Boreal

Chapter Twenty-One

Iyer got there first.

Her jaws closed around his hands, knocking the knife to the ground. Before she could secure her grip – dig in her fangs – Ptarmigan had thrown his full weight into Fulmar's back, all but tearing him from her tenuous grasp. They landed together in a heap on the sand, Ptarmigan on top, already scrambling to his feet. The cobalt dragon licked her lips, specks of crimson rolling down her chin. She reared up, spreading her wings wide. Iyer tipped her head back and let out an earth shaking roar. A challenge, uttered to the very gods themselves. A challenge Ptarmigan had no intention of answering.

His hands were under Fulmar's armpits, dragging the older boy back along the beach. Fulmar was dazed, staring blankly back as the dragon's body shuddered. Ptarmigan could just about make out Almas, stumbling back towards the spillway.

"Get Almas out of the way," Ptarmigan said to Shyam, surprised to find his voice stern, almost confident, despite the rising panic in his chest. "Then go find help." He was even more surprised when his wyvern spread her wings and took off, streaking past Iyer like an arrow. Shyam latched onto the vvitch's shoulders, dragging her back into the safety of the tunnel. The dragon's head turned towards them, and Ptarmigan swore. He fumbled around until his hand closed around something smooth and solid. "Get ready," he said, hauling Fulmar to his feet. As the Show master's mount fell back onto all fours, ready to turn and give chase, Ptarmigan let the pebble fly.

It hit her, square in the back of the head. She stopped dead in her tracks. The dragon's ears flicked. Fulmar reached out, grasping Ptarmigan's shoulder. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving.

"Do we try to speak, or run?" He gasped. Disbelief laced every word; any other time, Ptarmigan would tell him talking their way out of this would be smarter. This was the Show master's mount, afterall – one of the Academy heads. Running would see them locked away for Seasons and seasons cleaning rooms and writing lines. But as the dragon turned, a chill ran down Ptarmigan's spine.

"Run," was all he managed to splutter out as Iyer bowed her head, flared her wings, and charged.

This time, it was Fulmar's turn to drag him out of the way. The air roared past Ptarmigan's ears as the dragon raced past, claws barely missing his stomach as she went staggering through a spray of wet sand. His shoulder hit the seawall. He was on autopilot, hands scrambling up to curl over the lip. He scrambled up and over, rolling onto his back onto the damp pavement. Fulmar's hands appeared beside his head, scrabbling at the rough stone. Ptarmigan was quick to grab a hold of his wrists, doing his best to help pull the boy out of harm's way. Iyer shook her head, shaking the sand from her eyes and mane. She snarled. Saliva spilled from her jaws, dribbling down her chin, her neck, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. She seemed almost a demon; a shadow with burning orange eyes, framed against an angry sea. She thrashed, stamping her feet, lashing out without rhyme or reason as she all but threw herself towards them.

He wasn't paying attention. Ptarmigan's arms screamed at the sudden weight as Fulmar heaved himself out of the way of the dragon's slashing claws. Not fast enough. The older boy cried out as her wild failing paid off. Her claws dug deep into the boy's leg, tearing even deeper as Ptarmigan hauled him over the wall and out of the dragon's reach.

The scream that escaped Fulmar's mouth was unlike anything he'd heard before. It started as yell, and quickly rose to a pitch like nails on a chalkboard. His face contorted. Iyer stumbled back, ears perked, twitching as he let out a strangled sob, gritting his teeth against the pain. For a moment, her gaze seemed to focus on them, her nostrils flared. Confused.

Fulmar was already struggling to his feet, urging Ptarmigan to move. The wound was ghastly. Blood gushed, soaking the tattered remains of the older boy's trousers, seeping into his boots. Ptarmigan had only to glimpse something white amongst the tangled mess of shredded muscle and fat to immediately turn away. His stomach lurched as Fulmar let out another cry of pain, motioning for Ptarmigan to take some of his weight. He obliged, ducking beneath the older boy's arm, half-carrying, half-dragging him towards the looming shadows of the warehouses. Iyer wasn't following; the great cobalt dragon was simply watching, her expression vacant. Lost in a stupor, she licked the crimson from her lips. And then she was gone, vanished out of sight as Ptarmigan and Fulmar lurched into a narrow alleyway between two of the warehouses, slipping and sliding across patches of packed ice and snow.