I compound against him, heart pounding at a ferocious speed as he slows to a steady coast through the eerie dim. I push up and twist, hunting for signs of the Elding Bird. An embered trail.
Something.
But all I see is white bruised with distant flares of flame, each explosion chased by Bulder’s agonized groans.
We need to get out of here …
“Gash utun ath, Rygun. Ruif.”
Fly toward the sky. Please.
Through the tiny gap in his wall, I show him visions of us being struck by a moon before we have the chance to finish this. He tosses his head in disgruntlement, but I feel his resolve in the loosening of his body.
He tilts, powering skyward as a single ember floats before me—
Splayed claws spear down at us from above.
They clamp down on either side of Rygun’s neck to the tune of a shrillsquawk, the Elding Bird now using him as a perch, its back to me. A maneuver that grants unobstructed access to Rygun’s defenseless face.
I feel the moment the first peck strikes, gouging into his right eye. Feel it pulp beneath the force of that hooked golden beak. The sound Rygun makes is shrill and cracked through; a shuddered screech loud enough to bleed a heart.
The world blurs. Everything but the plume of feathers flitting back and forth as the Elding Bird continues tostab.
Stab.
Stab.
That, and the black smudge of Arkyn’s frayed cloak being smacked around by the wind.
I push up, steady despite Rygun’s chaotic motions. Like Clode is softening my traverse along his icy, spiked neck.
Snarling through short, sharp breaths, I dodge the tail feathers, biding my time until the beast squats down against Rygun’s neck before I leap, fisting ruddy plumage. Something I expect the Elding Bird to notice, except it’s too busy trying to burrow through Rygun’s brain, each pierce ripping out more of him.
Rygun continues to pound his wings, screeching. A plea that drives me forward, muscles burning as I strain to drag my body up … up …
I draw close enough to whiff Arkyn’s body odor. Hear his seething commands to kill.
Kill.
KILL.
I pull the sword from the sheath at my spine, hating that it’s come to this as I raise it high, then stake the weapon deep into the Elding Bird’s plumage—fast—gouging through the tough exterior, into the softness beneath. In the next beat, I launch, snatching Arkyn’s cloak. Jerk him back against my chest, reaching for my dagger—
The Elding Bird snaps its head around so fast the motion blurs.
I stare down the bloody, open maw of the beast, past layers of piercing sabers all pointing back toward its contracting gullet. Its red tongue is a blade that flicks up as the beast makes a wet hissing sound, like a serpent preparing to strike.
Arkyn heaves and bucks within the confines of my iron grip as I gouge my boots against the sword plowed into the bird’s back, fist a handful of feathers, and scream,“SHATHUN, RYGUN.”
SHAKE.
His roar is a blast of assent before he tosses about, like a snapping whip. With only two points of contact, the Elding Bird bears the brunt, lashing so hard it’s forced to release, vaulting through the mist and smog. It flounders, wings pulsing in frantic disarray, threatening to throw us loose.
Arkyn’s crown flings free.
I crunch closer to the bird, digging my knees in.
Lose track of which way is up or down.
