Of the remaining wildlings, Ness was far and away the worst off. Shinn was already directing Verk and Attalee to move her onto a makeshift litter. As the only two uninjured wildlings there, the pair of huntresses were looking haggard.

  As much as he wanted to pitch in and help, Aytin knew that there just wasn't time.

  "Can you get her out of here?" he asked Shinn, Zinzi, and the other walking wounded.

  They exchanged glances, and then Zinzi pushed Verk out of the way. "We have to," she said, and grasped one of the litter's poles with her good hand.

  The rest of the injured wildlings followed suit, and soon they were hustling their way out of the keep. They would wait in the gully for the next part of the battle to begin and use the distraction to break for the treeline.

  Aytin didn't bother watching the stretcher party. As soon as they were moving, he headed to the bodies of the dead brigands.

  "There weren't any survivors?"

  "There were." Attalee stressed the second word ever so slightly.

  A quick glance showed no hint of guilt in the huntress's face. Not that Aytin felt any, either. He would have liked to question one or two. Otherwise, his only regret was that none of them were left alive to take the plunge into the ocean with broken wings.

  Turning over one of the bodies, there was a deep slash across the throat and a look of horror in the male's empty eyes. Aytin ignored it, focusing instead on the dead dragonette's frame. Not too much larger than he was.

  'Xantha's still out there. He could just imagine her, a pair of long gashes through her wings and tumbling out of control through distant clouds. The prospect brought a dark smile to his lips as he started stripping the armor off of the corpse.

  Attalee apparently took his expression as a sign of approval, because she squatted next to him and started sorting through the bodies to find one about her size.

  One was close to a perfect match, but she frowned at the dark blue stains on the armor. "No one will believe this."

  "It's dark and they won't get close enough to tell." Aytin glanced around while cinching his own stolen armor tight. "Where's Verk?"

  The wildling was apparently unfamiliar with buckles. She sounded distracted as she replied, "Keeping watch. There were only two there when we arrived."

  It probably wouldn't have remained that way for long after the dragon's warning, but this had been the plan. Or close enough to it, anyway.

  Instead of complaining, Aytin tightened the final band on his armor and took a step towards his companion. "Here, let me-"

  But Attalee had already drawn her knife and sliced the offending buckle free. She quickly did the same for the others and slipped the breastplate off of the corpse. Aytin winced, but in the interest of speed he didn't stop her. He just helped her slip into the unfamiliar armor and tie the harness across her back.

  "Are you ready yet?" Verk called down from above. "I think I can see them!"

  "Yeah, coming now! Get to cover!"

  The confines of the keep were tight, but there was just enough room for Aytin to throw himself into the air and soar out through the gap in the walls. He caught sight of Verk as he banked. She was flying for the edge of the mesa, about where the lancers should be waiting.

  From the top of the keep, both dragonettes scanned the horizon. They didn't have Verk's ability to see in the dark, but that wasn't a problem for long.

  "There." Attalee pointed. In the distance, stars disappeared as something passed in front of them. Something big.

  The huntress's brow furrowed as she watched the dragon approach. "How is it so fast?"

  "All blue dragons are," Aytin answered. "Fast, but fragile."

  "Fragile," Attalee repeated, dubiously.

  "Compared to Faelon."

  She scanned the treeline. "But much faster than a dragonette."

  It was the direction that the diversionary group was supposed to return from. And there wasn't a sign of life out there.

  "We won't need them," Aytin said with false confidence. In truth, he wanted Rina there at his side. Her, and the ten other wildlings armed with bows and firepots.

  The dragon grew closer. Close enough that they could begin to make out forms in the dim moonlight. As Kalthor made his final approach, the huntress muttered through gritted teeth, "I hope you're right."

  It certainly looked like it. The blue dragon was on a fast approach, headed for a stretch of dirt just in front of the keep. Once he landed, Faelon would be on him.

  Everything seemed to be going just as they hoped. Right up until moments before landing, when their luck ran out.

  Whether it was instinct or a missing signal or one of the brigands had simply realized that the pair of "guards" weren't their own, it didn't matter. There was a shout, the twang of a bowstring, and the clank of metal striking metal as Attalee let out a pained grunt.

