No, Jahrra thought, her arms and legs going numb. No!
He wore the black and red colors of the Tyrant, along with a smile not exuding charm, but malice. Jaax and Ellyesce had been right. Keiron had betrayed them. She didn’t know whether she should mourn what she had believed was a growing trust and affection between them, or give in to the rage and sorrow she felt at his treachery of not just her, but his own people as well. Perhaps, she could manage both.
When he stood only ten feet away, Keiron slowed to a stop, his ice blue eyes studying her from head to toe. It felt as if someone was scraping a razor over her; one false move and she’d be cut deep. Jahrra’s stomach lurched again, and she fought every instinct in her body compelling her to lunge at him and run him through with her sword. He was still as handsome as ever, even dressed in the colors of her enemy, but his bearing, his posture and his attitude sickened her. The charming prince was gone, the monster beneath the fine shell revealed. How on Ethoes had she ever let him pull the wool over her eyes?
Keiron, supposedly having finished his survey, drew in a deep breath and let it out on a long suffering sigh.
“So, you’ve kept that filthy little weasel with you after all,” he said, casting a sneering glance at the limbit standing several feet away.
“He’s not a weasel, you heap of horse dung!” Jahrra snarled. “He has far more honor in one of his discarded nail clippings than you contain in your entire person.”
Keiron’s cheeks turned slightly pink at the insult. Around them, feet shifted, and leather armor squeaked. Jahrra cast the mercenaries across from her a quick glance. Their lips trembled as they tried, and nearly failed, to hold in their laughter. For some perverse reason, this brought her a great amount of satisfaction.
“Is that so?” Keiron whispered, his tone as frosty as the mountain air.
Without any warning, he pushed past her, nearly knocking her into the snow, and closed in on the rest of their traveling party with undeterred purpose. Jahrra barked a surprised warning, but it was too late. She could only stand there, hissing over the sudden pain in her knee. The soldiers guarding her friends parted, and Keiron reached down to grab Dervit by the front of his vest. He dragged the limbit to the edge of the bridge as Ellyesce, Whinsey and Erron cried out in anger and fear, making to move forward. A pair of mercenaries crossed lances in front of them, keeping them trapped in place. The limbit fought valiantly against his captor, but to no avail. Jahrra watched helplessly as Keiron placed one foot on a broken portion of the bridge’s railing, lifting Dervit as if he was nothing more than a ragdoll. He turned cold eyes onto Jahrra, then shoved the hand grasping the limbit’s collar out over the side of the precipice.
Jahrra cried out and lunged forward, no longer caring about her knee, only to struggle against the soldiers who’d moved in to take hold of her arms.
“No! Keiron, don’t! Your fight is with me, not him! Leave him be!”
Dervit, his brown eyes huge with terror, clung to Keiron’s arm, no longer struggling to break free.
The Resai elf lifted one pale blond eyebrow. “Oh? You want me to let him go?” Keiron’s fingers loosened, and Dervit slipped.
“No!!” Jahrra screamed, fighting against the soldiers, only to gasp in pain when all her weight shifted to her injured leg.
Several feet away, the others watched in horror. They could not move, for the ring of soldiers surrounding them now held swords to their throats.
Keiron chuckled, but didn’t draw Dervit back in from the edge of the bridge. He was enjoying his little game far too much.
“Enough, Keiron,” a cold, empty voice boomed from the southern end of the bridge.
The two men holding Jahrra tightened their grasp and grew absolutely still. She tore her gaze away from Dervit just long enough to catch a glimpse of the one who had spoken. A tall man wearing all black and riding a quahna. He pushed the hood of his cloak back, revealing an ugly brand on one cheek. Jahrra’s stomach dropped into her toes. She recognized that scar. A warped bloodrose. The mark of Cierryon. This was the high commander of the Red Flange. The monster responsible for Hroombra’s death.
