As my eyes clear, I see that I’ve awoken in the Bodan Mountains, but awoken from what, and why, I don’t know. There were wildflowers around my boots just a moment ago, and now there’s snow. The light spring cloak I’m wearing is not enough to shield me from the piercing wind. I’m vaguely aware of others around me, familiar faces of the soldiers of the dragonarmy, as I stumble toward Nilak. I grasp her head in my arms and hold her, taking shuddering breaths.
“Prince Emmeric confounded us somehow, and he escaped.” Godric sounds uncertain, but I think he’s right. Emmeric was here, moving among us as I passed out, like he was searching for someone.
“Confounded all of us and our dragons? How?” Sundra answers.
Godric hesitates. “I don’t know. A spell?”
“Crafty, murderous bastard,” she spits.
“But for how long were we confounded? Something doesn’t feel right.” I hear Godric’s feet shifting on the snow as if he’s turning on the spot.
I straighten up and take a better look at our surroundings. “There were wildflowers in bloom when we flew into the Bodan Mountains. Now there is snow.”
Godric and Sundra look around. There are shadows beneath their eyes, as if they’ve had a long, tiring night.
Sundra’s expression is horrified. “You mean we’ve been here formonths?”
“It could have been mere days,” Godric says quickly. “I’m sure it was. You know how quickly storms can blow through these mountains.”
I don’t agree, but I hold my tongue. The snow and ice around us are not fresh. The air smells to me as though the seasons have changed.
Which means that Zenevieve has been unprotected for months while Emmeric does gods know what in Maledin.
I put my hand on my dragon.Zen and Minta. Could you sense them while we were trapped?
Nilak’s response is that she hasn’t sensed dragon or rider anywhere close to us since we saw them fly away from the dragongrounds.
Everyone mills around for a long time in confusion. The whole dragon army has no clue as to what’s happened to us, but eventually, one voice pierces everyone’s bewilderment. Zabriel is giving orders. He wants the wingrunners to scout the area.
I peer over my shoulder at the prince, clenching and unclenching my fists. Any moment now, he’ll turn around and instruct the dragonriders, and I’ll have no choice but to obey.
I swiftly climb Nilak’s flank and throw my leg over the saddle.
Go.
Nilak spreads her wings and takes to the skies.
I hear Zabriel curse and shout my name, and then he orders the remaining dragonriders to stay where they are, but I am already gone.
Nilak races down the mountainside while I scan the landscape. It is indeed winter. Snow blankets everything, including landmarks that should be obvious. A towering oak that should stand out in a particular field. A snaking road that has vanished. A cluster of cottages by a bend in the river.
Far up ahead, I see marching soldiers wearing somber black and white, not the red and gold of Maledinni soldiers. My lip curls in disgust. Parasites. There are no dragons in the skies. No wingrunners either. If many months have passed, and Maledin has been left unprotected, I imagine one of our neighbors will have taken advantage of our absence and will need to be driven out. Best not to alert them prematurely to the fact that the dragon army has awoken, but I am curious who has dared trespass on our land.
I put Nilak down in a clearing and approach the soldiers on foot, alternating between running and walking, my lungs burning and my legs protesting after so long asleep.
The wind blows in my direction as I come upon the soldiers. They have a dull, uninteresting scent. Humans. A race who are clever with strategy and sometimes with magic, but theyfear flight and fire. They are outnumbered in Maledin, but apparently they have dared to rise in our absence. I don’t recognize their livery.
I approach them, keeping my sword sheathed. When they see me, armed and dressed for battle, they all grip the hilts of their weapons. I hold up my hands to show that they are empty.
“Peace. I am a lost soldier,” I tell them.
One of them seems to be in charge, and he narrows his eyes at me. “Your name, rank, and loyalty, soldier.”
“Fuck, he’s huge,” mutters one of them.
These men barely come up to my shoulders. They wear plate armor, while I wear leathers. If they are seasoned soldiers and they attack, I might find this to be a challenging fight. For a moment or two.
“I am Dragonmaster Stesha of the king’s flare, loyal to King Aylard,” I tell them. The men look confused, and I remember that King Aylard is dead by his son’s hand many months ago. “I misspoke. I am loyal to the former Crown Prince Zabriel, the rightful ruler of Maledin.”