  Faelon sprinted out of cover, straight for the other dragon who was frantically beating his massive wings in an attempt to gain altitude. Taloned feet left furrows in the ground as they scraped past.

  And then the night turned to day.

  A red dragon's breath weapon was terrible to behold. Not only was the night air's chill replaced with the heat of desert noon, but Aytin felt the moisture sucked from his eyes and mouth just by being on the fringes of that blast. There was no way anything could survive that kind of immolation.

  But, impossibly, Kalthor soared clear of the inferno. Faelon had been forced to act too soon, and the blue had put every bit of his color's famed dexterity to use, banking away at the last moment and taking the hit on his armored belly.

  One of his passengers tumbled off, smashing into the ground with bone-breaking force. Black patches marred Kalthor's hide and he trailed a thin line of smoke. The dragon was hurt, obviously in serious pain. It just hadn't been enough to bring him down.

  A bolt of lightning erupted from Kalthor's maw. Distracted by injuries and evasive maneuvers, it only grazed the larger dragon's side. Hardly more than a scratch, but a taste of what was to come. The blue was already out of Faelon's reach, and gaining altitude with every wingbeat.

  Someone grabbed Aytin and yanked him down. When he saw that it was Attalee, he breathed a sigh of relief that at least she was still alright. Then the huntress turned slightly and revealed drops of blue trickling off her wings.

  The arrow hadn't been deflected by the armor like he had thought. Or, it had skidded off the steel breastplate, only to bury itself deep into the muscle of her wing.

  The wound glistened in the light of another blast of dragonfire. She wasn't in any danger of bleeding out, but even as he watched her face contorted in pain and the limb spasmed slightly.

  There wouldn't be any escape for her. Not flying. And as Kalthor's form rose above the rim of the parapets, Aytin realized there probably wouldn't be any for him, either.

  Attalee had dropped her bow in the attack. Aytin snatched it up and grabbed the final arrow from her quiver. Standing, he could just barely see the trio of remaining brigands as their dragon fought for altitude.

  One of them had been paying attention. There was a shout and they pointed back to the keep as the young dragonette struggled to draw the bow.

  The brigand had her own bow in hand, and she was already pulling back on the string. It was a race, and one Aytin was destined to lose.

  Facing the sudden appearance of a dragon below and interlopers in their base, it was no surprise that the remaining brigands were focusing their attention on the threats at hand. None of them saw the three figures approaching at high speed until it was too late.

  If nothing else, Kalthor's self-preservation instincts were well honed. At the shouted warning, he tucked his wings and dove towards the edge of the mesa. It was enough to dodge the first wildling lancer, who flashed above without so much as grazing the dragon.

  He didn't manage to avoid the second strike.

  Kalthor roared in pain as a lance pierced his side. Drav's body went tumbling below, spinning end over end, wings fluttering brokenly behind him.

  But dragons were enormous. A single lance strike might hit something vital. Maybe. This one hadn't. It was too far back, and at a bad angle. The spearhead had buried itself in flesh and muscle, nothing more.

  Just as Kalthor was extending his wings to pull out of the dive, the final lancer streaked in. Even coming from below, this one was faster than the other two. 'It's Khirk!' Aytin realized as the wildling channeled his magic to ride the winds right into the dragon's side.

  He struck at the base of the left wing and the lance embedded itself deep into the dragon's shoulder. Again, far from a mortal blow, piercing only hide and muscle but leaving the organs beneath untouched. A quickly healed annoyance on the ground. Slightly more troubling in the air, but with enough altitude he could easily glide to safety.

  Except, Kalthor didn't have any altitude.

  With the ground rushing up, he frantically beat his wings, only to roll sideways when just the right one responded.

  Two of the brigands managed to leap away. They had just enough time to redirect their headlong plunge into a bruising tumble. The third was violently thrown free as Kalthor plowed into the top of the mesa hard enough to shake the keep to its foundation.

  That rumble only grew. The ramparts trembled as Faelon galloped straight towards his stricken foe.