He dismounted his steed with the ease of a hardened warrior and handed the reins off to a nearby mercenary. The beast snapped at the lackey, sharp teeth almost finding flesh. Ignoring the plight of his soldier, the high commander strode over to stand in front of Jahrra. He placed a gloved finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that her attention was entirely on him. Cold, black eyes regarded her from a face that was impossible to place. Resai, Nesnan, pure-blooded elf … She couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps, he contained a little blood from each race. His skin wasn’t as pale as Keiron’s, but not as dark as her friend Torrell’s, either. Yet, there was something about the tone of it that had nothing to do with natural pigmentation. It was as if his skin had been pale once and had become stained over the years. Maybe the brand used to create the scar on his cheek had contained some dark magic that now infected him.
The horrible man smiled, his teeth surprisingly white, as he rasped just loud enough for her to hear, “You know me girl, don’t you? I know you. I have known about you for years, following you around, waiting to see if my suspicions proved true. And, they did. I almost had you once. A long time ago, when you and your friends were so careless to go wandering around in the dark so far from your home.”
Jahrra’s eyes widened. Dear gods and goddesses of Ethoes. This was the man who had almost kidnapped her? During the scavenger hunt in Lensterans? The old fear she had felt then boiled up, making her good leg grow weaker. Agony shot up her other leg, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
“But, I have you now,” he breathed, running one gloved finger over her cheek. “And, I cannot wait to present you to my Master.”
Before Jahrra could so much as formulate a response, a reverberating roar cut through the frozen air, causing the loose snow and rocks farther up the slope to break free and tumble down the mountainside. The high commander jerked away from Jahrra and whipped around, his cloak unfurling in a gust of frigid wind as his attention snapped toward the open sky to the north of the mountain. Fighting back the tears of pain in her eyes, Jahrra blinked until her vision cleared. In the near distance, she made out three large shapes heading their way at break-neck speed. One was blue, the other almost black. But it was the third one, emerald green and flecked with copper and turquoise, that gave her the first rush of joy since they’d crossed the bridge.
“Jaax!!!” she screamed.
The high commander cursed and whirled back around to face his soldiers.
“Take cover! Do not lose the girl!” he snarled.
Black and red clad mercenaries scattered like rats, and soon, the bridge was a flurry of chaos and shouting. Keiron stepped away from the ledge and dropped Dervit in the snow.
“Dervit!” Jahrra cried out. “Get to Ellyesce and the others! Now!”
He glanced up, his brown eyes wide and full of fear. Instead of listening to her, however, he bolted forward and leapt at Phrym, grabbing hold of the stirrup and climbing into the saddle. He scrambled across the semequin’s back and managed to get hold of the reins, which had been dropped by the panicked soldiers.
Jahrra was about to yell at him to flee once again when another roar split the sky, quickly followed by a blast of heat. The men dragging Jahrra by the collar let her go, screaming in agony. She fell face first into the snow. Taking advantage of her opportunity, Jahrra rolled over and crawled as fast as she could toward Phrym. Curse her sprained knee! If not for her injury, she’d be in the saddle by now. Amidst the screaming and shouting, she managed to catch sight of Dervit and Phrym, only a dozen yards away. Her limbit friend was trying desperately to get the semequin to move in Jahrra’s direction, but Phrym was busy fighting off the collection of soldiers attempting to subdue him. Jahrra ground her teeth together and drew on a renewed spurt of energy. She might have to crawl, but she’d put everything she had into it.
A b
last of cool wind and a great shadow had her melting in relief. Jaax was mere feet from landing on the bridge. Screams and shouts of panicked terror rang out above her, along with the clash of metal and the twang of bowstrings. But, she knew this small contingency of soldiers was no match for three dragons. Soon, their enemy would either be crushed between dragons’ teeth, burned to a crisp or swept over the edge of the bridge.
Jahrra’s respite was short lived, however, when someone grabbed her hair, yanking her up into a half standing position. Jahrra gasped and reached up to free herself, but it was too late. A strong arm clasped her tightly around the middle, and a cool blade caressed her neck.
“Stop, or I’ll slit her throat!” Keiron snarled.
