Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [56]
And Caelan was one with them, a part of the interwoven net of power and protection crisscrossing the hold. He rode it, letting sevaisin join him. Exhilaration swelled into his throat, and he wanted to laugh at the Thyzarenes and their monsters.
Brandishing both the key and his dagger, Caelan ran for the steps leading to the top of the walls. There, he paused and turned around, his clothes whipping in the air stirred up by the dragons’ wings.
One of the raiders flew at him, but Caelan raised the warding key without fear. “We are protected here!” he shouted, his voice deep with the power thrumming through him. “Leave us! Gather your beasts and depart.”
The Thyzarene stared at him in astonishment.
Caelan’s confidence grew. He had defeated a wind spirit. And now he defied a raider. If this was to be his destiny, then he embraced it willingly. He laughed again.
“Fear this!” he cried, bathed in the glow from the warding key. “Go, and come no more to E’nonhold.”
The raider was still staring. Then he threw back his head and bellowed with laughter.
It was scorn, mockery, and contempt all rolled together.
Surprised in turn, Caelan blinked, but he set his jaw and gripped the key harder as its fire raced through his veins. “You cannot harm us here while we have the protection of the Choven,” he said fiercely. “Go!”
The Thyzarene was still laughing, holding his sides and lolling about until it seemed he might fall off his hovering mount.
“Barbarian!” Caelan shouted in fresh anger. “Respect what you do not understand. We are loyal subjects of the emperor, not enemies for you to plunder.”
He tried to hurl the key’s power at this laughing fool, but instead the burning force raged more strongly in himself. No matter what he did, he could not direct it against the other man.
Below in the courtyard, a woman screamed. Caelan whipped around in time to see Anya running for her life, her skirts gathered high and her plump legs churning in thick woolen stockings. Overhead a dragon chased her with little snorts of fire, driving her back and forth for the amusement of its rider. Tongues of flame caught the back of her gown. The wool cloth ignited and suddenly she was on fire, screaming and spinning around in panic. The flames raced up her back, then her hair was on fire.
“No!” Caelan screamed. He started for the steps, but he was too far away to save her.
Beva reached her and hurled her bodily to the ground, making her roll. He grabbed someone’s cloak and threw it over her, trying to smother the flames.
Caelan felt sick. Anya had been like a second mother to him. She had cared for him all his life. He stared at her, rolled up and unmoving in the cloak, and prayed to the gods for her life.
The raider hovering before him laughed afresh. “We take what we please. You are nothing to us,” he said in a taunting voice, his Lingua strangely accented. “How do you make us go from here, little spell master?”
Furious, Caelan lunged at him. “I’ll drive you barbarians away with this—”
The dragon whipped its black head around to face Caelan’s attack. The dragon’s eyes were crimson, glowing fiercely against the black scales. It lifted its crest at him, and a narrow, forked tongue flickered from its mouth. Caelan nearly gagged on the hot, sulfurous stench of its breath. Then it roared, blasting him with sound, and he saw the rows of vicious teeth behind the fangs.
Holding the warding key as a shield, Caelan struck with his dagger, slashing the tip of the dragon’s snout. Dark, viscous blood welled up. The dragon whipped back its head, squalling in pain. The rider also shouted, but the dragon struck back furiously, hitting Caelan’s hand and knocking the warding key flying.
The triangle of metal sailed through the air, its glow dimming as it went, and it landed far below on the cobblestones. When it hit the ground, it shattered into pieces.
The connection to its power snapped in Caelan like an explosion in his chest. Doubling over, he cried out. Around the hold, in swift succession, the other keys also shattered into