  The fall hadn't killed the blue. Dragons were tough, and Kalthor was already picking himself up from the dust. But he was hurting and disoriented and completely unprepared as Faelon barreled into him.

  From a distance, it sounded like a boulder slamming into a tree trunk. Faelon smashed the smaller dragon off of his feet and sent him tumbling. A wing caught on the ground and snapped like a twig.

  Aytin knew full well what a dragon in agony sounded like. Kalthor's screech of pain was so loud that he pinned his ears back instinctively. Even so, a ringing echo remained even after the scream died away.

  Even crippled and hurting, the blue wasn't going to simply accept his fate. Claws raked at Faelon's hide, leaving long gashes that wept blue blood. His tail whipped around and slammed into his attacker with enough force to reduce a dragonette to paste.

  The larger dragon ignored the wounds and unleashed a burst of fire. Incredibly, it seemed to miss the smaller dragon completely. But Kalthor screeched in pain once more. As he thrashed, an outline of his wing showed clearly against the darkness. Fire licked away at the membranes, reducing the limb to a charred and blistered mess.

  He tried to retaliate with his own breath weapon. A solid hit might stun the larger dragon. Even kill him.

  Faelon didn't let him. He was behind the smaller dragon, and as Kalthor tried to whip his head around, Faelon caught the dragon's neck in his massive maw.

  Both combatants froze, enormous chests heaving in exertion. The ground was torn and stained with blood. Bodies lay around them, lancers and brigands both. Only burning grass and dwindling puddles of dragonfire illuminated the scene.

  "Please..." The whimper sounded clearly across the distance. "Please... mercy!"

  In response, Faelon whipped his head back and forth. Once. Twice. Three times.

  A snap echoed across the mesa and Kalthor went completely limp.

  Everything was quiet for a long heartbeat before Faelon raised his head and let loose a stream of flames as he roared his defiance into the heavens.

  Aytin was torn away from the tableau by Attalee as she shook him. She was grimacing from the pain and held one hand against the tear in her wing. Her other was pointing off to the side. Towards the form of a lone dragonette stumbling off into the darkness.

  Xantha.

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  His first instinct was to throw himself over the parapet and skewer the traitor. He even had one foot up on the ledge, but stopped himself and turned back.

  "Are you-"

  "Don't let her slip away!" the huntress hissed through teeth clamped tight in pain. She motioned for her bow and he extended it to her. Instead of taking it, the huntress just grabbed it for a few heartbeats before pushing it away. "Make sure to bring that back!"

  With a final nod, Aytin tied his spear to a leather loop and dove off of the keep.

  As he flew off into the night, panic set in. Outside of the circle of light cast by flickering dragonfire, the darkness was nearly impenetrable. 'No, no! Gods damn it, she can't get away!'

  He heard the sound of straining wingbeats before he saw their source. A wildling tore out of the night, passing not too far below him. It took him a moment to recognize Nali. The lancer had apparently survived her near miss and had seen the brigand leader's escape as well, although she seemed so focused that she had obviously missed him.

  Without any better option, Aytin followed the wildling. He quickly fell behind. Her larger, unscarred wings propelled her forward far faster than he could hope to match. Even with his eyes finally recovering from the flare of dragonfire he was starting to worry he would lose her when another figure seemed to fade into view ahead. This one was on the ground, running with the occasional stumble.

  Nali adjusted her lance and flew straight towards the last surviving brigand. It was a poor weapon for killing other dragonettes, but it was better than nothing. With a little luck...

  The two met. It was hard to see what happened through the darkness, but it was clearly not a clean strike. The lance went spinning out into the night. Nali's path took her over the cliff edge, and she dove out of sight.

  Xantha had come out of the exchange apparently unharmed. Worse, now there was a long, thin blade in one of her hands and she was scanning the darkness, advancing slowly towards the cliff.

  Aytin was within range for a bowshot. Just the one, though. There hadn't been any more arrows. He needed to get closer.

  Coming in at a glide so there would be no sound of wingbeats to give himself away, he made his approach as Xantha peered over the edge of the cliff. Her back was to Aytin, inadvertently presenting the perfect target. 'Nearly there...'

