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Only to wish it would simply burn them all.
The dragon soared high over the Ionian army, ignoring them as it would too-small prey. A few arrows glanced uselessly off its jeweled hide, but the dragon did not seem to notice. Jaws open, it made for Iona—and the castle.
“Hold the line.” Isibel’s voice in his ear shuddered him.
Dom blinked, looking down to find he was already turning from the battle, ready to charge through his own ranks and up the city ridge. He swallowed, wishing he could, wishing he was back at the castle with the rest of them.
Instead, he turned into the fray.
It was all he could do. There was nowhere to go, no way to turn around, even if he wanted to.
Dom could only hope the castle held, that fire would not overcome stone. He willed it to be so, giving over any hope of his own survival. It was Corayne he thought of, and Sorasa beside her, keeping them both alive.
Then another screech joined the sounds of the roaring dragon. It was higher, like the keen of an eagle. Flinching, Dom looked up through the pikes to see the dragon of Gidastern twisting in the air, streams of flame sprouting from its jaws.
Dom narrowed his gaze, unwilling to believe his own eyes. Beneath his helmet, his jaw dropped. He was not the only one. Both armies slowed in their battle, looking up to watch not one, buttwodragons spiral furiously through the scarlet heavens.
The other dragon was blue-scaled, its wings impossibly wide, fading to lavender gray. As he watched, the new monster loosed a blast of icy blue flame. Its wings stirred up a blast of bitter cold, even as the black dragon filled the air with cloying heat.
But there was no time to puzzle over the new dragon, impossible as it seemed. The battle raged on below, as the dragons raged above.
So it went. The cavalry. The pike wall. Dom’s shoulder ached, his own pike splintering down the wood, until he feared it might finally snap in two. Behind him, the archers kept up their onslaught, but their quivers were not endless. They could not keep up their volleys forever.
The battlefield became a dizzying display of fallen bodies. They piled in little walls, the horses fallen in heaps. The knights died slowly, calling weakly for aid. Dom ignored the sounds of dying. He would not bear it.
Another horn blast went up from the Gallish lines, from a hill overthe rise of the battlefield. Dom glimpsed a wall of commanders, old men on steady horses, a forest of flags over them. Dom assumed Taristan was there, cowering away from the worst of the battle. Whoever commanded the Gallish army had finally given up the hope of a cavalry charge, calling back the knights with another blast of the horn. They left a wasteland in their wake, the ground torn up and pocked with pools of blood.
“Back to the original line,” Dom ordered.
As they marched backward to the first line of formation, the Gallish line dismounted, the knights joined by infantry. Lances lay discarded and swords were drawn, lines of archers forming behind them. Dom gritted his teeth and looked down at his own steel. The once-green armor ran scarlet, awash in enemy blood.
If the charge fails, they will rely on their numbers to overwhelm us.Andry’s advice echoed in Dom’s head, grim as the tidings were. Over the heads of the opposing line, he glimpsed the mountains again, and the serpentine march of the legions still coming out of the pass.Galland can throw a thousand men to every one of us, and never blink.
Dom and his Vedera slammed their pikes into the ground, hammering them into the mud to stand at the same angle. It would hold, but only for a few moments. Then they retreated behind the defenses, their own swords drawn, to join the Ibalets and Kasans.
Again, Dom searched through the Gallish soldiers, reading each face. He raised his gaze to the little hill, where the commanders still watched beyond arrow range. Again, he saw no spot of scarlet. No red wizard. No son of Old Cor. A flag shifted, falling limp, and he spotted the Queen, resplendent in armor. But Taristan was not there.
A whoosh rippled overhead and Dom ducked, expecting another dragon to swoop out of the sky. Instead, a great stone fell, exploding through the Gallish infantry.Catapults, Dom thought, remembering thesiege engines within the walls of Iona. More followed, made of rocks and mortar, crashing down as the Gallish advanced.
Dom barely noticed, horror creeping up through his body. He hardly felt the sword gripped in his hand, nor smelled the blood drying all over his body. But his mind whirled.
He remembered Taristan in the palace of Ascal. Silhouetted in the doorway of a burning tower, still dangerous but fighting with more restraint than Dom knew he possessed. He did not attack Domacri-dhan so much as defend the Queen, trying to hold him off. And when the chance came to kill Dom outright, with only Erida in the balance, Taristan chose her. Above all things, Taristan chose Erida.
Dom felt sick.
Taristan would not abandon her to the battlefield alone, he thought, almost retching.Unless he is not on the battlefield at all.
The Gallish charged through the downfall of stones, ringing their armor and waving their swords. The pike wall only slowed them down, forcing the soldiers to maneuver through a forest of bloody stumps. But Dom barely saw it.
Taristan is not here.
The army met the breaking wave of the Gallish legions, their singing arrows landing in every direction. Swords crossed and shields clanged, spears dancing through the ordered line of veteran soldiers. Dom glimpsed Isibel out of the corner of his eye, her greatsword a red mirror, awash in blood.
He is not here.
Dom reacted on instinct, his own sword rising up to parry, letting a knight slide by him. And then his feet slowed, boots sticking in the mud.
He is not here.
