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By Root 791 0

my sword upward, intercepting it, bracing myself for the inevitable blow. I was no stranger to swordplay, having had years of fencing lessons at Magoth’s behest, but there was a great difference between learning the style of fencing used by actors, and fighting for your life with a maniac dragon who apparently had powers well beyond what anyone thought. The impact of his sword on mine sent me to my knees, sparks flying from the blades as they screamed with the impact. I held on to the demon blade with all my might as Baltic—there was no doubt in my mind that the dragon before me was him—stood above me, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he crushed me into the ground.

“If you kill me, you’ll destroy the shard,” I told him, every muscle in my arms screaming as I fought to keep his sword from striking me.

“There’s no one to stop me from taking it from your corpse,” he said, spinning around, the blade dancing in the air as it descended toward me again.

I rolled away, hoping to get to my feet, but as I was in the act of rising, Baltic’s sword of light flashed, knocking mine from my hands. I watched in horror as it spun through the air, seemingly in slow motion, the dim light twinkling down the length of its blade as it tumbled handle over tip. It made a perfect arc upward, a graceful movement that I watched with despair. It hung in the air for a moment, then began its descent, just as graceful, but with each flash of its blade, my hope evaporated more, leaving nothing but resignation.

Just as the sword was about to strike the earth, a shadow tore itself through the webbing between worlds. A woman emerged, holding a staff of shining gold, which she slammed down into the ground, the reverberation from which knocked the demon’s sword backwards through the air, coincidentally sending me reeling against the wall.

The woman looked at me for a moment, silent but magnificent, a glorious corona of golden light emanating from her before both it and her crumpled and dissolved into nothing. A figure flashed through the mist she left behind, flying through the air and falling to the ground only to spring up again, the demon’s sword held in his hand.

“Gabriel,” I said, astonished.

Baltic froze for a moment, his gaze lingering on me for a second, and I feared for the space between heartbeats that he would kill me.

But as Gabriel stalked toward us, the demon’s blade glowing brightly in his hand, Baltic turned from me and met him with a little salute with his sword.

“I forgot that your mother was a shaman,” Baltic said, glancing toward the space where Kaawa had stood. “It must have cost her much to bring you here.”

“Not as much as it will cost you,” Gabriel said, answering the salute with one of his own. “I have seen paintings of Baltic. You do not bear a resemblance to any of them.”

The dragon merely smiled. “Appearances, as the mortals are so fond of saying, can be deceptive. You intend to fight for your mate.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“She is mine. I will not let her go,” Gabriel said, his eyes lit from deep within.

My heart was overwhelmed with love and fear, not for him, but for myself. I knew that according to dragon dogma, a wyvern’s mate could survive the loss of her dragon, but not the reverse. If Baltic killed Gabriel, though, the pain would just be too much to bear. I would live, but I would remain in the shadow world, hidden from life, bound to a love that would survive regardless of my wishes.

The dragon shard protested such a defeatist attitude, and for once, I welcomed the flow of emotions with which it filled me, easing the dagger from the sheath at my ankle, moving slowly and silently to a position behind Baltic.

“You make it all so easy,” Baltic said, shaking his head a split second before he lunged at Gabriel, his sword leaving a little contrail of blue light as it flashed in a complicated pattern above and around Gabriel.

My admiration for Gabriel, already pretty high, rose even more as he easily parried Baltic’s attacks with the sword of light. I knew from experience the sort of power the former