Rylan was in his night shirt, reading in bed, when he heard a pounding on his door. “Rylan, you’re needed at the eyrie!” Again, the knocking. “It’s the indurium from Ancris, Bothymus!”
Rylan set the book on the bedside table, headed to his front door, and found the lift attendant, Mouse, holding a lantern on the deck outside. “What about Bothymus?”
“He was attacked.”
Rylan frowned, if only to cover the surge of fear bubbling up inside him. “Attacked by what?”
“A cobalt. Please, just hurry.”
“Okay, hang on.” He rushed back to his bedroom to fetch his clothes, calling over his shoulder. “How bad is he?”
“His shoulder is wounded, and he won’t let anyone near him. He’s thrashing and roaring at everyone. Andros wants him put down, but the eyrie master wants you to try to calm him first.”
Rylan threw off his night shirt and pulled on the clothes he’d been wearing earlier. He’d gone to Valdavyn to have dinner with Briar and Lyssa. They’d talked mostly about the new arrivals from Ancris: Praefectus Damika, Inquisitors Lorelei and Creed. Briar had told Rylan about Damika’s request to allow Creed and Lorelei to investigate the Red Knives and Marstan’s refusal to allow it.
Rylan was keen to learn more about Llorn’s plans, especially after Aarik’s death, so when he’d gone out for a smoke and Lorelei had shown up, he’d thought, maybe she’d do it for him. If she’d gotten hurt, or if Bothymus had been injured, the ease of her escape might be traced back to him.
His clothes changed, he rushed back through his burrow and out the door.
At the first ringwalk, Mouse went right and Rylan continued toward the eyrie. “I’ll let Valdavyn know you’ve left!”
Rylan hurried up the coiled stairway. The forest was dark, but the main walkways were well lit by lanterns. By the time he arrived at the eyrie’s staging deck, his lungs were burning. Bothymus was in one of the lower nests. The nests above and to either side of his were empty.
Jorrik stood on the walkway leading to Bothymus’s nest, holding a bright orange gourd, the sort eyrie masters hollowed out to deliver medicines to ailing dragons. “Come now, Bothymus,” Jorrik said, “you’d like a treat, wouldn’t you? It’ll settle you right down. I promise.”
Bothymus snaked his head back and forth and snapped his jaws at nothing. He made high-pitched gurgling sounds. Near one shoulder joint were three puncture wounds. From each wound, a trail of dried blood ran down his glittering, silver-blue chest. A splatter of crimson stained his right wing, likely due to his flight back to the eyrie.
Jorrik took a step closer, holding out the gourd. Bothymus hissed and slammed his tail on the walkway in front the eyrie master, splintering the planks and railing. Jorrik stepped back and spotted Rylan. “Thank the goddess you’re here.” He shot a glance over his shoulder at Bothymus. “He came in an hour ago carrying one of the inquisitors from Ancris.”
“Inquisitor Lorelei?”
Jorrik shrugged. “The pretty one with the red hair.”
“Where is she? I need to talk to her.”
“That’ll be difficult. She told us she was attacked by a cobalt then fainted right here on the walk.” Jorrik tilted his head toward his office. “She’s lying on my couch. As for Bothymus, I managed to get some wolfsbane in him, and he let me remove the barbs, but then he got worse, the poison setting in, I suspect.” He held up the gourd. “I was about to try black sage, so I can tend to the wounds, but he won’t let me.”
If Bothymus had failed to respond to wolfsbane, it meant he’d caught a good dose of the poison.
Something moved to Rylan’s left. Quinn, one of the eyrie hands, was exiting the eyrie’s lift rolling a barrow with a goat carcass in it. Judging from the pool of blood in the barrow and the pink traces of blood on his hands, Quinn had killed the beast himself only moments ago.
“I was hoping fresh meat would help calm him,” Jorrik said, “but I’m starting to think it’s too late.”
“Give me some time alone with him. Quinn?” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the dead goat. “Douse the meat in the valerian decoction. Quickly, now.” He headed for Bothymus’s nest. “Jorrik, make sure no other dragons come near us, and don’t let anyone near Bothymus until I’m done. That includes Andros, understand me?”
Jorrik hesitated but then nodded. Rylan headed toward Bothymus, stopped at the shattered walkway, and stood as close to the dragon as he dared. Bothymus raised his tail and stared down at Rylan, but Rylan pushed the worry from the dragon’s mind. He raised his right hand, hid his left behind his back, and stared into Bothymus’s moonstone eyes. Then he took a deep breath and began to sing.
