"Tyrus!" Moria shouted.
The young warrior spun, his blade spinning with him, swinging for Alvar. Ashyn's torch flashed out. The sound of a blade hitting flesh. A hiss of pain. Moria yelled, "Tyrus!" pushing herself up to standing, and t
hen light appeared again from Gavril's fingers as he ran, sword raised.
But Tyrus stood there alone, his bloodied blade held aloft. There was no sign of Alvar. They caught the sound of feet echoing through the passage. Dalain's blade struck the remaining warrior, putting him down fast. Dalain ran for the doorway, through which someone was already leaving. He said, "Sabre!" before following the girl. Tyrus lunged after them, telling Dalain to come back, telling them both not to follow--
"Blast it!" Tyrus said. He swung his sword in frustration, blood flicking from the blade.
"Go," Moria said. Then she stumbled, her knees giving way as blood flowed between her fingers, and she fell back onto the dragon.
Ronan took off, saying, "You stay here. I've got this, and I'll find Tova," as he ran for the exit. Ashyn let out a gasp and a "No!" but he was already disappearing through the doorway.
"Daigo, please," Moria said as Gavril dropped beside her.
The wildcat didn't hesitate. He tore off after Ronan.
"Ashyn," Moria whispered, the pain in her side making her struggle for breath. "Stay. Please."
Ashyn didn't hesitate either. She ran over, discarding her cloak and dropping beside Gavril, and the two worked to staunch the bleeding while Tyrus hovered, blade in hand. Edwyn's two women had left, scrambling out when they got the chance.
Moria lay wedged between the mother dragon and one of the whelps. A dragon throne, she thought, and chuckled, and the sound had all three of the others looking over in alarm. She felt oddly disengaged from her body, as if she was already half spirit, fluttering there by a tether.
"I'll stay tethered," she murmured, and they all froze, eyes wide with encroaching panic.
"Sorry," she mumbled, her words coming thick. "I only mean I'll not go."
Which was not, she reflected, the right thing to say, as panic grew in three pairs of eyes and Ashyn and Gavril worked harder, Gavril whispering magical words, healing words, his voice trembling as much as Ashyn's fingers.
I ought not to speak. I ought to simply focus on staying. That is the important thing. Staying.
She thought the words with a truly unnerving calm, as if she was deciding simply to remain for breakfast. Perhaps the fact that it was a question at all ought to worry her, that floating sensation saying she was, indeed, treading the boundary of the second world.
No matter. I'll not cross it. I'll stay on my throne of dragons. A trio of--
Scales moved under her outstretched hand. She pressed her fingers against the dragon whelp's flank as it seemed to twitch.
That would be odd, wouldn't it? If I woke a dragon in spite of everything.
She tried not to giggle at the thought. That's what she wanted to do--giggle as she'd not done since she'd last drunk too much honey wine. That was how she felt, floating there.
Of course, she was simply hallucinating the movement. The dragon was still cold.
Cold . . .
Dragons . . . snakes . . . lizards. What did they have in common? Beasts whose blood ran cool. Lizards lay in the sun to warm themselves because they were not naturally warm-blooded.
Interesting . . .
She rolled her head to the side. Her eyes closed, as if the effort of keeping them open took too much strength. Ashyn cried out. Hands flew to Moria's throat--not Ashyn's soft fingers, but rough ones, pressing hard. Then other hands, on her shoulders, trying to rouse her even as Gavril growled to stop shaking her.
She opened her eyes to see the face of a dragon. And Tyrus's above it, watching her anxiously, exhaling in relief when her eyes opened.
"The dragon . . ." she whispered. "It moves."
"She's in shock," Gavril said. "Tyrus, I know you're worried, but get back."
"No." Moria fumbled for Tyrus's hand and pressed it to the dragon's side. "Do you feel that?"