I will not hurt you, Odarth, Maria told the animal. I’m sorry I had to leave you here; I hope the Man of the Mountain treated you well.
He showed me the truth, the dragon replied. He has changed me…for the better.
Maria weighed the statement for a moment.
Can I really trust a fire-breathing dragon? A beast whose sole goal in life is to destroy and wreak havoc?
Looking back in the dragon’s eyes, she saw honesty there. Maybe she could.
Besides, you could not hurt me if you tried, for I am nearly indestructible, Odarth added.
You are forgetting who I am, Maria sent to the dragon. I am of Anwyn’s bloodline. Did he not slay you the first time?
Yes, he did. But I am resurrected, and he is a pile of bones somewhere beneath the earth. I believe I have won that battle.
Maria smiled. She couldn’t argue with that; except, of course, for the fact that she was carrying on Anwyn’s legacy. She wouldn’t have been able to talk to Odarth—or ride her for that matter—if that were not so.
Why have you taken me from the cave? Odarth asked. And why have you brought me in the presence of a mutt and another human being? Their eyes are not worthy enough to look upon my scales.
Have you forgotten already? Maria stepped forward and raised her sword.
Odarth’s eyes, which had been truthful earlier, were now filled with fear.
I tasked you with helping me fight a war.
The dragon looked down at the witch. She bared her large teeth in a smile that rivaled Sherlock’s as the most awkward yet menacing.
If you tasked me to fight a war with you, then what are we doing, standing around here? Blood must be spilt. Odarth’s forked tongue eased its way out of her mouth and swiped the scales that would’ve been her lips. I can almost taste it, she added, closing her eyes.
“Well, I can check another thing off of my bucket list: see a homicidal dragon in the flesh,” Joe said loud enough for only Maria to hear him, but she figured Odarth heard him, too.
Tell the boy I am not a regular dragon. Tell him I am a Rogue Dragon, and homicide is in my DNA. You’re lucky to have tamed me, Maria Apple, as is Joe Gilepo—for I would strip the meat from his bones if you hadn’t.
Maria decided to tell Joe only that Odarth was a Rogue Dragon; she didn’t want to give him a heart attack. Also, she could not say how a Rogue Dragon differed from a regular one, for she had not yet seen a so-called regular dragon.
You and your friends may climb aboard, Maria. We shall fly to the battlefield, soldier and weapon, heart to heart, mind to mind. And there, the dry riverbeds will run red with the blood of our enemies.
Okay… A simple ‘Let’s go’ probably would’ve worked, too, Maria said.
She waved Joe and Sherlock toward the dragon. They were both hesitant, and when Odarth swiveled her head to look at them, Maria wasn’t sure which one of them had whimpered.
Possibly both.
“Oh, come on, you big scaredy-cats,” Maria urged. “We’ll be fine.”
Sherlock lifted his head and threw his ears back. It was the equivalent to a human throwing their shoulders back and standing up straight.
Yeah, you big scaredy-cat, Sherlock said to Joe as he pushed by him. He jumped into Maria’s arms. Let’s go! Let the battle begin! Afterward, we celebrate with Dog Prom and ice cream.
Maria smirked. Sherlock was much heavier than he’d been a week or two ago. Really gotta make him lay off the junk food. For real this time. That is, if we survive this.
Joe walked sheepishly over to the dragon. Maria set Sherlock down between two of Odarth’s large spinal spikes and offered her hand to Joe. He took it, then pulled her close and kissed her.
“For luck,” he said.
Once they were settled on Odarth’s back (she’d had to secure Sherlock with Joe’s belt), Maria eased the sword into the same spot near the back of Odarth’s neck where she had stabbed her during the siege of Ashbourne.
Odarth made no sounds of pain, and didn’t even protest.
Once the blade melded with her scales, Maria’s head filled with fire, pain, destruction…and power.
She sent Odarth a picture of the clearing in the Dark Forest as she eased the sword’s hilt back toward her, and Odarth took flight.
Wind whipped at their faces and stung their eyes, and the reality hit them: The war started now.
Chapter Eleven
An Arachnid soldier with a post in the highest tree in the Widow’s kingdom nearly lost his balance and fell when he saw the great beast in the night sky.
Its wings stretched from moon to moon, blotting out the light, its eyes glowing like fire.
The guard called down to the others swarming about the Widow’s lair.
Jinxton had been among those below, and he had heard the call as plain as day.
“DRAGON!”
He did not believe it—at least not until the beast’s roar shook the leaves and parted the trees to the east.
Where Zimmy Ba’s grave is, he realized.
His run turning into a sprint, he entered the lair. A passed out Ignatius Mangood still hung from a strand of web, and the Widow staring unblinkingly at the wizard.
“The granddaughter is here,” Jinxton announced.
Finally, the Widow blinked. Her black lips spread into a smile, and venom dripped from her fangs. “Good,” she cooed. “Ready your men. We fight for the music box. We fight until the death!”
Jinxton nodded, then turned back to run out of the lair. He’d been waiting for this day for centuries. War. An actual battle I get to command. Oh, how sweet.
He readied his soldiers, tasting the blood of his enemies in the back of his throat.
Ignatius had not felt this much pain in all of his life. It took everything he had left not to scream and beg for mercy. He knew the Widow would not offer him any, not yet. The mercy she would
