Dalk didn't glide; he fell like a landslide towards the goblins. A yell of bottled-up anger and grief and rage roared from Liam as he unstrapped the saddle straps.

  Before Rend could even draw his breath to shout a command, the dragon slammed into the ridge. The impact sent two bodyguards flying from their boars. Several of the other mounts bucked and squealed as they bolted for safety, their riders desperately trying to get them under control.

  Dalk’s claws raked through the granite, his tail snapping like a whip to crush the skull of the nearest goblin.

  Then, the rider came.

  Liam didn't climb down; he launched himself from the saddle while the dragon was still in motion. He was a man possessed, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, hollow light. As he fell, his skin didn't just change color; it took on the matte, unyielding texture of granite.

  He struck Rend with the weight of a falling boulder.

  They tumbled to the rocky ground, rolling through the dirt and shale. Rend’s sword was knocked from his hand by the impact. The goblin chief had risen to power because he was a shrewd and cunning warrior. Grasping Liam’s leather jacket, he drew his jagged skinning knife and plunged it into the human’s side.

  The blade tore through the thick leather, struck Liam’s ribs with a sharp clink, before the steel skidded against the man’s magically hardened skin as if it had hit a mountain wall.

  "My family..." Liam rasped, his voice a guttural, stone-on-stone grind.

  Liam’s hands, now literal blocks of living rock, came down in a frantic, berserker rhythm. He didn't use a weapon; he used himself. Each blow sounded like a mason’s hammer striking raw meat. Rend felt his ribs cave in, the air forced from his lungs in a bloody spray.

  With an angry yowl, three bodyguards rushed forward. Spears and rusted swords rained down on Liam’s back, but the rock mage didn't even flinch. The weapons tore his jacket to shreds, leaving shallow white scratches on his rock-like skin but failing to draw blood.

  Liam ignored them entirely, his fingers—thick and cold as stalactites—closing around Rend’s throat. Dalk spun and bit one of the goblins in two as his claws shredded the other goblins. His tail swept another off his boar as he tried to join the fight.

  Rend fought, his legs kicking uselessly in the dirt as he tried to pry the stone hands away. He looked up into Liam’s eyes and saw no mercy, only the crushing weight of a memory of pain. The world began to dim, the sounds of the battle fading into a dull hum. The life of the Bonebreaker Chief ebbed away under the relentless pressure of Liam’s vengeance.

  As Rend’s hands finally fell limp, Liam’s strength buckled. The rock magic flickered and faded, his skin returning to pale, bruised flesh. The sheer physical toll of the transformation and the dozens of shallow wounds from the bodyguards finally claimed him. Liam slumped over the dead goblin chief, his eyes rolling back as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  The surviving bodyguards snarled, stabbing and slashing at Dalk as they tried to reach the human. They never got close.

  Dalk let out a roar as his hardened body lunged over his fallen rider. His jaws snapped shut around one goblin’s waist, and his tail pulped the remaining two against the stony ground.

  The brown dragon spat the goblin out, his head scanning the area for more threats. There were none. The other bodyguards had fled. The dragon stood tall over the unconscious rock mage, his wings flared and his teeth bared. Dalk let out a defiant roar.

  The goblins still outside Haltrock's walls and those locked in battle with the Duchess’s army glanced towards the ridge. The green-skinned warriors were filled with dismay as they saw the brown dragon standing where Rend had been.

  49

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  "Down again!" I roared over the rushing wind.

  Graxion banked into another steep dive, the wind screaming past my ears as we plunged back toward the courtyard of the castle. Beside us, Bakaan was a jagged streak of obsidian, his massive wings beating a rhythm that sounded like the clapping of thunder.

  Despite the heaps of charred remains and the scattered debris of our previous passes, more goblins were surging through the shattered gates, their boar-mounts squealing in a frenzied, high-pitched chorus. The green-skinned warriors were desperate to reach the relative safety of the keep’s interior.

  The three trolls at the castle had shifted their tactics. While one continued to rain titanic, bone-shaking blows against the dark granite walls of the keep, the other two had moved to flank the breach. They stood like grotesque, iron-plated statues, their massive clubs raised as they craned their helmeted heads towards the sky.