  Nali erupted from the edge of the mesa. All she had for a weapon was a flint hunting knife, but she came straight for the brigand leader without any regard for herself.

  It was too dark and over too quickly to see what happened. The wildling huntress hit Xantha. The two rolled away. There was a struggle, and it was impossible to tell who was who. Aytin circled, watching and feeling helpless as the top figure shuttered and then went still.

  After a moment, the survivor pushed the corpse off from on top of her. As she stood, Aytin prayed it would be Nali.

  It wasn't.

  Xantha slashed her saber across the back of the wildling's neck. The corpse didn't so much as twitch.

  'Gods damn it!' Aytin gritted his teeth and snarled. The traitorous bitch had killed another friend. 'No more!'

  He had a shot. The draw was painfully heavy, but he heaved back, lined up, and loosed.

  The bow twanged and the arrow lept out into the night. It was nearly perfect, aimed right between the wings. A mortal injury, or at least crippling.

  Only the sound of the bowstring or movement at the edge of her vision must have warned Xantha because she hurled herself to one side. The arrow hit the ground a hand's breadth away from her wing and it shattered into splinters.

  "Why won't you fucking die?!" Aytin half growled, half sobbed. A quick tug freed his spear from its bindings. After the briefest hesitation, he tied the bow in its place.

  Below, Xantha stumbled to her feet. She glared up at him, turning to keep him in view. As she did, she almost seemed to trip, only catching herself by wedging the tip of her sword into the rocky ground. Her next step had her clearly limping.

  An injury from Nali's final attack? Had she hurt herself in that desperate dodge? Either way, Aytin rolled and dove.

  Not straight at his foe. Even if his spear struck home, he'd hit the ground an instant later.

  So he flew a path that would bring him in low and fast, coming from her injured side. She twisted to face him, of course, but slowly. And his spear was longer than her saber. He could make as many passes as he needed to, staying just out of reach until one of his attacks finally landed.

  Her leap took him completely by surprise. One moment Xantha seemed to be doing her best to scrunch down, presenting as small a target as possible. A heartbeat later she exploded out of her crouch.

  Aytin cursed, beating desperately and only barely avoiding losing fingers as her blade scraped along the shaft of his spear. The maneuver kept him in one piece, but maybe not for long. Now the ground was coming up fast. Feet and wings scrambled. A talon caught on a rock, the world spun, and the next thing the young dragonette knew he was laying flat on his back.

  By some miracle, nothing was broken. There would be bruises. Oh, would there be bruises. If he survived the night.

  Scrambling to his feet, Aytin found Xantha striding purposefully towards him, saber at low ready and very much uninjured.

  "Now, who are..." The words trailed off, and a look of incandescent rage erased the arrogant smirk on her lips. "You!"

  Despite everything, Aytin allowed himself a tiny smile. Somehow, Xantha's fury redoubled. The blue of her ears deepend and he expected to hear a crack as her teeth snapped under the pressure of her straining jaws.

  All of that vanished in an instant as a vindictive grin spread across her face.

  "Maybe the gods don't hate me after all."

  Aytin somehow still had his spear. He rushed forward, aiming to skewer her on it. She dodged away, flicking her saber to force him back. The finely wrought blade glimmered in the starlight.

  His next thrust was deflected, the point passing just a hand's breadth from Xantha's neck. It put him out of position and only his magically enhanced balance kept the young dragonette from stumbling forward and into the well practiced killing stroke that followed.

  "I knew you were a stupid, worthless piece of noble shit, but I didn't think even you... Well, it must have been divine intervention putting you here."

  Without warning, Xantha advanced. She knocked away Aytin's guard with contemptuous ease, forcing him to backpedal.

  "I think you're starting to get it now. How much of a gods damn fucking idiot you were to show your face."

  Stepping forward, the brigand leader blocked his counterattack and caught the spear shaft as he tried to withdraw. A yank sent him stumbling forward, and that should have been the end of it.

  Only instead of pressing her advantage, Xantha gave the spear a shove. Aytin fell back, panting, arms beginning to shake from the exertion.

  "You might have been able to live here if you had just stayed away. The crippled spawn of a heartless noble bitch and a crippled coward of a dragon. The two of you were made for each other, you know?"

