot. Tané almost fell as she stopped herself running on to it. Powerless, she watched as the structure trembled, a gaping hole ripped through its middle. A third fire-breather smashed one of the pillars that anchored it. Faceless silhouettes cried out as they slid off the edge and plummeted.

Flame ripped through flesh and timber alike. Another section of the bridge crumbled away, like a log that had been ablaze for too long. Wind howled in the wake of wings.

There was no choice. She would have to jump. Tané ran onto the bridge, eyes stinging in the smoke, as the fire-breathers wheeled for a second attack.

Before she could reach the gap, her knees folded. She rolled to break her fall, and her skin ripped open like wet paper. Sobbing in agony, she reached for her side—and the lump, the thing she had carried for years, slipped from the burst seam in her body. Shuddering, she looked at it.

A jewel. Slick with her blood, and no larger than a chestnut. A star imprisoned in a stone.

There was no time to be bewildered. More fire-breathers were flocking. Weak with pain, Tané closed her hand around the jewel. As she struggled across the bridge, dizzier by the moment, something crashed through the roof and landed in front of her.

She found herself face to face with a nightmare.

It looked and smelled like the remnant of a volcanic eruption. Burning coals where there ought to be eyes. Scales as black as cinder. Steam hissed where rain stippled its hide. Two muscular legs took most of its weight, and the joints of its wings ended in cruel hooks—and thosewings. The wings of a bat. A lizard tail whipped behind. Even with its head lowered, it towered over her, teeth bared and bloodstained.

Tané shivered under its gaze. She had no sword or halberd. Not even a dagger to put out its eye. Once she might have prayed, but no god would hearken to a rider in disgrace.

The fire-breather screamed a challenge. Light scorched in its throat, and Tané came to the detached realization that she was about to die. Elder Vara would find her smoking ruins, and that would be the end of it.

She did not fear death. Dragonriders put themselves in mortal danger every day, and since she was a child, she had known the risks she would face when she joined Clan Miduchi. An hour ago, she might even have embraced this end. Better than the spun-out rot of shame.

Yet when instinct told her to hold out the jewel—to fight to the last with whatever she had—she obeyed.

It burned white-cold against her palm as she thrust it at the beast. Blinding light erupted from inside it.

She held a moonrise in her hand.

With a scream, the fire-breather recoiled from the glare. Throwing up its wing to shield its face, it let out a rasping call, over and over, like a crow greeting the dusk.

The sky came alive with echoing answers.

She stepped closer, still holding out the jewel. With a final look of hatred, the fire-breather roared once more, whipping her hair back from her face, and flung itself skyward. As it veered toward the sea, its kin swerved after it and disappeared into the night.

The other side of the bridge crumbled into the ravine, throwing up a cloud of cinders. Her eyes filled. Weak with pain, she crawled back toward Vane Hall. One half of her tunic was red through.

She buried the jewel in the soil of the courtyard. Whatever it was, she had to keep it hidden. As she had all her life.

The roof of the healing room was staved in. She searched the wet mats for Moyaka’s case and found it upturned in the corner. Close to the bottom was a coil of gut-string and a bent needle.

The drugging pipe had been shattered. When she lifted her hand from the wound, blood pulsed out.

With clumsy fingers, she threaded the needle. She cleaned the cut as best she could, but dirt clung to its edges. Touching it made darkness blotch her vision. Head spinning, mouth dry, she groped in the case of oddities again and found an amber bottle.

The worst was yet to come. She had to stay awake, just for a little longer. Nayimathun and Susa had suffered because of her. Now it was her turn.

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