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I sigh. “Come. We must be there to greet Radomir before someone mistakes him for the enemy and starts a war too soon.” If they’re not halfway through Soldor, having abandoned their loyalties.
Gaellar and her company of soldiers are already at the watchtower when we arrive, their swords aimed at the twenty saplings. Not one horse is able to stand still, sensing their riders’ apprehension.
Radomir actually kept his word.
“What a warm greeting to the rift by our allies, Your Highness!” he declares with a flourish, flashing his jagged teeth.
“Weapons down,” I order, moving between the two groups, ignoring the way the soldiers wait for Gaellar’s nod before following. “They do not need an escort. They will remain with me until they return to Soldor.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.” Gaellar turns her horse. “With me!” They ride back toward camp as if wanting to get away from the saplings as quickly as possible.
I sigh. “You enjoy antagonizing people, don’t you?”
“When they aim swords at me for no reason other than what I am? I thrive on it.” Radomir is behaving far more like the arrogant sapling we first met outside Ulysede’s gates, but I’ve seen the other side of him now, and I know there is an Islorian hidden deep inside, impatient to come out. His dark gaze scans the countless tents. “What news of the rift? Anything vital?”
“Several attacks by wyverns over the last few days.”
“Given what’s been crawling out lately, I’m not surprised. And the Ybarisans with you? Have they made them feel equally welcome?”
“Abarrane’s welcoming one right now.” Elisaf chuckles at his own joke.
I roll my eyes. “You cannot blame them for being apprehensive, Radomir. They don’t trust your kind and you’ve given them no reason to yet. But they did not fire upon you, so I would say that’s progress.”
He studies the camp ahead. “Even so, I think we will return to Soldor for the night. I would not want to be this close to freedom only to die before we have the chance to feel it.”
“Suit yourself.” Perhaps that is not the worst idea. Everyone is already on edge. “We will see you tomorrow as soon as the sun drops?”
“And it shall be the last time we must wait for that.” He salutes and turns his horse, his companions following suit.
But an earsplitting roar in the night draws everyone’s attention toward the gaping chasm, where a wyvern dives for a cluster of soldiers on horses. Screams sound as its claws rake across bodies, sending them sprawling. Other soldiers fire arrows at it that bounce off its orange scales like matchsticks.
My pulse races. “I’ll bet that’s the one that killed Bragvam.” Back for seconds.
“Look at the damage just one can cause.” Imagine ten of them, a hundred, Elisaf doesn’t have to say.
I draw my sword from my scabbard. “This is the last thing we needed tonight.”
“As one!” Radomir bellows, all hints of his previous humor gone. The group of saplings changes course, charging toward the rift, their horses’ hooves a pounding thunder.
Elisaf and I follow a beat after, my affinity grasping for nearby flames.
The wyvern is circling for another attack. Gaellar races in with her men, shouting commands for the rift soldiers ahead to spread out. It’s smart—grouping together will only ensure more die with each pass.
The wyvern must spot the gleaming Ulysede helms and shields approaching because it banks hard, swerving to meet the group head-on.
Radomir climbs until he is crouching in his saddle, a rapier in his free hand.
“What is he doing?” Elisaf shouts. “He is mad!”
“I do not know, but they have lived with these beasts for centuries so perhaps we should trust that they know something we do not.”
With a roar, the wyvern dives.
And I hold my breath, both with dread and fascination, watching as the beast opens its giant maw, intent on serving as many casualties as it can. But at the last moment, it seems to change its mind, pulling up, almost as if repelled. Radomir uses that opportunity to leap and stab the slender blade into its leathery wing.
The beast’s roar rings of pain before it hits the ground, throwing Radomir off. The blade is still embedded deep within its left side, only the hilt protruding. It tries to take off again, but its injured wing drags.
Arrows rain down, pelting its body. It rears, facing off against its opponents from ground level. Even lame, it can still cause untold damage. We can’t afford this.
I hurl a considerable fireball at its head, and then another. And another.
With a screech, the wyvern turns and runs for the chasm, diving over it without hesitation, vanishing from sight.
My body slumps with relief. Elisaf and I pivot toward where Radomir lies sprawled on the ground, but we aren’t the only ones. Both his men and Gaellar rush in from different angles. We all reach him at the same time.
