“Fall,” I breathe. “You hear me?Fall. Get him.” The branches start to shake, the icicles juddering as if beset by a sudden wind. Then they’re dropping, flying like arrows through air, moving and winding with purpose, seeking their target.
An inhuman howl punches the air as they find it.
The onyx dragon twists and writhes, clawing at the multiple icicles impaled deeply into his body. One icicle, thick as my wrist, infiltrates his eye, and purple blood gushes around it.
His fellow dragons gawk at him dumbly.
He wasn’t even beneath the canopy of trees when it happened, but the icicles found their way to him anyway—just as I commanded, just as I willed.
I did that.
Just like the harpies said. I can do things.
I did that, and I can do it again.
I can launch all of them like spears. I simply needed to think it...to resolve for it to happen and give voice to the wish.
I did this because I have power. I possess magic.
I can help Tage.
Fortified with this new conviction, I close my eyes and envision exactly what I want to happen. Strategy in place, I reopen my eyes and let loose the words, cast them into the ether, “Get them.”
Dozens and dozens of icicles fall loose from branches and soar through the air like spears, directly into the half dozen dragons.
Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.
One after another they embed deeply through the thick flesh of the skelm.
One of the icicles finds Kaldr, penetrating his face through his nose. He tosses his head with a roaring howl, attempting to dislodge it.
I don’t stop. Don’t relent. I can’t. Determined to seize the advantage, I continue to launch daggers of ice through the air in a furious volley, whispered commands tripping off my lips as I release them from the branches.
The dragons toss their heads wildly, twisting and turning their bodies about, trying to dislodge the icicles from the meat of their flesh. To no avail. The icicles will likely melt in the warmth of their bodies, but it will take a while. Hopefully by then, Tage and I will have escaped.
These are not mortal wounds. I know this. Dragons can only be killed by weapons of dragon bone. Obviously, I have none of that on hand. I’m not certain it’s even readily accessible in the kingdom of Penterra. They think dragons gone. Those weapons are likely buried away in armories or displayed in museums.
But I’ve hurt them...and slowed them down, which is what needs to happen at this moment.
Tage watches me with wonder. I spare him a look that seems to convey my own bewilderment.
Astonishment at what I’m doing, what I am, bubbles up inside me, battling the fear of moments ago. I just might not die. I just might come out of this alive. MeandTage. Maybe we will be all right.
Suddenly shadows move over the snow, and I look up. The pristine sky is marked with the arrival of other dragons. These I know. These I recognize as Arvos and Danhy and Viggo and Merik.
Then I know we are going to be fine. I’ve pricked the paw of the beast, slowing them down, delaying them just in time for reinforcements to arrive. Tage’s pride—my pride. Even if they don’t know it. Even if they would still vote for my death. These dragons I would willingly contend with rather than the skelm. These dragons would never harm Tage.
Hope swells in me. I recognize Danhy’s eyes at once, the tawny bronze flickering from me to the others, assessing, measuring, taking it all in. I continue to launch the icicles, neatly avoiding Tage and the newcomers. My magic knows what I want by now. A frightening and remarkable thing. All along I’ve had this inside me. All along I could do this.
And Tage doesn’t hate me for it. Danhy and the others engage with the remaining skelm dragons. Not a difficult task injured as they are with icicles studded throughout their bodies.
I send one final icicle through the air, launching it directly for Kaldr, the head of the snake.
His eyes meet mine for the briefest moment and something flashes in them, something that should have warned me.
Then he’s turning sideways, spinning around and catching that icicle with a broad flat of his tail, smacking it with all his might and sending it right back at me with blinding speed.
I have no time to move. No time to react, no time to utter words and cast a spell to protect myself as that fat icicle finds me—a dagger dead center in my chest, penetrating with a muted thud.
