Alara Unbroken - Doug Beyer [85]
The behemoths shook their shaggy coats, and the ashen cinders broke off them, leaving their skin smoky but unburned. At Sarkhan’s signal, the dragons circled back around.
“Karrthus, avoid the one with the nose-horn. Dive on that one, there. The rest of you, more fire! Attack at will!”
The other dragons laid into two of the behemoths with a combination of fire breath and swooping attacks with their talons. Karrthus dived, then flipped his body toward the beast with a sudden, great flex of his wings. Sarkhan clutched at his bindings as the dragon’s body lurched, barely holding on. Their victim roared and tried to bite at the dragon, but Karrthus’s talons clamped into its back. Then Karrthus gave one, two, three mighty wing-strokes, and heaved the behemoth into the air. It wriggled like a fish in a bird’s claws, but couldn’t pull free. Sarkhan gave no orders, but Karrthus knew what he was doing. He flew up, up, up, and then as the hellkite’s wings were about to fail from the strain, he released the beast. It actually rose briefly, flung in a modest arc, but then plummeted silently, falling away in a slow motion tumble. Sarkhan didn’t see it land in the jungle, but the impact caused a tremor wave that radiated out through the valley.
As Karrthus wheeled around, Sarkhan looked back at the other dragons, to see one behemoth have a chunk bitten out of it, and the other get burned to a crisp by two streams of fire breath. The beasts fell, and the dragons reassembled into a flight with no further casualties.
“Serves those things right,” Sarkhan said. Where did these beasts come from, he wondered? He knew they were allied with those who occupied the central part of Naya.
“Come on, my pets. We’re going to pay the elves a visit.”
THE MAELSTROM
At the heart of Alara, above a spiral-shaped depression in the crushed earth, floated a sphere of energy. It was much bigger than a grain of sand; it would be an armful to a human, if it were able to be held. Misty lines of color spiraled into it from all directions, and the colors churned inside of it. Slowly, day by day, battle by battle, spell by spell, it grew.
JUND
Ajani’s native Naya had tropical jungles, but Jund’s forests were a primordial, carnivorous morass. Kresh and his warriors had their weapons out, and were hacking at the snake ferns that were trying to wrap around their ankles and the carnivorous orchids that kept biting them with sticky thorn “teeth.” Some sort of chameleon latched its tongue onto Kresh, but he sliced it cleanly in half and kept moving.
Ajani walked among the human warriors behind Kresh, their braid-haired leader. He cleared his throat. “So … You’re sure it’s this way to this woman, Rakka?” Ajani asked.
Kresh stopped and took a casual look around, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. “We’re not far,” he said, and continued walking.
Kresh didn’t seem the least bit curious where Ajani had come from, or what he was doing on his world. He seemed perfectly content to let Ajani stay a symbol, a spirit guide, rather than a person unto himself.
“What’s Rakka like?” he asked the warrior leader. “Should I prepare magic for her?”
“Just know this: Rakka is a traitor. Her heart is strong and fickle—a dangerous combination. But you’re our talisman, white cat. You’re our pole star. You’ll sway fate’s favor in what I’m sure will be a mighty battle.”
The warriors grunted in agreement around them.
“I doubt I’ll sway any such thing, Kresh. I do not wish to be anyone’s talisman. But I’m glad to have you by my side.”
Ajani couldn’t figure out the human, Kresh, leader of