Draven Ashborne's Arc

Chapter 5 of 17

The passage opened into the lair. Jagged stone rose on all sides, cracked with lines of glowing lava. Ember light painted the walls red. The corrupted vapor pooled thick here, green and low. Draven held his dragon form, cold laced through fire, but the lair stretched wide and deep. Seraphina came behind him, small and human. He needed her near to stay himself. The dragon waited somewhere in the dark, and Draven could not fight through this vast place while dragging her by his side. "He's too far in," Draven said. "I can't find him and keep you close." Seraphina's lips were pale. She had spent her heat cooling him at the cave mouth. "Then carry me." A sound cut the dark. Wings, then paws on stone. A creature slipped from a side passage, wolf-shaped, with sweeping antlers and folded silver wings. Blue and black fur caught the lava light. It had tracked them down through the fog. It lifted its nose and sniffed the green air, then turned its head toward the deep lair and growled low. "It smells him," Seraphina said. "It knows the way." Draven crouched and lifted Seraphina against his chest. She weighed nothing in his changed arms. From her belt she pulled the frost-touched herb, leaves rimmed with ice. Her hand shook. She could barely hold it. "Eat," Draven said. "No." Her voice stayed flat. "The herb keeps you human and weak. You need the dragon." She pressed the leaves to her own mouth and chewed. "It slows my blood. Steadies me. So I don't burn out before you kill him." She swallowed. Her breathing eased. The chill spread from her into his chest, and his hold on the change locked firm. The antlerwolf loped ahead, nose down, cutting a path through chambers Draven would have searched for hours. He followed with Seraphina tucked close, his sword in one hand. The wolf stopped at a wide cavern and bared its teeth. Green light leaked from within. Draven set Seraphina down against the wall, close but out of reach. Vexmorth uncoiled from the dark. Purple scales, torn wings, eyes and cracks burning sick green. Vapor bled from his hide. This was the elder dragon whose blood had remade Draven three years ago. The dragon that had cursed him. Vexmorth's white eyes fixed on him, then on the small woman at the wall. "You brought a snack," the dragon said. His voice was wet and low. Draven stepped between them. The fused blade woke in his grip. Frost climbed one edge, fire the other, meeting down the middle. "Stay behind the sword," he told Seraphina. Vexmorth lunged. Draven met him. The blade struck scale, and ice and fire bit deep. Vexmorth screamed and reared back, green blood hissing on the stone. Draven held his ground, still himself, Seraphina steady at his back. The hunt was over. The battle had begun.