Page 325 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

The flock tore at Norumo. The Imperial Dragon, who was almost as large as the monster, forced a path through the swarm, let out a mighty roar, and scourged the Nameless One with her claws. Gold sparks flew and, for the first time, gouges appeared in that age-old armor. The Nameless One twisted his head, teeth bared, but the Imperial Dragon was already out of reach.

Onren punched the air. “For Seiiki!” she cried out. Other riders echoed her.

Tané shouted it until her throat was raw.

The Sea General blew through his war conch, summoning the dragons for a second foray. This time, the flock they faced was even larger, a wall of wings. Fire-breathers everywhere were abandoning their clashes with the ships and flying to defend their master. Their ranks closed around the Nameless One, who was moving ever closer to the fleet.

“We can’t get through that.” Onren grasped the saddle. “Norumo, take us to the front.”

He growled low and drew up alongside the elders. Tané tensed as the Sea General turned his face toward them. Onren snapped open a fan and signaled for him to cease the charge.

The Sea General signed with a fan in return. He wanted them to approach from above. Other riders passed the message along.

Upward they flew, toward the moon. When they dived, in perfect unison, Tané narrowed her eyes. The wind tore back her hair. She reached for Ascalon and drew it from the sheath.

This time, she would strike him.

One moment, the fire-breathers rose to meet them. The next, all Tané could see was darkness.

Norumo let out a roar. A blue glow vented between his scales before lightning splintered from his mouth. Every hair on Tané stood on end. As Norumo skewered an amphiptere on his horns, another bolt flashed out of the turmoil. It whipped past Onren, glanced off her armor, and caught Tané across the bare skin of her arm.

She felt her heart stop.

The lightning hit a wyvern, but not before it set her clothes on fire. Onren screamed her name just before Tané was thrust from dragonback, into the chaos of the sky.

The wind smothered her shirt, but not the white-hot flame beneath her skin. For a moment, she felt weightless. She could hear nothing, see nothing.

When she became aware again, the fire-breathers were high above her, the black sea rushing up below. Ascalon was wrenched from her hand. One flash of silver, and it vanished.

She had failed. The sword was gone. Nothing but death awaited them at the end of this day.

Hope was lost, but her body refused to give up the fight. Some long-buried instinct made her heed her training. All students of the Houses of Learning had been taught how to raise their chances of survival if they should ever fall from dragonback. She faced the Abyss and opened her arms, as if to embrace it.

Then a banner of misty green rushed beneath her. She was caught in the coil of a tail.

“I have you, little sister.” Nayimathun lifted Tané on to her back. “Hold on.”

Her fingers splayed over wet scales.

“Nayimathun,” Tané gasped.

Livid red branches had spread from her shoulder, down her right arm, and across her neckline.

“Nayimathun,” she said, panting, “I lost Ascalon.”

“No,” Nayimathun said. “This is not over. It fell to the deck of theDancing Pearl.”

Tané looked down at the ships. It seemed impossible that the sword had avoided the endless black water.

Another ship fractured into pieces as its black powder combusted. Bleeding, his wing injured, Fýredel threw back his head and let out a long sound that stemmed from deep within. Even Tané knew what it was. A rallying cry.

The herd above their heads was thrown into disarray. As she watched, half of the fire-breathers dropped away from the Nameless One, to Fýredel.

“Now,” Tané shouted. “Now, Nayimathun!”

Her dragon did not hesitate. She flew toward the enemy.

“Aim for his chest.” Tané unsheathed the sword at her side. Rain lashed her face. “We have to break through his scales.”

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