The Silver Drake lets out another heavy breath, then goes still. I move to the next dragon, a Western Drake, and whisper in Wyrmerian. He’s already dead, but at least the last words spoken over him will be his own tongue. I feel eyes on me as I move to a Ddraig Goch. I don’t speak Talwynn, the national dragon tongue of Wales, but I do know one word.
‘Gadvalen,’ I murmur, my breath catching in my throat.
Farewell.
‘The Swallow is alive and well. I repeat, the Swallow is in flight.’ Serena is speaking into her radio transmitter. Her eyes meet mine and her lip curls. ‘And she has a message for Wyvernmire’s Bolgoriths.’
I stand up.
‘Britannia may be burning, reduced to smoke and embers, but embers are as hot as the fire that created them. And every fire starts with a single spark.’
‘Shit. Look,’ Gideon says quietly.
My heart jolts when I see what he’s pointing at. A black Bulgarian dragon standing among the trees. And at his side, a human.
‘Goranov and Ralph.’
‘Viv!’ Marquis says as I stalk across the field towards them.
I ignore him. I have to find out what they’re saying before they leave again. How many losses have the rebels suffered since we went underground? I feel an awful pang of dread. As I get closer to the forest, I can hear Goranov talking in a low, rasping voice that sets my teeth on edge. Ralph replies, but I can’t make out what they are discussing. The others are following silently behind me. I glance back at them, then dropinto the long grass. I crawl to the treeline on my stomach and a stench like stale urine and burnt leather hits me.
‘Three days of battle,’ I hear Goranov snarl in English. ‘We did not expect such numbers.’
‘The rebel movement has grown,’ Ralph replies softly. ‘But you won. We won.’
Goranov lets out a grunt and they both fall silent. I hear the rustling of leaves as Goranov’s tail moves across the ground, but I can see nothing but the back of the dragon’s head and the line of spikes along his spine. Are they whispering now, too quietly for me to hear? I move closer, dragging myself through the dirt. Then, as I pull myself around a bush, I catch a glimpse of Ralph’s hair. He’s lying in the shadow of the tree trunk, both his arms extended in a spread-eagled position. A numb horror floods me.
Goranov has killed Ralph.
He’s eating him.
No. Something here doesn’t make sense. I see Goranov’s blood-covered snout, pinning Ralph to the ground by his arm. But he’s not dead. Ralph’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing the white crooks of his arms. On the ground beside him is a small knife, responsible for the neat gashes that are pooling with blood. And Goranov is licking it from Ralph’s skin, sucking and swallowing like a baby at its mother’s breast. I don’t dare exhale. Something taps at my foot. Atlas is behind me, crawling on his stomach. When he reaches my side and sees what I’m seeing, he pales. Ralph’s head lolls to the side and his eyelids flicker as he lets out an involuntary, ‘Oh.’
I shudder. Whatever we’re watching is perverse. Unholy.Atlas begins backing away and I do the same, not standing up until we’re in the field. Then we all bolt, running in silence until we’re back among the dead dragons.
‘He wasdrinkinghis blood,’ Serena whispers as we duck behind the body of a Sand Dragon.
I struggle to find the words to describe what I’ve just seen.
‘Is this what Ralph meant when he said Goranov needed him?’ I say.
‘But why would a dragon need to drink a human’s blood?’ Atlas replies. ‘Have you ever seen this, Gideon?’
Gideon shakes his head, pale-faced.
‘But why would Goranov drink Ralph’s blood when he could just eat him?’ I say slowly.
The birds are singing in the trees.
‘What if it’s like fireblod,’ Marquis says slowly, ‘but in reverse?’
‘In reverse?’
‘Fireblod has to be taken from a live donor. That’s why the dragons had it banned in the Peace Agreement. Atlas, the fireblod that saved you was made from Chumana’s blood, and that’s what Ralph is giving Goranov.’
‘Do you think Goranov is injured?’ I say hopefully.
Marquis shrugs. ‘Maybe the blood strengthens him.’