He sang of peace and comfort, but after several verses, it hardly seemed to be doing any good. Bothymus’s thoughts were too chaotic to link to. He was confused, his thoughts moving from place to place. Bothymus shared glimpses of flying over a city, of traveling through the maze, of nesting in an eyrie of stone and wood. Rylan saw the lash of a blue tail, felt bright pain and cringed, but the memory was gone in a moment, replaced by a vision of seven induria, perched on a high cliff. Then he saw a mid-air battle with a fearsome, golden-feathered roc.
Reckoning it was the only way to calm Bothymus, Rylan let the dragon’s thoughts lead him. He was a beast in chains, the ever-present fetter in his bridle keeping him in line. He was an inquisitor’s mount, flying over white-capped mountains, over green, rolling foothills, over a vast endless forest. Rylan felt helpless, lost in the spell of madness. Over and over, he fought to regain himself, only to be drawn back into the storm of Bothymus’s wild, chaotic thoughts.
Then a red-haired woman squeezing his crop, pleading for rescue, flashed across their link. Bothymus sped between the citadels. The woman was being attacked by a cobalt, its wings spread, its tail quivering and ready to strike. He engaged the shimmering cobalt, caught a volley of poisoned barbs in his shoulder, broke from the battle, sped toward the red-haired woman. It was Lorelei, the inquisitor, whom he’d helped sneak away from Valdavyn, which reminded him of who he was.
He altered his song. Lorelei’s story became a rock in the raging river. He clung to it, anchored himself and Bothymus. He continued, slowing the song’s pace, and Bothymus’s wild thoughts slowed with it, enough for Rylan to urge him to lie in his nest, to rest. Rylan coaxed him to think about his hunger, and the big indurium began to focus on his empty stomach instead of his wounded shoulder.
“Now, Quinn,” Rylan said.
But Quinn didn’t answer. Andros did. “Step away, Rylan.”
He turned to see Andros aiming a crossbow at Bothymus. The bolt’s steel broadhead was coated in black coryza.
Rylan raised his hands and stepped toward Andros. “Put it down, Andros. Please.”
“It’s been stung by a cobalt, Rylan.” Andros glanced up at the higher nests, where the eyrie’s other dragons were clustered. “If you think I’m going to wait for it to start attacking other dragons—if you think I’m going to jeopardize Magnor’s safety—you’re mad.”
“He’s calm now.” Rylan stepped closer to Andros, stealing a glance at the goat in the wheelbarrow. “We’ll get him to sleep. I have a salve that will help him overcome the poison.”
“How do you know it will work?”
“It will work. And even if it doesn’t”—Rylan pointed to the crossbow—“we’ll still have that option.”
Rylan felt himself tense, which was making Bothymus nervous. The indurium snapped his jaws at the air with a loud clack and trumpeted so loud Rylan had to cover his ears.
Andros stepped right to aim his crossbow around Rylan, but Rylan stepped back in front of it.
“Get out of the way, Rylan.” Andros bared his teeth, just like he used to when they were younger and Rylan defied him.
Rylan was certain Andros was about to pull the trigger, but a woman’s voice called out from the citadel to his left.
“Are you aware who owns that dragon?”
Rylan and Andros both turned to find Lorelei standing in the doorway to the eyrie master’s burrow.
Andros continued pointing his bolt at Rylan. “It’s the inquisitors’,” he said.
“A common misconception.” Lorelei approached them on the walkway. “Bothymus is the personal mount of Skylar Solvina. You may have heard of her. She’s the daughter of Quintarch Lucran?”
Andros’s eyes narrowed. “You brought him to the Holt. You’ve flown him here a dozen times.”
“Skylar allows me to fly him.” Lorelei stepped across the broad deck and stopped a few paces from Andros. “How do you suppose Quintarch Lucran will react when he learns you put down his daughter’s dragon”—she waved toward Rylan—“without even giving your own dragon singer a chance to heal him?”
“You weren’t even supposed to be out. My father forbade you from entering the Holt.”
“Be that as it may.”
“Alra’s bright light,” Andros whined, “he was poisoned by a cobalt.”
“And he may need to be put down, but we will try to save him first.” Lorelei stepped up next Rylan in Andros’s line of fire. “Now put that weapon down and let Rylan do his work.”
Andros stared at Bothymus. He shook his head, and the fire in his eyes dimmed. “I won’t be far,” he said, then turned and stormed away.