Two Carthesians, a man and a woman, emerged from the forest. The man flung a black lightning bolt at Mettalise. Without thinking, I stopped it with a shield of fire.
*Magic-proof, remember?* Mettalise yelled in my mind. *You smash the shackle, I’ll scorch the mages.*
Mettalise’s large, magic-proof tail crashed in front of the enemies. I forced myself to ignore the battle and poured my Gift into the metal. My magic bounced off like raindrops on rock. Clearly, filling the shackle with Gift and exploding it wasn’t going to work. Shards of metal in Mettalise’s leg would infuriate her anyway.
“Of course it’s not easy,” I muttered. I tried throwing more Gift at it, just in case, and the metal shone brighter. A black lattice appeared—the mage’s spell.
A woman cried out in Carthesian—a new female voice answered. More mages had arrived. Heat blasted behind me as Mettalise used her fire-breath. The mages had likely cast Fireproofing, but sometimes a mage skipped it in order to conserve power. It was hard to see through fire—
Fire. I studied the lattice. Could I bypass the spell and melt the metal in the gaps?
*There’s a big crossbow coming. I’d like to fly soon.*
I could only try. I heated the gaps… the metal turned red, orange… “Shake your foot!”
Mettalise kicked, spun her body, and whipped out her tail. A tail-spike impaled a woman—I saw shock on her face just before Mettalise flicked her into the woods. Another man screamed as molten metal struck him.
*Climb on. Now.* Mettalise half-lay on the ground and I threw myself on her back. They’d removed the harness and I clung for dear life as Mettalise straightened. Her wings began to pump.
“Wait! I’m not sitting right!”
*They’re loading the crossbow, and I’ve seen what it can do.* For the first time, I heard fear in her voice.
*Bank right! I’m slipping!*
Mettalise tipped and I heaved. The fabric of my clothes slid against the scales, ripping—I grabbed a smoothed-off spine near where my harness usually sat and heaved to sitting. Below, the glow of spells illuminated the crossbow—the bolt had been snapped into place.
Since I was touching Mettalise, she knew the moment I grasped the Gift. She pulled in her defenses until they only enveloped her. I took aim and unleashed the spell.
A bolt of bright-blue lightning arced from us to the ground. The crossbow turned into smoking splinters; its mages, black smudges.
*Ooo, nice. I expected a fireball.* Mettalise’s admiring words held a touch of pain, but it sounded minor.
*Lightning’s faster and harder to block.* I gripped her tighter, lightheaded from the rush of magic. Not to mention, the excitement of battle began to seep away. A sick, shaky sensation swept over me.
Mettalise paused in flight, gliding. *Are you going to be able to handle the death?*
I swallowed. Hard. A Dragon Mage trained to kill—that’s all I’d done for hours with Zoland. Yet I had never imagined what it would feel like to kill, to see my opponent both alive then dead.
*They came into your territory,* Mettalise said gently. *They must live with the consequences. Or, er, die with the consequences. I swear I had a better way of phrasing that.*
*I understood.* I patted her back as I continued to cling with my other hand. We’d need to stop soon to create a temporary harness. *Just… give me a bit.*
The wall rose between our minds. Mettalise was right. I would kill again. Yet never would I like it, nor would I ever view death with the cool practicality of a dragon.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We flew straight for the Kyer. Two-thirds through our trip, we saw a pillar of smoke painted black by the rising sun. It wasn’t the Kyer. It was off course. Then I realized. *That’s where the Stoneyfield refugees were.*
Without a word, Mettalise banked left.
The smoke drew closer. The camp itself had burned out; the surrounding forest blazed on. We coughed through a screen of sooty air until we flew above the destruction.
*I don’t see any movement,* Mettalise said. Anger rumbled in her words. *They must have swooped down and lit everything as they flew. Took ten minutes at most.*
The ground glittered black with pools of smoking gray ash. Lumps that could have been remains of wagons, or tents, or people, littered the ground. The terror Lily and the others must have felt, the agony of burning alive…
*They had no chance against dragons,* I said as I wiped my eyes.
*Thorkel doesn’t command dragons,* Mettalise spat. *Those lizards don’t deserve the name.*
She veered toward the Kyer and pumped her wings faster.
I slumped against Mettalise’s back. What did Thorkel have to gain by destroying a peasant camp? They had no magic, no resources to quickly alert Dragonsridge, no dragons.
There was no reason why. Thorkel had lied about wanting unity and social harmony. He didn’t care about commoners, or even for Drageria as a whole. He only wanted power.
Hot anger burned behind my eyes instead of tears.
Just before sunset, Mettalise landed. She was tired, her telepathic range was short. From our perch on top of a tangle of berry bushes, I made out the Kyer’s four peaks. I waited with anxiety as Mettalise mentally searched for someone alive at the Kyer.
*I found Raul,* she said. My stomach flopped at the mention of Shamino’s dragon. *It’s not good. Thorkel took them by surprise. We think Maolmuire took out the sentries.*
As Mettalise talked, I chewed berries without tasting them. I’d need my strength soon, and we’d been foraging the entire trip.
*Thorkel’s dragons went directly for Merram.* Mettalise shook her head. *In war, the Dragonmaster has always hung back so he can coordinate the fighting. He can’t do that if he’s locked in physical battle. Raul says it was chaos.*
“Was,” I said as I wiped my hands. “Not now?”
*It’s not anything now. The Kyer is on defensive. Thorkel’s mages block the interior entrances to Mountain One; anyone who was in the hall at the time we suspect dead. Enemy dragons block entry from the
