There was a flicker of life in the dragon’s eyes as he focused on Inara.
“The currents return,” Adan stated. “But they are weak.”
A blast of cool air escaped the dragon’s nostrils. You must fight… for us both now, wingless one.
Inara’s heart quickened at the sound of his voice. I can’t. Not without you. Stay with me.
There has never been a day… when you needed me, Inara. There is no greater strength in this world… than that which lies in your heart. I have seen it.
A defiant tear ran down Inara’s cheek as she pressed her hands deeper into his scales. I won’t leave you.
You must, Athis insisted. Save the tree. Save the world. You must go now.
“He still has time,” Adan’Karth told her, his hand placed against the dragon’s chest. “Though his will fades, his heart is still strong. If we can save the tree, there is still hope for Athis.”
Inara wanted to tell him where to stick his hope. The rage bubbling under the surface had begun to erode the anguish that had settled over her. Now the Guardian of the Realm was imagining the idea of cleaving her brother’s head from his shoulders.
Focus, wingless one. Athis’s voice brought her back to him. Leave me here. Do your duty.
After a moment of contemplation, Inara rose from her knees, her chest heaving. She was torn between action and inaction. The latter, however, would spell Athis’s doom for certain.
“Let’s go,” she said, battling her own voice to remain even. Looking at her companion, their bond still connected by slivers of magic, she promised, We will see each other again.
A few extra seconds were required before Inara was able to turn around and force her feet to march behind Kassian and Adan. She couldn’t look back at her companion. To do so would root her in place, never to leave his side.
After a hundred yards, Athis’s voice whispered in her mind as the last vestiges of their bond lost their hold. He only said three words, but they were enough to both break and bolster Inara’s heart.
44
Those Below
With the sun camped in the west, the shadows of the nearby mountains reached across the dry ground in a bid to touch the edges of Davosai. Seen from the sky, the Darkakin city was naught but a ruin of broken stone smashed against the landscape, its original shape barely recognisable.
Such was the wrath of dragons.
Galanör had seen as much with his own eyes nearly fifty years ago. Looking out from Ilargo, the elf even caught sight of the cliff from which he and Adilandra had witnessed Davosai’s fall. The desert heat had been mild compared to the inferno the dragons wrought upon the city that day.
The ranger recalled it all with horrifying clarity, for who could forget such a spectacle? There were few throughout history who could claim to have watched and survived a dragon attack, especially in those numbers.
Of course, there had been one particular dragon who delivered destruction upon the savages with gleeful and terrible abandon. Galanör leaned out and looked down at an area of destruction that led out of the city’s main gates and across the sun-baked land. It had been there that he had seen Malliath the voiceless pursue hundreds of fleeing Darkakin only to bathe them in fire. None had survived.
Ilargo dipped his head, angling them down towards the inner city. It gave them all a good view of the circular pit that sat in the centre of Davosai. It was twice as large as the shaft dug into The Moonlit Plains, though its purpose had been just as singular in nature. Down there, in the dark, Atilan had forged his greatest weapon against the Dragon Riders.
“Hold on!” Gideon shouted over his shoulder.
Not again, Galanör thought, bracing himself.
Ilargo dived for the ground, pressing Aenwyn’s back into the ranger’s chest. They held on together, fearing that the green dragon would never level out. Fortunately, Ilargo possessed enough strength to flex his wings and catch the currents. His tail and claws skimmed along the ground as he sailed between the ruins of the city, bringing them closer and closer to the pit.
When the debris closed in on them, Galanör could feel the dragon’s leg muscles already moving as he matched his speed, closed his wings, and continued the remaining distance on the ground. That, however, did not last long. Ilargo slowed and eventually collapsed to his hardened stomach, his jaw flat.
Gideon took a breath and patted his companion’s scales. “That was close,” he remarked.
“He did well to remain aloft for so long,” Aenwyn offered.
“Had he flown any longer we would all be stains on the ground,” Gideon replied, climbing down.
Galanör tried not to think about that alternative as he navigated his way down the curves of Ilargo’s body. Having worried about the dragon’s health since leaving Malaysai, the ranger felt good to have his feet on the ground again.
He walked by Ilargo’s head and stroked the scales around the back of his right eye. “Your strength knows no bounds, old friend. Thank you.” The dragon could only blink in return.
“He says he wishes that were so,” Gideon relayed. “Though I am in agreement with you,” he added, looking at his companion. “It is your strength that has brought us this far.” Ilargo had just enough energy to lift his nose, gesturing towards the pit. Gideon nodded. “We will,” he said. “You stay here and rest.”
Galanör felt the latter was redundant given Ilargo’s condition, but he knew Gideon was speaking aloud for their benefit. Bidding the dragon farewell for now, the three companions made their way through the remaining debris until they were standing by the edge of the mine. It was too dark to see the bottom.
“The Crissalith was down there?” Aenwyn asked sceptically.
Galanör pointed to the inner wall of the mine shaft. “There was once a network of walkways and pulleys, much like the ones in The Moonlit Plains. The Darkakin were mining the Crissalith
