Doravan never knew dragons were capable of such precision with their fire, and he watched with a little jealousy as Shen’al felled one tree after another. Maybe, if Shen’al had let him become a Dragon Mage, he could have done this himself.
Shen’al brought the felled trees to the camp, and Doravan directed the remaining soldiers to make a bridge.
Amalla beamed at him when she crossed. Maybe, Doravan thought, losing the bridges would help him get the throne. Perhaps this hadn’t been a setback, but a step forward.
Shen’al lingered at the back of the group and waited for Doravan to cross. He puffed out his chest.
Doravan sighed. “You did excellent work, Shen’al.”
“Couldn’t have done it without me,” the dragon added. Some bitterness entered his tone. “Am I your dragon now?”
Doravan shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? You pick your Dragon Mage.”
Shen’al’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t say anything about a mage. I’m not looking for a mage.”
“Ah. That explains everything, I suppose.”
Shen’al scooped Doravan up in his claws and sprang into the sky. Doravan yelled in protest and grabbed Shen’al’s finger. He squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach flipped and his tongue went dry.
“Explains everything? You were only my friend, the only real creature in my life, because you wanted magic?!” the dragon demanded.
Doravan tried to yell back, but his words were a trembling whisper. “Put me down. Just put me down.”
“Sure, friend.” Shen’al landed hard on his free claws, then dropped Doravan into the ashy dirt. Doravan lay in a heap, still dizzy and terrified. The unstable swooping and swinging of flight remained etched in his mind; he couldn’t focus on anything else.
“Doravan!” Cold water trickled down his face, and he gasped. He sat up, still nauseated but alert.
“Are you alright? You were unconscious.” Amalla felt his forehead with a soft, cool hand. Doravan brushed her away and looked at Shen’al. He couldn’t read the dragon’s expression.
“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m fine.”
“Maybe Shen’al should carry you,” she suggested.
Doravan shook his head wildly. “No. I’m–I will walk.” He struggled to his feet. The first few steps felt like he had just come off a ship, but he started marching forward.
“What happened?” the princess demanded.
“I just thought we could cover more ground if I carried him.” Shen’al tossed his head, indignant. “He got sick and fainted from flying.”
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Amalla laughed and turned to mount her horse. “Then it’s no wonder you aren’t companions.”
“No wonder indeed,” Doravan said. “He’s not looking for a mage, Your Highness.”
“At least one of us is honest,” the dragon retorted.
“Not looking for a mage?” Amalla lowered her foot from the stirrup. “But … that would inhibit your growth, Shen’al.”
Shen’al snorted. “Mages don’t want you after you give them your power. Magic drives humans to greed and dragons to suffering, isolation. I may be a weaker dragon than those that have bonded with humans, but I am better off.”
No one pressed the issue, and the eerie silence of the dead country settled over the Mengorian company like a blanket of dust. Doravan kept checking over his shoulder for Ka’ran’ere’geth. He almost thought he saw the dark shape moving periodically closer.
He caught up to Eremis’s carriage and tapped on the door.
Eremis swept back the crimson curtain in his window. “Dor!”
“Shh.” Doravan frowned at the king. “Why would you yell out here? What if the Hoarder hears you?”
Eremis waved him off. “He’s already destroyed this part of The Ganton. He’s not coming back. What did you want to see me for?”
“I think we should have Shen’al take your carriage back over the river,” Doravan whispered. “We’re too conspicuous.”
Eremis laughed. “I never thought you were so paranoid, Dor.”
“He keeps coming closer. He might be checking for anything he might have missed, and he would definitely find us.”
Eremis’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps you are right. But what do you expect me to do, go on foot?”
Doravan closed his eyes and begged the powers that be for patience. “I think walking is perfectly suitable if it would save your life, Your Majesty.” He paused, not sure if he wanted to give an alternative. “Or … of course, you could ride our dragon.”
“Your silver little beast?” Eremis clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I would need a dragon at least three times his size. He’s just a horse with wings.”
A sudden urge to defend Shen’al rose up in Doravan’s chest, but Eremis cut him off.
“Speaking of your little dragon, he’s far more noticeable than my carriage. Why don’t you have him fly on ahead to Shyyda? Maybe the Hoarder will go after him instead.”
Doravan stopped and let the carriage move on without him. “How can he be so stupid?!”
“You insult the king a lot for how little you want to be executed,” Amalla pointed out as she rode past him. He kept pace with her horse.
“You would too if you heard him say all of the idiotic things he does.” Doravan glanced behind him again. He couldn’t see the Hoarder.
“Did he say we should stop for the night? Because that would not be an idiotic decision.” Amalla looked up at the sky. “The smoke is obscuring the sun too much. Unless we want to get separated and lost in the dark, we need to set up camp in the next hour.”
Doravan’s heart raced. “No. No, we can’t stay here. I can’t see the Hoarder. He might be coming for us.”
Amalla reached down and patted his shoulder. “We have a better chance of staying safe if we are together. If we walk and ride in the dark, we will be separated. You’ve heard how quiet everyone is.”
Even if Doravan had been speaking to someone else, he had no way of lying to get the situation to change.
While everyone else set up their tents, he sat a distance away and watched the blackening sky for signs of dragon fire. He had finally relaxed and nearly dozed off when he heard a sound like distant thunder–but it was consistent, like a heartbeat.
Doravan's eyes shot open, and he sat up. Not a heartbeat.
Those are dragon wings.