  Aytin was beginning to realize just how right Xantha was. Blinded by thoughts of revenge and the victories so far, he had committed to a battle with someone stronger, faster, and infinitely more experienced than he was. And it was becoming obvious that the only reason he was still alive was that she was toying with him.

  There was a chance, though. Get back to Faelon. And Rena is coming! Xantha's wings were bigger, her muscles more powerful, but if he had an opening...

  "But not quite so crippled anymore," she mused as she saw his wings twitch. "Maybe we should fix that?"

  Quick as a flash, she darted forward. Aytin scrambled away, stabbing wildly, but she dodged the first, batted the second aside, and trapped the shaft against his body as she slashed.

  A wave of icy pain burned through his right wing as the membrane parted. A wide rent, right across the old scar. Then a taloned foot hit his stomach and he was knocked stumbling back.

  "There we go. Good as new."

  Aytin gasped, working to get the pain under control. It wasn't as bad as the last time. A clean, quick cut, right through the membrane. Blood oozed out, dribbling down the wing and falling to the rocks below. It would heal in time, with stitches or sped along by a healer's power.

  But until then, he wouldn't be flying.

  "You know what I'm going to do with you?" Xantha asked, almost conversationally.

  Instead of answering, Aytin whipped his spear up and knocked the saber aside. It was a brief opening, but he rammed the point home.

  The sudden attack actually managed to catch the brigand leader by surprise, but reflexes honed in countless dirty fights across the kingdom took over. She turned sideways, and the spear skittered across her breastplate before she danced away.

  A small stain spread across the sleeve of Xantha's undershirt. Aytin felt a surge of hope at the sight. It was a small wound, but he had still drawn blood. And for the first time, he had driven the more experienced fighter back. That was something, at least.

  "Rude." The admonishment was accompanied by a shake of the saber, like a finger at a naughty hatchling. "But I guess your mother never taught you not to interrupt someone when they're talking to you, did she?"

  Xantha darted forward. This time she didn't even bother knocking the spear out of the way. She simply dodged outside of the frantic stab before delivering a slash across Aytin's left arm.

  Somehow it hurt even worse than the wing. A spasm sent the spearpoint dipping dangerously. But once again, Xantha didn't finish him off. She just stood there, grinning, as the young dragonette struggled to get his weapon under control.

  "As for what I'm going to do with you..." Her sword flicked forward and Aytin had already scrambled away before he realized that his tormentor hadn't moved.

  In fact, she was laughing at him.

  "Oh, gods, that's too funny." She stalked forward, blade swishing back and forth. Its razor edge lopped off stalks of grass with every stroke.

  There was nothing Aytin could do but retreat in the face of someone so skilled. Step after step, he backed away, not even bothering to put up a fight.

  Xantha just kept coming, like the inexorable approach of a storm. Her left hand glistened with rivulets of blood as she reached down and drew an object from her belt.

  "Remember this?" The bronze knife was dull and tarnished, its handle crudely wrapped with scraps of leather. But even warped into a shadow of its former beauty, he recognized it.

  It was the blade Lin had given him the day he left. The gift that she had fashioned from pieces of his home, so he would have something to remember them by. The knife that Xantha had used to slit his wings.

  And it was clear that she saw the recognition in his eyes.

  "You do, don't you?" Her grin expanded to show teeth as she dangled it between two fingers, taunting him. It took every bit of his self-control not to lunge for it, just like she no doubt wanted.

  With a deft motion, Xantha flipped the blade and caught it by the handle. The settings were briefly turquoise once more as her blood filled the empty sockets, but she paid it no notice.

  "I'm going to gut you with your precious little knife," she taunted. "I'm going to gouge out your eyes and snap your legs. You'll be twisting and crawling like the worm you are. And while you're screaming and crying and begging for me to end it all, I'm going to saw off that cute little horn of yours and use it to make a new sheath for my knife."

  His next step scraped across bare rock. Aytin dared a quick look behind him, confirming his fears.

  Xantha let him look, enjoying the young dragonette's growing panic. "Or you could jump. Maybe you'll get lucky and it will be fast. Or maybe it won't be quite enough to snap your scrawny little neck. You might lay there for hours. Days. Wishing for death the entire time.

