But the baby dragons lifted their heads and hissed. Their small eyes gleamed with sudden fire, and their untried muscles bunched under their scales. In one unified movement, they leaped out of the remains of their eggs and pounced on Lanther.
Lanther screamed a Tarmak warcry. He stood, the newborn dragons swarming him, twisting their tails round his limbs, clawing, biting, rending, tearing…
Screaming in rage, Lanther tumbled backward over the side of the mound. Once more he shouted in fury, but it broke in his throat, and his cries turned to panic and agony. Linsha could not see him, but she heard his shrieks, each more desperate and frantic than the last, and in between she heard tiny claws shredding skin and flesh, small jaws biting.
Linsha closed her eyes. She made no move to stop the little dragons. Surely they were hungry, and after all that Lanther had done to their siblings, they deserved their revenge. She paid no attention to the scream cut short or the sounds of eight tiny mouths feeding that came from the base of the nest.
She stared down at the body of Danian, lying in a muddy puddle formed by his own blood. His chest did not move, and all light had gone from his eyes. She prayed to the gods to watch over the old man’s soul.
Tancred crawled over and cradled the healer’s head in his hands. Tears streamed down his face. He stared at Linsha with frightened eyes. His hands were stained with blood from a slash on his arm and the mortal wound on Danian’s back.
“I don’t know what to do without him,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes, you do. In here—” Linsha tapped his forehead—“and here—” she tapped his heart. “The magic has returned, Tancred. Use it.”
They heard a soft flap of wings and Danian’s kestrel sailed into the cave, circled once, and dropped gently to the sand beside the dead man. The bird cried a question.
Varia crooned softly, her voice aching with sadness.
The small raptor tilted his head, his bright eyes as sharp as obsidian chips, then he stepped gently up Danian’s arm and perched on the man’s shoulder. He chirped a brief message to Varia.
The owl’s head swiveled toward the entrance. “The kestrel says Crucible needs you now.”
Linsha grabbed Tancred’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, healer. I need your help.” She pulled him down the mound, and without looking back at the corpse of her enemy, her husband, her nemesis, she strode out of the cave.
Down the slope in the valley at the foot of the volcano the battle thundered beneath a calm sky. Smoke towered above the burning woods and flames had begun to lick out across the grass of the meadow.
Linsha ignored it all. The whole of her attention focused on the form of the bronze dragon. She could see the black lance, in obedience to its evil spells, had penetrated deeper into the dragon’s haunch. While it would not kill him immediately, if they didn’t remove it soon, the barb would eventually work its way through into his lower body and kill him. She ran down the hill to his head and caught his nose in both hands.
“Crucible, I’m sorry. Lie still now, and we’ll get the barb out.”
“You’re back,” he moaned, barely able to speak.
“Of course,” she reassured him.
“Lanther?”
“Dead.”
“The eggs?”
“Eight hatched. The gods have returned, Crucible. They have restored their magic to our world. Takhisis is defeated.”
“Good.” There was no mistaking the sound of triumph in that one word. He twisted his head around and looked at her with one golden eye. “We have come so far.”
“We will go the rest of the way,” she replied. “Together.”
Strengthened by her resolve, Linsha nodded to Tancred and indicated the lance that dangled from the dragon’s leg. “Take the dagger and cut out the barb. I will keep him still.” His eyes grew huge and she added, “Danian taught you well, Tancred. Remember his faith in you.”
Linsha watched the young man study the length of the big bronze and the leg that trembled under the weight and agony of the Abyssal Lance, and she knew she need say no more.
Still holding Crucible’s head, she knelt in the rocks and pushed his head down. She knew Tancred had begun work removing the barb when Crucible’s body stiffened and the breath rushed through the dragon’s throat. He held still, motionless as a statue beneath her touch. While she waited, she gathered the reserves of her magic—the magic to heal, the magic to unite her feelings, thoughts, and empathies with a dragon—and as soon as she heard Tancred yell, “Lady Linsha, it’s out!” she released the power through her fingers into Crucible’s mind and body and filled him with the strength to heal. She sensed lingering shreds of dark magic in his leg and realized this second wound from the Abyssal Lance would not be so easy to heal.
She felt Crucible stir under her hands. His horned head lifted, his body rolled around to his belly. He leaped to his feet, and his scarred wings spread overhead to cast the two humans in shadow.
Linsha saw the wound on his leg was only partially closed and the scales around it were blackened. But the lance was out and there were no splinters. For that she gave thanks.
Crucible dipped his head to Tancred and nudged the young man. “Thank you,” he said. But to Linsha he send a silent message that held no words, only the glorious intensity of his feelings for her.
Then he sprang into the sky and spread his wings on the wind.
The Tarmaks had mounted a fearsome defense and almost overwhelmed the slightly larger Duntollik army when Crucible joined the fray. Healed by Danian and Linsha together, the bronze still ached from the half-healed wound caused by the lance, but his wings could carry him and his fury bore him swiftly over the field of battle. He smashed into the Tarmak lines, seared the mounted warriors on their horses, and sent the Tarmaks fleeing across the Plains. The few that were left were harried unmercifully by the Plainsmen and centaurs. Only a few determined Tarmaks returned to the Missing City to report their defeat and the death of the Akkad-Dar.
The field was left a smoking ruin. The Plainsmen helped their wounded, stripped the Tarmak dead of the weapons that had not melted under the dragon’s breath, rounded up the surviving horses, and lit a bonfire to celebrate a victory that had been long in coming.
Linsha returned to the satiated dragonlets in the cave and waited while they settled down. After a quick glance, she avoided looking at the mangled mess of shredded clothes, armor, and gore that had been the Akkad-Dar. When the last dragonlet had found a place in the sand and fallen asleep, she left them under Varia’s watchful eye and went to find Callista and Sir Hugh.
The members of her party had been freed by some of Falaius’s men, so she and Callista went to help Tancred. The young healer needed all the willing hands he could get to help. Linsha worked late into the night before she said goodnight to Tancred and trekked up the hill to the cave entrance. She found the brasses still asleep, but this time they were crowded around the recumbent form of Crucible. Varia perched on one of his horns, her eyes closed, her brown body almost invisible in the dark cave. The remains of Lanther’s corpse were gone.
The big bronze didn’t so much as twitch an eyelid when the Lady Knight came in. Grinning to herself, Linsha crawled over a baby dragon and found a comfortable spot by Crucible’s front leg. Happier than she had been in many years, Linsha joined the dragons in sleep.
Thank you.
A voice spoke quietly in the darkness, a soft but powerful voice that woke Linsha with a start. She blinked, still groggy with sleep, and saw a large form in the darkness. A pale light like silver moonlight emanated from its shape, outlining its edges just enough to reveal a dragon.
“Iyesta?” Linsha said sleepily.
Yes. The voice filled her mind. I had to come to say thank you.