Thrall - Christie Golden [73]
Despite the blue dragons’ affinity with cold magic, Kalecgos felt warm to Thrall. Warmer than either Desharin or Tick had felt when he had ridden atop them. If what Thrall had experienced flying atop the other two dragons had been a whisper, sitting on the back of the blue Aspect was a joyful shout. Energy, the crackle of magic, flowed through Thrall, and he held on as Kalecgos darted and dove. Kalec swooped down on a pair of twilight dragons, breathing a deadly, icy breath. They bellowed in pain and turned translucent—everywhere save where Kalec’s breath had touched them, freezing the flesh solid. Kalec turned and struck one with his tail, shattering her frozen foreleg. The other’s wing had been frozen, and now the twilight dragon fell frantically, her useless wing unable to bear her.
The orc and the Aspect were in beautiful synchronicity. Thrall stayed atop Kalec as if he were welded on, feeling no fear as the great being dove and banked and swerved. Kalec attacked with magic, illusions that lured one twilight dragon one way while Kalec dove toward another, moving almost close enough to touch a third so that Thrall could make his own attack.
“The back of the skull!” shouted Kalecgos.
Thrall sprang, in such perfect sync with Kalecgos that he did not give it a second thought. He landed on the neck of one of the twilight dragons and brought the Doomhammer crashing down where Kalec had told him to strike. So surprised was the beast that she didn’t even have a chance to shift, instead dying instantly and plummeting toward the earth. And there was Kalec, swooping in smoothly, and again Thrall leaped from the back of one dragon to another. The Aspect’s wings beat, and up they climbed, ready to continue the battle. The orc glanced about, barely winded, senses at peak alert, and permitted himself a small smile.
The blues were winning.
FIFTEEN
The blues were winning!
They were outnumbered, but they were unquestionably winning this battle. They had been heartened with the appearance of a new Aspect. The ritual had worked; the blessing of the titans had been humbly requested and granted; and the upwelling of joy and relief had given the dragons new energy and strength of will to fight to protect themselves.
This was not how it was supposed to happen!
Bleeding, part of him frozen, one wing damaged from the targeted attack by Kalecgos, Arygos maintained himself in flight with an effort. He felt weak, and frightened, and was accustomed to neither sensation.
How had things gone so terribly wrong?
All Arygos could think about—like any trapped animal, he thought with a mixture of panic and disgust—was safety. A den. A place to recover and rest and think. There was one such place, where he could be calm and shake this terror that seemed to clamp down on his brain like a dark fog.
He glanced about wildly for Kalecgos. There he was, huge and luminous and proud, radiant with all the power that he, Arygos, should have been chosen to embody. And atop his back, adding insult to injury, was Kalec’s beloved orc clinging like a burr, swinging his hammer and smashing the skulls of Arygos’s twilight dragons.
The Eye. He had to go to the Eye of Eternity, to think, to rally, to come up with some plan. It was the heart of the Nexus, his father’s place of refuge and retreat, and it called to him now in his moment of panic. Just the thought sent at least some manner of steadiness through him. Whimpering, as ill befit a dragon, he spread his wings and flew. He dove from the pinnacle of the Nexus, where the aerial battle was going so impossibly poorly, like a stone. He fell more than flew, at the last moment opening his wings and gliding into the entrance of the Nexus. Through its labyrinthine passages he bolted, his heart racing as panic dug its icy claws into his heart.
And there it was: a swirling, misty portal. On the other side was the Eye of Eternity. Arygos flew swiftly through it, emerging into the night sky of this small dimension