“Reload!” Storne shouted, his soldiers’ hands tore raw on the wench. The ropes groaned, wood quaked, the cradle braced for one more throw. Around him, captains whispered the truth already:few bolts, few chances left.
Zeporah slid deeper into Viktor’s mind, silk dragged over spikes.
“You cannot kill them all. They are legion. They are mine.”
Viktor cut down a betrayer elf at his left, fire dripping from his blades.
The thought swung back like a curse:
“Then burn with them.”
Blood spray hissed over fireglass.
The storm writhed, the air thick with ash and light.
One dragon broke low, arrow-blind, wings faltering. It crashed hard into the flats, sand geysering around its bulk.
“Grounded!” Carys’ voice cut, sharp with triumph.
“Clear the line!”Viktor sent, already turning Vorathen’s charge.
The beast thrashed, scales scraping sparks against the earth, fire bleeding from its maw.
Viktor rose in the saddle. The twin swords burned white.
“Hold the ridge,”he threw into the net.“This one ismine.”
Vorathen thundered down the slope, hooves cracking glass. The dragon snapped, jaws unhinging, a roar of furnace-heat that seared the air. Viktor leaned low, one hand tangled in the black mane, the other slashing. His blade tore through spine and sinew, spraying dark blood across molten sand.
He vaulted.
Steel met scale.
His boots struck the beast’s shoulder, flame licking his legs, scales alive with fire. The second blade plunged deep into the gap beneath its jaw. It screamed, wings stabbing smoke and light and blade.
Viktor held fast. His arms locked. His Endowment surged.
Lightning answered.
It raced down his blades, through bone and brain, bursting from the dragon’s mouth in a torrent of white fire. The beast convulsed. Shuddered. Collapsed.
Silence—then a roar from the Casqadian line.
But Zeporah’s voice slithered through his skull:
“You wear the prince’s armor. Velascarin on your back—his skin on your woman.Tell me, Seraphim… does it burn, knowing he clings to her as tightly as you do that borrowed crown?”
Viktor split a helm with one blade, gutted a rider with another.
“Every word you spit, witch—
Another strike. Sparks leapt.
“—fuels the cut that finds your throat.”
His head snapped up.
A dragon shrieked, wings folding as arrows hammered its gut.
