“But first, we need to burn the dead mercenaries and gather our own fallen to take home.” Golmarr puts me back on the ground. Already, men and women are piling up wood from a wagon that followed us into battle. Other men are flattening the grass around the wood so the fire won’t spread. Some of the horses are being used to drag dead mercenaries over to the fire. The horse clan’s dead and injured are lifted into the wagon that once carried the wood. There are three dead, and five too injured to ride home.
Ingvar guides his horse over to us. “Well fought, brother,” he says, holding his hand down to Golmarr. They clasp wrists and Ingvar smiles. When he smiles, he doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as I first thought, even wearing full armor. Turning his attention to me, he holds his hand out and I clasp his wrist, like Golmarr did. “Well fought, Suicide Sorrow; well fought, indeed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I stand in the field and watch Golmarr help carry mercenary bodies to the edge of the fire. When it is blazing, the dead are thrown onto it. The smoke blackens and makes a dark, inky trail against the turquoise sky. I watch it rise, and when my head is tilted back and my gaze is straight up, I see it: a tiny, dark speck. My knees knock together and tears fill my eyes as all of the energy of victory is stripped from me. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that when I open them, the dark speck will be gone. But it is not. “Dragon!” I try to shout the word, but it comes out as a choked whisper.
I reach out and grab the nearest person and point straight up. Enzio shades his eyes and looks to where I am pointing. “What is that?”
“The dragon has come for me,” I whisper.
“The glass dragon!” Enzio bellows. “Get your cloaks and move out!” Horns bellow and everyone runs. I do not run. I stand still and wait because I already know that no matter where I go, there the dragon will be.
In three heartbeats the field is clear of every living person but me, Enzio, and Golmarr. Golmarr’s sword is out, gleaming in the sunlight, and he is sprinting toward me. “Do you have it?” he asks Enzio.
“Yes.” Enzio presses on his chest and I hear paper crinkle.
“Then clear out with the rest so you don’t die!” Golmarr orders.
A horse and rider come galloping up to Golmarr and me, and from the saddle, Jessen hands us each a cloak. “Are you sure you don’t want us to fight with you, brother?” he asks Golmarr.
“Your weapons will make no difference, and you know it. You will die if you try to fight it. But…” He grabs Jessen’s arm. “If I die, take up my sword and protect her.”
“You know I will,” Jessen says, his eyes smoldering as he glances at me. Looking back to his brother, he gives the hand signal for honored warrior.
I put a deep blue cloak on, clasp it at my neck, and pull the hood up over my head. Golmarr swings a bright saffron cloak over his shoulders but does not put the hood up. We stand side by side in the battle-flattened, blood-splattered grass and stare up at the sky, at the circling black speck that is slowly getting closer and closer, bigger and bigger. When it is so close that I can see its deep green scales, a shower of arrows streaks across the sky. They hit the great beast and bounce off her gleaming scales, raining down on Golmarr and me. One hits my arm and slices my skin just below the elbow before bouncing on the grass at my feet.
“Hold your fire,” Golmarr bellows. Turning to me, he says, “You remember our plan?”
“Of course I do. I am ready to distract the beast,” I say, when in reality, I am ready to do no such thing. I grip my staff as tightly as I can. “Just don’t kill her.”
Golmarr’s nostrils flare and his jaw muscles tighten. “I will do my best to protect you, Sorrowlynn. This I swear.”
The beast completes one last, lazy circle through the air and then dives at us, her massive black claws tearing through the ground and digging deep fissures in the dirt and grass. Before she settles to a stop, Golmarr lifts his sword and starts sprinting toward her. As the dragon opens her massive jaws to catch the horse lord up in her yellow teeth, Golmarr dives under the great beast’s chin, stopping between her feet. He swings his blade with the skill and perfection of a practiced dragon slayer. The reforged blade carves through the scales on the back of the dragon’s ankle. The beast shrieks as great drops of blood splatter the ground beneath her foot. I blink and stare at the limping beast. Golmarr has severed her hamstring, making it impossible for the creature to run. And then I realize something I should have known the first time I watched him fight. Because of Golmarr’s birth prediction, that he would be the first dragon slayer in his family, he has been training for and thinking about killing dragons his entire life. He has been practicing for this moment since the day he was born. I am witnessing his destiny.