Jaax, the epitome of unchecked violence, grew still as he brought his entire weight down onto the bridge. His emerald eyes blazed with barely contained rage, and smoke seeped through his clenched teeth.
Jahrra knew, without a doubt, that the only thing keeping Keiron from dying a fiery death was his dagger pressed to her throat.
The Red Flange’s commander, whom Jahrra had lost track of in the skirmish, barked out, “Get the chains and secure the dragon.”
His men were wary at first, but their leader jerked his head to the side, and they reluctantly complied. They ran to their quahna, secured behind the fort, and came back quickly with heavy chains. They crept toward Jaax, unease clear in their jerky movements.
The Tanaan dragon remained motionless during the entire interlude, his intense gaze locked with Jahrra’s. She felt the blade at her throat rasp against her skin, and she gasped. Keiron was making sure her guardian stayed exactly where he was. Jahrra cast Jaax another careful look, searching for any injuries he might have sustained in Cahrdyarein or during the short battle on the bridge. She had been so worried about him, worried that the enemy could somehow overcome him despite the fact he had scales like iron and breathed fire. And here he was, standing like a tame dog and willingly submitting to this entrapment. The mere idea made her shudder with rage. How dare they do this to him?
More quickly than she thought possible, the soldiers had the chains wrapped a few times around Jaax’s neck and behind his shoulders. They were moving to drive spikes into the ground to secure the ends when the Tanaan dragon twitched. The mercenaries scrambled out of the way, diving to the ground and covering their heads as if awaiting a rain of fire.
“I’m warning you, dragon! Hold your ground!” Keiron barked, pressing the cold steel even closer to Jahrra’s skin. A sting elicited a gasp of pain and a warm, tickling sensation running down her neck told her he had nicked her skin. “You might incinerate me, but not before I cut her throat and push her over the edge!”
He dragged her farther along the barrier, stopping in front of another section of the railing that had crumbled away long ago. Jahrra gasped as Keiron shifted his hold on her so that his arm was the only thing keeping her from plunging to her death. Blinking back the sting of the biting wind, Jahrra peered down at the drop below her. She whimpered, unable to help herself. The chasm plunged downward for miles, it seemed. A white tendril thinner than a strand of thread, almost beyond the range of her vision, marked the river that cut through the bottom of the great canyon. Her good leg shifted, the toe of her boot knocking snow free of the stone road, sending out a plume of white powder that disappeared on a breath of wind.
On the opposite side of the bridge, Jaax instantly stilled, the loose chains dangling from his neck like the ends of a broken pendant. Jahrra could feel the tension in the air, could almost taste its pungent bitterness. She knew the odds for their escape weren’t very good, even with the other two dragons perched on outcroppings far above the bridge, waiting for the barest of openings to act. She wished she could turn her head so she might check if her other friends were unharmed, but it wasn’t worth risking Keiron’s wrath. The knife had already cut her once, and he still held it pressed firmly to her throat.
Keiron chuckled lightly and breathed into Jahrra’s ear, “Sorry about this, Jahrra, dearest. As pretty as you are, your value is far greater to the Crimson King. And, I worked too hard to win you over to give up now. It’s a shame we couldn’t have enjoyed a little time alone at the Round.”
He pressed his lips to the corner of her jaw, just below her ear, in a mock kiss. Disgust, as well as the heat of anger, shame and, if she was being entirely honest with herself, desire, swelled within her. She had wanted this with Keiron, this closeness, his affection, but that had been before she knew of his deceit. But, she could not afford to think of any of that now. She must cast her emotions aside and do what she must to survive.
Jahrra searched her brain for a clever method of escape. Surely, there had to be some way to get out of this mess, but what? She couldn’t take Keiron down. Had she been anywhere else, both her legs working at full capacity, she might have been able to distract him by shoving his knife out of the way long enough to gain the upper hand. But her knee would give out the moment she moved, and the only thing currently keeping her from plunging over the side of the bridge was the limit of Keiron’s temper.
