“Bad, but I can manage,” Bellamy answers honestly. “I was wondering, though—is Sarka always this bloodthirsty? You said she didn’t enjoy fighting.”
Rakos’s voice rumbles through him. “She hates pointless battle. Shelovesfighting for a good cause, or for petty revenge. Miklan beat her in a deer hunt twenty years ago.”
As they fly, Bellamy sneaks glimpses of Draskora beneath them. Stripes of magic shimmer through the landscape. Clusters of villages and fortresses fit like puzzle pieces into the land, just as Silaisans cities fit into theirs.
Sarka’s voice rings in their heads about ten minutes later.While I am the fastest dragon in the roost, and none of those wyrmfuckers could catch my tail tip, I must remind you that my unsurpassed speed was measured with a single passenger.
Rakos growls in Bellamy’s ear, and Bellamy can practically hear his mental cursing.
Miklan is catching up,Sarka adds.Can I kill him? Pretty please? He lied to me, and he never apologized for stealing my deer carcass twenty years ago.
Bellamy can’t hear Rakos’s reply, but everything jolts as Sarka swerves. Banking in midair, she angles on an updraft and bows her head. Bellamy pushes up in the saddle as a streak of red scales heads towards them.
“Can we sight-share?” Rakos asks. “This is going to be tough.”
In answer, Bellamy exhales and extends his vision. His already-sensitive head pounds with the radiance. Bellamy breathes shallowly through the pain and feeds every ray of light he can into Rakos, until magic glitters everywhere. Beneath Sarka and Miklan’s wings. At the base of their throats. Etched in passive runes in the harness Bellamy hadn’t noticed before. Even Rakos’s shadows glitter, like they never did before.
It hurts, but it’s easier than last time. Bellamy is getting better at sight-sharing.
Intense blue-white light swirls around Irenka, coalescing into the before-image of her next attack. Shards of ice lash towards them. The distance is still great enough that Rakos nullifies the ice with an easy flex of power. The next volley as well.
Bellamy just hangs on through pain in his head, trusting Rakos to get them out safely. Except after the next few clashes, even Bellamy can tell Irenka and Miklan are catching up. Rakos is slower to deflect each new attack. Irenka is fresh and well-rested, while Rakos is tired, and Sarka is burdened with two passengers.
We need to finish before the other three catch up,Sarka says, sounding strained.Rakos, stop playing defense. Go for his fucking wings.
There’s no glee in her words this time. Rakos shudders behind Bellamy, his hesitation palpable. But an instant later, the magic vanishes from beneath Miklan’s wings.
The red dragon plummets with a terrible cry. Sarka dives after him.
Shards of ice shatter around them in midair, too many for Rakos to deflect in the middle of the dive. Bellamy huddles in the saddle, completely helpless in the rush of combat. Seconds later, impact jars through them. A weaker human voice cries out in counterpart to Miklan’s furious roar.
With a wrench of leather and bone, the scream cuts off.
Sarka banks around, her whole body rumbling with her snarl. Bellamy manages to prop himself up enough to see the result of the engagement.
Miklan remains aloft, gathering magic beneath his wings again. But his movements are unsteady. Uneven. Across his shoulders are great, bleeding gouges, scales torn asunder by Sarka’s claws.
Only fragments of the harness remain attached to him. And only fragments of Irenka remain in the harness.
Miklan pivots, flames spilling from his throat. But Sarka doesn’t engage again. She throws herself higher into the air, too fast for Miklan to pursue with his injuries. The next few moments are a screaming blur of wind, Sarka pushing faster than Bellamy thought possible.
When she finally slows, there’s no sight of other dragons. The wind quiets around them, and Sarka banks into a warmer current.
Bastard blinks onto the harness right in front of Bellamy’s shoulder. She goes utterly still, then blinks back into her pouch with uncharacteristic silence.
I told you so, tiny weirdo,Sarka rumbles to the blinkmink. Her flight steadies. The occasional pulse of muscle is strangely soothing and comfortable.
Rakos is quiet behind Bellamy. The weight of him is reassuring as always, but Bellamy isn’t the one who needs reassurance now. Wishing he could turn around in the harness and see Rakos’s face, kiss him, even just hold him, Bellamy asks, “Have you ever fought another dragonrider like that before?”
“Never a real fight. We hardly even train for it.” Rakos sounds subdued.
Of course. Only Draskora has dragons. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” Rakos kisses behind his ear. “We’re an hour from the border. You should rest.”
Bellamy should rest. He’s exhausted. Every fiber of his being stretched too thin. His head hurts so much that everything feels numb. He’s going to crash for a month after this.
But it’s difficult to rest while he’s strapped between a dragon and an enemy warmage. A renegade. A terrible farmer and a worse liar. The love of Bellamy’s life, probably.
