Page 165 of The Black Witch

“They put some type of protective ward along Verpacia’s western border, and an even stronger ward around the University’s border.” I gesture around loosely with my hand. “The Icaral escaped from the sanitorium, so I guess it’s ward-marked.”

Yvan frowns and spends a long moment studying me through narrowed eyes. “I’m going well past the border.”

Fear slashes through me, and I see the Valgard Icarals’ hideous faces in the back of my mind. I force the image away, grit my teeth and decide to be brave.

“You said you’ll protect me,” I say grimly.And I know you’re stronger and faster than a broken Icaral.“I’ll take my chances.”

* * *

After what seems like another hour, we come to the northwestern edge of the Verpacian Spine.

Yvan circles a tree near a jutting behemoth of Spine stone then, bends to lift a tangle of brush that covers the entrance to an underground tunnel. He steps inside and turns to me. “Coming?”

“Where? What is this?”

“A way into Gardneria.” He points up toward the vertical mountain of stone and gives me a wry look. “Unless you want to go over the Spine, that is.”

I frown and follow him through the thin brush and down into a hidden, cavernous tunnel as he fishes some Elfin lumenstone from his pocket to light our way.

I wonder how on Erthia he found this tunnel. And how many people know about it?

We travel through a series of caves, not much to see but the dripping of water and the occasional resting bat, all of it cast in the lumenstone’s green glow. We ascend through more brush, pushing through a veil of dry branches to the outside.

I wordlessly follow him on. Soon the forest starts to slope upward. I struggle to keep up with his fast clip, a sharp cramp in my side. Sounds ahead begin to assert themselves. Commands being shouted. Horses. And something strange, something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end—a low-pitched shriek that sets the forest floor vibrating.

Yvan pauses, then turns to me and holds a finger to his lips in unspoken warning. He motions for me to stay still, then climbs swiftly up a steep hill before us.

I watch him, amazed by his speed and silent ability to fluidly wind around the trees without even needing to grasp onto anything for balance.

He’s now at the top of the wooded hill, crouched down behind some thick brush and peering over it. He motions for me to follow.

I labor up, skidding a few times on the dry leaves, grabbing onto small trees for leverage. Breathing hard, I finally catch up with him. I gasp when I see what lies ahead.

A vast Gardnerian military base stretches out over the entire valley. It’s surrounded by the wilds and framed by the imposing Spine and the Caledonian mountain range. Huge blocks of Gardnerian soldiers move in formation, a cacophony of commands ringing out. They’re surrounded by a city of black military tents, wooden barracks and Spine-stone structures cut into the imposing rock.

And there are dragons.

Scores of them. Moving in formation. Gardnerian soldiers astride them, whips in hand.

I fall back as close to twenty dragons rise into the sky with one unified shriek, my hands flying up to cover my ears. The dragons fly in formation behind a lead dragon.

Without warning, they soar up and swoop directly toward us.

I hit the ground as Yvan pulls me back, and the dragons zoom in close, then arc away toward the middle of the valley.

My heart pounds, and I feel light-headed. I’ve seen artists’ renderings of military dragons, like dignified horses with wings. But these dragons are terrifying—black as night, with emaciated bodies that hint at their underlying skeletons. And their wings—jagged, jutting things with sharp feathers that resemble dull blades.

“Oh, Sweet Ancient One,” I breathe, an icy chill coursing down my spine. “Do they breathe fire?”

Yvan frowns and shakes his head. “No. They lose the ability when they’re broken. But as you can see, they can still fly. And they’re strong, with sharp teeth and large talons.”

“Are they getting ready to attack the Keltic military?”

“And anyone else in their path. Just like last time. Villages. Families. You won’t hear aboutthat, of course. You’ll hear about one glorious military victory after another.” He grimaces. “You won’t read about whole families being torn to pieces by soulless dragons.”

I imagine one of those creatures landing in a village. It’s too terrible to fathom.

“Can’t anyone stop this?” I ask him, horrified.

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