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42: The Eye of the Storm

Dragons, Blayre mused, must be extinct for a reason, if this is the outcome of trying to take an egg to raise it as a war-monster. Which she had no doubt, Conal and Bartley intended to do... And what of the mountainers? What did they intend to do with that egg? She needed to talk to Caval.

Either way, if she got her hands on that gods-damned thing, she was going to destroy it. Assuming it could be destroyed. No one deserved the power that having possession of a dragon could imply. It was a terrifying thought, when she considered the books she'd read on dragon-lore, and the stories that had been told to her. Maybe they hadn't all been 100% accurate, but didn't all legends tend to have a grain of truth to them?

"We need to hurry!" She called to Fletcher and Ainslee.

She urged Dove to go faster, faster. She felt bad for the mare, who was already giving Blayre her all, but it was so important that they make it on time. Before the mountainers attempted to use their nature magic, which would be as good as enacting an act of war on Emares and end the years of peace that King Barton had strove so hard to maintain. And before Bartley could get away and bring that egg to Conal, which would also be akin to declaring war. The only outcome that had any benefit, in Blayre's mind, was one in which she got to Bartley first, and destroyed that egg before it could be something more.

But Dove obliged, stretching to her limits as they galloped down the road, along the river, until Blayre finally felt Caval's magic tugging at her over the nature magic that was currently assaulting her senses. She let out a cry of relief, "Just a little further," She urged the gray mare, squeezing gently with her knees. Dove's sides were warm and steamy with sweat as they expanded and contracted.

The humid wind cut into Blayre's face, and her braid, damp with sweat, stung at her back as it whipped behind her. Dove's hooves pounded against the dirt of the road. Blayre didn't turn, didn't bother to shout to her companions. As the roiling feeling of storm magic continued to grow like dark gray clouds, the familiar feel of her friend's magic cut through it like a beacon of light.

Blayre could have sobbed, when she saw the figures up ahead. One of them was Caval. Three others were the Mountainers, and one was Bartley. His magic building with Caval's own. When she got closer, her heart sank. Caval was standing beside Bartley, not against him.

There has to be a good reason, she reassured herself.

She knew with absolute certainty that she despised Bartley from the scant time they had been acquainted. But was he the enemy? Perhaps he was an enemy, but in this moment, not her primary adversary. She wasn't even entirely sure if the Mountainers were enemies right now, anyone who wanted that egg - nay, the contents of that egg, and the power that it would bring - was the enemy.

The air was suffused with static. Fletcher glanced at the sky, "Rain's coming." he grimaced.

"It's been coming for a while," Blayre said softly, her gaze falling on the Mountainers who had turned to her. They were about fifty feet away now. Blayre dismounted, handing Dove's reins to Fletcher.

"You're mad if you think that I'm going to allow you to approach them on your own." He hissed.

She wanted to tell him to stay back. To let her take the brunt of the magic. But the truth was, that if she failed, she didn't think that any of them would make it out of this alive. When she turned to give the mare's reins to Ainslee, her friend had the same determined look on her face.

"The horses can take care of themselves," Ainslee said, dismounting. She landed nimbly in the grass and patted the rump of her horse.

Lightning cracked overhead, and they all looked up, abruptly. Thunder followed in a crashing rumble that shook the earth, and shook Blayre's heart within the confines of her ribcage.