Fortunately, Ilargo’s dazed state had rendered him relatively limp, at least enough for Gideon to pull his head out to the east. The dragon’s body naturally followed the direction of the head and steadily glided towards the arena. When they were lined up, Gideon eased off and pushed himself back the other way to straighten Ilargo’s flight. There was no climbing back onto his neck now - he was going to see the landing through from the front.
As the wall of the arena approached at speed, Gideon saw Ilargo’s pupil sharpen. A number of subtle movements rippled across the dragon’s features, indicating his alertness. His bulk and speed made it impossible to miss the arena now, but Ilargo managed to raise his wings just enough to give them some extra lift and avoid the worst of impacts.
Instead, they skimmed the lip of the wall before all four of his claws tore through the seating and he inevitably tripped over himself. His armoured underbelly took the brunt of the skidding impact, and his jaw struck the arena floor with enough force to reduce his regained alertness and knock Gideon free.
The old master rolled over himself half a dozen times, barely aware of his companion’s wing as it momentarily blocked out the sun. Ilargo came to a halt after his entire body was on the arena floor and a trail of rubble was behind him. Red dust clouded the air, concealing the fate of Galanör and Aenwyn. Gideon could only say that Ilargo was still alive - that much he could still feel through their bond.
“Gideon!” came Galanör’s voice from somewhere in the haze.
“Over here!” he shouted back, relief in his voice.
Two silhouettes pushed through the debris until the true forms of Galanör and Aenwyn were revealed. Like Gideon, they had suffered minor injuries though they had, perhaps, fared better on Ilargo’s back.
“Is Ilargo still alive?” Aenwyn blurted.
“He lives,” Gideon answered, his eyes guiding them back to the rising dragon.
Ilargo shook his head, freeing more dust into the air. Some of the sharp ridges and spikes under his jaw and along his neck were either chipped or worn down completely. Blood was visible between some of the scales on his face and legs.
Can you hear me? Gideon asked via their bond.
Ilargo turned his head and looked down at him. Yes, he replied, his voice uncertain.
Is anything broken? Gideon’s eyes surveyed Ilargo from head to tail. It wasn’t that long ago he wouldn’t have needed to ask.
Only my pride, the dragon said, though Gideon could sense a fair amount of pain on his companion’s part.
Galanör looked from Rider to dragon. “What happened?”
Gideon held Ilargo’s gaze a moment longer. “Magic is dying,” he stated before breathing a sigh.
The currents fluctuate, Ilargo told him. They fade here and there, but this is the first time the loss of magic has taken my senses with it.
“It’s only going to get worse,” Aenwyn surmised, unaware of Ilargo’s response.
“What do we do now?” Galanör questioned, dusting off one of his arms.
Gideon looked back at Ilargo. “Can you fly?” he asked aloud.
Yes. But I will not fly now, the dragon added.
Why not? Gideon pressed, falling naturally back into their bond.
Because I do not trust myself, Ilargo said simply.
Aenwyn is right: it’s only going to get worse. We need to reach Davosai.
I know what we must do! Ilargo snapped, his head rushing down to Gideon. Both Galanör and Aenwyn flinched as they took a step back. I said I will not fly, the dragon repeated. Not today.
Gideon could sense so much more going on under the dragon’s surface. Besides an injured pride and grave concern for those he was responsible for, he was also experiencing some of the same emotional outbursts that had plagued Gideon and Inara from time to time.
Aware that his companion’s emotional state was close to turning from irritated to angry, Gideon left it there. Rest, old friend, he said instead. I have faith in your wings yet.
Ilargo huffed, expelling a jet of warm air from his nostrils, and moved away. He flexed his wings once, revealing new injuries across the thin membranes. His right wing shuddered as he pulled it in to his body. Gideon remembered the specific pain of a wounded wing and felt for his companion.
“Is everything alright?” Galanör enquired tentatively.
Gideon glanced at Ilargo, who was now lying down in the arena. “We won’t be going anywhere for the rest of the day,” he informed them.
“We can rest easy enough here,” Aenwyn replied diplomatically. “We are above ground. Galanör’s magic can start a fire - I imagine it gets cold here at night.”
“Very,” Gideon emphasised.
“I can look at your wounds too,” Galanör offered, looking at a particular nasty cut that Gideon could feel above his left eye.
“I will be fine,” the old master insisted. “Save your magic.”
It wasn’t too long before the sun was setting on Ayda, casting the ruins of Malaysai in an orange tint. Aenwyn and Galanör had set up a small place to rest beside Ilargo and already started a fire. Thanks to their supplies, they had blankets, food, and water to keep them going.
Gideon stood apart from them, atop the highest tier of the arena. He had stood on this very spot nearly fifty years ago and looked out on Malaysai and the jungle beyond. Even now, he felt as if he could see Adriel and Adilandra out of the corner of his eye, standing where they had so long ago. His heart sank to think that both of them were gone.
Can you see her? Ilargo asked, speaking for the first time since he snapped.
Gideon knew who he was talking about. He turned his sight to the north, where an enormous mound of flowers and plant life appeared to have sprung up from the ground and taken over everything around it. Angala the wise, he said with reverence. Thanks to the clarity of Ilargo’s memory, he could still see the mighty dragon being brought down
