As they finished their conversation, the lead dragon came into view. Ort stiffened and glanced back at her, his eyes wide behind his water-spattered goggles.
The second dragon came into view right after the first, flying just behind the female. Even as they watched, he caught up with the leader enough to lash out with a claw, slipping through whatever defenses she had around her and raking the back of her thigh. The lead dragon hurled wind or some mental energy at the offender, flinging him through the air like a salt shaker knocked off a table.
Sardelle thought of Jaxi’s suggestion to leave the crystal in the mud and let the dragons fight over it. Maybe that hadn’t been a bad idea. But as large and powerful as they were, the dragons could flatten the outpost and everyone in it with their battle.
Now you know why I let them lead
, Bhrava Saruth said smugly into her mind.
Sardelle had no idea if he truly was letting the others lead and fight to his advantage, or if he was trying to save face in the eyes of his new “high priestess.” Either way, he had come into view, too, a distant golden blob against the dark clouds hugging the mountain.
“Sardelle, what do we do?” Ort called. “Can we avoid them?”
“We have to. Avoid the first two and take us close to the third one so I can deliver this to him.” She held up the crystal.
General Ort gave her such a long, hard, incredulous look that she was certain his next words would be an order for her to get out of his flier.
“Care to explain why?” he asked, his tone calmer than the expression on his face implied it should have been. Maybe he was used to keeping his calm—at least outwardly—when confronted with crazy plans from subordinates.
He’s Ridge’s boss. Isn’t that a given?
Sardelle had no idea how to “explain” in such a short time. The lead dragons had stopped squabbling and were racing straight toward their flier. Ort was going to have to do some fancy flying to avoid them.
“He’s willing to help us if we do,” Sardelle said. “The other ones aren’t.”
Ort’s lips thinned. He faced forward again, banking hard to take them out of the dragons’ path, but nothing in the tense set of his shoulders implied he would follow her directions and head for the third gold. He probably meant to take them back to the fort—or to find Ridge.
“He’s willing to help Ridge and the others too,” Sardelle added. “And they’re desperately in need of that help.” She hoped Jaxi would update her and tell her she was exaggerating, that the others were doing well.
She didn’t.
Ort’s shoulders lowered. In defeat? Acceptance?
He’s positive you’re going to get him killed.
“I’ll keep you alive.” Sardelle gripped his shoulder, hoping she wasn’t being too familiar and also hoping she wasn’t making far too many promises, promises that she wouldn’t be able to keep.
Whether he believed her or not, Ort nodded once and took them down toward the mountainside, looking for a route that would let them bypass those dragons. Sardelle put all of her strength into shielding them, remembering the powerful blow the lead dragon had inflicted upon her nearest competitor. That could easily wreck them.
As they flew, Sardelle couldn’t help but look toward Goat Mountain. Not only did she hope they could reach their chosen dragon savior, but she hoped that it wouldn’t cause them to be too late to help Ridge.
Chapter 21
“A
re you sure you’re ready?” Zirkander asked.
Cas sat on the edge of her seat, Kasandral in one hand and the tether in the other. She was staring down at the latter, her stomach churning as she considered what she planned to do—what she
had
to do. Zirkander didn’t know. If she told him, he would try to stop her. He would call her suicidal. She wasn’t, not anymore. This was just the only thing she could do, the only thing that might rid them of the dragon and ensure that at least
somebody
survived this fight. She blinked away tears that were trying to form again, tears at the acceptance that the “somebody” could not be her.
“Ready, sir.” As if they had a choice. With Pimples gone, Morishtomaric was bearing down upon them, the last obstacle in the sky. “Sir, promise me you’ll tell Tolemek I love him? Please?” Her voice cracked, and she hissed at herself. She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to do her cursed duty. That was it.
Zirkander looked back, frowning. She lowered the tether so he wouldn’t see it, wouldn’t see that she meant to cut it. Had he already guessed?
“That’ll sound a lot better coming from you,” he said.
“If I don’t make it,” she said. “Promise.” It came out sounding more like an order than a request, but there wasn’t time to phrase it more respectfully. The dragon was only ten seconds away, and she needed Tolemek to know she had been thinking of him, in case this was the end.
