The Weaver's Source

Chapter 109

I flinched when the dragon cracked its skeletal mouth open, wiggling its ghostly forked tongue and pulsating the flickering ward, gathering a hot ball in its mouth. Fire exploded out, cascading onto the floor and burning anything and everything it touched; dribbling between its teeth like molten lava. I watched with my heart in my mouth as Grigore evaded the billowing fire, shielding himself from the heat with a gentle ward.

As soon as the dragon snapped off the flames, it's head snaked down swiftly, cracking its white crooked teeth at Grigore, forcing him to dance away again and again with every hollow snap. Flames burst out of its nostrils and cobwebbed sockets as its jaws snapped together with a terrible strength that echoed about the empty hall. When Grigore slashed at it with a hoarse cry, making Ursus shudder at the impact, the jaws wrenched open and a stream of boiling fire billowed out in a massive wave. It happened so quickly I thought Grigore had been caught in it but I saw him edging his way around it as the fires followed. When he tried to get a swipe in at its ribs, trying to plunge his sword into the whirling wards, the bony wing struck down and flew up, catching Grigore and tossing him effortlessly into the wall with a nasty crack. Shaking dust and stone from his hair, Grigore stood, holding Ursus tightly, as the dragon turned its gaze back onto him, snapping its jaws and hissing flames.

And all the while that Grigore slashed at it, trying to chip away the wards that glittered across the hulking skeleton, Sorin kept his distance. His bloodied face was calm, his cold eyes closed tightly. Every bit of him was focused on puppeteering the dragon, forcing it to try to cook and break Grigore.

My magic hated this. I hated this. With courage bubbling, I gripped Hild and forced myself onto my feet. To protect Grigore, I had to break Sorin's concentration.

I began to creep my way along the wall, trying to keep myself hidden and unnoticed. I took tentative steps over crumbling stone and rotting wood, making sure I wouldn't make a loud sound. But each time Grigore was struck by claw or wing, I felt my magic shudder in fright. It was so scared for him. Scared that it was going to lose him. Scared I was going to get hurt. But I continued. While my magic was frightened, I felt the encouragement as well. It agreed with my decision and gave me a small spark of courage. It wanted me to stop Sorin.

My plan became difficult though. The moment I drew too close, making sure I was low and quiet, Sorin's eyes opened sharply. He scowled at me with disgust and his mouth curled unhappily.

"I can't be bothered to deal with you. Just go away and let me fight Grigore." Sorin snapped and turned away from me.

With my face reddening knowing he thought me of no danger, I scrunched my nose up and scowled. Without a word, I leapt forward and instantly bounced off a shield. I landed on the floor hard and only briefly saw a pale blue circular ward fading and shimmering. Sorin barely glanced at me.

I puffed out my cheeks in irritation, hating that he saw me as nothing more than an annoyance. My fear of Sorin was fleeing and quickly being replaced by anger. But the roar of the dragon, the crashing and explosion of heat, always reminded me what was at stake. My Weaver was going to die if I didn't act quickly. I had to prove Sorin wrong. I was a threat to him and would take down those wards.

I got to me feet and held Hild tightly, hoping what magic was held in the tiny blade was enough to help me against Sorin. I raised her, sucking in the brimstone air, and plunged her sharply down where the shield had been. The tip came to a sudden stop and the ward screech loudly as Hild fought against it, making it bend under her pressure and my weight.

"Stop that!" Sorin demanded sharply as he saw me pushing down on the dagger with all my strength, scrunching up my face tightly as the ward began to crack.