Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I ignore him and move back towards the subdued wyvern, sending out magic to read its bodily condition. Male. The blood in his veins is pulsing hard, the pressure high, very high. Not just from our fight.
I probe deeper. Strong spells have been used on this animal. It’s like . . . the wyverns from the royal city. Exactly like the wyverns from the royal city, but . . .
I drop to my knees and crawl closer. The pearly scales are cracked and brittle at the edges. A miracle he could transform at all.
In desperate defence of his territory, afraid we were there to hurt it again, crazed with disease, he fought with the last of his strength.
He shifts with a pained whine, like a call to a mother to come find him, help him.
I swallow. “This is one your uncle modified. Those spells backfired inside its body. The body has tried to fight it, repair itself, but it’s triggered the spell to adapt. It’s become a toxin. When wyverns become one with water . . .”
“That’s how this disease is spreading?” Bastion asks.
There’s a heavy weight to Quin’s silence behind us.
My teeth gnash hard, and I swallow a knot of anger. “He’s in agony. We need to put him out of his misery.”
“Can you make him fall asleep?” Quin murmurs, gaze softening on the whining animal.
“I’m exhausted of remedies. I’d need to consume more.”
A whip flashes before my face, slicing down. The wyvern doesn’t see it coming, or doesn’t have the strength to fight if he does. This time, the writhing animal doesn’t burst into water, but falls lifeless, decapitated. Bluish blood pools onto the earth.
No one speaks for long moments.
A brutal death, but there’s kindness in its speed. I push to my feet and inspect the glasslike pool. “There are others in there. We need to get them out and away from the water source. Find somewhere close for a cairn—somewhere on stone; we have to protect the woods and stream from the toxin.”
This close to the caves, it doesn’t take long to find a patch of rock, thinly covered with fallen leaves and soil. We drag the dead wyverns out of the shallow pool one by one. “Careful. Don’t splash or touch them with damaged skin. You mustn’t take in the water.”
When the last layer of scavenged stone is complete, we step away. These poor creatures. I wonder if Quin is thinking of his uncle, of how many lives—human and not—that man has put at risk to dethrone a king. It’s not enough to manipulate earthshakes, to let wyverns kill innocent aklos and aklas in the royal city—now his mutated wyverns are infecting, killing, others. Suffering and dying.
I ball my hands tightly. Through the shimmer of the miasma, in the opening mouth of a cave, I think I see narrow leaves, etched with silver lines. Gildroot. What else lies in its depths? “There are lifesaving herbs in that cave.”
Bastion and Quin look sharply at me, and then at one another. As I take a step on the murky path, they each grab an arm to pull me back.
I try to shake them off, freeing myself only from Bastion’s grasp, and point. “Only dozens of feet away—”
“The miasma could kill you.”
“I’m just one person. What if—”
Quin yanks me around, hard. His jaw is set, his eyes flashing. “If you go in there, if you die, what then?” He shakes me. “They’ll have no chance.”
I grit my teeth and drop my head. He’s right. It’s too risky.
Bastion snorts. “My men will have arrived at the neighbouring towns by now. We should have supplies soon.”
I step back. “Let’s go.”
Bastion goes ahead on foot, to employ more of his men tracing the forks of the brook, to spread the word—water taken from it must be boiled before it can be used for anything, even washing or cleaning house, and crops grown with the water might be infected.
I support Quin back to his horse, where with the aid of a tree he mounts painfully, then holds his hand out to me. I hesitate, not wanting to cause him more strain, but he insists; I slide my cool hand into his large, warm one, and he hauls me up. I swing in behind him, holding onto his hips for purchase.
“Rest,” he commands, and I drop my forehead against his shoulder blades.
“Need to check in with Olyn,” I murmur.
“That’s not resting.”
“There are too many things. There’s something else. You won’t like it.”
“Speak.”
“The regent needs to know.”
Quin stiffens and I sigh against his nape. “It should be you, but . . . He needs to order a search. If other wyverns are sick like this, they must be found.”
“I can make sure he’s aware. But I can’t guarantee he’ll take action. He may know already.”
We’re contemplative as we ride; the fears of what might happen if the regent doesn’t act to stop further spread make me cold. I grip Quin tighter, focus on the motion of the horse under me and Quin’s warm back. The way it rises and falls evenly, like he’s in control.