Page 123 of Deadly Maiden

I will visit Orish to pay my respects, seek peace in those few moments I spend with him. I will find my balance in this world before rejoining Wyntre for this rebellion against the Aos Sin and King Madlin. I hope we win, and if we do, I hope someone worthwhile ends up on the throne…for at least a few decades.

The power always gets to them after a while, leaches into their minds, makes them think they are special and better than those they rule.

The distance to where the battle occurred is small by dragonflight. It would take me three days if I walked, but I don’t intend to shift. My shadow darkens the land as I drop in altitude. My shadow dragon coasts below me, flitting, distorting as I ride above trees, rocks.

And then I am there, gliding above Orish’s corpse.

I should have returned and paid him the honor of my grief a hundred more times than I have. I land, pounding the ground with my heavy footsteps, thundering to a halt, my wings half-furled as I approach.

Though long-dead, his body remains. His immortality or some combination of darkthing matter and dragon has kept him almost as he looked on that day. The redness of the blood he shed is gone and the color of his scales has dulled to a pasty matt brown and mauve, yet I can discern the details. The holes they tore in him. The one eye that burst, the ribs where they blew outward as he crashed. Parts of him were shredded.

I’m heaving in air, not due to exhaustion but my wretched sorrow. This is why I did not return much at all. I am afraid of what I see. I remember him alive, and now I can only picture his death.

And yet…and yet I understand why Wyntre’s parents did this. I suppose I always did.

I pad forward and sit on my haunches. My job today is to put aside my bad memories of his death and to remember him as my friend, the dragonshifter I shared much joy with. The happiness should be filling my thoughts.

Am I strong or weak? Strong. I will honor him.

I bow my head and let this happen, allow my memories to drift through everything we did together over the decades of our companionship.

A strange scent wakes me from my fine reverie. I lift my head to detect it more fully.

Something rams into my flesh, burrowing through me from left side to right, ripping through the full width of my body. I’m screaming, bellowing, flopping, trying to rise into the air.

What? What is this abomination?

Iron.The searing burn of iron gobbles up the magik in me and pulls me from dragonform like a tornado wrenching someone through a metal pipe. I’m shrieking like an animal, but the pain, the pain blots my mind and ravages me.

I waken to myself, blood splashing down, gouting. I’m lying in a red puddle, the ground drenched with blood. My blood. The shreds of flesh are now mine. An iron bar still impales my torso, though I can breathe, minimally, rasping wetly.

Gritting my teeth, I struggle upright onto a knee, then topple over again, headfirst into the wet dirt. I’m coughing, scanning wildly through tear-blurred eyes to find those who attack me. Ten or more enforcers sprint forward, armed, yelling. They carry coils of rope and steel chain, carry yet another iron spear.

“Beware! I will… I will kill!” I wrench myself into a half-squat, straining against the immense weight of the devastating metal, its shaft as thick as a forearm. I gape at this weapon. How?

Teeth bared, I confront them as they circle me, but my mind reels.

Another frightening pain thrusts, tears into me. I look down to see the second, smaller iron spear has been driven through me. The point and a few feet of the spear project from my stomach.

I sway, clutching at where I’m newly wounded when two of them grab the first spear and begin to haul it out of me. The suck and drag, the waves of agony combine and crash down on me.

I fall and fall…

Into a nothingness, where all I can hear is my screams.

Chapter 40

Wyntre

As soon as Rorsyd disappears into the blue, cloud-wreathed heavens, I head for the library. I’ve left the most promising books alone until now. Reading my parents’ account of their exploration of necromancy seemed tawdry considering where Rorsyd is going. I can never change what happened, but avoiding waving their past lives in his face seems…nicer. Is nice the right word? Respectful. That’s the one I want.

I leave the library door hooked open because the rear door to the valley is also wide open. The scents of greenery and thebaaasof sheep will add a peaceful backdrop to my studies.

“So. Let’s get to work.” I smile at Kyvin, smack my hand onto a book, raising dust. He’s stuck to me like a lost puppy ever since we left the gate area. “I wish I really knew what was going on inside your mind.”

He blinks at me then trudges to a well-stuffed couch and sits. Which is when I notice the small red book he’s holding. An educational children’s book, from memory. I found it for him in Langordin.

He wants to learn, but what if he can’t progress?

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