Taureq Siq did not disappoint her. Upon catching sight of the dragon, he ordered his bodyguards to attack. It was a death sentence. Arrows and slings and even spears, when the dragon got close enough that they could be employed, were useless. The metal tips bounced harmlessly off the beast’s armored plates, and within seconds the Drouj gave up their efforts and tried to flee, scattering in all directions. It made no difference. The dragon was enraged, and he turned his deadly fire on them, sweeping the hilltop on which they had been clustered, burning them all to smoke and ash.
Phryne saw Taureq Siq in his final moments, his features so clear she could even make out his look of amazement that this was happening. He had chosen to stand his ground, one arm wrapped about the neck of an aide, holding the unfortunate in front of him like a shield. It did little good. The dragon fire burned through the luckless aide as if he were made of paper and then consumed the Maturen, as well.
Taureq Siq burned as if the weight of all his terrible deeds could be measured by the intensity of the flames.
All across the foothills and into Aphalion Pass, the cry went up that Taureq Siq was dead. The Trolls of the Drouj army were immediately thrown into disarray, no longer certain of what they should do. Leaderless and confused, they began to withdraw, backing out of the pass, their unit commanders pulling back with them. Soon the retreat was a complete rout as even those who had advanced deepest of all into the defile felt their courage give way.
His rage sated, the dragon broke off the attack, lifting away in a long, slow spiral.
Phryne, who still clung to his neck, suddenly realized that something was wrong with her. Glancing down, she saw that arrows and darts sprouted from her body, her skin was burned by fire, and her clothes were smoking and blackened. She had failed to notice any of this until now, consumed by her struggle to help the Elves. She slumped in the makeshift saddle in response, dizzy and weak at the sight of the damage she had suffered. Parts of her body felt strangely numb, and she was having trouble breathing.
For a second, she considered forcing the dragon to land, just so that she could get off.
But she couldn’t do that—not out here where the Drouj were still everywhere and there was no protection for her. So she mustered what strength she could and sent the Elfstone magic in search of Tasha and Tenerife. The blue light found them quickly enough, and the dragon responded by taking her to them. He went willingly, his eagerness to pursue the blue light renewed, flying back into the mountains, tacking across the deep split of the pass below until he had reached the wide spot where she had left the Orullians what now seemed like hours ago.
There were Elves clustered below, but they scattered into the narrower parts of the pass the moment they saw the dragon returning. This time they did not try to use their weapons, alerted perhaps by the brothers that she was aboard. The dragon spiraled downward in a slow, winding descent that brought him to the floor of the pass, where he settled in place, his wings folding against his body.
Closing her fingers tightly about the Elfstones, Phryne caused the magic to diminish to a soft pulse.
No one tried to approach as she slid down the great neck and dropped to the ground in a heap. With the last of her strength, she directed the Elfstone magic skyward. The dragon spread his wings and rose into the air, gathered himself when he was above the peaks, and flew until the coming night had swallowed him.
When she could no longer see him, when he had disappeared for good, still chasing after the magic he so desperately wanted, she closed her fingers around the Elfstones until the blue light had faded, then tucked the Stones into a pocket. She struggled to rise, to drag herself to someplace where the dragon couldn’t see her if he chose to return, but her body wouldn’t obey her. Then Tasha was there, only steps ahead of Tenerife and
dozens more. Voices assaulted her, shouts of greeting and cries of “Queen” and “Amarantyne.” She saw faces she recognized, among them Xac Wen’s, his boyish features bright with excitement and wonder. Tasha and Tenerife held everyone back, calling for a healer, directing traffic. Tasha lifted her into his strong arms and bore her through the crowd.
“Make way, Elven Hunters!” he roared at them, his voice booming out. “Make way for our real Queen!”
She let the waves of sound wash over her, unable to respond to them, unwilling to make the effort. She had no strength left to do so. Her head was spinning and her thoughts were scattered. Her body felt numb all over and she was very cold.
“Thank you, Tasha,” she whispered up to him.
The big man dipped his head. A drop of something wet splashed on her face. “You saved us all, Phryne. Now just hold on. A healer is coming.”
“Can you imagine the stories they will tell about this?” Tenerife bent close to kiss her forehead. She could see the warmth reflected in his eyes. “You were so brave, Princess.”
“I feel so cold.”
“Tasha, we’re losing her! Hurry.”