“I promise,” Zirkander said, holding her gaze for a long second, then thrusting his arm back toward her. For a startled instant, she thought he meant to grab her or to make sure her tether was tied, but he was holding something out. His wooden dragon figurine. “Better rub it for luck.”
Cas felt ludicrous rubbing a little fake dragon with a
real
dragon trying to kill them, but it was easier to obey than to argue. She patted it awkwardly with her gloved hand.
Zirkander withdrew his arm and turned back toward the oncoming dragon.
Cas took a deep breath and sliced through the tether. She wasn’t harnessed, so she braced her legs and gripped the edge of the seat well hard. If she didn’t hang on, she would fall out prematurely. Zirkander was going to have to do some creative flying to get her into a position where she could leap out again and cut through the dragon’s shield. Only, she intended to do more than poke his shield this time. She would do more… or die trying.
“Try to come at him from above,” Cas ordered, hoping he would do it without questioning her. She wouldn’t have a chance of landing on the dragon if they crossed paths vertically, as they had last time.
Zirkander didn’t look back or acknowledge the order. Morishtomaric opened his maw, and fire streamed out. Fire and
power
. Zirkander had already been dodging, cutting to the side as those teeth flashed and smoke thickened in the back of the dragon’s throat, but even as they evaded the flames, a blast of air struck them.
It should have hurled them wingtip over wingtip—and it might have hurled Cas from her seat—but somehow, Zirkander rode the power, like a surfer on a wave. The flier bucked and shuddered, but he guided it around, curving back toward the dragon and increasing their altitude as he did so.
Her moment was coming. As their craft cut to the side so that they could fly over the dragon, Cas squeezed the sword so hard, it hurt. She realized she wasn’t breathing and forced herself to inhale and exhale deeply. Then there wasn’t time for anything else. She stood, one foot on the body of the flier, one hand gripping the craft. The wind railed at her, threatening to hurl her over the side too early. Using all of her strength, she maintained her position, and she counted down. Three. Two. One. As Zirkander took them over the dragon’s back, Cas dropped over the edge, utter terror almost choking her as she imagined what would happen if she miscalculated. What a waste her death would be.
She tucked her legs and led with the sword pointing below her. If it didn’t break his shield quickly enough, she might bounce off and miss getting her chance to truly hurt him.
Kasandral flashed green as it cut through the invisible barrier. As before, an electrifying jolt seared her nerves. Then Cas landed square on the dragon’s back, the sword point leading. It dove in, sinking more than two feet, as if cutting through butter instead of muscle and scales.
Morishtomaric screeched, not only out loud but into Cas’s mind. His pain crashed into her like a battering ram. It made her forget the pain in her knee and her plan to take him down, everything but holding onto Kasandral, lest she be thrown from the dragon’s back. He bucked like a horse, and her feet slipped off the sleek scales. She found herself dangling from nothing but the sword’s hilt. With her weight hanging from it, or perhaps only because of Kasandral’s sheer hunger, the blade sank lower.
As she scrambled to get her feet back under her, to throw a leg over the ridge of Morishtomaric’s spine, Cas watched the back of the dragon’s head, hoping to see it dip in defeat, hoping that this blow would be enough to kill him.
But Morishtomaric was still flapping his wings. They were furious, erratic flaps, and his head and neck thrashed about, but he wasn’t in danger of falling out of the sky, not yet. A wall of air, something roiling, dark and ominous like the storm clouds, rushed over her. She could feel it brush against her cheeks, but it did not budge her. Kasandral was flaring more brightly than ever, the green glow washing over the golden scales below her. Golden scales and blood. If she could reach a more vital target, maybe she could stop those wings from beating permanently. But dare she pull out the sword to move to another spot? It was her only anchor, her only handhold. With the dragon bucking and twisting and doing his best to knock her from his back, how could she possibly stay on?
