Bastian and Keylor battled as only dragons can, claws drawing along hardened scales, fire singeing, crashing into courtyard walls and stair railings as they beat wings at each other and slashed with tails at sensitive eyes and undersides.
Keylor was stronger, longer-limbed, and faster.
But Bastian was smarter, and he had unexpected endurance from his years of diving.
He could hold his breath when Keylor ignited the air around him, when Keylor had to suck hot breath in, and stagger back as the heat scorched unprotected throat and lungs, or pull his head back out of the flame, leaving himself exposed to slashing claws and gnashing teeth.
They tumbled, wings tangling, and tore scales from each other.
Keylor fought like a thing possessed, confident in his superior strength.
Bastian fought like he swam, making the best use of his advantages and compensating for his weaknesses.
He also had more to lose; if he lost this challenge, he knew he would lose Saina’s Voice, and with her, Saina.
So he poured everything into his fight, ignoring the bites and the wing tears when it allowed him to slip past Keylor’s defenses.
When Keylor leaped onto one of the walls, trying to increase his advantage with height, Bastian gathered himself and leaped after him, and Keylor took the battle to the air with strong wing beats.
Come and get me brother-not, he taunted.
This was a new disadvantage for Bastian, whose strength was not so concentrated in his wings. They swept upwards, then tumbled and dove, slashing and flaming at each other
Bastian tried to use fast, sniping techniques, only to find that Keylor was faster, and still stronger, and met every attack with confidence and cunning.
They battered at each other, angry and mighty, and red blood stained green scales as they fought.
Bastian wanted to protest that this was not an honorable fight; they would be evenly matched if Keylor were not dosed with goldshot. Or, he thought lustfully, if he were also dosed.
I concede! he finally said when they broke apart at last. Fair or not, this would be Keylor’s fight. Bastian had failed Saina.
Keylor paused to pose with an egotistical roar. Win! Smite! Flame!
I conceded! Bastian protested, darting aside at the last moment as Keylor shot a column of flame where he’d been.
Fight! Kill! Dominate! Keylor’s eyes were brilliant red, glowing in madness and bloodlust.
Stop! Brother! Bastian had to dive a side as Keylor came for him, claws-first. He rolled barely in time, and claws scraped across hard scales.
Brother-not! Keylor replied derisively, flaming in his direction.
Bastian began to concentrate on escape, winging upwards while holding his breath. Keylor caught him easily, wings more powerful and more used to flying. Bastian bit and flamed, then darted away through the clouds, trusting his nose.
Keylor was not going let his prey go willingly now; he was out for blood, not just victory.
Bastian desperately winged through the low coastal clouds, twisting away from Keylor’s teeth and claws, slashing with his tail as he climbed into the sky and dived away. Only the fact that he wasn’t flying in a predictable dragon pattern kept him safely ahead of the glinting weaponry… and it didn’t last long.
Prey! Claw! Kill! Keylor slashed him with a swipe of a lucky claw at his underbelly, and when Bastian’s wing beats faltered in pain and shock, Keylor caught him with his tail, and put claws to his chest as his own strong wings kept them aloft.
There is no honor in this, Bastian roared, flaming directly into Keylor’s face to drive him back.
Honor is a dead thing, Keylor replied, and he flexed his claws into Bastian’s chest, piercing the finer scales around his heart.
Chapter 27
Saina sang the last bars without the slightest hint of magic, and the bar broke into applause.
Above them, the restaurant, which had frozen to listen, also cheered, and there were even whistles and stomps. Saina replaced the microphone and stepped down from the little stage, and everyone went cheerfully back to their meals and drinks, exactly as she’d meant them to.