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At least she wouldn’t have to look at him and think about how badly she wanted to punch him in his damned face.
She nudged Isaac with her elbow. “Lucky you, we’re about to be flight buddies.”
He snorted a laugh. “You better prove not to be deadweight then, huh?” She only bristled a little at his cutting remark.
“Lowell will take third cord and the rest of you may fall in line as usual. Any questions?” Silence followed, the legion ready to get this flight done with. Winter was here and flying at these altitudes would leave any exposed skin frostbitten.
“Great. Fly out.” Sinking two fingers into his mouth, Bram let out a sharp whistle and the air around them began to stir. The pounding of heavy wings grew louder before a Bold Wing with fire-red scales and a dark underbelly came into view. Each stroke of his wings broke apart the scattering of clouds, making the beast look as though it were swimming through waves as it approached the mountainside.
The Bold Wing, Skiathis, as he was called, never came to a landing on the open floor despite the way their legion backed up to give him room. Instead, he spit a small flame and made to dive. Bram gave a dark smile as he backed away from the group toward the mountain's edge. His mouth curved up until it looked wicked with the glow of flames behind him. “To the end,” he called to his team. Turning on his heel, he gave the legion his back before he broke into a run, boots pounding against the rock, and leapt from the ledge with his arms outstretched. He dropped from view, eaten up by the last smoky bits of cloud before a flash of red scales appeared with Bram safely seated upon the animal’s spine. An impressive feat, though the awe of watching had lessened over the years.
The rest of the legion echoed the sentiment back to him as he disappeared again. Brooks quickly pulled his goggles over his eyes and untucked the fabric from his hood that would drape down over his face to cover his skin. He shouted his dragon’s name, “Fontarious!” and let the name resound around him.
One by one Meira watched as her fellow scale riders called forth their Bold Wings in whichever fashion they’d been trained and took flight until it was only herself and Yule on that mountaintop. Yule didn’t speak, she didn’t have to, and Meira didn’t particularly want her to, but her attention was a brand on Meira’s skin. She absorbed the warmth and let it fuel her as she stepped to the lip of Mount Ridmond and watched the star-filled sky.
There was a tug on the curse as it wound itself around her spirit and connected her to the magic of this world. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling; if anything, it felt like a nod of approval. This was the right thing to do, and it was her first step toward righting the wrongs of another timeline.
The name of her Bold Wing was but a whisper on her lips, a secret kept between her and the universe. Still, her dragon came like a dark sweeping shadow of the night. Meira watched for the telltale curve of her angled wings and the downward arc as she broke through the smattering of clouds. Then, as she envisioned her stranger, she took a step from the cliff and dropped through the air.
7
Remis
The carriage came to an abrupt halt rocking the men within it. What little relaxation they’d found entering the Deadwoods was ripped away from them as the driver let out a startling cry. Remis’ eyes grew wider as the sound reminded him of a dying animal. He squeezed his eyes shut hoping the noise would come to an end and the driver would pat the carriage wall and tell him it was all a mistake.
The screaming did indeed stop and was quickly followed by a loud thud as a weight fell from the carriage. Remis cracked an eye open. His friends sat in stunned silence, though Merritt’s upper half tipped toward the door as if he’d been drawn to the noise.
Percy, however, shrunk back into his seat. “Do you suppose we should investigate that?”
“And get picked off by dragonis. I think not. It’s safer if we stay right here in the carriage,” Merritt said as he pulled himself back.
If staying in one’s carriage was what would keep someone from being snapped in half in the jaws of the dragonis, then surely there would be more survivors to tell the tale. There was no hiding from these monsters.
A sickly tremble traversed down Remis’ spine. He’d been certain they’d run into trouble on their journey. There was no possibility of avoiding the dragonis. Still, it surprised him at how swiftly they’d been stopped. Only a few hours into their journey and they would meet their end. It seemed almost laughable that his story would conclude so quickly. In fact, he would have laughed out loud if not for the fear that threatened to turn his bowels to liquid.
Two more heartbeats passed. Remis exhaled slowly and shifted forward in his seat.
A twig snapped somewhere outside. Goosebumps rose along his flesh with the knowledge that they weren’t alone. Something lurked beyond the thin walls that caged them in. Could it sense the three men who waited in stifling silence? Could it smell their fear?
His hand drifted to the hilt of the weapon strapped to his belt. Wet with sweat, his palm curled above the bulbous end.
There came several muffled thumps, a familiar pattern of human steps. For a split second, he wondered if it was the driver, finally coming to apologize for the scare, but the noise was multiplied many times over. It was joined with a pounding against their carriage’s sides, a startling slap of flesh.
Something shoved against the side of the carriage, rocking them, then tipping all three of them in their seats. Arms and legs were cast at odd angles trying to find purchase. Remis caught Meritt’s elbow somewhere in his rib cage and he was certain he caught sight of Percy’s boot against Merritt’s bicep. Before they were entirely tipped onto their sides, something caught them and launched them back the other way.
Remis fully slid from his seat then. As the curtains swayed with the movement, he caught sight of dirt-coated skin and a half-toothless smile. Back and forth the carriage rocked, bouncing them around like dice held within cupped hands. Where they might land nobody knew.
“Men, not dragons,” Remis seethed. Probably more than the three of them could handle even with their sword training if they were tossing the carriage around as though it were but a toy.
The shaking stopped with a loud crack, everything tilted definitively to the rear left side, and the door to the carriage was flung open. Cold invaded their space, followed closely by the foul scent of body odor.
A man leaned inside with his weapon outstretched. Mud streaked what skin was exposed around what looked like a woman’s fur coat. Dirty blond hair was braided back to reveal the line of his jaw and the scars that peppered it. Did he shave with a dull blade?
“We’ve got…one, two, three…three pretty boys who think they can make it through the Deadwoods,” the stranger shouted.
“What do you want?” Merritt scowled.
Several more faces, varying in ages, but all dirt-covered tried to peer in around the one who held the weapon. The smell of their unwashed bodies and perhaps another more putrid scent turned every breath sour. Remis tried to count them as they came into view. He thought there were six but then again perhaps there were seven.
