Page 88 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“I respect you,” Thelise repeats. “I trust you as I trust no one else. I love you better than I’ve loved anyone in my lifetime. In light of that, my darling, I hope you will believe me when I tell you, we are not needed for this fight. You and I have another job to do.”
Her sincerity rings through her voice—not a trace of levity or lies. And though I still have concerns about my clan and their upcoming battle with Rahzien, I don’t protest her plan any further.
The coastline of Elekstan appears ahead of us, marked by the Resting Cliffs. Hinarax weaves through the group, checking in with the other dragons, reminding them that they’ll be flying inland a little further before they pause to hunt and eat.
When Hinarax nears us, Thelise calls out to him, and he drops back to fly at my side for a moment.
“We can’t go to the Capital with you,” I hear her say. “We’ll part from you once we reach the coast. There’s a separate mission we need to accomplish, an important one.”
I glance sideways at Hinarax, knowing his penchant for questions. But something in Thelise’s expression must warn him not to inquire further, because he only says, “I understand.”
He’s young, and I know he must be nervous about this battle. Our warriors are going to Kyreagan’s aid without Varex, Vylar, Grimmaw, or the Bone-King… and now, without me and Thelise as well. I know Hinarax and the others are capable, but I also know the power of Vohrain’s army. Even with the element of surprise and assistance from the Elekstan rebels, I’m not sure my clan can win.
Hinarax increases the speed and power of his wingbeats, flying faster, returning to front of the group.
“Fall back,” Thelise tells me, patting my neck. “Let them go ahead.”
I reduce my speed, watching my fellow dragons fly across the surf, past the beach, and onward.
Trust her, I tell myself. She has a reason for doing this.
By the Bone-Builder, I hope this mission isn’t merely to fetch more wine.
“Why are you turning south?” Thelise says. “We need to head northwest.”
“Devil’s Kiss lies to the south.”
“We’re not going to my cottage,” she tells me. “We’re going to Guilhorn, to gather some very importantbones.”
19
Ashvelon doesn’t respond verbally to my announcement, but a ripple of emotion runs through his whole body, so powerful that I can feel it. His reaction makes me choke up.
“Fucking stop it, precious.” I smack his neck. “You’re going to make me cry, and we both need clear eyes and a focused mind, do you understand, pet?”
His only answer is a throaty rasp of assent, as if he doesn’t trust himself to speak.
I clear my throat and blink fast to dispel the impending tears. “We should be careful. Rahzien’s men are occupying what remains of Guilhorn, and they may have orders to react with hostility to dragons.”
“Given that Rahzien wants us all dead, I would say it’s not only possible, but likely,” Ashvelon replies.
“Before we reach the fortress, we’ll pause, and I’ll cast a protective spell on both of us. I have enough power to do that. It won’t last long, but it should give us a few minutes to determinewhere they’ve put the bones of the female dragons. I don’t think they would leave them in the street.”
It’s a long flight to Guilhorn, but we pass the time exchanging childhood stories and teaching each other our favorite songs. When we finally come within sight of Guilhorn’s damaged walls, Ashvelon dives into a clearing, and I cast the protection spell, an altered version of the spell I placed on myself the day the dragons came to my cottage. It’s a spell I’ve refined for quick-casting, and I carry its required ingredients in my satchel at all times. The tiny crystal I wear in the upper arch of my right ear and the jewel in my belly piercing serve as the focal gems for the casting. I use a little of Ashvelon’s blood and mine to target the spell, and I tweak the wording to defend us primarily against projectiles, since that’s what we’re likely to face.
With the protection in place, we take to the air again, sweeping toward the once-glorious stronghold.
I’m not sure what I imagined Rahzien’s soldiers would have done with the bones of the fallen female dragons, but the sight that greets us is a travesty beyond comprehension.
The invaders have hung the great skulls of their former allies from the walls and towers of Guilhorn. One might assume it was done to honor them, if not for the foul words and lewd symbols painted in garish colors on the white bone. The broken places in the city walls have been closed with hastily assembled barriers of dragon ribs and mud. Dragon tails hang on either side of the main gate, and several Vohrainian soldiers are playing a game of waffle-ball in a ring outlined by dragon vertebrae.
Ashvelon’s breath quickens, and a vicious growl tears through his throat. If he decides to blast frost-fire at the soldiers without knowing how many are actually posted here at the stronghold, our foray into this area could very well end in death for both of us.
“Ash, I know,” I tell him sharply, desperately. “I know. Please wait until—oh shit!” I scream as he dives straight down, racing straight for the soldiers.
I’ve seen sketches of Vohrain’s soldiers in the news bulletins hawked at the Devil’s Kiss market. They’re always wearing armor, complete with terrifying helmets like grinning silver skulls. But these soldiers wear only Vohrain’s colors and insignia, without armor or headgear. They’re taking a break, enjoying some recreation, defenseless to the vengeful dragon who sweeps down, skimming along the ground, spraying bluish-white frost-fire from his throat.
My dragon is death incarnate, taking the souls of every Vohrainian on that field. I cling to his spikes for dear life as he streaks toward the walls, racing along them and blasting every soldier posted on guard. They freeze and burn simultaneously, thrashing and shrieking in the torment of his ferocious magic.