Morishtomaric’s head whipped around on his long neck. They started to lose altitude, but he didn’t look like he cared as his fierce, furious eyes and giant fangs came into view. He snapped at her, and Cas fell to the side of his spine, using the dragon’s body for protection as she hung onto the sword’s hilt. He tried to bite the blade free, but Kasandral flared green and somehow deterred him. Morishtomaric flung some new magical attack at her, something that battered at the edges of her mind. Once again, she felt the sword protect her, power that should have destroyed her failing to harm her.
Morishtomaric must have realized he was falling, because his head turned forward again, and his wings flapped hard, regaining altitude. Cas struggled to get back astride him, trusting he would try to unseat her again.
The buzz of Zirkander’s propeller reached her ears. She dared not take her eyes from the dragon to look toward him, but she didn’t have to. She knew he would have realized what had happened by now. Whether he would forgive her or not, he was too practical not to take advantage. She had to put herself into a position that he could do so. Right now, she was in the middle of the dragon’s back. He might be able to shoot if she got to one end or the other. Perhaps Tolemek’s bullets could do what she hadn’t yet managed.
With that thought in mind, Cas found the best grip she could, her knees digging in as if she rode a horse bareback, and she pulled Kasandral free. The dragon immediately threw another wall of air at her. Once again, Kasandral protected her through a power she did not understand. She simply accepted it and inched her way up the dragon’s spine, staying low so the natural wind wouldn’t tear her free. Sleet beat at her, and lightning flashed, but she pressed on, squinting her eyes and never taking her focus from her target. The dragon’s neck.
If she could reach it and land a killing blow, Morishtomaric would finally go down. Inevitably, she would go down with him, but it would be worth it to get rid of him. A fitting fate for the person and the sword who had killed Apex. And to save Zirkander and perhaps other lives… it was a fair trade.
With that thought in mind, she crawled closer to the dragon’s neck. The wind had knocked the blood off Kasandral’s gleaming blade, but the sword called out to her, urging her to give it more. One way or another, she would obey.
• • • • •
Ridge swooped back and forth, shooting at the dragon’s tail and backside with careful, precise shots. As precise as he could make them with his target bucking and writhing in the air like a fish fighting the hook reeling it in. How the creature remained airborne while he was doing all that, Ridge couldn’t guess. He could only shoot. He dared not unleash the machine guns fully with Ahn crawling along Morishtomaric’s back. He shook his head with horror every time he glimpsed her, but he understood why she’d made the choice she had. He just hoped they could shoot down the dragon—or she could cut the bastard’s head off—and he could somehow get her off before she crashed right along with their downed foe.
Since she had dropped, the dragon’s protective barrier had been down, and Ridge riddled Morishtomaric’s backside with bullets. As he sailed close, he saw that some of them had burrowed through the scales, smoking as they ate into dragon flesh. He did not know if they would be enough, but if Ahn could stay on and land the killing blow that she clearly intended to make, the ancient sword might do what the army’s technology and Tolemek’s science could not.
As Ridge came in for another pass, barely missing the thrashing tail, Morishtomaric opened his fang-filled mouth and breathed fire once more. Instead of streaming out of his maw in a straight line as it usually did, it curled around his head, the flames stretching toward Ahn.
Her eyes bulged, and she buried Kasandral in the dragon’s back, hanging onto it and hiding behind the sword. She must have been too far up his spine for Morishtomaric to snap at her again, but this was just as bad. Ridge’s stomach dropped when the flames wrapped around her. They didn’t burn her to a crisp instantly—Kasandral must be offering some protection—but from the way she bared her clenched teeth, she wasn’t entirely immune.
Ridge diverted his path. Instead of heading for the back of the dragon again, he wheeled around so he could angle his guns toward Morishtomaric’s face. Not certain he could get into position quickly enough, he formed words of desperation in his mind.
Sardelle or Jaxi, if you’re able to help, now would be a very good time.
He didn’t expect an answer and kept on his path, as the dragon’s smoking snout came into his gun sights, the flames still streaming from the open jaw.
We’re doing our best to get to you
, Jaxi said, the words coming quickly, as if she was in the middle of a battle too.
We’re on the other side of Galmok—too far to reach you and help. Once we get past these other dragons, we’ll try to get there. Stay alive!