Page 10

10

ESSA

A t the sound of the Thurn Horn, all the dragons lined up around the shore of the caldera. They were on edge, pawing the earth with their claws, whipping their tails, and making the low, growling hoom in the back of their throats, a sound like the purr of a cat which denoted pleasure and excitement.

Othura seemed less excited than most. She stood stock-still, staring up at the only dragon still flying: the massive akmerius, Tryce. And on his back, her cloak whipping against the gray sky, rode Laynine. While Tryce hovered, slowly beating his wings to remain aloft, my cousin shouted down to us.

“A challenge of dragons has been called. I, as the highest-ranking flyer, will conduct the ceremonies, and I will act as Irska until the final act of the challenge is completed.”

And when it’s completed, Essa will be Irska, Othura said in my mind.

I appreciated her words and I tried to project confidence back to her, but doubt hung over me like a shroud. My eyes kept returning to the water. It was cold and it was deep. It also hid many submerged rocks lurking just beneath the surface. Today, every rider would be falling into that water except one. And if history was any indication, not all of us would survive that plunge. I’d participated in four melees before. I’d been the first one knocked off my mount three of the four times. All it would take would be to fall in the wrong place, strike a rock, and it would all be over.

And this was only the first game of the challenge. They’d get harder—and deadlier—from here.

Did I have any chance at all of making it through this challenge alive?

My gazed drifted down to the stump of my right arm…

I should just listen to Auntie. Flee. Find some village where no one knows me. Become a fisherman’s wife. But what would become of Othura? Our bond could never be severed. What would she be—a fisherman’s wife’s dragon?

No. I was a princess. I was a Skrathan—even if I wasn’t the best. And I was the eldest of the royal line, now. I’d be queen one day—or I would die. There could be no running away. No pretending to be someone else. The only path was forward, even if it left me broken on the rocks.

“The first act of the challenge is the melee,” Laynine went on from above us. “The only rule is that you remain above the caldera. The last rider still on their dragon wins.”

With these words, Tryce shot skyward, azure wings thudding with incredible power. Up, up, up he climbed, to a greater height than Othura and I had ever reached, and there he opened his jaws and blew a crackling web of lightning across the sky. Akmerius were among the largest of the dragon breeds, and Tryce was the largest and strongest akmerius alive. The lightning he released was so powerful it lit up the day with a brightness far stronger than the sun’s, making me wince even from the ground.

Show off, Othura snorted.

She hated Tryce. Most of the dragons did, especially the females, who he was always trying to mate. But there was no denying that he was the biggest and the best, now that Horban was dead—at least while Mother’s dragon remained in hibernation.

You know I can hear you, Othura turned her eyes on me, fixing me with her orange glare.

If you don’t like pessimism, get out of my head, I shot back.

Othura growled. Your pessimism may get me killed. Our lives are bound, remember? If you don’t believe in us, who will?

No one, I thought, though I tried not to project it to Othura. Pessimism again… Or was it simply rational fear? Too often, they amounted to the same thing.

I hated when things got testy between Othura and me. It felt as if I were fighting a part of myself, like stabbing my own leg.

But there was no time to make up with her. The Thurn Horn blew again, and the riders all scrambled onto their mounts. The melee was beginning.

* * *

Othura surged upward, her wings making a powerful whump, whump, whump that seemed to beat in time with my thundering heart. Though the caldera was nearly a mile across, it still felt overcrowded. Everywhere we turned there was another dragon, their claws or fire or snapping jaws striking for us. There were also the lances to worry about. Every rider had one—every rider with two working arms, that is. It was impossible for me to hang on to my saddle grip—a necessary thing when riding a weaving, dodging dragon—and hold a lance at the same time. So, I didn’t have one. That meant I had to rely on Othura alone for our attacks.

Fortunately, Othura was good.

She wove expertly through the chaos, dipping under a slashing claw from a two-headed geminus, rolling away from a blast of flame from a green sagittan. We came up behind a someone riding a brown capran, approaching so stealthily they didn’t see us yet.

Now! I told Othura, and she blew. Like all libran dragons, she didn’t possess the ability to blow fire. Her power was wind, and she opened her mouth now and unleashed a blast of air. The force of it spun the massive dragon around, and the unsuspecting rider, who’d been angling to attack a golden leonin, lost their seat and pitched off to fall, screaming, into the water below.

They weren’t the first rider to fall. Already, a half dozen had made the plunge into the freezing depths. Several had grabbed onto their dragon’s tails and were being towed back to shore. Another was being hauled into one of the rescue boats that floated on the lake, ready to help the injured. One Skrathan, I saw, had already landed among the rocks. His dragon was bowed over him, bellowing a terrible, mournful roar.

All these sights passed before me in a flash, then we were tilting and building speed again.

Ahead, I saw a crackle of lightning. Laynine.

Maybe we should pick off some of the lesser riders first, Othura suggested.

No, I thought back. That’s what she expects. We take her now.

Already, this was the longest I’d survived in a melee. If I didn’t challenge Laynine now, I probably wouldn’t have the chance. And I desperately wanted to show her, and everyone, that I was a threat.

Othura knew my mind, and I felt her redouble her efforts, speeding ahead.

Then, wings blotted out the sun. I glanced up to see a massive gray dragon above me.

It’s Cronin! I warned, and Othura rolled on her side just as a blast of flame came down upon us from above. Othura folded her wings and dropped like a stone, dipping out of range of the fire before rolling and opening her wings again.

My hand and arm ached from holding on while sideways. My heart beat so hard it felt louder than the wind in my ears. We’d nearly flipped, and the thought of going upside down always stirred panic in me, ever since the fall where I’d lost my arm. But I forced myself to think of Othura, not my own terror.

You okay? I asked.

Fine, Othura’s voice came back in a snarl.

Dragon hide was much tougher than human skin and was generally resistant to flame, although taking a direct blast never felt pleasant.

We were out of Cronin’s range now, so low now that Othura’s wingtips skimmed the water.

Look out. Laynine’s minions are coming now.

I looked up and saw she was right. Cronin, Romia and Kramat, three of Laynine’s best friends, were circling us like buzzards. I looked for my friends, but the only one I spotted was Dagar on his leonin, far off and beset with attackers. I was on my own.

Romia came first, her scorper darting in then wheeling away and whipping its tail stinger toward us. Othura blasted wind at her, shoving her away so that her tail stinger passed harmlessly a few feet from my face. Dagar’s carcer struck next, swooping in on us with its crushing, pincer-like front talons. Othura banked and pumped her wings, building speed, pulling away.

More lightning blinked, catching my eye. Laynine was ahead of us. If we could just break away, we could catch up to her, and?—

Fire erupted around me. I snapped my head left to see Cronin and his dragon speeding into us. Romia hadn’t really been trying to catch us; she’d been steering us back toward her wingmate. The realization had hardly sunk in when Cronin’s lance caught me, a blow to the ribs that knocked all thought and breath out of me.

Then, I was falling.