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D AAL FLED ACROSS the salt flats of the White Desert. Sand scoured his skin raw. His eyes, even shielded by his amber-lensed goggles, ached from the constant glare. Winds tore past his ears—but failed to mute the growing roar of the forge-engines behind him.

He twisted his neck.

The three ships rode high above the desert, drawing ever closer. The lead ship fired a single ballista. A massive steel-tipped arrow arced through the air, but it fell short of Daal’s position, spearing into the sand.

But that will soon change.

Pyllar’s wing continued to stain the salt flats with blood. His mount’s flight wobbled as one wing beat stronger than the other.

Still, Daal felt the determined thrum of his partner’s heart through his thighs. He reached a hand and dug nails through Pyllar’s ruff, casting his appreciation and love deep into that stout heart. He drew in his mount’s musk, salted with sweat, steaming from his overheated body.

“You’ve done well, Pyllar,” he mouthed into the wind, trusting his partner to understand.

Daal stared forward. The broken edge of the Tablelands rose as a dark line ten leagues off. Under him, the salt flats had begun to churn up into rolling dunes—at first mere ripples, then growing into ever higher ridges. The landscape of blowing sands looked like waves washing toward those distant cliffs.

Cliffs we will never reach.

Daal recognized this, taking solace that he and Pyllar had led the hunters off course, well to the north of where the Fyredragon had been headed.

A whisk of movement drew his eye to the right. A giant spear sped through the air before its heavy steel tip pulled it down. The arrow slammed into the face of a dune, burying itself deep.

They’re upon us…

He knew he could ask for no more speed out of his failing partner. This wounded sparrow could never outrace those hawks. Still, Pyllar fought, seeking the strongest winds blowing westward to help buffet them along.

Unfortunately, his mount’s path slowly edged southward, too.

“No, Pyllar,” Daal urged. “North… keep going north. ”

Daal reinforced this by shifting his weight to the right, away from the Fyredragon ’s path. But Pyllar ignored him and continued southward, as if trying to reach home before he died.

Daal recognized the heart-worn exhaustion of his mount. He reached for his reins for the first time, to try to direct Pyllar to the north. With a sigh, he let his hands drop. He refused to bend that stolid heart to his will, to scold him in this manner.

Instead, he simply let Pyllar fly.

“M’ bevvan raash’ke,” Daal intoned in Panthean, praising his mount’s bravery and steadfastness. “M’ laya brenna.”

Both were true.

I will be proud to die with you, my brother.

Knowing they had done all they could, Daal looked past his shoulder. As expected, the ships had drawn closer. But to his dismay, one of the warships had rolled away from the others. It had set off toward the south, already crossing a league in that direction.

No…

Daal remembered the flock of skrycrows racing between the lead ship and the town of Fhal. Maybe a late-arriving message had alerted the hunters about a huge dragon-helmed wyndship flying south. Either that, or someone aboard the retreating ship had figured out Daal’s flight across the desert could be a ruse.

If so, he could guess who that was.

Fenn’s uncle.

Another arrow shot through the air, spearing closer but still driving into the sand. A cannon also boomed. From the closing warship, fire flashed and thunder echoed. A dune shattered on Daal’s left.

Rather than shying from the fountain of blasted sand, Pyllar dove through it, still angling south. Daal knew he could do nothing more about it. He had bought Nyx and the others as much time as he could manage. He prayed their sacrifice—his and Pyllar’s—would not be wasted.

He swung forward, determined to lure the remaining two ships with him.

At least for as long as we still draw breath.

He leaned closer to Pyllar, determined to stretch out this chase.

Then, directly ahead, a spat of sand rushed high, spiraling into a whirlwind. Dark shadows fluttered there, looking more mirage than real. Daal blinked against the sight, trying to make sense of it.

Pyllar simply strove toward it, as if he had been aiming there all along.

Deep in his ears, Daal felt his mount’s desperate keening. It rose and trembled out of Pyllar’s chest. Then Daal heard an answer —though it was likely perceived through Pyllar’s ears rather than his own, blurring their senses together in this moment of hardship.

