Venators, page 26
He seemed to mull this over. “If they are what you say they are . . . they can get back on their own.”
“Dimitri! It’s a dragon! I don’t even know if I could get back.”
He continued on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “I will need a demonstration of this worth you speak of, because I’ve yet to see it. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Your timing of this confession is a bit convenient, don’t you think?”
“And if they die?”
“Then we will bide our time until I find what I’m looking for. In this, I will not settle.”
“When the council finds out you’ve sanctioned their deaths without consulting—”
Dimitri bared his fangs. “Then we will both be dead. Because at the first whisper of an accusation, I will personally separate your head from your body and place it on a spike for all to see what happens to those who attempt to cross Dimitri of Valehadden.” He paused. “I expected more sense from you than issuing such a threat, but you always have had problems with letting your heart overrule logic.”
The first bellow sent a foreboding chill through Rune’s body, but it didn’t overshadow her need to know what it was. She scrambled up the tree like a squirrel. Climbing was so easy now—she loved it. Hand over hand, sure feet. It was like a sixth sense had been born the moment she’d begun the cliff descent.
There were shouts below, but she ignored them, poking her head through the top of the tree and out into open sky. The source of the bellow flew toward them on wings the size of a jetliner. She recognized the shape immediately but then questioned herself. It wasn’t possible.
“D-d-dragon?” she stammered.
The dragon’s backbone and the tips of it wings were awash with a cool light from the night sky. It looked black, maybe green, and glowing smoke plumed from the nostrils and traveled down its length, wreathing the body in reddish-black. Its head swept from one side to the other in a methodical search pattern, looking for something—or someone. Probably dinner. And it wasn’t going to be her.
Rune shifted one hand, preparing to lower herself below the camouflage of branches. But the slight movement caught its attention, and the dragon’s head snapped toward her. The beast was so close now, she could see its eyes as they narrowed on her. Target acquired.
Go, Rune. Move!
The dragon’s mouth opened wide, and she could see a glow down its gullet. The light got larger, closer. A plume of fire exploded, rapidly eating up the distance between them.
Fingers wrapped around her ankle. The surprise broke her daze, and she screamed. Then the hand jerked, and she dropped from the branch, her eyes to the sky as fire rolled overhead, vaporizing leaves and turning branches into thin arms of glowing embers. The heat seared her skin and lungs. She fell into Beltran’s arms.
“Hold on!”
Rune scrambled to wrap her arms around his neck as they continued to fall backward.
They smashed into a branch. Beltran grunted, then twisted around so he could fly again, pulling Rune in with one arm around her waist and the other against her upper back. He tucked his wings in tight, and they shot across the forest at a downward angle, heading for the tree that Tate was rapidly descending, using one hand to lower himself while the other held the bloody bag.
The canopy was on fire. The dragon let loose another rumbling cry. Rune’s cheek was pressed against Beltran’s, and she peered through the smoke, her hair whipping against the raw skin of her forehead. The shadowy shape of the dragon was making a wide turn, returning for a second attack.
Beltran shifted her to the side, holding her with one arm. Her feet swung freely.
“I’ve got to get Tate,” he said. “Be prepared for a rough ride.”
Tate leapt out to a branch as they got closer, dangling from one hand. Beltran pulled into a tight turn, looping around to come at Tate from the front. Beltran’s shoulder pummeled into Tate’s chest, ripping him from the branch. Tate’s arm smashed into Rune’s face as he grappled for a hold. Beltran dipped into a dive. They skimmed just above the ground until they caught up with Grey, who was carrying the woman they’d rescued from the camp.
“All right,” Beltran shouted. “I’ll have to turn you around, then I want you to hit the ground running. Rune, let go of my neck.”
That was the last thing she wanted to do. But she did as she was told. Beltran tossed her outward while wrapping his hand around her ribcage to pull her into a twist—similar to a move she’d seen in a figure-skating competition. It had looked graceful on TV. It did not feel that way in real life. She spun, arms flailing . . . and then she was falling. She screamed.
An arm wrapped around her waist, and Beltran pulled her back against his body one handed. Her shoulder rammed into Tate’s elbow. She grunted in pain, but she was facing out now, held only by his arm while her feet skimmed the ground.
“OK,” Beltran said in her ear. “On three. One, two—”
He let go of her, and she took off running.
Beltran flew over her head, twisting into a barrel roll to avoid a tree. Tate bellowed out a stream of swear words. Using both hands to control Tate’s larger size, Beltran flipped Tate out, grabbed him, and lowered him to the ground as well. A moment later, Beltran touched down. His wings vanished into his back, and he ran.
Above them, the dragon hovered, taking aim. It sent down a pillar of fire through the trees. Behind them, the fire ignited the trees with a whoosh. Burning pine needles and pieces of fallen branches blew out in all directions. Rune swatted at her smoldering hair as she ran.
“Beltran!” she shouted. “Can’t you turn into a dragon?”
“Not a good idea,” he yelled back.
No time to ask for an explanation. She pumped her arms harder.
Tate was starting to fall behind. “Grey! Hard left.”
Grey obeyed immediately, turning a ninety-degree angle. The rest followed.
