“Mari, mother of us all, protect us,” Persephone added her voice.
Padera joined in their prayer. A moment later, Moya did, too. Persephone reached out again, found Moya’s foot, and held on. The anticipation of the death blow was maddening, but Persephone still held tightly to Brin and Moya. Finally, she chanced a look. The Fhrey that had been the threat only moments before were gone—only Nyphron, Eres, and Tegan were still alive. The dragon was still there, too, perched on the corner of the Kype, anchored by its massive talons. She felt its hot breath and tilted her head higher to see its face. She realized with horror that the dragon, with its two massive eyes and oblong pupils, wasn’t merely looking at them—it was staring at her.
It will kill me now—open its mouth and swallow me whole.
It didn’t.
The dragon continued to stare.
Finally, it did open its mouth, but instead of devouring her, the dragon spoke. With a voice more powerful than thunder, deeper than the groan of the rock, it said, “Even now.”
The dragon waited a moment more; then, extending its wings, it pushed off, crushing a block of stone the size of a moose.
“Unbuckle his armor,” Padera shouted. “Get it off.” The old woman was on the floor at the foot of the bed, working on Tekchin, who lay sprawled on his back in a pool of blood. Moya, who was up and moving again, scrambled to him and began jerking the leather straps at the Galantian’s shoulder.
“Got him good,” Padera said. “Bleeding like a speared boar. Brin, grab the bandages on the table. And get me that belt.”
No one else spoke.
A roar erupted a short distance away, but still nothing happened—not to them. Distant screams were followed by a flap of wings. After that, silence.
“How the Tet does this culling armor come off?” Moya shouted as she jerked on the leather straps of Tekchin’s plate. Blood spilled from a puncture just below his ribs.
“Just cut it off,” Padera told her. “Persephone, give me your blade. Persephone?”
“Here!” Brin tossed down the bandages, followed by one of Roan’s daggers.
Rapid footfalls grew louder. Nyphron raised his sword only to lower it again when Anwir rushed in. “What happened?”
“About to ask you the same thing,” Nyphron replied. “Where’d the dragon come from, and where is it now?”
“Dragon?” Anwir asked, confused. He looked up. “Where’d the roof go?”
“Forget all that,” Padera yelled at them. She pointed at Tekchin, where Moya was desperately trying to saw through the thick leather straps with Brin’s dagger, but they were hidden under the shoulder plates and hard to get at. “Your friend is dying.”
“He’s fine.” Nyphron sounded annoyed. “He’s had worse and pulled through.”
“He’s bleeding to death. Any of you killers know how to get this armor off?”
Anwir, who proved adept with straps and ties, bent down and helped Moya.
“Brin, needle and thread,” Padera ordered. “Near the basin. Thread it.”
“Squeeze,” Padera told Moya. They had the breastplate off and had cut Tekchin’s shirt away. “Don’t be afraid, press hard.” Brin came over with the needle. “Now, here, Brin, get the flaps of skin closer together—that’s it.”
Padera started sewing. When she was done, she sat back and wiped sweat from her brow. “Okay, wrap him,” Padera told Moya and Brin. “And don’t be timid about it. Pull the strips tight.”
“He gonna live?” Eres asked the old woman.
Padera stood up, her hands stained dark. She took a towel and wiped them off, leaving brilliant streaks of red on the pale cloth. “Depends on how much his god likes him. Busted a rib and caught part of a lung sack. He could just as easily drown in his own blood.”
Moya sat bent over Tekchin, crying. “Don’t you dare die, you son of the Tetlin whore!”
Padera turned toward the bed. “Persephone? You okay? Are you hurt?”
Tesh came through what was left of the door.
“Tesh!” Brin sprinted across the room and hugged the boy, nearly knocking him off his feet. “You’re alive!”
“Where’ve you been?” Tegan asked, then looked at the blood on Tesh’s swords. “Finally got to kill some elves, eh?”
Tesh glared at him for a second, then smiled. “Yeah—yeah, I did.”
The sound of battle was gone. All around was the sound of wind blowing over the top of the Kype and the flutter of some unseen fabric.
“So, what’s all this about a dragon?” Anwir asked again.
A tear slipped down Persephone’s cheek, her voice soft and quavering. “It’s not a dragon.”
* * *
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