Page 13 of Wings of Destruction

Or maybe he’s right and mine feels too much.

Three unicorns rush us in tandem, their triangulated assault strategic. Two of them move to the side near Mozi’s wings while the third heads forward with its lethal horn pointing at the dragon’s underbelly.

In a move that is decidedly powerful, Mozi swoops upward as I pull my feet from the stirrup straps and hop to the ground. Bent knees absorb my weight and I straighten as the center unicorn nearly plows into me with a stamp of hooves. The steed lowers its head, and the horn tip angles toward my heart.

I slash my sword at its tendons, momentum carrying it past me. The unicorn squeals and goes down with a spray of blood, its front legs useless.

Jumping out of the way spares me from the snap of Mozi’s fangs as he bites the head off the steed. The rider screams in horror before she’s consumed as well.

There are no flames. Mozi is too young to have fire. It will come soon. He hopes.

Nicknames are common among the dragons and for Mozi the Young, his will stick until he’s old enough to earn his real name. It doesn’t make him any less prickly about the title for the meantime.

I have no nicknames anyone says out loud but I’m sure they’re whispered behind my back.

Bastard.

Our frustration and anxiety bleed together through the bond, and I hack at the nearest unicorn with increased vigor. My leathers are painted the same as the field, a sickeningly sweet wind from the south drying the blood into a crust on my skin where it shows.

My gut has become a twisting labyrinth of nerves, and my skin aches dully.

It shouldn’t become routine, the killing. It shouldn’t be like second nature as a part of my brain disconnects from the movements of my sword. Slice, parry, spear, dead. Move on to the next. The same movements I use on practice fields and private gyms now yield devastating results as Mozi and I kill the unicorn riders. Left and right, they fall.

Are we making any headway? I ask Mozi.

Overhead, my father’s watchful gaze grows heavier with the passing seconds. He’s cataloguing my progress and my effectiveness.

Mozi flaps his wings hard for one beat, two, flinging his body into the sky for a better view. And somewhere above, Omram the Pale and his bloodthirsty, power-hungry rider watch. What does my father see when he looks at me?

We are the center of a crater of death, Mozi calls back to me.

The eye of the storm, I reply. Good.

But not good enough.

I wish it made me feel better to know we were accomplishing our goals, but the terrible whinnies of the unicorns, the growls of the land mounts moving to Ryson’s orders will stay with me. They are a song of blood permanently etched into my bones and soul.

When I close my eyes tonight, and many nights to come, I’ll hear it.

Those thoughts are mine alone, and I hold them close.

A battle cry announces the next rider and unicorn, the bay roan barreling toward me. The rider boasts twin swords like mine and rather than stay in the saddle, she hops down.

A bit of auburn braid peeks out from beneath her helmet as the rider swings for my throat and misses by inches.

She says nothing, this fierce girl of a warrior. There’s no need. I’ve never pulled my blows, but as the girl lunges for me, I bring up both of my swords to meet hers, and it takes every bit of my strength to keep her from advancing.

The reverberations of each hit ricochet through my body. The ringing in my ears grows louder as the girl surges toward me again. Her sharp cries, her focus, inspire a grudging admiration and appreciation for her skills. Her swords reflect the light from the overhead sun before she slices across flesh and bone.

The skin on the top of my hand splits open, and a tremor shudders through me.

Dragon dung.

Kieran, focus! Mozi launches himself down and slams headfirst into a group of five riders.

I heave my own sword toward her when the roan pulls up behind me and kicks out. I barely have the time to step aside, to defend myself, before the unicorn kicks again, and the tip of its hoof buries into the armor at my back.

My mouth opens in surprise as I windmill my arms to keep standing. My heart thuds dully against my ribs and pain splinters out from the kick that might have killed me if I’d been closer.