Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
We’re so close, I see the individual leaves on the water lilies rushing by.
And then we’re over the meadow, heading back to the ruins. At the last moment, the dragon curls to the right and shoots down the long side of the ancient city, still close to the ground, running parallel to the slope Merc and I first descended.
I start to worry how I’m going to get off him and whether he knows I’m even on his back or if he’s about to throw me loose into a rock, existential payback for what I did to that skystalker—
At first, all I notice is the movement against the ancient marble wall, like with the ogres and their visual tricks.
Then come the dark shadows, streaming around the far corner of the ruined city. Spiders in a horde, chasing after—
Lavante.
It’s Lavante who’s running at breakneck speed, his golden coat a match for all those pale stones, his snow-white mane flying like a flag behind his neck, his tail streaking out in his wake—and the dragon is on a collision course with him.
The two are going head-to-head, the dragon so low now, I could jump free if we weren’t going this fast. Lavante bobs to the side at the last moment, the dragon not altering his line as we pass my stallion—
Fire.
So much of it, my efforts at marshaling the stuff are put to shame: Great balls of flame curl forth, exploding out of the dragon’s mouth.
Aimed at the spiders.
There’s such shrieking as the immolation occurs that it’s as if Anathos itself is being torn apart, and there’s naught the attackers can do to defend or protect themselves. In fact, the fire spreads from one to another, carried on the gossamer bands of silk that have been released, a chain reaction.
And then there is a swoop upward, the dragon riding the air as if it were solid ground it was running over. Around we go, and I squeeze with my legs to hold on, ducking lower behind the great horned head, holding on to the ruby as if it’s the very beating heart within my chest.
The dragon sails ahead of Lavante as the stallion makes the turn in front of the entry to the ruins, and the horse is neither stupid about the danger nor lost in his surroundings in spite of the oppressive, milky misting.
He gallops straight for the slope he and I descended.
And thus the dragon carries me into a graceful landing, bringing the bracing journey to an end in the long grass with a running set of feet … until he stops.
I leap off and back away, being careful not to meet his eyes. And as the cold-blooded master of the skies turns to me, I hope I haven’t just fallen into another mess.
He doesn’t eat me.
And in the moments that follow, I wish I could communicate. He seems to know, though. For he waits as Lavante thunders to me.
I whistle, high and loud, even though the horse is already coming my way, and as he throws out stiffened legs and skids to a halt in front of me, I jump into the saddle while the mud is still kicked up in the air. One arm traps the ruby to my chest, the other grabs the reins, but not to steer.
My stallion is not the type of horse that has to be directed.
He takes off again, faster than ever. Leaving the dragon—my dragon—behind.
We’re nearly to the slope when I look back through the sea fog.
The green and purple beast is still on the ground and facing away from our escape, scrummed down to protect our racing departure. No spiders come, however. He’s not killed the colony of them, but he took so many out, and his presence is more than enough to keep us safe as we bolt back for the slope, and for the Kingdom of the South’s gate … beyond which there are many, many dangers, just of a different sort.
At least none of them have eight legs and spin a web. And right now? That’s the best endorsement for any royal court there could be.
As we hit the incline, the mist swallows us even more, and I take one last look behind. I expect the dragon to have taken to the sky once more. He still has not. He remains our guardian, his wings outstretched, puffs of flames coming out his snout as if anybody needs a reminder of what he’s able to do.
Then, like so much else, we’re swallowed whole into the land cloud, and the moisture on my face is salty as my tears.
Destiny has always struck me as cold and hard. But here, in the strange landscape and foggy weather of this foreign land, my act of kindness and mercy, that I made with no thought or expectation of ever being repaid …