Page 80 of Wrath of the Dragons
“Oh, I’m sure,” I drawl just to piss him off.
Eight men form a circle around me, and I wrap my hand around the hilt of my discarded blade, twirling it as they close in. My chuckle is smothered by my helmet. Imirath can send eight men or eighty—I’ll cut them all down. When I was fourteen, I once ripped out a man’s throat with my teeth in the fighting pits; after that, most confrontations seem tame.
I slice through their armor, pivoting and maneuvering around their blades as they try and fail to take me down. One aims for my leg, and I stomp their blade into the sand and break their jaw with my other boot. Their bodies join the corpses surrounding me, serving as a warning to anyone who decides they’re brave enough to fight me.
I’m not a king or commander on the field.
I’m a god.
Flames blaze from my left, and the heat slams into my face as the scent of burning flesh stings my nose. It draws the eyes of everyone on the beach. Elowen is a beacon on the battlefield, haunting the mind of every soldier as she sits atop Venatrix, making sure every person can see that the dragon queen is here to take what was stolen from her. The blast of pure red flames swallows all the Imirath and Thirwen soldiers firing arrows from the ramparts of the fort. The purple banners framing the entrance with a golden trident spearing a crown are victims of Elowen’s wrath, as are the docks jutting into the ocean. The sight of Elowen destroying the symbol of House Atarah after taking my name is something I’ll never forget.
I step to the side, quickly dodging a sword swiped at my face. The soldier growls, and though their armor indicates they’re from Thirwen, I don’t sense any magic. It seems all of Thirwen’s magical efforts are focused on the wyverns, but I expected more. It keeps me on edge. He aims for me again, but I grab his wrist, twisting it behind his back and bringing him to his knees.
“You shouldn’t have gone for the face. My wife likes me pretty.” I slice his neck open, shoving him down with the others as I continue pushing against the enemy. My father once told me I destroy everything I touch, and rather than fight it, I became destruction. Steel clashes and separates as boots slosh in the wet sand.
Another soldier approaches and grits his teeth while tightening his hand on the hilt of his blade as if it’ll save him. I twirl my twin blades, widening my stance and waiting for him to advance, not for any reason other than the fact that I prefer defense. When I take the offensive route too quickly, the fight ends before my muscles even have thechance to burn. He cranes his blade back as the ground rumbles beneath our feet. The soldier glances down, and I end him for his hesitancy. The ground rumbles again, and blood ripples in the puddles along the beach.
“Retreat!” I hear in the distance. “RETREAT!”
All around me, Vareveth soldiers begin cheering as a mixture of Imirath and Thirwen forces rush back toward the port town. Ryder looks to me, but I shake my head. Something is wrong. They wouldn’t give up the fort this easily.
“Stand your ground!” I command. “We take no prisoners!”
Rocks along the cliffs framing the bay tumble into the water, and though the fort hasn’t completely collapsed, it soon will. Dust and stones rain down from the top. Asena and her cult accompanied us, while Ophir stayed behind, needing to prepare for the journey to Galakin, but I know this isn’t her. Her task has been wielding fire to cut through enemies, nothing worthy of this reaction from the landscape.
A blinding light shoots up behind me, and sparks burst through the air as it dissolves. Everyone holds their breath while the air around us becomes heavier, as if it’s weighed down by humidity and being pulled away from us. Screams make my ears ring as a transparent arch—a ward—forms high behind us, even higher than Elowen where she flies on the other side. It’s longer than the beach and begins closing inward. Ryder and I are deep in their territory having led the charge.
“All hells,” I mutter. “Fucking mages.”
A stampede of soldiers plows through the sand, delving in a directionless frenzy as they fight to reach their respective sides. Anyone on the wrong side of the ward once it closes will be executed or taken as a captive. Someone slams into my bad shoulder, and I grit my teeth, quickly righting myself as I fight my way to Ryder, not caring who I’m plowing down. I hardly see my surroundings as I swing my blades, dodging both the enemy and my soldiers trying to run to safety. The sky above me is coated in the dome. It’s growing farther into their territory as the gap for us to leave grows smaller by the second.
“Ryder!” I call out, catching glimpses of him through the chaos.
“Get out of here!” he shouts, farther into Imirath territory than I was, but I keep killing my way toward him.
They swarm around us like black flies in search of blood, but I make my way to him, cutting down the last soldier between us. He looks at me, splattered in blood and chest heaving, relief clearly written across his features. We don’t bother saying anything as we turn around and push through the masses, painting our path in entrails and corpses. The closer we get to the dwindling gap, the tighter the space becomes. Swords have no use anymore, and we use our height and size as an advantage, elbowing and shoving our way through, keeping our footing as we step over bodies, both alive and dead.
There is no good and bad in war, only those who survive and those who die.
I’m not fucking dying today.
I keep my eyes locked on Elowen flying toward the gap in the forcefield, fighting my way out of hell, finally having a reason to do so beyond selfishness.
Chapter
Forty-one
Elowen
Venatrix tears through another wyvern,and I command her to fly up the beach and make for the closing gap. Cayden and Ryder lead the charges, so there’s no possible way they’re on our side. I have to find a way to at least slow the magic to give them a greater chance of escape. Soldiers are packed so closely together the mass of them hardly moves. Most of them will be crushed to death before the gap even closes. The only small mercy is knowing that Finnian isn’t with them.
My saddle straps strain as she flips around, offering her back to the ground as the shimmering walls creep closer. “Zayèra!”
Venatrix blows her flames toward the wards with a new vigor, sending the magic back to grant the soldiers below a bit more time. I turn away to give my eyes some reprieve from the heat and watch Sorin lock claws with a wyvern. It slams its tail into him, but his scales hold strong against the venomous spikes. He bathes it in green flames, melting the flesh from its rider and dropping them into the sea. He bares his bloody fangs and lets out a vicious roar, calling out to any others that may be lurking in the distance. Challenging them to come find him and face their doom.
Basilius comes to us, mirroring Venatrix and bathing the wards at my back in dragonfire. I can feel their power, feel something awakeningin me through them. It’s like remembering the thing you forgot moments ago when it was on the tip of your tongue.
But the wards grow stronger, they keep coming at us, and the dragons are forced to keep descending. Venatrix jolts as arrows are fired at me, letting them bounce off her scales. My blood chills the lower we get. The scent of sulfur is heavy down here. It conjures memories from the day my father tried to break my bond with my dragons. I look over my shoulder, trying to find Cayden once I’m close enough to the ground to make out faces, but it’s impossible to spot him.
