“There are few laws that magic obeys. Most of them are not hard to understand, nor difficult to follow. Only one seems to catch us time and again. People are weak to loss, weak to unhappy endings. They find it hard to let go. There are few people who can truly accept the finality of death.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

"We need to tell Cevora to pull back,” Bek said icily, straining to turn and fix his gaze on the three vampires behind him on Skourett’s back.

Together, they were too heavy for the hatchling dragon, but they had no choice. His arm was broken, Zarius was on a rampage, and Seijelar was not responding to any of them. Together, the two dragons had torn through more than a dozen soldiers trying to escape the enemy dragons that had descended like carrion crows in the final moments of Illian’s life. He was only surprised they had not come sooner.

When Olrier did not respond immediately, Bek turned away in disgust. “Is she dead, Skourett?” His dragon was rapidly closing the distance between them and the other two dragons.

“My sister has lost all reason. I believe so.”

“How could this happen?” Bek demanded, clenching his hand around the leather strap holding him to his dragon’s back. Skourett hit the ground, jerking him painfully forward, and then spun, spiked tail whistling through the air to send an approaching soldier flying.

“The danger here is too great. If we linger any longer, we will lose our lives as well. Whatever we’ve come to retrieve, let’s have it and be away.”

“Get off the ground,” Olrier finally said, urgently. Bek glanced back at him, seeing that the vampire’s eyes were trained in the direction of Illian and Silver.

“Olrier, we should at least retrieve Izathral,” Vespar sounded nervous. Bek was surprised when Olrier ignored the other vampire to grab Bek’s good arm, eyes bright.

“If you value your life, we need to fly. Now.”

Bek narrowed his eyes at the vampire. “What—” he began to ask.

“Now!” Olrier snarled.

“Skourett,” Bek said. The dragon roared something at Seijelar and Zarius, launching sharply upward.

“Olrier, I don’t understand. If they take the sword to the srinn of Alti—,” Vespar said, but Olrier interrupted him.

“Right now, that’s the least of our concerns. Illian failed.”

“What are you talking about?” Bek asked. He followed Olrier’s gaze down, and felt his eyes widen.

Silver was sitting up.

“I thought…” his voice trailed away as she extended one arm. From several meters across the trampled earth, Izathral flew to her. For some reason, the sight alone sent a stab of dread through him.

“Now is not the time to explain,” Olrier said heavily, “has the princess been taken the castle?”

“Not yet,” Bek replied distractedly.

“Relay a message through the dragons. Now is the time to push into the port city. Ignore the wall. We are no longer preserving resources for a drawn-out conflict. This ends today.”

“Olrier,” Urias said warningly.

“You’ll understand soon,” Olrier growled. “Just listen to me. Send the message.”

Bek heard the horrible, keening wail of Silver’s blade against that of the man who had killed Illian, even from a distance. Sparks danced away from them before she lunged upward, shrugging off his blade and then sliding her own through his ribs. If she hit bone, it must have been as brittle as glass.

“The others have heard,” Skourett rumbled, banking to keep them near Zarius and Seijelar as he roared for his sister to join them in the skies. Bek could see the crimson dragon’s reluctance, but the beast leapt skyward moments before an explosion shook the battlefield. The shock wave caught them, driving Skourett back through the air as the dragon struggled to remain level. Even from the sky, Bek felt the heat of the blast. It dried the sweat from his face instantly.

“What was that?” Vespar shouted.

Bek thought he knew. It was centered around Silver. Fire shot out from its origin, great lines that twisted sinuously across the battlefield. They roared hundreds of meters into the distance, until they spanned half the breadth of the port city. Those walls of flame formed some sort of pattern, some sort of great spell circuit, but he had no clue what it must do. He stared in disbelief, shaking his head ever so slightly. No one could do that. No one could do that and live.

“What is it?” Urias echoed his thoughts. Bek looked back at Olrier once more. The vampire stared with eyes that said he knew exactly what he was seeing, and that he had never expected to see it in his lifetime.

“What is it, Olrier?” Bek growled. The vampire’s golden eyes turned to him, hunted.

“It’s how we take the city,” Olrier said simply. Bek shook his head. His eyes were furious, dark and cold and eerily shadowed against his expressionless face, when he raked them across the battlefield. A great plume of dust-thickened smoke rose from the explosion, engulfing a quarter of the king’s army in a sinister cloud. Minutes passed before the dust cleared enough for them to catch a glimpse of Silver again, minutes in which Seijelar circled just below them, keening piercingly.

“Silver does not answer her,” Skourett rumbled once, glancing back at him. Bek had no answers for the dragons. He was left to stare with them at the single figure standing at the center of a crater that stretched easily the length of half a football field on all sides. The upturned soil around Silver and Illian was worn smooth. It steamed gently beneath the pale sun, scoured clean of rocks or plant life, or of anything else at all. What drew his eyes, however, was not the crater, but the aura of crimson magic that flared and crested in great, peaking waves all around Silver. It was only slowly seeping back into her skin.

