Dragons — red, blue, green, and even a white one — some with riders and some without, were in the sky fighting the demon spawn. He saw Hyden Hawk on the back of a massive red-scaled beast that could only have been Claret. He couldn’t remember his name, but he recognized the determined elf that was riding the shoulders of a smaller blue wyrm, too. Half a dozen others were engaged in the sky. Some of the dragons were viciously attacking the greater demons. They were doing some damage.
A large piece of something that was writhing and flapping came spiraling down and crashed into the snow. A great bellowing cloud of steam rose from it as hot brimstone blood met the frozen earth. Above, Claret spat the rest of it out of her mouth and roared. Mikahl took in what had landed before him and saw that it was nothing more than a single wing with a scallop of meat the size of a wagon cart attached to it.
Mikahl called forth the bright horse and took back to the air. He went after Hyden and Claret. Trying to catch up to the huge red dragon was akin to trying to catch a stallion while riding a mule. Mikahl was too torn over Rosa’s death to actually feel real hope, but he felt like they might be able to save some lives. Hyden looked like a child’s doll on a destrier’s back. His long black hair was flapping wildly out behind him, and his face was set in a determined grimace. The boney, triangular plates that ran down Claret’s spine were as tall as he was. Mikahl couldn’t see how Hyden stayed on as they banked and then dove, racing toward the castle, in direct pursuit of the Warlord.
Corva could do little more than hold on to the ridges in the fin-plate on the blue dragon’s back. The massive, yet quick, wyrm swept down across the demon horde and blasted huge swaths away with its liquid lightning spew. It dragged its razor-sharp, sword-long claws through the ranks of hellspawn as they went. Another blast of breath at a Choska sent the demon flailing into the face of the wall with a sickening smack.
Durge, on the back of the mighty green dragon, was big enough to use his leg muscles to hold on to the sinuous neck of his mount. He and the wyrm had landed in the wall breach and were deftly fighting back those dark, wingless things trying to enter the city. Lashing teeth and claws, and misty, poisonous dragon breath made most of them stall their invasion. Those that survived to get through met their end at the tip of Durge’s bladed staff.
Cheers resounded from the walls and in the streets as dragons came from everywhere, swooping, blasting and lashing the dark horde away from the refugees. Even though the streets were littered with the dead and dying, the dragons brought hope to those willing to take hold of it.
Claret veered off to snatch one of the greater demons out of the air. She did so effortlessly, like a mother dog picking up her puppy, only followed by a savage crunch of teeth and a blast of flame as she spat the ruined thing away. Edging back on course, the whole assault took maybe five heartbeats to complete, but it allowed Mikahl to catch up so that Hyden could hear him yelling.
“What’s your plan?” he called over the bitter wind.
Hyden had expected a friendlier greeting. He took in the stricken look on the High King’s face. He hadn’t seen his friend look that sad since they found Vaegon, or what was left of him, lying in the rubble of this very wall. He immediately figured that something had happened to either Lord Gregory or Queen Rosa. No others could affect Mikahl so strongly. He didn’t have time to dwell on what his senses picked up about Mik, though. Gerard was almost to Whitten Loch, and there was no time for emotion.
“Remember when you unleashed all of Ironspike’s power at once.” Hyden paused to adjust himself on the dragon’s back. Then he cast a spell so that his voice found Mikahl’s ears as if they were just standing and speaking to one another. “You made that thunder storm appear to drive the black dragon away from King Jarrek's men. Do you remember?”
“Aye!” Mikahl screamed back unnecessarily. “I remember.”
“I’m going to face off with Gerard, or whatever that blasted thing is now.” Hyden had to fight back a tear as he thought about the horrors his little brother must have been put through. “When I raise both of my hands over my head like so, do that again, but unleash all that power at me.”
“Are you mad?” Mikahl yelled. “Why not at that thing? You'll be killed.”
“Just do it, Mikahl,” Hyden commanded. “Swear to me you will.”
Mikahl didn’t want to blast his friend, but Hyden was insistent and looked as if there was some sort of method to his madness. He remembered thinking he was leaving Hyden to die once before. It was the last time he had seen him, yet here he was again. He had no choice but to trust him, so he gave his word. He tasted regret as soon as the oath was given because he couldn’t help but remember Hyden miscasting the simplest of spells and losing one of Oarly’s boots. There was still a goat somewhere that could no longer grow hair, too.
“Where?” he asked Hyden.
“Whitten Loch,” Hyden returned. “Right now.” Then Claret dove down like a streaking arrow, leaving the bright horse once again struggling to keep up.
Mikahl heard Hyden’s next words, too, even though Hyden hadn’t intended him to.
Hyden's voice grew full of concern, and then anguish. “Oh, Phen, no,” Hyden said. “No, don’t, Phen.”
Mikahl focused his gaze ahead and down into the castle’s courtyard. There, running from the palace steps toward the fountain pond, was Phen. Around him, elves and dwarven axe men were battling back the dark host, but Phen’s intention was obvious. The Warlord was wading into Whitten Loch, trying to find the place where the Wardstone was exposed. Phen was weaving his arms, casting a spell. Seeing him first, the Warlord sent a huge crimson pulse at the boy, then quickly turned and blasted another up at Hyden and Claret. Hyden nearly fell from Claret’s neck when he met the Warlord’s eyes-Gerard’s eyes.
Hearing the cries of “Dragon!” and “Hyden Hawk!” and the hope that filled those voices, Queen Willa rushed to her balcony and peeked out of the heavy oak sliding door to see what was happening. The last time she had chanced a look, her soldiers, the dwarves, and the Queen Mother’s elves had all been caught up in a brutal battle on her doorstep. She was surprised at how much ground her fighters had gained, but they were already losing it back to the fierce, evil creatures. When the palace’s entry was caved in, her personal guards, along with Telgra’s dozen guardians, had bolted the three of them in with a few of the most proficient sword masters. One of these men harrumphed at Queen Willa’s breach of security. She wasn’t supposed to be opening the doors.
“Hush your mouth, you big thug,” Queen Rosa said to him. “The queen has a right to see what’s going on outside.”
Queen Willa sucked in a breath and turned away from the sliver of daylight she had revealed. Rosa darted over to see what was going on. “Oh my,” she gasped.
A great, black-skinned beast stood with its leathery wings half open and stepped off into the fountain pond. Slick plate-covered flesh reflected in the rippling liquid. It strode, human-like, into the deeper water as if it were searching for something. It was a terrifying thing and it had eyes just like Hyden Skyler’s. It flicked its tail back and forth behind it, and its muscles rippled and flexed authoritatively. The Warlord towered over the men fighting around Whitten Loch. Easily twenty-five feet tall, it was only waist deep in the water as it neared the middle of the pond.
Rosa was glued to the scene until the top of a familiar head bobbed into view. She hadn’t seen Phen since he had recovered from his petrified state, but she recognized him immediately. Fear shook her to the very core as he charged out heedlessly to attack the massive demon beast.
Without thinking, she threw open the sliding door and charged out to the balcony rail. “No, Pin! NOOOO!”
Queen Willa’s guard and an elven swordsman roughly pulled her back inside.