Page 34 of The Last Dragon

It took the shape.

The nightmare of the Four Kingdoms’ shape.

The castle bells rang out in the distance as the army rushed to the castle ramparts. In the thick mist, the fiery dragon was unstoppable, setting everything in its path ablaze and claiming the lives of bystanders and enemies alike.

That day marked the first innocent casualties at the elf’s hands, and Cassian was all too aware of it.

Cassian, heading in the opposite direction, let the griffin land as he spotted Tariel on the scorched earth of Morgraves. Weakened by the far too great amount of energy he had expended, he staggered toward him, wrapping his arms around the elf’s frail body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling the younger man’s distress in his heart as if it were his own.

Tariel

He didn’t even have time to admire his creation taking shape before the news about the mercenary hit him like a sledgehammer: a dark mage.

Of course. What else, honestly? A pacifist druid coming to negotiate around a campfire? The elf pouted.

And as if that weren’t enough, Cassian, in all his self-proclaimed wisdom, had once again decided for him.

Flee. Without Cassian.

Again.

Anger rose instantly, sharp and burning, and a familiar headache began to throb behind his temples as his thoughts raced.

Fine. A dark mage. Think, Tariel. Then again, it was hard to think when his mount seemed determined to take Tariel in the opposite direction of the battlefield, completely ignoring his master as it followed a bird at an unreasonable speed.

Radiant magic? Possible, sure. But Tariel was neither a cleric nor a paladin and improvising in that realm—despite her elite level of magic—was closer to suicide than strategy.

The elf had his back against the wall.

His mount was racing straight ahead, guided by Cassian’s damned bird—it was impossible to turn it around, let alone stop it, and that mere thought added to his frustration. He hated being deprived of his choices, especially when he was perfectly capable of taking responsibility for them.

But Cassian had forgotten one thing—or rather, underestimated something that Tariel mastered better than anyone else: familiars.

With a triumphant smile on his lips, Tariel summoned a Sifrelin: a tiny, fairy-like creature with translucent wings that fed on fairy dust. It was nearly invisible to the naked eye, intelligent, and silent. Perfect for intelligence gathering.

After whispering his instructions to the little creature, it darted off in the opposite direction, tasked with finding Cassian. The Sifrelin flew swiftly and silently, then slipped under the mercenary’s collar and clung there without a sound.

These creatures’ true efficiency lay in their lack of magical essence: aside from absorbing dust, they emitted nothing—no vibrations, no signature, just an innocuous presence… Just another fly in the crowd.

Which suited Tariel perfectly. What didn’t suit him, however, was the distance stretching between them.

He grumbled inwardly, cursing Cassian under his nonexistent mustache while keeping his mind anchored in the familiar bond. At the slightest sign of danger, he would recall the creature. But something—intuition, experience, or sheer stubbornness—told him the plan would hold.

He only had to wait and hope that the mercenary would return to him in one piece—which, honestly, was becoming a habit that was as worrisome as it was annoying.

Tariel rode at a hasty pace, his heart beating in time with the hooves striking the ground hardened by old ashes—silent remnants of the Morgrave lands. He was still brooding, inwardly far from charitable toward the mercenary, when an ethereal voice suddenly echoed in his mind.

Cassian’s voice.

Begging for his help.

Huh?

By the stars, how on earth was this man doing that? And since when, exactly, was he able to do that sort of thing? Tariel had a whole list of questions he’d be happy to ask Cassian when he returned—because he would return—but for now, only one thing mattered.

He closed his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut and praying to whoever would listen that he wouldn’t hurt himself too badly. Then, while holding his breath, Tariel jumped. He rolled on the ground once, twice, three times, breathless and aching all over, before pushing off with his hands and getting back to his feet.