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Varex lands near me, his amber eyes wide with concern. “Brother.”
“A moment,” I gasp. “I need a moment.”
This is foolishness. This is weakness. I need to calm down, calm down, calm the fuck down!
“I’m here,” Varex says quietly. “I’m still here. You and I—we are still strong.”
I choke out a mouthful of liquid fire. It doesn’t ignite and spray forth in a rush of flame like usual—instead it drizzles from my jaws onto the rocks, melting several of them.
“Breathe, Kyreagan,” Varex urges. “Slowly. One long breath, all the way in.”
“I’m trying.”
“You can do this.”
His steady voice sinks through my scales, and I manage to release some of my tension. My heart rate slows, and I’m able to suck in one full, deep breath.
Wingbeats shatter the night air above us, and I glance up to see Ashvelon and Fortunix descending. Fortunix did not accompany us to the war on the mainland. He is older than Grimmaw was, approaching his one hundred and twenty-fifth year. If he survives twenty-five more, his life will end just after the next mating season. No dragon lives beyond a hundred and fifty years.
“My Princes,” says Ashvelon, landing gracefully on a ledge a little farther up the slope. Fortunix perches beside him and folds his great scarred wings. He lived through a difficult time forty years ago, when the humans of Elekstan thought it amusing to hunt dragons for sport. I suppose that dark history between our races justified the contract with Vohrain in my father’s mind. The enemy of our enemy may as well be an ally.
The presence of the two warriors is both a comfort and a challenge. I am their lord, and I must not appear weak, so I fight to gain control of my breathing.
“I am still collecting bone-tribute,” I inform them. “Ashvelon, how goes it with your female?”
He exchanges an apprehensive glance with Fortunix. “I was just telling Fortunix that I—I dropped her.”
“You what?” exclaims Varex.
“She wriggled out of my grasp. I couldn’t catch her, and then she was gone, lost to the sea. It was dark—I couldn’t see her anywhere. I failed you, my lord. And I—I killed her.” He bows his horned head.
“You haven’t failed me,” I assure him. “And her loss is of little consequence at such a time. Count it against the losses we have endured, and feel no guilt. I have another task for you, which I trust you will accomplish with greater care. I need you to find the enchantress Thelise, daughter of the Supreme Sorcerer of Elekstan, and bring her to Ouroskelle.”
“And perhaps some supplies as well,” says Fortunix dryly. “You have transported many human women here, but you have nothing with which to care for them.”
“Because I plan to have the enchantress turn them all into female dragons.”
“Yes. Ashvelon told me of your plan.” Fortunix makes a sound that’s almost like a snort. In anyone younger, I would greet such disrespect with a battle challenge, but he is an elder, so I let it pass.
“My plan is based on fact,” I tell him. “Rothkuri told me that Hinarax told him that he heard from a Vohrainian soldier that Thelise can transform herds of sheep into rabbits, or chickens into rats. The soldier’s cousin witnessed it with his own eyes. A whole species transformed into another. She can do this for us. Ashvelon, see to it that she has all the supplies she needs to perform the spell.”
“Ashvelon needs a companion for this mission,” says Fortunix. “I will accompany him.”
“You will?” Varex sounds surprised. “But you’re so ol—” He cuts himself off and coughs. “What I mean is—you didn’t join us for the war.”
“Because I have done my share of fighting.” Fortunix gives him a sharp look. “Not because I am frail and infirm. I’m perfectly capable of flying to the mainland and helping Ashvelon carry supplies. Or perhaps I’ll carry the enchantress, since our friend Ash seems to have slippery claws.” He nudges Ashvelon with the edge of his wing.
“I would welcome your company,” Ashvelon mutters.
“We’ll set off at first light, then. Before I leave, princes, would you like me to explain to you the proper care and feeding of human women?”
“Have you ever cared for one?” I ask.
“Not exactly, but I have more experience with humans than either of you.”
Something in his manner irritates me. Perhaps I’m overtired, my patience thinned with grief, but the last thing I want is to cling to this slope and listen to Fortunix pontificate about the habits of humans.
“We’ve been allied with humans for several weeks,” I say. “I believe we can figure out how to keep them alive. And we all speak the Eventongue more or less fluently, so they can tell us what they need.”
