Page 96 of Magick and Lead
The Skrathan’s dragons must have sensed it, too, because they came winging in from behind, six of them, and the Skrathan mounted hastily.
The dragons’ size made Clua look even smaller—and made Rohree feel smaller by comparison.
“We should run,” Rohree whispered.
No,” Clua said. “I told you, I have a debt to pay to this witch. Your debt.”
Rohree plucked at her sleeve. “Don’t be a fool! That mace of yours is no good against a witch’s magic, nor is this little knife of mine. Let’s?—”
Clua wheeled on her, eyes fiery. “You talk in your sleep,” she said.
Rohree blinked, confused. “What?”
“I know what that witch did to you. What she put you through. And she’ll answer for it.” The dwarf’s face went red as she blinked back tears. “Anyone who hurts you will answer for it.”
Her hand reached out, two fingers linking with two of Rohree’s. And Rohree suddenly felt as if she had a warm stone sitting on her chest, pressing the air out of her. She knew what the look in Clua’s eyes meant, and the tremor in her voice. But how could it be true? Rohree was nothing but a lowly sprite servant. An unremarkable girl from an exiled race, and she wasn’t even pretty. No one had ever looked at her like this before…
But there was no time to reflect, bask, ask, or explain. The first wave of Lacunae charged, their red-tipped lances leveled. The dragons gave a horrific battle-roar and met them with blasting fire, gnashing jaws, and slashing claws. Lure’s dragon batted aside a lacuna and his warhorse, and they dropped to the ground right in front of Rohree, hitting hard enough to shake the earth. The force only made Rohree even more aware of the futility of the tiny dagger in her hand in the face of all this power. But not all small people were weak—Clua stepped in front of her and brought her mace down on the lacuna’s head with such force that his helmet was driven halfway into the ground.
A flying golenae swooped in from above, some bastard cross between a kelmoon and a lion, and Pocha and her dragon met it with sword and talon. The two beasts collided and spun off to Rohree’s left, snapping trees as they went. Three more lacunae were galloping toward them, clods of dirt flying in their wake. Rohree looked back, ready to flee, and saw Dagar coming up from behind. He wore his riding leathers and held a rider’slance, with his blue Skrathan cloak furling out behind him, but he was riding Essa’s horse instead of a dragon.
“For Issastar!” he shouted. Parring one lacuna lance with his shield and ducking another, he managed to strike one of the dark knights in the shoulder with his own lance, knocking him from his mount.
Rohree glimpsed a scrabbling, reddish shape trailing along behind Dagar and saw it was the little dragon—Parthar—the one who’d been bonded to Kit the Admite—flapping along with his young wings and barking feisty little spurts of fire. Since Rohree had last seen the dragon, he’d grown to the size of a small wolf. But though his spunkiness was cute, he was far too young for battle. Clearly Lure agreed, shouting:
“Rohree! Grab Parthar.”
The little dragon was just flapping over Rohree’s head and she leaped up and grabbed him by the tail, tugging him down to earth. They both landed in a heap and he turned on Rohree with a growl. For a second, she thought he might attack. Small though he was, his claws and teeth looked sharp as needles. But when he saw Rohree, recognition kindled in his fiery orange eyes and a hoom of happiness rose from his throat.
“Listen, you,” Rohree scolded. “This is no place for a baby dragon. We’ve got to?—”
But the words died in her mouth as something in the air seemed to shift. Leaves on the ground prickled and stood at attention. The trees subtly bowed, as with a sudden, sustained wind. The atmosphere felt somehow heavier, as if the sky were pressing down and the air in her lungs were as thick as soup. And then Rohree saw her on a hilltop at the end of the glade, riding on a stag as dark as midnight with antlers as broad and black as the branches of a charred tree. The witch.
Gods, could she truly have so much power that the whole world trembles before her?Rohree wondered.
Even the dragons halted in their rampaging at the sight of her. As one, they crouched in defensive postures, their wings cocked in to shield their riders, their growls vibrating the earth.
Only the golenae kept moving, giving the dragons wide berth as they skirted around them and continued toward the village.
Where is Princess Essaphine?
The witch’s mouth didn’t move, but her words nevertheless pierced Rohree’s mind like a knife.
Pocha emerged from a stand of trees, still astride her dragon. “QueenEssaphine is not here,” she shouted. “You’ll have to deal with us.”
Who is your leader, then?the witch demanded in their minds.
“Me,” Ollie stepped forward. The slender, star-steel Torouman blade glinted in his hand, but he seemed at ease as he stood opposite the witch. The stag she rode on snorted and pawed the earth.
“Well met, Ollyvar the Torouman,” she said, speaking aloud this time. “You have a prisoner of mine who stole something which belongs to me. Give them both back, and I’ll be on my way.”
Rohree’s hand went to the satchel at her side. The letters inside must contain valuable information if the witch still cared enough to demand them. And she hadn’t even had a chance to read them or show them to anyone. To give them back now, before they’d been examined, could be a terrible loss. And besides, the amount of suffering she’d gone through to get them and bring them back here…
She couldn’t just give them back. No chance. And she certainly wouldn’t let herself be taken by the witch—not alive, anyway.
But Ollie called to the witch. “Of course.”
“What?” Pocha shouted, nearly leaping out of her saddle.