As the whirl of dust cleared, Daal made out a pair of raash’ke. The two spiraled into view for a breath—then dove into the sand.

Daal struggled with his confusion.

As Pyllar closed the distance, the landscape revealed the answer. Past the next mountainous ridge of dunes, the ground had been split by a ragged crack, a deep ravine that cut across the desert.

The two raash’ke had vanished into it.

Pyllar tipped steeply and followed. As they entered the ravine, the dunes vanished on either side, replaced by walls of rock. The dark sandstone looked raw and sharp-edged, as if this crack had only broken open a short time ago. Wind and rain had yet to polish the rock to a desert smoothness.

One of the raash’ke sped onward, heading south. The other hovered back, allowing Pyllar to draw abreast.

Daal recognized the doe Heffik—and her rider.

“Tamryn!” he called over. “I told you to head to the Fyredragon !”

“And I told you that Barrat could take them home as well as I.” She lifted a farscope in hand. “We all witnessed the attack. Saw your flight north. Then we came upon this rift in the Urth.”

Daal understood. She must have split off with this other rider, sending the remaining two to the Fyredragon. Then she used the ravine to traverse the desert, staying out of sight until she and the other rider could reach here. He also recognized why Pyllar had swung to the south. His mount must have heard the near-silent cries of the approaching pair and angled to meet them.

Still worried, Daal glanced toward the strip of blue sky overhead, then back behind him. He did not know what the hunters would make of his sudden disappearance. He imagined that they, like Daal, would quickly recognize the ravine as the reason behind it. But they could not know if he had fled south or north. He wagered the two vessels would split off from one another and hunt the ravine in both directions.

Still, the momentary confusion should give Daal and the other two riders a greater chance to escape. To help that happen, Daal concentrated on his flight. As rock walls rushed past, he again noted the stone’s rough contours. He could guess why. With moonfall approaching, the world had been plagued by storms and quakes.

This must’ve cracked open during one such shake.

Daal thanked the gods for this boon. While moonfall risked ending the world, in this instance, it had saved him and Pyllar.

“Can your mount make it back?” Tamryn called over, pointing at the blood weeping from Pyllar’s wing.

Daal gritted his teeth, troubled by the same fear. As they sped along the rift, Heffik whistled and pined her own distress for Pyllar. The doe tried to use the edge of her wing to support Pyllar’s injured one. Out of the direct sun, the cooler air seemed to revive his mount.

Or maybe it was this reunion.

Pyllar and Heffik had bonded over the months of confinement aboard the Fyredragon. The two—ignoring the friction of their respective riders—had grown closer, nearly inseparable.

Tamryn stared across the gulf between them. Even with her head hooded and her eyes goggled, Daal recognized the worried set to her lips, the hard grip on her reins.

He pointed below. “The deeper we go. Farther from the sun’s heat. It may help Pyllar.”

Tamryn nodded and led them down into the depths. After the glare of the desert, the thickening shadows clouded his vision. Still, Daal trusted Pyllar and the other raash’ke to traverse the ravine. He heard their shrill cries echoing off the walls, offering them guidance.

Daal occasionally caught flashes from Pyllar, of broken walls and massive boulders, all stripped of color, just outlines and reliefs.

Amazement wore through his anxiety.

But not completely.

Through his thighs, he felt the thudding of his mount’s heart. He read the strain in each beat. Daal’s whole body grew slowly heavier—again mirroring Pyllar’s own weakening state.

“How much farther?” Daal gasped out.

Tamryn answered, her voice ringing with a lie. “Not far. We’ll make it.”

Daal twisted with great effort and searched behind them.

Far above, the thin strip of the sky carved a ragged line across the darkness. As Daal stared, a shadow rode along it, eating away the brightness, traveling along its course.

One of the hunters had not given up.

But is it the Hálendiian corsair or the Bhestyan warship?

Daal could not know, so he clutched to one certainty, willing it to Pyllar.

We must keep going.

But will alone proved not enough.

Pyllar’s wings shuddered one last time, then folded in exhaustion.

Mount and rider plummeted into the depths of the ravine.