Page 44 of Daghel

Drawing his wings up wide, he launches us into the sky and carries us rapidly away from the assembly with the furious beat of his wings, leaving the gathols to catch up with us once they fetch the war-platforms. I cling tightly to him as we sail past the peaks covered heavily with ice and snow, and still he climbs, arching slowly in adjustment of his course as I pass along the image of Vorn’s battle plans and his explicit instructions.

Drisk hisses in my mind vehemently.“The gathols can never stand by and do nothing. He means to sacrifice the higher ranked, older, mated gathol and has separated them fromtheir females to weaken them when they are most vulnerable without their females to keep watch tethered to their sides. They are the only ones who have been assigned on this round to carry the war-platforms.”

I also did not miss that. “This is exactly his intention. And he means for us to not return in the midst of defending ourselves from the other gathols when they turn on us in response,” I reply grimly. “He wants none to remain but the younger and unmated whom he can fashion into what he wants the gathols to be—a sexless, loveless blade for him to wield against his enemies.”

“What are you going to do? You cannot sacrifice them.”

My lips curl, chilling. “I agreed to his orders. I never intended to follow them in the spirit they were stated. We will merely follow up with a report that they are all dead and give them all a bit of a fiery show.”

Drisk cackles, his clicks echoing over the mountains as we pass through them.“And what of the warriors?”

“I suspect that many of the warrior commanders will have been given orders to make camp and wait for retrieval, but once Ajek realizes that we are still alive, I suspect that he will demand that we carry him and a few of his more prized warriors back with us. Though I am certain that he will be disappointed in not being given the opportunity to carry out his charade of reporting my death to the remaining gathols in order to rally them in support of Vorn.”

“So sad,”Drisk replies with another cackle.

My lips twitch in response. Drisk never laughed before Anya, preferring to be of terrible mood and temperament to everyone around him—even me to a degree, but I suspect that it is only because he knew that I would not take offense to his scathing tongue. But in recent days, it seems that he is quick to laugh, even if it is perhaps more menacing and terrifying than any growl that the male produces. I settle into the saddle andpeer along the mountains, matching them up to the map I am carrying in my mind. There is a small sign of smoke in the distance, outing the camp, but that is not my concern at this moment.

“The other gathols will soon be arriving,” I mutter to myself and for Drisk’s benefit so that he hears the thoughts clearly and understands the plan. “I need to plot a route so that they may escape from the battlefield without raising suspicion.”

Drisk grunts in acknowledgement as we continue to glide close among the cliff faces as we pass through the mountains, keeping our profile low as I carefully plot the angle of attack. The warriors will strike head-on northward, so that means that the two peaks, Andra and Dwana, the closest set of the Fang Peaks, will be a blind spot. I smile triumphantly as I give Drisk the command to circle back around.

We are returning to the point of attack just as the gathol wings soar in formation over the lowest peaks; the wyverns carrying their heavy burdens in their powerful rear claws. The bellow of wyverns crack through the air and the warriors in the war-platform beat their chest with their fists and their weapons upon the high walls of the platforms carrying them. The combined sound is like a violent roll of thunder and the “enemy” reacts swiftly.

Males pile out from the camps, many of them pulling on their armor in the process as their heads tilt up to the wyverns gliding over them. Weapons are raised and some javelins are tossed into the air as a shower of arrows fly upward to meet us. Wyverns duck low, sailing below them to skim the snow with their packages before releasing the war-platform to break through the snow as they jettison across the expanse toward the rallying faction.

I stare down in shock at them, noting the many humans in their midst. It is not unusual to see human males in the villageswhen they are brought among our people as pups and raised with our own, but usually they take to tasks such as farming or weaving, though there are some who are stationed as village guards. To see them fighting so bravely against orcs much larger than them fills me with respect for them and an unexpected sorrow when I see them cut down.

A bellow rises, cutting through the air, and then another as warriors pile from the platforms, many barely waiting for them to slow completely before leaping clear of it to continue the charge on foot. The clash of force is vicious. Even from my vantage point above, I can clearly see its gruesomeness as the Fang Peak warriors, half crazy and out of the minds, attack not only with their weapons but with their tusks, teeth, and claws once they brought them in close, goring them savagely and ripping at their flesh. In fact, many seem to be forgoing weapons for clean deaths altogether, to tear bloodily into their enemy and rip them apart just as Vorn instructed. Without outside support, the small faction encampment is heavily outnumbered three to one and being savagely obliterated as they are leapt upon from two or three directions. Some few of the Cold Fang Clan fall, but it is not enough, not nearly enough to make a retreat.

I can feel the cold touch of the darkness gathering near the battle, but its approach this time, unlike other battles, it is silent. It is an electric hiss within the atmosphere and a charge of power rippling through the air as it descends upon us as the skies darken and an icy wind blasts over the mountains with the howl of the damned.

“It comes,”Drisk rumbles and I nod.

“I am aware.”

“What shall you do?”the male purrs, and I close my eyes.

“Wait for the right moment,” I reply.

I am not a fool. Although I have chosen to ignore the fact that Drisk comes from the depths of the mountains, I have knownall along that his purpose for flying the long expanse over the mountains was one full of complexities and secrecy. All along he has been waiting and watching and while he follows my direction and lead when it comes to the darkness, it feels now like one long dance that he has patiently waited to play out. It is as if he knew that this decision would come. He is aware of it seeping around me, its seductive whisper teasing my senses as the evils and atrocities below fill my vision. Orcs grab fallen victims of both species, ripping flesh from the fallen bodies, gorging themselves on their bloody flesh as they howl and roar triumphantly before springing on their next victim.

Beyond the presence of the darkness boiling around me, there is a sense of horror as the wings of gathol hang in the air, almost frozen in place by the brutality below. I watch them from the corner of my eye but also rely on Drisk’s observations as he keeps me informed regarding the gathol wings. None of them makes the move I’m waiting for and I gnash my teeth in frustration.

A sudden movement to my left has my gaze shifting from the battlefield, snapping up as one of the wing leaders abruptly drops in a sharp descent with his wyvern, his look of horror melting into determination. This was the moment I was waiting for, so that my approach did not look too suspicious from below.

“Cut them off, Drisk,” I command coldly, and my bonded-wyvern complies, circling slightly before folding his wings in a rapid drop on course with the other wyvern.

The wing leader’s wyvern pulls up with a bellow as Drisk’s wings snap out right in front of him so that we are flying in place and the male barely avoids the collision.

“Daghel! What in the name of the hells are you doing?” the wing leader shouts. “There is something wrong with all of this. We have to stop it!”

“There is no stopping it,” I growl back, lifting my voice to be heard above the wind. “To stop it is a death sentence for all of us as well as them. They kept our females away from this battle not only to weaken us, but to hold them for their vengeance. Do you think Vorn will kill them quickly and mercifully if we go against orders? He wants all of us dead and thinks to see to it that exactly that happens in this battle.”

The male pales. “My Daniella,” he whispers. “We are all damned.” He shakes his head sorrowfully, his lips moving in a silent prayer for the dead, but his gaze meets mine steadily despite the grief welling up within them. “What do we do?”

“Perform,” I reply with a sharp smile. “I will chase you among the wings. Shout your orders to the wing leaders and I will pursue the lot of you between those peaks there.” I tip my head toward them meaningfully even as Drisk’s neck coils, making a vicious strike against the leader’s bonded.

Understanding lights the males and his wyvern shoots up away from us so quickly that I tip my head back to watch him ascend. We pause for a moment to allow him to gain distance, Drisk flapping his wings in a way to suggest that he is recovering from a bite, before his wings snap us through the air in hot pursuit.

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