Page 142 of Edge of the Wild

But the Corpse Lord was unconscious.

“What good is magic if it fucking lets you down?” Leif sounded furious, frightened. They were still chained, and Erik was alone, and about to be facing down a whole horde of angry cannibals. “Magnus – Magnus, kick him or something. Wake him up.”

Magnus, though, was straining at the end of his chain, trying to reach a sword one of the corpses had dropped. It lay just beyond his grasp, his iron manacles biting into his wrists as he struggled. “He could have at least cut us loose first,” he muttered. “Poor sod.”

The Fangs that jumped down into the arena brandished clubs, and spears, and a few even held large rocks in their hands. Erik turned, and turned, no wall to put at his back, no cover, no choice but to meet them all at once – and be overwhelmed.

It was chaos.

It was death, staring them all right in the face.

Even through the cool haze of ice rose, Oliver felt panic grip his belly, his lungs. This was it. This was the end. They were all–

A scream split the air overhead. A high, whistling cry almost like a hawk, but which he knew straight off wasn’t a hawk at all.

The scene before him melted into shades of blue, still visible, but tinged with cold.

And just like that, panic turned to hope.

Oliver took a deep breath.Help me, he thought, as strongly as he could.Please. Help us.

The scream sounded again. And then came the harsh, leathery flap of wings.

“Oh,gods,” Lars said.

The tableau before them came to a halt. Fangs threw back their heads to look up at the sky – and then their shouting resumed, in an entirely different tenor.

The cold-drake landed lightly on all four clawed feet, Wings still beating, skimming white clouds off the snow. His serpent neck lashed out, and he gripped a Fang in his jaws, fast as a blink. The man screamed, and was unceremoniously thrown across the arena. He landed against the wall with a sickening crunch and fell limp.

Then the drake turned to Oliver. His wings folded up neatly, and he walked forward, claws sinking deep into the snow.

Náli lay still, but Leif, Magnus, and Lars all pressed back against the wall.

Leif said, “I take back what I said about magic. Oliver, if you have some, now would be a wonderful time to use it.”

The most perfect sense of peace had washed over Oliver, better than anything the ice rose had offered. His fever, the danger – all of it receded into a blue haze at the edges of his awareness, and he saw only the drake, standing before him, extending his neck, nostrils flaring as he took in Oliver’s scent, those glowing blue eyes fixed on him. This was his dragon, the one he’d rescued, the one that had been touching his mind for weeks now.

“Gods,” someone hissed, as Oliver reached up his bound hands and offered his palms to the drake for inspection.

The dragon readily pressed his muzzle into Oliver’s fingers, sniffing, inspecting. His scales were hard, but incredibly smooth, cool to the touch. His breath was cool, too, and without being told, without words, Oliver knew what to do.

He formed two fists, and spread them apart as far as they would go, offering the links of the manacles. The dragon took a deep inhale, and his jaws opened a fraction, and the mist that he puffed out against the chain links was blue, that same sapphire shade that had become so familiar. It wascold, but it didn’t hurt; Oliver watched the manacles ice over. When he tugged, the links broke, and his bonds fell to the snow.

There were quiet exclamations to either side of him, but for a moment, he only stood; laid his hand on the dragon’s muzzle. “Thank you.”

It gave a cool little snort that reminded him of a horse’s affectionate gesture, and he grinned.

Then it was time to let go of this strange trance, anddo something.

Oliver let his hand fall. He gave himself a firm mental shake. “All right, then,” he told the drake. “I need your help.”

It snorted again, and shook its head – its whole body, tail lashing happily at the end of the movement. It turned back toward the action, where a whole startled cluster of Fangs were trying to decide whether to flee or fight.

Oliver bent to pick up the sword Magnus had been trying to reach, and handed it to him. “Here. Best to stay back, though, probably.”

Magnus was wide-eyed and pale-faced. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

Oliver turned, and followed the dragon.

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