  As Graxion unleashed a torrent of white-hot flame, the fire washed over the trolls’ iron armor like water over a stone. The metal plates turned a dull, glowing orange, radiating a heat that would have withered a man, but the giants didn't flinch. They were acting as living shields, allowing the goblin infantry to scuttle between their trunk-like legs and into the keep’s shattered entrance, safe from the dragon's breath.

  "Focus on the riders!" I yelled, pointing toward a fresh wave of boar-mounted goblins charging across the courtyard.

  The dragons wheeled over the castle wall, skimming barely five feet above the jagged ruins of the battlements. Graxion opened his maw, and instead of a wide spray, he fired a concentrated lance of flame. It caught a cluster of twenty goblins mid-charge.

  The result was instantaneous and horrific.The boars squealed in an agonizing, high-pitched frenzy as the fire cooked them in their tracks, their riders turning into blackened husks before they could even hit the ground. The courtyard was suddenly filled with a new scent. The metallic tang of blood and the sulfur of dragon fire were overwhelmed by the heavy, cloying smell of roasting pork.

  Beside us, Bakaan was a shadow of wind and malice. The black dragon beat his wings with a violent, snapping force, creating localized whirlwinds that acted like a meat grinder. The vortexes sucked up loose shale, splintered wood, and the bodies of goblins, spinning them into a lethal blender of debris.

  The black dragon skimmed the ground; his massive tail whipped out, catching a line of boar riders and sending them flying into the granite walls with a jumbled crash of broken armor and shattered bones. The whirlwind from his wings picked up the glowing embers and the charred remains, turning the courtyard into a lethal storm as more goblins were slaughtered.

  The dragons banked to climb before we got too close to the trolls. As Graxion cleared the wall, one of the trolls shielding the keep’s door lunged forward. With a speed that seemed impossible for its bulk, it swung its massive stone-headed club in a wide, upward arc.

  "Bakaan, the troll!" Monica’s scream was nearly lost in the roar of battle.

  The black dragon frantically twisted in mid-air, the massive club whistling past his belly by a matter of inches. The force of the swing was so great it created a pocket of displaced air that rocked the dragon. Bakaan’s body shuddered as he recovered; nearly clipping the top of the castle wall as he climbed towards safety.

  The dragon let out a sharp, angry hiss, and I felt a spike of cold, predatory alarm radiate from him. He knew how close that had been. If that club had connected, the black dragon would have been swatted from the sky like a fly.

  We circled higher, and my heart sank. Thick, oily black smoke was no longer just rising from the bailey; it was beginning to pour out of the keep’s narrow arrow slits.

  "They’re burning it!" Monica yelled, her voice tight with horror. "The goblins are setting fires inside the lower floors!"

  Haltrock Castle was being turned into a furnace. The goblin soldiers, in their frenzied madness to kill and destroy the enemy, were burning the keep. They didn’t seem to care that many of their own soldiers were going to die along with the defenders!

  I felt a surge of anger and frustration. We were too late. There was no way we could help those trapped inside the keep.

  The dragons circled over the burning keep.

  Through the swirling, acrid haze, I saw movement. Goblins were rushing up the stairs that emptied onto the roof.

  As Graxion flew closer. I saw a flash of steel. A small group of figures was huddled near the corner battlement, their shields locked in a desperate circle. The goblins shrieked and howled as they threw themselves against the defenders.

  "Survivors," I muttered, my eyes narrowing as I spotted a red-headed girl in the center of the circle, frantically working on a brass device. They wouldn’t last long. "Graxion, get us to the roof!"

  ***

  Princess Thraine

  Princess Thrainne of Uskvar wiped a smear of grease and soot across her forehead, the leather glove leaving a dark streak that matched the obsidian stone of the roof. Her protective goggles were smudged from the smoke. Around her, the air was thick enough to chew—a foul mixture of burning oak, charred meat, and the sulfurous stench of dragon fire.

  "Hold the line!" she barked, her voice raspy from the smoke. "Just three more rotations on the pressure valve and I’ll have the friction-igniter primed!"