Beltran looked over his shoulder to see where the dragon was. “How much farther?”
“Too far,” Tate grunted.
Behind them, the forest was awash in flame.
A wolf jumped out in front of Grey, who skidded to a stop. The woman screamed, clawing at Grey’s back to stay in his arms. At the same time, a stream of fire, continually fueled by the flapping dragon above, exploded to Rune’s right and billowed outward. She dove to the side, rolling away.
The wolf retreated, howling to the others.
Tate’s trench coat was on fire, and he shrugged out of it as fast as he could. Then he dropped, rolling the bag with the head over the ground to extinguish it.
“We have to hide!” Rune scrambled to her feet.
“It’s no good—dragons can see body heat.” Beltran’s eyes searched the sky.
“They have thermal imaging?” Rune couldn’t believe it. “This day keeps getting better and better.”
“We have to get to the river,” Tate said. “Just keep moving.”
The dragon had obviously figured out their destination, because it swooped in ahead of them, dropping a line of fire that blocked their way. With nowhere to go, Grey turned and ran next to the fire line. They were so close. The woman’s feet brushed against the flames, and she cried out in pain, jerking her legs back.
The dragon screeched and swung its head from side to side, searching along the boundary it had just created. It looked right at them, and Rune cringed, sure death was imminent, but its eyes slid past once, then twice. Almost as if . . . it couldn’t see them at all!
“That’s it!” Rune yelled. “Run as close to the flames as you can. It can’t sense our body heat through the fire.”
Beltran hooted. “Tate, she’s a genius!”
One by one, they all followed Grey, pulling in as close to the fire as they could tolerate and tearing down the line.
The dragon roared in fury overhead.
Free Fall
Water transportation was tricky and limited to a certain distance. Arwin had emerged in several different places, each time finding another source to continue his journey. Finally, he exited the spell beneath the Sarahna River and burst to the surface, gasping for air. The water around him was a bubbling soup, slapping into waves that broke against each other.
He’d exited much closer to the falls than intended.
Before he had time to utter either spell or curse word, the current seized hold of his cloak and yanked him down like murderous hands. Beneath the surface, the water twisted and spun in every direction, flipping him upside down and sideways. His back smashed into a rock. Then he was jerked violently to the side, cracking his head on another. A new current swept in and twisted him free of the rocky deathtraps, only to send him hurtling toward the lip of the falls.
He uttered a spell that came out in bubbles. Luckily, magic had never been terribly particular about mode of delivery. He was buoyed up by summoned forces and lifted from the river until he hung above the swirling foam. Breathing hard, he pulled the strands of beard away from his eyes and mouth and smoothed it down. His head and back throbbed from the beating he’d just taken, but there was no time to worry about that now.
The falls pounded mercilessly, filling the air with mist and deafening Arwin to the outside world—he wouldn’t hear a dragon if it were right on top of him. Ahead were three great arching stone monuments that had been placed at the head of the falls eons before. The water split and rushed around them before cascading down. He’d studied them extensively in his youth. The monuments were etched with magical runes so old no one knew the meaning of half of them. Youthful hubris said he would be the one to unlock their secrets . . .
He was not.
Arwin came down lightly on the center of the three arches, keeping the spell in place to prevent falling, and scanned the valley below. Under normal circumstances, such a tactic would yield him nothing. It was dark, and the trees stood like an elevated carpet, hiding whatever secrets might be unfolding beneath. But he was looking for a dragon, and that attack would shine like a beacon for miles in every direction.
He could see nothing to the north, west, or south. Surely not. Arwin turned, looking to the top of the cliffs in the east. The forest was lit in flaming destruction, pillars of smoke billowing skyward. Above it all, the dragon twisted in the sky, not yet returning home but coming around for another pass.
His eyes widened. Zio had never sent her dragon this close to the council house before. If there was one thing dragons were susceptible to, it was magic. And with himself and Ambrose in residence, Zio had never risked her most prized possession. If the beast was there, she wanted those two Venators dead—badly enough to take the gamble.
But the dragon was still hunting, which meant the Venators were likely alive.
Arwin floated back over the raging river, whispered his transportation spell, and dropped. His body was compressed, and he was sucked upstream in a crazy, desperate attempt to save the lives of two Venators he’d never met.
Sweat poured down Rune’s face and trickled between her shoulder blades as they ran alongside the fire line. The wall of flames on her right licked out without warning, singeing hair and blistering skin.
“Rune! Slow down!” Tate called.
The dragon swooped over again, laying down a blazing trail. It was now randomly placing attacks, hoping to hit what it couldn’t see. This one landed a few feet behind them.
Against every survival instinct she had, Rune slowed to allow Tate to come up next to her. His face gleamed with sweat. “We have to split up. It’s the only chance we’ve got. There’s a mound of rocks coming up—I need you to get to the top.”
“I’ll be out of the fire,” she protested as they ran. “The dragon will see me.”
“I know. I need you to draw the attack.”
“I’m bait!” The head in the bag Tate held slammed against Rune’s leg, and she thought she’d be sick.
“I’d do it, but I’m not fast enough. Once he sees you, jump down. The rocks will protect you from the heat. I’ll be waiting at the bottom. Got it?”
