big brother.” He spat the last words like an insult. “So fight me! Fight me right now!”
“Roric, stop this.” Emilian’s voice was firm. He took another step forward, but Valeron’s jaws snapping in the air made him stop.
“No. Let’s end this,” Roric said. “Right now.”
Valeron’s body tensed for attack, wings extending, ready to leap.
“No!” Tauran drew his pistol, raising it to Roric’s head, but a golden-brown blur obscured his vision.
Sorcha’s jaws snapped shut around Valeron’s neck before Tauran even saw her coming. She thrashed, tearing off dark gray scales that splintered between her teeth. Valeron cried out, backtracking, throwing off Roric’s aim when he raised his pistol. He fired three shots into the air, piercing his own dragon’s wing on the fourth. On the fifth, his pistol clicked. Empty.
Sorcha released Valeron, her neck spines raised and teeth bared when she placed herself as a protective barrier in front of Emilian.
Roric whipped around, staring at the new riders with wild eyes. “Help me!” he shouted, pointing to Emilian. “Kill him! Kill the swiftwing! Kill the traitors!”
Nobody moved. On the roof of the mess hall, Flora rumbled nervously and took a step back.
Roric let out a wordless cry of frustration and yanked on Valeron’s neck strap. Valeron drew in ragged breaths. Blood poured from the punctures along his neck and down his chest. He was slow to respond to Roric’s command to take flight, and when he did, he nearly struck the guard ground wall before disappearing into the smoke.
Movement in the corner of Tauran’s eye made him turn. Falka was on his feet, glancing between Tauran and Emilian. Before he could make a move, Tauran seized the moment.
“Come to us!” Tauran said, voice raised, and although he didn’t take his eyes off Falka, his words weren’t meant for him. “We’ll all wait out the smoke together.”
For a harrowing second, nobody moved. Then a figure shifted in Tauran’s periphery. Jasper drew a knife from his riding harness and gripped the straps tethering Flora’s wings and body, sawing through them until they were loose enough for him to tug free. Flora spread her wings, barking a call before soaring over the space between the groups, landing behind Leyra.
As if marking the change, the volcano rumbled in the distance, smoke-tailed rocks striping the sky.
Two ground guards stepped forward, wide eyes and youthful faces familiar. Esmera and Axon, the ground recruits Tauran had trained. They nodded wordlessly at Tauran and disappeared into the rows of soldiers behind him. One by one, Falka’s soldiers came forward, falling in beside Tauran and Emilian. The riders followed, leaping from the roofs and balconies, crowding around Leyra until Falka stood alone.
On the west wall, Arrow perched like a ghost, half-obscured by the smoke.
Falka’s gaze wavered. He stepped back, stumbled, then ran, heading for Excellor who crouched so Falka could climb on.
“You’ll get both of you killed if you fly into the smoke,” Tauran barked. “Stay. Excellor doesn’t have to die for your mistakes.”
But it was too late. A sharp command from Falka had Excellor rising until the smoke swallowed them both, along with the future Tauran had once been so sure of.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch.
Kalai’s eyes were wide and alert. “I signaled Jinhai. I sent some guards to open the cellar doors.”
Tauran turned toward him, swallowing against the rawness in his throat. He cupped Kalai’s face. “Are you okay?”
Kalai nodded, drawing Tauran into a too brief hug. “Let’s get everyone inside.”
* * *
They led the smallest and youngest dragons inside first. Leyra entered last, complaining quietly when the sides of the door frame scraped her sore wing. Tauran stroked her nose and turned back to face the yard, the air so full of smoke and ash he could barely see the far wall. Sky and ground guards were all inside, the outdoor space deathly silent. No sign of Falka. For a man so bent on building a dragon army, he’d killed two of the world’s three rarest dragons in the span of only a few days.
Tauran lowered the cloth he used to cover his mouth and shouted, “Anyone out there?” His own voice bounced back at him. “We’re closing the doors!” He waited the span of three heartbeats, then turned around and reached for the cellar doors.
The rush of wings followed the sound of large claws scraping stone. Tauran turned.
Valeron’s dark scales looked covered in a layer of dust. His face and neck were scratched, the holes in his neck still bleeding. The end of