  "Either way, it's your choice."

  The cliff extended into the darkness on either side. Aytin tried sidestepping, but Xantha was there. She brought the flat of her blade down on his wrist in a stinging slap before backing away once more.

  "Nooo," she scolded him. "I told you, there are only two choices. The cliff... or me."

  He could jump. Maybe his wing would support him long enough to make it to the bottom in one piece. 'But what then? Where do I go?'

  Aytin tried to think as he stood there, gasping for breath. Xantha took his indecision to be stalling.

  "Since you're still here, I guess you've decided on me. I'm flattered."

  Out of options, and out of time, unable to break through the guard of someone so much stronger and more experienced than he was, Aytin took a gamble. He hurled his spear.

  It was an attack born of desperation. His weapon wasn't balanced for throwing. He wasn't even particularly good at it.

  But Xantha had been prepared for a final desperate lunge. Her eyes widened in surprise for a crucial moment before hurling herself to the side. The dodge was pure reflex. It was also a mistake.

  The point of the spear dipped almost immediately. By the time it reached her, the only thing at risk of being impaled was the dirt. The spear shaft caught her arm side-on. That would have been the end of it, except as Xantha dove, it tangled with her saber and tore the sword from her grasp.

  Aytin didn't wait. He ran for the fallen blade.

  Halfway there, a blue blur slammed into him, driving the breath from his lungs and sending him sprawling.

  He coughed and struggled to his knees, only for iron fingers to close around his neck. They dragged him up, until only the tips of his talons were scraping against the ground. Even at that height, Xantha still looked down at him.

  Gone was any trace of sadistic amusement. There was only hate in that gaze, as she marched forward.

  Her grip was calculating. Just enough to make escape impossible, but not enough to choke him.

  She stopped just short of the cliff edge. It was a sheer drop, and even with his heart hammering in his chest, there would be time for a good dozen beats before he hit the ground below.

  Aytin got ready to spread his wings, to try and slow his fall as soon as she released him, but Xantha had other ideas.

  In her left hand, she raised the bronze knife, then slowly, inexorably, brought it towards her captive's gut.

  He might as well have been a hatchling fighting to avoid bedtime. His hands were free, but there was no leverage to push against. Still, he gripped her wrist and fought futilely to hold back the blade.

  The knife slid closer.

  Kicking out did nothing. Held at arm's length, his talons could barely scratch against her hide. They didn't even draw blood.

  The cold bite of metal reached his belly.

  And jerked to a halt.

  It took a moment for the sound to register. The thwack of an arrow hitting home. Xantha coughed, and blue droplets sprayed across Aytin's face.

  A figure flew out of the darkness. Rina, already reaching for another arrow, with murder on her face. Behind her, more shapes appeared as the rest of the wildling fighters shot towards them.

  Their warcry rang out through the night. Almost a dozen of them, all fresh, armed with bows and clubs.

  It was over. They had done it. The sacrifice. The pain. The blood and tears. By a scale's breadth, it had all been enough. They had won.

  Or so he thought.

  Xantha's grip tightened. With one last vindictive snarl, she threw herself off the cliff, dragging Aytin along with her.

  Time slowed to a crawl.

  Even as he fought against the instinct to spread his wings, Aytin tore the dagger from Xantha's hand. Shock and pain loosened her fingers and it came free easily.

  Pain built and the world darkened as the grip around his neck tightened. In the face of that agony, Aytin drove the knife up. It slid through muscle and sinew as it sliced through Xantha's wrist. Blood gushed and the pressure around his neck disappeared.

  Released from the death grip, he let his wings unfurl. The sudden pressure tore a scream from his throat as the raw hole widened. But they bit into the air and Xantha fell away.

  Her limbs spasmed in uncoordinated jerks as she watched a new pair of hands wrap around his shoulders. Watched with hate filled eyes as Rina's own wings strained under their burden, pulling him slowly out of his fall.

  And as Aytin was carried back into the starry sky, he looked down just in time to see Xantha's broken body smash into the rocks below.