Her climbing gift suddenly seemed less appealing. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Good. Now tell Beltran they’re going off the edge.”
She turned on the speed, catching up to Beltran. “Tate says . . . off the edge.”
“Easy for him to say!” Beltran shouted. “Damn it! This is going to hurt.”
Not seeing the rock formation, Rune fell back to Tate.
The fire line exploded between her and Beltran. A ball of heat rolled out, spitting embers and separating the groups prematurely.
“Through, through!” Tate called from behind.
Rune screamed and leapt, wrapping arms around her face and holding her breath. For a moment there was nothing but a roar of crackling sound. And then heat—clawing and biting. The two seconds within the inferno felt like minutes . . . She hit the ground on the other side, dropping immediately into a roll. Pain flared on her right arm and left shoulder. She was on fire. Rune slapped at one arm while rolling the shoulder into the ground.
A moment later Tate was there, pulling her up. “Almost there! Go! I’m right behind you.”
The rocky outcropping rose through the smoke. She continued to run next to the fire line as long as possible, then veered left. Vulnerability washed over her. She was in the open, totally visible. No matter how hard she pumped her legs, it didn’t seem fast enough. She could almost feel the heat of dragon’s breath on her neck, but nothing nipped at her heels besides the galloping of her own fear.
Rune hit the formation and jumped the first two boulders, landing on a large, flat rock. She focused on the task: hand, foot, don’t worry about the dragon, hand, foot, faster, hand, foot, leap. She pushed off, then slapped the next rock with flat palms, using momentum to push herself one handhold higher.
Landing on the highest rock, she straightened. But the dragon must’ve spotted her the moment she left the fire, because bearing down on her was the open mouth of death. Fire burst out of the dragon’s gullet like a boiling geyser. No time to scream; Rune turned and leapt off the edge in a swan dive.
The fire line was coming to an end. Ahead, the arms of flame shrank down to nothing, starved by a dirt expanse and the rocky edge of a cliff. The lack of heat left them nowhere to hide, and the approaching drop off left nowhere to run.
Valerian’s hold on Grey was growing weaker. She was exhausted from her ordeal, and her shoulder had begun to ooze puss. Grey tried to think of a solution, but it was like rattling around an empty tin can . . . nothing.
He glanced back, trying to determine how much time they had left. The dragon was coming in for another pass, but this time it was focused on something in the distance. He followed its line of sight and found the prey. Rune was scrambling up a rocky outcropping, unaware the beast had her locked in its sights.
His feet stuttered. “Rune!”
Beltran pushed him hard. “Keep moving!”
Valerian lifted her head to see what the commotion was about just as Rune turned and leapt off the top of the rocks, disappearing beneath the wash of flame and brimstone.
“Rune!”
“She’ll be fine,” Beltran shouted. “Cut to the right. Here! Now, now, now!
Grey gritted his teeth and veered, leaping over charred earth that flickered red and orange with live embers. There was nowhere to go! He skidded to a stop at the edge of the cliff. Valerian squeezed his neck, whimpering for the first time. It was hundreds of feet to the ground, and along the bottom, a hopelessly narrow river snaked.
Dark, leathery wings sprouted from Beltran’s back. They were almost twice his height, towering over him with fingerlike claws at the tips while the bottoms dragged behind like a gothic skirt, trimmed with the same thin claws. “Jump,” he demanded.
“What?” Grey hissed, taking another look over the edge. “No, there has to be another way.”
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Beltran gestured backward, waving his arms wildly.
The trees that had offered sparse protection in the beginning had faded to rocks and tall grasses along the cliff’s edge. The dragon took advantage of the new landscape and dropped in. Having forgotten Rune, it was now focused solely on them. It skimmed the ground, its curled feet brushing the grass blades.
“Hold on to her, Grey. Don’t let go.” Beltran’s eyes were on the dragon. “I’ll protect you. Just jump. Now!”
If he leapt, it was likely they wouldn’t survive. But if he stood here, they would die without question.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Valerian and stepped off the edge.
They clung to each other as the wind whistled past. Grey rolled onto his back, intending to offer the only thing he had left—protection upon impact. His eyes were now on the receding cliff instead of the approaching river, and with nothing above him but the starry sky, for the briefest moment, he felt peace.
Beltran leapt. Then came a roar that would forever be painted on Grey’s memory as the sound preceding a dragon attack, followed by a rush of air and sharp crackling. Fire spewed harmlessly over the ridge above Beltran, turning his form to shadow.
The dragon followed, sliding out over the edge and looking for its prey. It tilted its head down and spat out another attack, this one perfectly on target. Inside Grey, the fear of death morphed into something new—a calm acceptance of their pending demise. They would die burning.
Beltran tucked his wings in, shooting toward them. He reached around Valerian, grabbing Grey by the shoulders and pulling the three together. He hooked Grey’s legs with his feet, and then Beltran’s large, leathery wings wrapped around them completely, encasing all three of them from head to feet in a cocoon.
Grey couldn’t feel the fire engulf them, but he knew the second it did because Beltran threw his head back, screaming.