Jahrra forced her spinning thoughts to slow, and her captor’s earlier words resurfaced in her mind. He had said if Jaax moved he would slit her throat and push her over the edge. In fact, the only thing keeping Jaax from moving at all, keeping him and his dragon companions from attacking the enemy, was her precarious position caught between Keiron’s dagger and the yawning chasm below. If the regent’s son simply pushed her over the edge, one of the dragons could catch her. There would be plenty of time before she hit the bottom. That was why he still held the knife against her neck. But, what if she shoved him? He wouldn’t be expecting it, and she was currently in the perfect position to use her arms and good leg to kick out. Only problem was, she would then fall backward through the gap, and he would sprawl onto the bridge. However, if she timed everything just right, the knife at her throat would be thrown wide. Instead of dying from a cut throat, she would be plunging to her death.
Not if Jaax comes after me, she thought with renewed determination.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jahrra made her decision. She tilted her chin, just enough to catch her guardian’s gaze with her own.
“Hold still!” Keiron snarled, tightening the arm around her waist but letting his grip on the dagger slacken. Perfect.
The look on Jahrra’s face must have given her away, because Jaax’s eyes abruptly widened. He understood what she was about to do. Jahrra took a deep breath, then time slowed to a crawl. With one final prayer sent up to Ethoes, she slapped Keiron’s blade clear of her throat and pivoted on one foot. Before he could react to her sudden movement, Jahrra shoved hard against his chest, sending him tripping backward into the snow. As the shouts of surprise and horror rose from all those gathered on the bridge, Jahrra fell backward, dropping into the abyss.
-Chapter Twenty-One-
Rescue, Recovery and Remorse
Time jerked free of its slow crawl the moment Jahrra began plummeting toward the white river so far below. Her stomach pressed flat against her spine as she fell, her arms and legs spread out as if she were merely floating atop Lake Ossar on a lazy summer afternoon without a care in the world. But she wasn’t back home in Oescienne, where life had been safe and secure. And, she wasn’t swimming. She was plunging to her death, and she would surely perish unless Jaax or one of the other dragons came through for her. The soldiers had not secured the chains to the ground, so her guardian should have taken to the air the second she went over. Had she been wrong? Could there be a darker, magical force at work here, keeping the dragons fastened in place?
The air rushed past her, so swiftly it stole the breath from her lungs and tore tears from her eyes. Jahrra wanted to scream, but she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs to do so. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately not to give in to despair. Jaax, where are you?!
Her salvation came first as a shadow, large and looming overhead. Jahrra’s eye
s flew open just as a huge green and copper shape rushed past her, another massive body diving toward the crevasse’s distant floor. When the emerald blur was fifty feet or so below her, it expanded, great leathery wings unfurling outward bringing it to a near-sudden stop.
Jahrra barely had enough time to brace herself before she slammed hard against Jaax’s back.
“Jahrra!” he snarled over the rush of wind. “Grab the chain!”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Gasping for breath, she scrabbled for the chain wrapped around his neck and curled her icy fingers about it, holding on as tightly as she could. Her sideways slide over his scales came to an abrupt halt, and she pulled herself forward, hooking her arm through the chain so that it cut into the crook of her elbow. She was not going to risk relying wholly upon her numb fingers to keep her in place.
“Hang on!” her guardian roared as he beat his wings furiously to gain speed.
Jahrra did as she was told, her grip tightening around his neck as much as her arm’s length would allow her. She would never admit it to Jaax, but the reason she held him so tightly had little to do with her worry over plunging to her death and everything to do with being so very glad to see him whole and mostly uninjured. She was also grateful she could blame the tears in her eyes on the biting wind.
For several moments, Jaax climbed through the air with the grace of one born to the sky. When he reached a point several dozen feet above the bridge, he banked left and made a nearly complete loop. Once Jahrra had steadied herself after the turn, she glanced beyond her guardian’s head and noticed they were approaching the great bridge of ice and stone from the side. Small dots of red and black scurried about in the snow as two larger reptilian shapes of slate blue and dark grey dove at them like cormorants after fish. Scarlet and ruby flames tinged the air, but the combined weapon power of the Red Flange kept the other two dragons at bay.
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