‘It’s too late,’ I shout. ‘We need to run.’
Atlas looks up at the fire, then back at me, then nods. ‘Marquis,’ he shouts, wrapping his arms around me. ‘Fall back.’
My cousin’s eyes are stricken with despair. Another Bolgorith drops from the sky.
Then two more.
Then another.
The shield is falling apart.
I stare up, searching for their rebel attackers, but most of our dragons are lying on the beach.
Krasimir drops lower, exposed as his protection momentarily disperses, then descends with him. I let go of Atlas.
Among the black and red scales are slivers of blue.
Hebridean Wyverns.
Ten Bolgoriths crash into the sea. I hear a tormented scream. At the far end of the beach, Goranov is writhing in the sand. He contorts as if burned by invisible flames. And at the same time, Krasimir lets out an excruciating roar.
‘What’s happening to them?’ Sophie shouts.
Goranov shudders twice, then lies still. The sky fills with wyverns. I scan it for Daria, feeling a surge of panic as I remember what Sophie told me about her sibling bond. But she’s nowhere to be seen.
‘They’re echolocating,’ I whisper as half the Bulgarian battalion collapses into the sea. ‘The wyverns are emitting a kill call.’
Above us, the surviving wyverns soar between the fiery clouds. They dart and glide in a breath-taking dance, their bodies moving together like a pair of synchronised wings, rising and falling in harmony as two separate groups come together to drive the remaining Bolgoriths towards the waves. They drop dead, one by one, into the water.
‘Incoming!’ someone screams.
Krasimir is plummeting, spinning out of control. He skitters, jerking like a fish caught on a line.
‘Rebels, disperse!’ Marquis roars from his Speerspitze.
Krasimir lands on the sand making a bone-chilling yapping sound.
What does a kill call sound like? What must it be like for Krasimir to hear death approach in his own mind, to have his own brain turn against him and implode? He lurches towards the Speerspitzes, screaming like a skua.
We stumble back into the sea as his black body towers over us. Roy drags one of Ruth’s girls out of the way as Krasimir’s neck, almost drained of blood, swings out of control. My boots fill with water as the waves lap around my knees. Sophie reaches for my hand and Atlas shouts something I can’t hear. Krasimir keels over with a sickening thud.
‘What’s he doing?’ Marquis shouts.
Atlas is running across the beach towards Krasimir, surrounded by clouds of disturbed sand. I blink it out of my eyes, my vision blurring, then stumble out of the water after him. His shirt, rolled up to his biceps, is soaked with seawater and splattered with dragon blood. I stare in horror as Krasimir twitches, then sways to his feet again.
He isn’t dead.
The wyvern Koinamens didn’t kill him.
I cast a desperate look at the sky for Cindra or Aodahn, but the wyverns are far across the sea, chasing the other Bolgoriths. Only a few remain above, divebombing Krasimir ferociously.
There aren’t enough of them to emit a final kill call, and the remaining rebels have evacuated the beach.
My stomach lurches.
I run after Atlas as Marquis and Sophie scream at me, my waterlogged clothes slowing my movements. Krasimir limps towards him. Atlas drops to the ground, searching, his eyesstill on the Bulgarian regal. Krasimir’s blood pours on to the sand, turning it black. I reach Atlas and grab the back of his shirt.
‘Viv?’ he says, his eyes wild. ‘Get back!’
