Page 250 of Scales ’N’ Spells: Volume One

Granted, Gunter had cause to be curious and impatient. They’d been in the air now for hours. Unless Warin missed his guess, they were likely over Belgium and possibly near Brussels at this point. And still, he had no idea if this was too far. Or not close enough. It was cold in the air, even for a fire dragon, and only the exertion of flying kept his body warm enough to avoid shivering. Gunter likely wanted to land and find dinner. Warin certainly felt that urge.

“I don’t know!” he called back to his friend. “I haven’t felt the tug since the last time!”

Gunter didn’t look all that thrilled with the answer. “Land, let’s regroup?”

Warin had his mouth open, ready to agree, when he saw something glint strongly off in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, he stared harder. It was a little difficult to see between the snow and the clouds, but…was that a distress beacon? The pure white shaft of light shot through the air, but it wasn’t steady. It jittered and moved, as if the person holding it was also moving.

“Is—distress beacon?” Gunter’s words were half-lost in the wind because he didn’t project it strongly enough.

He hadn’t seen one in hundreds of years. In fact, Warin had forgotten he knew what that looked like until just now, upon seeing it again. “Mage in trouble.”

Gunter gave him a worried look, and Warin nodded before sharply diving. If a mage was in trouble, of course they’d go. And if it was a trap by the Jaeggi, then they’d deal with it. Not that he actually expected that. No one knew where they were going, as Warin had been following a feeling most of the time. It was impossible to move ahead and set up an ambush. No, this was likely a mage.

Unless Warin missed his guess, it was Brussels spread out below him. That made this rescue much harder. They had few clear spaces to land in their dragon form and shift without drawing attention to themselves. He swore mentally as they came in closer to the city, using the snow as cover of sorts. This had been so much easier when the world still knew they were alive. He could just land and be done with it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flat roof to a large building, what looked like a shopping mall. If he landed gently, it should hold him. Warin dove for it, slowing his descent as much as possible, all while keeping a weather eye on the beacon. It still bounced around, running in—curse it, the exact opposite direction from him.

Warin landed in a crunch of snow and lost no time in shifting, doing it quickly out of fear for the roof, certainly—always rough when the roof collapsed under you, nasty business—but also because he feared losing the mage. If there was a distress beacon, and she ran with it, then odds were something chased her.

With another crunch, Gunter landed beside him, also shifting quickly. Warin didn’t wait for him. He adjusted the strap of his bag as he ran, changing it to something easier for his human form to carry. Once he reached the edge of the roof, he tossed himself over it, tucking and rolling as he landed on the snowy patch of ground below, coming up smoothly to continue running.

Gunter was right at his heels. Impressive, really, for a man who spent most of his time reading.

They passed no words between them as they sprinted, both keeping a weather eye on the light. It was still going strong, but now heading more their way. She was going any possible direction, so the pursuit must be hot and heavy indeed. And that meant they needed something of a plan.

“Gunter,” Warin panted, feeling the exertion after a long flight in the weight of his limbs, “when we reach her, cover her. I’ll take the enemies.”

“Okay,” he agreed, also sounding a touch winded.

They kept running. And running. Warin felt time tick away, a fickle thing not on their side. Time never was. As long as it was taking to reach her, the odds stacked against the mage’s safety. She must be resourceful to hold off this long. But if she was still running, then that meant⁠—

The light abruptly winked out. Warin cursed soundly, but over the heartbeat in his ears and the rough breathing, he thought he’d heard breaking glass. A distress beacon was cast with a mirror, wasn’t it?

Gunter sped ahead of him, stretching out long legs, and rounded the corner of a brick building without slowing. Trusting he must have heard something, Warin drew on what last bit of speed he could, trying to keep up with him.

As soon as he rounded the same corner, he heard it. The sounds of a fight in progress, with spells being cast back and forth.

“Lokkte gev adi!” a male voice said strongly, but there was a hint of fear in his words.

“Eeoe,” another voice grunted.

The scene in front of his eyes threw Warin back into another time entirely, when dragons and mages still ruled the world. Three men were in open conflict with each other, spells being thrown back and forth like a bad fireworks display, sometimes splashing harmlessly against the snow-covered pavement as they failed to hit their mark. Two of the men wore dark, somber clothes, and there was something odd about the spells they cast. They didn’t come from elements and spoken words, but from a wand-like device.

The third man wore brightly-colored clothes, short blond hair plastered to his temples with sweat, and he was casting strongly from behind a glowing-gold ward he held in front of him. And at his feet, shards of glass, from what used to be a handheld mirror.

Not a she, then. The thought went through Warin’s mind without penetrating, because frankly, gender wasn’t important. A mage was in trouble, that was all that mattered. He dove into the fray with a snarl, feeling his dragon instincts clamor to the fore. His dragon demanded he shift again, throw his enemies into the ground, and turn them into a bloody paste. Warin passed Gunter, who was already coming into a defensive stance in front of the mage.

“Scheiß—” one of the somber-dressed mages said in alarm, already back-peddling.

Warin gave him no quarter, crashing hard into him, throwing a punch into the man’s solar plexus. Fighting in human form might feel odd to him, but it didn’t mean he had no knowledge of how to properly go about it. The man crumpled around Warin’s fist with a gasp of pain.

Twirling, Warin immediately attacked the other before he could try for Warin’s undefended back. He lashed out with a roundhouse kick, throwing the man well back and smashing him into the side of a building.

He spun again, ready to attack the other and put him more permanently down. Warin had no chance to do so before the mage in a black coat fumbled something from a pocket and yelled in German, “Los geht’s!”

In a snap, both of them disappeared.

Warin stood panting, frustrated beyond belief that his enemies had planned an emergency portal, just in case. He growled out a few choice words but didn’t let it bog him down further than that. The one thing war had hammered into his head was that those who stood still, lost. He wouldn’t make that mistake with a precious mage in tow.