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Out of nowhere, a colossal force slammed into them. Graydon coughed and clawed at
the air as he struggled to remain upright. Pia screamed, clutching him with both arms and
legs, as Eva grunted and slid down his back.
The wind was vicious, like a living creature. It tore at her hold on Graydon and raked
at the skin of her face. Between her legs, she felt the gryphon s powerful body straining
against a force that literally shoved him sideways. The ground tilted and raced up to
meet them.
As Linwe had said, the most Powerful among the Elves could take an affinity to air and
create a storm the size of Hurricane Rita.
And those ancients who were especially gifted had an affinity to more than one
element that tended to be compatible with each other.
Like fire and air. That sort of thing.
Ancient and adept, Gaeleval was nothing if not gifted.
At the last moment, Graydon managed to yank up straight enough so that he took the
brunt of the impact with the ground. He plowed into the rocky path, and as he struck, the
landing knocked both Eva and Pia off his back.
It could be worse, it could be worse, it could be worse, Pia chanted in her head, even
as she tumbled head over heels. She struck the trunk of a tree bruisingly along her left
shoulder. It knocked the breath out of her, and her arm went numb. Cursing, Eva skidded
on the ground beside her.
It could be worse.
Graydon had been cautious. He had flown low over the path. They hadn t been that
high off the ground.
Not like Dragos and Calondir.
Pia dragged air back into her aching lungs and screamed again as she scrambled onto
her hands and knees. She raked the sky with a frantic gaze.
A rotation of air had formed around the dragon, a visible dark funnel cloud constructed
with hurricane force winds. Dragos s long body stretched, tail lashing as he fought to gain
purchase.
Elsewhere, the gale had flattened everyone else. The bluff was cleared of any
climbing Numenlaurians. Elven and Wyr fighters at the top of the bluff were crawling
away from the edge. Sharp cracks of sound, like the percussion of modern artillery,
sounded as trees snapped at the trunk.
Graydon lunged for Pia and covered her with his massive lion s body.
Are you all right? he asked telepathically.
Yes. She grabbed for Eva s arm and dragged the other woman underneath the
gryphon s protection. Are you? Can you fly?
Not in this, cupcake. None of us can get off the ground and hope to stay aloft.
She could feel Graydon s lungs working like bellows and the tension in his muscles as
the gale threatened to send him crashing into the trees. On the high ground of the path,
they were exposed to the worst of the wind that howled with an eerie sound like a
thousand banshees. He crouched lower over the two women, his huge claws digging into
the rocky ground for purchase.
Eyes streaming with tears, her terrified gaze went back to Dragos. This gods-damned
gale threatened to flatten Graydon while he was on the ground. She couldn t imagine how
Dragos had managed to stay in the air.
Even as she wondered, the funnel cloud took hold of the dragon and spun him in a
circle.
A gleaming sliver of silver fell from his back. The dragon lunged to grab at it and
missed. The bright silver streaked toward the earth like the fall of a god s tear.
Calondir.
She saw the very moment Dragos lost control. It looked as if an invisible hand lifted
him up and flipped him over so that he turned completely upside down. He twisted in
midair, like a gigantic cat trying to land on its feet.
One of his massive, powerful wings snapped like a twig. Suddenly he plunged
downward in an escalating spiral.
Then the sound of the dragon s body as it struck the valley floor rolled through the air
like thunder.
SEVENTEEN
No, nothing did shine forever.
Everything, even the universe itself, would end eventually.
The wind died down as suddenly as it had sprung up. It was no longer needed.
Dragos sprawled on the valley floor. Calondir lay nearby. The Elf Lord s head angled
toward him, one arm flung out. The fingers of his hand curled over his palm as if he
cupped something immeasurably precious. His face appeared young and peaceful, wiped
clean of grief and stress. He looked like he had fallen asleep.
Dragos tried to move, and jagged pain tore through him. He felt as if someone had
embedded shards of glass throughout his body. Mentally he assessed the damage.
Broken neck and back, shattered ribs, and one broken wing.
It would take a lot more than a fall like that to kill him.
It would probably take all of the enthralled Elves who gathered around to gaze at him
with empty eyes. He flexed the talons of one paw, but he lacked the ability to lift his front
leg. His ribs had punctured one of his lungs, and he couldn t draw in a deep enough
breath to spit fire. He needed time to recover, time to whisper a beguilement to combat
Gaeleval s control over the Elves that drew close. Time that he didn t have.
Beluviel walked into his line of sight. She was filthy and wore a torn, silken nightgown,
and she carried a sword encrusted with dried blood. Barefoot, she left tracks of bright red
in the snow, and long, tangled dark hair fell about her blank face like a shroud.
She knelt on one knee beside his head. You should have listened to me when I
warned you, Beast, she said. I really am the Bringer of the End of Days. She stroked
his snout gently, then braced one hand on him while she raised the sword over her head,
angling the sharp tip toward one of his eyes.
A mountain fell out of the sky, and agony exploded as pieces of it landed on him. A
second later, his mind processed what he had actually seen and spat out the information.
Graydon had plummeted with killing speed, shapeshifting into his human form even as
he slammed into Beluviel and knocked her away from Dragos s head. The tip of her sword
sliced the corner of Dragos s eyelid as it flew out of her hand. Pia and Eva, who had been
riding on the gryphon s back, tumbled onto Dragos in an uncontrolled tangle of arms and
legs.
A steaming trickle of blood from the cut slid down the side of his face. More agony, as
Eva unceremoniously rolled off of him and leaped to the ground, drawing both swords
that had been strapped to her back. She lunged to engage the Elves that crowded close,
her dark features lit with ferocity.
Pia scrambled over the mound of his shoulder and slithered on her stomach headfirst
to land in an awkward heap on the ground just under his chin. She wore her armor, he
noticed with satisfaction, and she carried her crossbow slung over one shoulder along
with a belt of bolts.
Dragging herself to her knees, she screamed at him, Where are you hurt?
He coughed, and that was agonizing too. He told her telepathically, Neck, back, ribs,
wing.
Goddammit, she said. The only other two times I did this there was an actual
wound.
What did she mean, the other two times? She had healed him once when they had
run from the Goblin army. Who else had she healed?
I am actually wounded, he told her, bemused.
That s not what I meant, she snarled. I meant the wounds were on the surface and
visible.
She looked and sounded demented. She yanked a crossbow bolt out of the belt and
raked the tip of it down one of her forearms, from elbow to wrist. Blood and Power
poured from the deep cut. Then she turned and jammed her entire arm into his mouth.
He gagged as her elbow hit the back of his tongue. I am overwhelmed by your
bedside manner.
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