“Her magic is…visible?” Urias observed softly. The vampire’s words hung, tantalizing and unanswered, on the air.

“We need to take her to Sara before the king’s dragons land again. I don’t see Zarius anywhere,” Bek determined, “take us closer, Skourett.”

“We’ll only be in her way,” Olrier stated calmly.

Bek glared back at him, but it was Urias who spoke, voice breaking, “Her magic is so concentrated that we can see it. That’s impossible for a human. It means she’s dying, Bek. Silver’s giving everything to us, at the cost of her own life.”

Seijelar roared once more, and finally, Silver looked up. First at the crimson dragon, then at Skourett…and at Bek. Her crimson eyes locked with his. They were the color of freshly spilt blood, shining with an eerie illumination he attributed to her magic. A cold prickle of fear rolled up his spine. Though their gazes only met for the briefest of seconds, it felt like an eternity. Once, he had sworn to Illian that she was not capable of a gaze so endless, so empty.

Such a fool.

How many times, since they had come to Alti, had he sensed the power that lurked inside of her? How many times had he noticed the tumult just beneath the surface of her watchful gaze? How many times had he seen her expression reflect his own, but darker, colder, starker. So many people had warned him, and he had persisted. He did not want to believe that the woman he knew could be degraded slowly by the memories she had lost. He did not want to believe he could be so wrong.

Not even when he saw her leap forward, propelled by her magic. There was a shimmering silver stab at the air in front of her and a man fell, but she was already gone, slicing through the crowd, dancing in and out of Bek’s sight and knocking the black tide back into the distance. The king’s dragons followed her, sweeping in overhead to spit noxious streams of burning flame in the girl’s path. The dragons of the Issurak flew to meet them. The heavens became a knot of colored dragons, shimmering like jewels in the sooty blackness of the sky, joined by nightwings and other winged beasts that protected the bearer of their sword, the one who fought for them and their kind.

And Silver’s flames still burned, great snaking lines that swallowed anything that came too close. They were alive in themselves

Nerske. That was what they called her. Beastspeaker. Wielder of Izathral.

“I knew she was talented, Olrier, but she must be the most powerful pyromancer of our age,” Vespar said. He received no response. And then Skourett hissed, rising sharply higher. Bek looked around them at the decimated battleground, thinking there must be some threat.

“Etrion srinn has fallen,” the dragon’s voice came to him.

“What?”

“What have you learned?” Olrier asked sharply, hearing his tone.

“The srinn of dragons was defeated,” Bek growled.

“Dead?” the vampire’s voice was disbelieving.

“Skourett,” Bek prompted, wondering if his dragon had gone silent because the others were speaking, or for some other reason.

“Etrion srinn will leave us soon. Her wounds are dire. The king’s dragon…it is the beast who killed the queen.” This time, the dragon had spoken so that the vampires could hear as well.

“He’s finally shown himself.” Olrier did not seem surprised. “He must have some scheme in play.”

“The srinn of men is astride him. My sister comes.”

Skourett shifted as Seijelar appeared beside them, green eyes wild, but demeanor calmer than Bek had expected. The dragon was bleeding from multiple wounds, missing scales all across its broad back.

“Fanged one,” Seijelar rumbled, fixing one great eye on Olrier, “you know what magic Silver has used.”

“I might,” the vampire hedged, frowning at the crimson beast. Seijelar was uncharacteristically accepting of his reluctance to speak.

“Etrion srinn spoke directly to me. She leaves a task for you.” The vampire’s golden eyes narrowed. “Silver’s life is to be saved.”

“Your srinn gives me an impossible task.”

“No,” Seijelar hissed, keeping side-by-side with Skourett as they drifted higher to avoid the chaos unfolding ahead of them. “She gives you hope. If Silver is saved, Alti lives on.”

“Even the dragons cannot see the future with such certainty,” Olrier stated, voice hard.

“This is not foresight, fanged one. This is fact.”

There was a pause before Olrier bowed his head slightly. “Tell your srinn that I humbly accept her task, dragon.” Seijelar snorted, eyes dulling for a moment in pain.

“Then we will go to Silver, together. The dragon who carries the king turns his eyes on her—”

“Why?” Bek interjected, staring hard at Silver’s dragon. The beast blinked wearily, snorting sparks again.

“What is a dragon but a being who destroys the mightiest of kings merely because they are mighty? The srinn of dragons fell to him. The srinn of men sits astride him, within his grasp. The kuirsrinn is momentarily out of his reach, so where else to turn his gaze than to one who displays their power so openly? Silver invites conflict. She draws him. I do not know why, but I feel it. She calls him on purpose.”

Bek shook his head, turning towards the earth far below them. Silver was moving quickly, fire pulsing through the soldiers around her, her sword flashing with incredible speed. She never paused. She never looked back at the path she razed.

It was clear where she was headed; towards the gates of the Grand Castle.