“They have a camp in the high mountains, in the caves and well hidden, and well established. I’d say they’ve been there some months, and maybe longer. So not come through the guards, but already here and hiding out, with their witches conjuring shields and—what is it?—the camouflage. A good dozen of them from the looks of it, and the two that fled from here led me right to the camp.
“Drink now, Breen, and I’d say none of the dragons would object if you used their pool to wash.”
She took the skin, drank deep. “That can wait. So many were hurt.”
“We’ve more healers now, and I’m grieved to say no more of the littles left to help.”
When Breen dropped her head on her shoulder, Morena wrapped an arm around her.
“Never have I seen such a horror as when I looked down at all this. May those evil bastards burn in eternal torment. Some were nestlings still.”
“How many lost? Do we know?”
“I don’t have the heart to count. But oh gods, Breen, Brian’s Hero fell.”
“No. No. No.”
“Aisling’s here, and she told me. Brian felt him fall, as a rider and dragon are bound. He felt him fall, one of the first, here as his mate’s nesting. He fell fighting to protect the rest.”
“What will he do? Oh, Morena.” She pushed the skin back into Morena’s hand and rose. “There’s no punishment harsh enough for this.”
Covered with blood and ash, she walked to the center of the plateau, then held up her hand. Waited, waited, then closed it around the pendant that came to her.
She draped it over her filthy shirt where it glowed like a bloodred sun.
“Odran the Damned, hear me!”
“Mo stór.”
She thrust out a hand as Marg moved to stop her.
“Hear me and know. Hear me and fear. Hear me as I stand on this ground bloodied and burned. On ground where magicks lived before you, and where they’ll live long after. Hear my voice as it travels beyond this world and into yours.”
And he did, she felt it, saw it. Saw him as he stood, his eyes black smoke, on the high cliff of his dark world. He reached for her, as if to draw her in, then jerked back as if burned.
“Feel my wrath and know I am your destroyer. For all your sins, time across time, I will exact payment. But for this, for this and this alone, I will make you burn. No dragon fire runs so hot as mine when it comes for you.”
Around her, dragons stood, hovered, rose up, and watched.
“Hear me and know. Hear me and fear. Here me as I make this vow at this time and on this place: Even in death I will end you and all who stand with you. My light burns beyond this life, this body, and will see the black embers of yours turn to cold ash.”
And she smiled as she saw the ground beneath him shake, saw the lightning—hers—crack like whips across his sky.
“See me and know. See me and fear. And in me you see your end. I swear it.” She took the knife from her belt, drew the blade over her palm, then pressed her hands together. “And this I swear on dragon’s blood and my own.”
She lifted the bloodied blade high. Dragons rose up, a flood of color, of rage or grief.
And their cries boomed like thunder.
When she swiped the blade over her pants, sheathed it, Marg walked to her. Marg took her hands, healed the cut.
“You tempt him, Breen.”
In that moment, her face glowed as fiercely as the pendant she wore.
“Idarehim. Believe me, Nan.”
“I do. Come now, we’ve done all we can. Others can finish. You should go back now.”