The Dragon Games

The Sword Brethren

I reeled back. I whipped around to find three knights facing me, arrows at the ready.

What the hell?

Nowhere near an hour had passed since Viper spotted the approaching cavalry.

"Get down!" a knight shouted. "Lay down your arms!"

I threw my arms up. With one hand, I sent a wave of Divine to knock the knights clean off their feet. With the other, I grabbed the knight who had spoken. He sailed through the air and halted within a foot of my hand.

"How did you get here so fast?" I said.

He opened his mouth, defiance sparking in his eyes.

"Careful," I said. I clenched my fist, and one of the fence's black spears snapped in two. "That was iron. Imagine how easy bone will snap." I was no Drax, but I was no knight in shining armor, either.

The knight flinched. "We split into two groups. One to stomp through the woods, making as much noise as possible to take your attention from the real threat. The other group rode ahead, taking hidden routes, so we could ambush you unaware."

"I only see three of you," I said. "Where's the rest of your ambush?"

He hesitated, so I clenched my fist again, snapping another iron spear.

"Storming through the back," he said in a rush. "We were supposed to shoot anyone who escaped through the front."

"If I wanted to escape a run-in with the other squad, which direction should I ride in?"

"East."

"I'll ride west, then."

When his eyes widened, I knew I had guessed right, and he had lied.

"Thanks," I said with a smirk. I opened my palm, dropping him.

Just then, an ear-splitting roar shook the ground, nearly knocking me off my feet. A group of knights circled the stables, but none dared to step in range of Rauuk. Their stares were directed up, at the stables' roof.

Marcus was crossing the panels, so he could vault onto Rauuk's back and steal the raider's best shot at winning a fight against the Sword Brethren. Not that I particularly cared who won.

A year ago, I'd sooner lop off my right hand than see the Sword Brethren best the raiders. Now the loss was no skin off my nose. While the raiders and knights duked it out, I would steal a horse – and not the runt Drax gave me, a proper stallion that knew how to ride.

The problem was, if Marcus riled Rauuk into a rampage, we were all done for; the dragon would kill knights and raiders indiscriminately. Upstaging Drax's stupidity should have been impossible, but here was Marcus, threatening to blow him out of the water by turning us all into dragon food.

I tried to grab Marcus with the Divine, but missed, blasting off the panels in front of his foot. Marcus whipped around and locked eyes with me. His face broke into a manic grin.

"Come to stop me?" he cackled. "How many times do I have to betray you before it penetrates your thick skull? I'm out for myself!"

"You're not Rauuk's rider, you moron!" I shouted. I kept trying to blast Marcus off the roof, but he was too far, too small of a target, moving too quickly. "You're not even Divine! It's going to kill you!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Not me!" I shrieked. "It! Rauuk! Rauuk is going to—"

Marcus jumped. I had half a hope Marcus would miss the dragon and face-plant in the grass, but his fat butt landed square in the middle of the saddle.

To my surprise, Rauuk didn't immediately go berserk. The dragon squared its shoulders as if testing out the new weight on its back. Then, without warning, it shot into the sky like an arrow, taking a chunk of the stables' roof with it.

With three flaps of its wings, Rauuk was soaring in the clouds. The dragon glided away from the manor, outlined in gold against the sun, Marcus' hair whipping in the wind like a victory flag. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Marcus really had tamed the —

Rauuk bucked, throwing Marcus into the sky. His arms and legs flailed in the air as he soared higher. Then he arched down, plummeting into Rauuk's waiting jaws.

I looked away but still heard Marcus's scream, followed by a loud snap of bone. Even some knights winced at the noise. But now was not the time to panic. I allowed myself three seconds to calm my breath – one, two, three – then took off.

While the knights were busy gawking at the sky, I sprinted to the horses. Slicer was already there, untying a horse.

He looked like he had fought an army to make it out of the manor. His clothes were torn and uneven. His light gray mask was splattered with blood, twisted halfway around his face.

"Move," I said, shouldering him aside.

I swung my dagger, severing the knot tying the horse to the stables. Just as I handed Slicer the horse's reins, he swung. I jumped back. The dagger missed my heart and clipped my forearm, slicing clean through my sleeve and drawing a faint line of blood.

He swung again, but this time, I was ready. I opened my palm, and Slicer went sprawling, landing several yards away in the grass.

"Mad man," I rasped, turning back to the horse. "I was trying to help you!"

I reached for the reins to hoist myself up but missed, grazing the saddle. I tried again, and this time I didn't even reach the horse; my hand swiped clean through the air. Then my legs trembled, and I nearly crashed on my face.

Every limb in my body was buzzed and numb, except for my arm, which felt like it was on fire. The dagger had drawn a shallow cut, and the tips of my flayed skin were tinted blue.

I had been poisoned.

I shuddered, and my knees hit the ground. I would have face-planted, but Slicer caught me by the shoulders. He yanked his mask off, revealing a boy around my age.

He had high cheekbones, a messy thatch of raven black hair, and startling blue eyes – almost as blue as the poison the bastard had stabbed me with. Most importantly, his neck was clean. Where all raiders had the ram's skull, he had nothing.

Not a raider, I realized groggily, through the haze spreading through my head, making it nearly impossible to think. A member of the Sword Brethren posing as a raider.

I didn't know whether to curse or be impressed.

He ripped off my mask, so our faces were inches apart. "Elio Bates."

"Huh?" I barely managed to spit the word out. The numbness had spread to my tongue. It felt fat and foreign in my mouth. I could bite it off without noticing.

"Elio Bates," he said, his lips curving. "That's my name, in case you need something to curse at the gallows."

That was the last thing I remembered before the poison pulled me under.

Elio Bates.