“...No,” Roiven admits. “Nor just talks to other witches. Those of us with flying familiars, mostly birds, keep an eye on our surroundings, and tell Nor if they’ve seen anything.”
I wonder how many titans and other birds have flown over Hellions I rode on, without me realizing they were reporting back to anybody.
We reach the doors to the caldera, and Roiven pauses.
“You didn’t ask the right question earlier, you know.”
“What?”
“When you were asking why I tricked you into the bond.”
He pushes open the door and steps through, and the sight steals the words from my lips before I can ask him what he means.
There aren’t any of those glowing-stones here, but a row of torches shoved into the crumbling ground illuminate the scene with flickering firelight. Some twenty warriors prepare to ride out. They’ve got leather armor and weapons strapped to their sides; the women who passed me earlier are among them. In the distance I can see somebody fitting supply packs to the back of a deep blue dragon.
Besides the blue, there’s the red who greeted Sava on our arrival, a green dragon of about the same size, and Sava herself. The behemoth black dragon hovers over the young hatchlings, who are huddling together in a dejected puddle. I’d guess they’re upset at being left behind. Sava’s worry for them rings so loudly in my heart it almost overwhelms me for a moment.
Far more people than dragons. The witches swarm Roiven, updating him on what preparations are complete and who has already assembled.
“Two minutes,” Roiven tells them. They nod and scatter to tell the others.
“There aren’t as many adult dragons as there were people in that coven,” I note.
He glances at me.
“The hatchlings bonded young. We needed the magic to keep our people alive.”
My heart tightens. I thought he was going to say the other dragons were elsewhere. I know I’ve seen far more in the past. Have we really killed that many of them in the last two years?
“That’s it?”
“We have Nor’s dragon, too, but he’s old enough that he barelyflies anymore, much less fights. Nor isn’t part of the coven—they said far-reading for us was enough of a contribution.”
I draw a deep breath, and step to the side as a pair of witches barrel through, carrying bundles of swords. Perhaps to bring to the people they’re going to save.
“I want to come. To Lusern.”
Roiven grimaces.
“You’d rather I didn’t go,” I mutter.
“You haven’t connected fully to your magic,” Roiven says. The words might sound like an insult from somebody else’s mouth, but he says it gently enough. Facts, not judgements. “Perhaps not a good idea.”
“I don’t need magic to fight,” I remind him, patting my sword hilt.
“Can I trust you to fight on our side?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“I want to convince the War-Father to turn back, if I can.Notbecause I’m taking his side, Roiven. It’s because of the Enchanted.”
Roiven draws a deep breath. His hand cups the side of my face, then falls away just as fast. Warmth flutters through me.
“It’s not going to work.”
“Maybe not, but…”
Before I can finish, a white-blue light snaps across the sky, washing all the other color away from the Caldera. Our surroundings flash so bright it could be midday. It immediately darkens back away, letting the glowing torches restore the warmth of Roiven’s skin and the burning gold of his eyes.
My whole body feels empty, like I’m floating outside it. I know that shade of blue. My nose burns from the acidic tang of the crystals. A tremor starts in my hands as Roiven’s head snaps back to look at the sky.
