Past Handel’s wingtip, a dark ripple moved through a cloud, like a fracture in an icebound lake.
A snap rang out. Anakisha and the golden clouds disappeared.
§
Hans and Handel appeared in the air with a pop, behind the mountain just north of the watchtower. Handel flew cautiously, zigzagging his way up the mountainside.
“Right, here is good, Handel. It’s only a short way to the top.”
“I’ll take shelter behind those rocks further down,” Handel replied.
“If you stay still, they may mistake you for a boulder.”
Handel snorted. “Me, a rock? An inanimate lump of stone?” As Hans dismounted, Handel blew a gust of air over his head, ruffling his hair. “You’re lucky that’s not flame,” his dragon huffed.
“That would definitely disrupt your disguise.” Hans chuckled, taking his bow and quiver from Handel’s saddlebag. “I’m good.” He scratched Handel’s snout. They’d fallen straight back into their old pre-battle banter. It used to help calm his nerves, but today was different—today he had to free his wife and son.
Handel curled up behind the rocks, his snout at ground level so he could peep around some stones.
“You’re right, Handel, you don’t make a fantastic rock, but if anyone gets close enough to see you, it’ll be time to fight them anyway.”
A mental snort was Handel’s only reply.
Hans picked his way to the crest of the hill and peered over the ridge. Like the other mountains along this end of the Terramites, there were unnatural rubble heaps on the top. Years, ago, Zens had started mining these hills. The rocks were probably the resulting debris. But why here, at the peak of the mountain? It made no sense.
A battle horn made Hans’ blood run cold. On the next hill, tharuks were swarming the watch tower, nocking bows and firing. More tharuk archers raced along the ridges. Below, in the valley, it was mayhem. Tharuks were shooting at the sunset, but their arrows were falling back to earth, some wounding their own troops.
Hang on, the tharuks were all firing at one point. Something orange that he’d hardly noticed against the blazing orange and gold sky.
It was a dragon. Carrying something in its claws. Something it nearly dropped, then grabbed again at the last moment.
“Hans!” It was Marlies, melding. “Hans, where are you? Maazini can hardly hold me.”
Hans used his dragon sight. The dragon was struggling to hold Marlies in its talons. A rider was on its back. “Fly for the rubble pile north of the watchtower,” Hans melded. “I’m hiding here. Where’s Tomaaz?”
The dragon pitched; Marlies’ legs slipped out of its talons. Gods, if she fell, she’d land in a writhing nest of tharuks.
“Handel, now!” Hans yelled, racing toward his dragon.
Handel unfurled, sprang into the air and landed nearby. Hans vaulted into the saddle. The mighty bronze’s legs bunched, and they were airborne, racing toward the orange dragon. “Meld with him, Handel.”
“I am. He’s exhausted, malnourished and limplocked.”
“Can he gain any height?”
“I’ve told him to try. If he drops Marlies, we’ll swoop in and get her.”
Shards. “Handel, can you fly faster?”
Handel beat his wings, hard. Hans’ hair was flat against his head as they raced toward the dropping dragon. Its wings were slowing. Marlies slipped.
She was hanging onto the dragon’s leg, dangling like a target beneath it.
Another battle horn blew. Arrows zipped at Handel from the watchtower. He ascended above them, but the orange dragon couldn’t.
“Can we get in low, Handel, and grab her off him?”
“Too risky. We’ll put him off and may lose all of them. He’s barely staying in the sky as it is. We’re going to have to guide him in.”
“Marlies, can you hang on?”
“Hope so.”
Belching flame at any arrows that came near, Handel flew alongside the orange dragon. The poor thing’s limbs were spasming and tail flicking erratically, but he kept flapping until they were near the rubble pile. Marlies curled her legs up as he glided over the pile, preventing them from being bashed on the rocks. Then she dropped, rolling down the slope.
The dragon landed near her, wings draped over the ground, sides heaving. Arrows bristled from his side, dripping limplock.
Handel landed upslope. “Maazini needs space.”
What was Marlies doing? She’d pulled Tomaaz and a boy off the dragon and was sending them uphill. Tomaaz sped up, carrying a lad so skinny there was hardly anything to him.
“What are you doing?” Hans asked her.
“If Maazini can’t make it, I want Tomaaz alive. Take him home, Hans.”
“No. Not your guilt again. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to pay for that dragonet. Marlies, come home.” Hans helped the boy up behind him. “Hold on,” he said, wrapping the boy’s bony arms around his waist.
“I told Zaarusha I’d save her son.”
“How? He can’t fly.”
“Don’t know,” Marlies said. “Something will come to me.”
Hans gave Tomaaz an arm up. He sat behind Hans, sandwiching the boy between them. “Pa.” He was skinnier and out of breath.
“Marlies, you fit on Handel, too.”
“He’ll never make it with four of us. Not that far.”
“I have a ring that helps me travel instantaneously between locations. A jade ring. Come with me. I’ll take you home.”
“A jade ring? I have one too, etched with whorls.”
Hans drew in his breath. Could it be true? Could there be two? He shared what the ring looked like.
“Exactly,” Marlies replied.
Before Hans had time to explain how the rings worked, Marlies yelled, “Hans, behind you!”
Hans whirled.
Tharuks poured from the rubble pile. The rubble must be a mine exit. They raised their bows. Some threw rocks.
Hans reached for his bow, but had to duck to miss