  "Princess, there are too many!" one of her guards shouted, his shield buckling under the weight of a goblin’s jagged spear.

  The "oil-discharger" sat before her, a brass-heavy monstrosity of pipes and gears that she had spent the last hour desperately modifying. It was supposed to spray a fine mist of flammable resin, but right now, it was mostly just emitting a rhythmic, wet clunk-clunk sound.

  Thrainne had found the device tucked away in a closet in the keep’s armory. Haltrock’s commander had refused to let her bring it along with her. The princess had insisted the Uskvar delegation stay so she could examine it.

  The commander had allowed her to examine the contraption on the condition of conducting her experiments on the relative safety of the roof. The oil-dischargers were a relic from another age, long abandoned because they were as likely to kill their operator as they were the enemy. Thrainne had been beyond thrilled to have found one in such good condition.

  "Just hold them for ten more seconds!" Thrainne yelled, her voice cracking as she fought a stubborn valve.

  "There is no time, Princess!" a guard roared, his shield vibrating under the frantic rhythmic pounding of goblin hatchets.

  The roof of the keep was no longer a sanctuary; it was an anvil. Below them, the keep was screaming as the fire gutted its lower halls. The dark stone beneath Thrainne’s boots was becoming painfully hot, and thick, oily smoke was curling up through the cracks in the masonry.

  The goblin warriors were the hammer pounding at the defenders. The Uskvar dwarves were either going to get slaughtered by the green-skinned warriors or roasted by the flames that were turning the keep into an inferno.

  A goblin shrieked, its spindly body vaulting over the shoulders of its kin and landing on a dwarven shield. The circle was breaking. The green-skinned warriors pressed harder, flinging themselves with wild abandon onto the shield wall.

  A dwarven warrior was overwhelmed. Then another. As the defenders fought to close the circle again, a handful of goblin warriors sprinted into the gap. She yanked on the trigger lever. It was stuck!

  Thrainne reached for her heavy wrench to use as a club, but then a shadow—massive and terrifyingly red—blotted out the smoky sunlight. Thrainne looked up, her goggles reflecting a nightmare of crimson scales.

  The down-draft from the red dragon’s wings was so powerful it sent several goblins tumbling backward toward the roof’s edge. Thrainne squinted through the smoke and ash, her eyes widening as she saw a man standing tall in the dragon’s saddle. He didn't wait for the beast to land.

  The dragon rider leaped.

  He plummeted ten feet, landing in a crouch right in the center of the dwarven circle. He didn't say a word; he simply rose with a pair of hand axes gripped in his fists. The human warrior was a whirlwind of practiced, brutal efficiency. The axes blurred, hacking through green flesh and mismatched armor as he stepped into the gap where the dwarven line had begun to buckle.

  The warrior was a blur of steel and motion. An axe caught a goblin in the chest, the force of the blow throwing the creature back into the ranks of its brothers, while the other blade opened a throat in a spray of dark blood.

  "Get to the corner!" the man roared, his voice cutting through the din.

  A large goblin warrior, his eyes wide with bloodlust, lunged toward Thrainne just as she hammered the lever with her wrench.

  Instead of a bolt of fire or a blast of steam, the machine let out a pathetic hiss and sprayed a jet of thick, purple lubricating oil all over the roof.

  "Oh, for the love of a mountain’s core!" Thrainne cursed in frustration.

  As the princess turned, the goblin thrust his spear at her. The dragon rider lunged to the side, placing himself between the goblin and her. The spear caught him in the shoulder, the black iron head biting deep.

  The man grunted, his face contorting in pain, but he didn't stop swinging. One of his axes smashed into the goblin’s face. A moment later they were both on the ground having lost their footing on the oil.

  Thrainne felt a surge of relief as the man who had just taken a spear meant for her rolled to his feet. The goblin he had been fighting lay on the floor, twitching as blood poured from his shattered face.

  The princess’s relief turned to dismay; she could see the dragon rider was bleeding badly from the spear wound and his left arm hung useless at his side. Undaunted, the man parried a goblin sword and then kicked out with his boot, sending the green-skinned warrior flying backwards.

