With some dexterity, she managed to submerge herself in the hot water, her tense muscles easing a little as the warmth suffused her skin. While she soaked in the tub, Jahrra let her mind wander back to what Saria had said. The young maid thought her plan of escape had been brilliant. Jahrra let her mouth curve into a small smile. At least someone did. So why not Jaax? Why did he have to be so impossible about everything all the time? Why did he have to criticize every risk she took, even if those risks ended up helping them in the end?
On top of all that, he had been right about Keiron, after all, which only added insult to injury. Jahrra had been careful to dash away any stray thoughts regarding the regent’s son, but now that she was alone, and now that she couldn’t fight it any longer, the memories spent with him in Cahrdyarein came flooding back, along with the unshed tears she had been denying all day. In the privacy of the small bathing room, in these few spare minutes, she would allow herself to grieve for the friend she thought she had gained. But when she emerged, she would think only of his treachery and deceit, for she would need a stronger resolve if she were to survive what the future had in store for her.
By the time Jahrra emerged from the bathing room, dressed in a loose tunic and comfortable pair of pants, her hair still slightly damp, she could barely keep her eyes open. Without a second thought, she grabbed one of the blankets and pillows from the basket beside the fire and curled up on the couch, falling almost instantly into a deep sleep.
-Chapter Twenty-Two-
Dragons’ Rage
After leaving Jahrra behind in the cavernous room in one of the many massive towers of Nimbronia, Jaax winged his way back down the mountainside. He was more than eager to return to the fray, if only to vent the anger and frustration still broiling in his heart. What had possessed Jahrra to throw herself from the bridge, he could not fathom. Yes, he had not given it a second thought to dive after her, but what if the Tyrant’s men had managed to fasten the chains to the ground? What if he had not been able to break free as quickly as he had? And, if he had been unable to go after her, would Sapheramin or Tollorias have reached her in time?
Just the very thought forced a torrent of emerald fire from his throat. And that was how he greeted those who remained perched above the great chasm: a roaring beast of legend, spitting flame and pure fury. The few scattered troops who remained, nothing more than red and black specks not too far below, dispersed and headed for whatever cover they could find beyond the southern end of the bridge. As Jaax banked right and dropped altitude, some of the pathetic creatures leaped short of the bridge’s endpoint, plummeting several dozen feet before landing hard against the precipitous slope. Some fell to their deaths, screaming in terror as they plunged ever downward. The sound of their fear echoing off the walls of the deep canyon didn’t dishearten Jaax. Instead, it fanned the flame of his wrath anew. These were the same vermin who dared harm Jahrra, the ones who might have been responsible for Hroombra’s death.
With a snarl and a roar, he let loose his fire again, searing the bridge to the point of melting away the layer of snow. He sped past his target, but quickly turned and headed back once more, his sharp gaze scanning the southern slope for more of the Tyrant’s soldiers. His eyes flitted back and forth, searching the rocky outcroppings that rose above the thick snow bank. His nostrils flared and his ears sharpened as he tried to use all his senses to find those he wished to destroy. Jaax beat his wings to keep himself suspended over the bridge as he waited, searching, hunting...
Then, he spotted movement. A trickle of snow sliding down the mountain and a flash of red. Snarling once more, Jaax dove, pumping his wings and taking in a great breath of air. He released it as he approached the small rock alcove, spitting fire into the narrow opening in a steady stream. Screams of agony scraped against his ears, and the sharp smell of burning flesh stung his nose. Good. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted them to pay for what they had tried to do and what they had already done.
The driving need to protect his own, an instinct as primitive as breathing, had taken over his ability to reason. But the desire to burn everything standing in his way faltered slightly when something, some intrusion, pushed against his resolve. It was nothing more than a distant whisper, but it soon grew closer. The Tanaan dragon stubbornly tried to shake it off, but as he drew in a deep breath to let his fire rain down once again, a familiar voice speaking a familiar name broke through the red haze of violence.
“Raejaaxorix! ENOUGH! Stop this madness!”
The green dragon whipped his head around, his wings still working to keep himself stable, and snarled at the intruding noise. He sucked in another ragged breath, the fire in his chest ready to incinerate the next person who dared stand in his way.
The figure who had called out to him, someone small like Jahrra but taller and dressed in a weathered cloak, jerked to a halt and threw his arms up in a defensive posture. His breathing was labored, and sweat beaded on his brow. Clearly, he had run toward Jaax from the opposite end of the bridge.
“Easy, old friend,” he gasped. “You know me. You’ve known me a very long time. I’m your elvin friend, Ellyesce. I traveled with you and Jahrra from Lidien, do you not remember?”
At the mention of Jahrra’s name, Jaax snarled again, a fiery green haze flashing over his eyes.
Ellyesce froze and held his palms higher.
“Jaax, she is safe. You took her up to the city. She is unharmed. You have done your duty.”
The voice of the elf was working its way into Jaax’s muddled mind. His nostrils flared, and he detected a metallic scent in the air. Blood. The blood of the Crimson King’s soldiers. The cut on Jahrra’s neck. His anger spiked once more, and he clenched his teeth, blowing smoke from his nose as he narrowed his silver green eyes at Ellyesce. A menacing snarl rattled deep within his chest, the fire building alongside it.
“Easy, Jaax,” the elf murmured. “You are in a protective rage, that’s all. I’ve seen you like this before, and I know you can shake it. Jahrra is safe. All of her friends are safe. The enemy has dispersed, and those who survived your wrath have fled and will not be returning any time soon. You have done your duty. You have eradicated the threat to your ward.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, the rage and fire within him melted away. His vision, as well as his mind, cleared, and soon he was looking upon a face he did recognize.
“Ellyesce,” he rasped, letting the tension drain from his body.
Jaax’s descent was quick and graceless. As the instinctual fury left him, his muscles relaxed, and he lost almost all of his strength. Fortunately, he had been hovering close to the bridge.
“Move back!” the elf shouted to those behind him as he jumped clear of Jaax’s clumsy landing.
The dragon hit the stone bridge hard, his back feet skidding against the slush that was once snow. He flapped his great wings, doing his best to regain his balance. Instead, he ended up landing partially on his side, his shoulder scraping against the rough stone.
“Gods and goddesses of Ethoes,” Ellyesce breathed, making his way swiftly to his friend’s side, now that he was no longer looming above, ready to roast him alive.