Page 31 of The Last Slayer
“Funnily enough, I can.”
“It isn’t necessary.” He pulled something out of a fold of his cloak. It was the old and worn book of spells that contained draco perditio. “I believe you were intending to retrieve this?”
“How did you know it was that book? And how did you get it?”
“It has the forbidden spell. And I possess the ability to read.” He gave me a faint smile. “You should guard your dwelling more carefully.”
“You broke the wardings. Again.”
“Ah, yes. Useless distractions. What did you think you could do with such things? They wouldn’t even stop an infant wyrm.” He turned slightly, so that we were no longer quite front-to-back. “Your home is marked now, and not just by Madainsair. Wyrms will be waiting for you there.”
There was that “marked” again. “What does it mean to be marked?”
“To be marked is to become a beacon. Whoever marked you or your dwelling can track you. Possibly spy upon you.”
So…a magical GPS bug. Wasn’t I lucky?
“I removed it for you the first time.”
The burning sensation in my dream. “That Selena thing was working for Madainsair?”
“No.”
“Well, who then?”
“I am not yet sure. Someone with an interest in seeing the status quo remain, obviously.”
“But why me?”
“You still live,” he said dispassionately.
I opened my mouth to say something sharp, but the amphitere’s cry caught my attention. A large island with lush greenery and dark rocks floated in the air before us.
I let my mouth stay open.
I’d read about floating islands and seen a few antique artists’ sketches. None of them captured the magic of the real thing. And magic as old and powerful as this was simply beautiful. At that moment, hypocritical or not, I wished I had a camera.
Hundreds of buttresses rose from the foothills in the center of the island to support an enormous castle with sharp turrets. As we drew closer, I could see life-sized bas-reliefs of dragons, dragonlords and slayers moving over the stone surface. Protruding slightly from the wall, the sculptures displayed the meticulous detail that only comes from the finest workmanship. They seemed to be in battle, smashing one another. I’d never seen anything like it, and I’d had plenty of opportunities to see some amazing things—the Johnsons owned a lot of magical artifacts. A mortal would have to perform a series of death rites to harness enough power to run something this enormous. I wouldn’t have believed Ramiel could afford to spend this much magic on just his walls if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. And the longer I looked at the bas-reliefs the more nervous I became. What could any dragonlord possibly want from me?
With each blow, chunks of stone fell to the ground. “Why do you let them mutilate each other? I would be pissed if my decorations refused to get along.”
Ramiel gave a cursory glance at the battles royal flowing along his castle’s brickwork. “They’re to educate young dragons who haven’t learned our history yet.” He pointed at a tangled mass of dragons and slayers. The latter were doing a fine job of hacking away at the former. “That’s a campaign from the Fall of the Dragons.”
It was sort of a weird choice. Why remind himself of an ancient war in which his kind had lost? It would’ve been more fun to select something from the Twilight of Slayers.
He looked at me over a shoulder. “In addition to educating our young, it gets my dragons’ blood running hot. Fervor to destroy our enemies.”
“Enemies? But the slayers are dead.”
“True. Still, there are other conflicts. We must be ready.”
The implacability in his voice made me shiver. Who were these enemies? Was there a war to come? Who could possibly challenge the dragonlords now that the slayers were gone? The amphitere flew over the outer castle wall, and I suddenly realized what he meant by “ready.” Below us, masses of wyrms, drakes and wyverns were in the middle of military drill. Their claws dugs into the rocks and their cries shook the castle. Such sweat and dedication—but for what?
I couldn’t imagine who could possibly threaten Ramiel. Sure, he had enemies. All supernaturals do. But he was considered one of the dragonlords’ deadliest warriors, a swordsman of such renown that few would face him in single combat. Whoever he planned to fight had to be incredibly powerful, and that made me nervous. Anytime there’s large-scale turmoil in the supernatural realm, mortals are usually forced to pick a side.
Ramiel’s amphitere landed on a circular platform made of white marble in the very center of the dragonhold. The second we stepped onto the ground, something the size of my palm zoomed over. I swatted at it. I hate bugs, especially the big flying kind.
“Ack! How rude!” It took in my appearance—all tattered clothes and wyrm saliva—and sniffed. “And your hands are filthy.”