  The red dragon roared as he landed on the battlement, where he lashed out with teeth and claws. The goblins cowered away from the mighty beast. The remaining dwarven warriors, emboldened by the arrival of the dragon, fought heroically, hacking and slashing with their axes and swords.

  The black dragon Thrainne had seen earlier landed near the stairs, ravaging the goblins that were trying to make their way onto the roof. The battle on the keep was turning into a hellish scene of death and smoke and fire.

  "I can help!" Thrainne shouted, dropping her wrench and scrambling for a discarded heavy crossbow.

  As she turned with the weapon, she saw a goblin lunge past the wounded man while he was busy decapitating another. Sensing the threat, he leapt like a mountain lion to shield Thrainne from a spear aimed at her throat. His axe knocked the spear aside.

  The goblin recovered quickly, bringing the butt around and striking the man’s wounded arm. The man grunted in pain before head-butting the goblin. The green-skinned warrior staggered back, stunned by the blow.

  Thrainne braced the crossbow against her shoulder, her finger trembling on the trigger. "Die, you filth!"

  At that exact moment, the roof let out a terminal, gut-wrenching groan. The granite beneath her feet shifted as the internal supports of the keep finally surrendered to the heat. Thrainne stumbled, her foot catching in a fresh crack.

  Twang.

  The heavy bolt sang as it left the rail. It didn't hit the goblin's head. The steel tip tore through the man’s leather armor as it passed through his side and burst out the front. The man grunted in pain as the bolt passed through his body, trailing a spray of crimson before burying itself in the goblin’s groin.

  The goblin collapsed to the ground in agony.

  Thrainne froze, her eyes wide with horror as she watched the man’s arm drop, the axe slipping from his numb fingers. "I... oh, gods, I’ve killed him," she whispered.

  “Roman!” The black dragon’s rider yelled from across the roof.

  The man stumbled as the roof shifted again. He pushed his palm against the hole in his side in an effort to stop the bleeding. Thrainne dropped the crossbow as she rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him to steady him as the roof trembled again.

  The man glanced at the writhing goblin on the ground. Then he looked at her, his jaw set in a hard, grim line. "Nice shot," he growled.

  The roof disintegrated. A massive pillar of fire erupted from the center of the keep as the lower floors collapsed. Thrainne clutched herself against the man in panic as the floor crumbled beneath them. Her stomach lurched as they dropped. All she could think of was that she was going to die before inventing anything useful!

  “Ooooff!” The breath was squeezed from her body as a pair of giant claws wrapped around them. The man grunted again as their plunge was halted and they were jerked into the sky.

  Beside them, Thrainne glimpsed the black dragon diving through a wall of black smoke, his claws snatching two Uskvar guards by their heavy leather belts before they disappeared into the flames below.

  As they ascended, the entire keep finally gave way. The building folded in on itself with a roar that drowned out the battle, sending a pillar of fire and debris hundreds of feet into the air.

  High above the carnage, tucked into the protective curve of Graxion’s claws, Thrainne stared at the man she assumed was named Roman. Blood—thick, hot, and very human—was pouring from the wound in his shoulder. She could feel the wet warmth of more blood against her abdomen as blood from the hole her bolt had made seeped through her shirt.

  "You're... you're leaking," she stammered, her voice small against the rushing wind. "My bolt... I didn't mean to..."

  Roman leaned his head back against the dragon’s leg, his breathing heavy and ragged. Then he looked down at the battlefield. Thrainne followed his gaze. A pair of trolls was lumbering away from the burning ruin of the castle. The remaining goblin warriors were running for their lives as dragons harried them, slashing and rending them with each swooping dive. “We won,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” Thrainne’s voice was full of anguish as she saw the pain in the man's eyes. The man was dying because he had risked his life to save her. He turned his head back to the soot-covered princess. "At least you hit the goblin too," he managed, his voice tight with pain.

  Roman’s eyes closed as his head slumped against hers. Thrainne’s eyes filled with tears. Her mechanical brilliance had failed, her shot had gone wild, and she had probably killed the man who had saved her life.