Free City of Fire (City Trilogy (Mass Market)) by Laurence Yep

Scirye swung the halberd up clumsily. The gauntlet was still on her hand and she held it up to protect her eyes as her other hand swung the halberd against the glass.
    The tempered glass cracked but did not break, crystalline lines spreading across the surface.
    “That’s a priceless antique!” Kles gasped as he hovered near her.
    “I need it to go after that dragon.” Scirye struck furiously at the glass over and over until it finally shattered into small bits.
    The brown-haired boy called Leech had come over to see what she was doing. His wound had stopped bleeding but blood had smeared with the dust so that his face had become a gruesome mask.
    “That rug’ll never fly,” he said.
    He was just so typical of the brash, overconfident idiots in schoolthat she did not even bother glaring at him. “It did once,” she countered. From past experiences, she knew it would be a waste of time to try to correct someone who was as happy wallowing in ignorance as a pig in mud. So rather than explaining more, she went on hacking the carpet from the frame with the halberd blade. The old, brittle threads broke easily and the carpet was curling down on her before she realized it.
    She was surprised when she glimpsed another pair of hands catching the top of the rug before it could engulf her. Leech said nothing as he helped her lower it to the floor.
    Koko was wiping the grit from his face with his handkerchief as he came over. “The girlie’s gone cuckoo.”
    Kles snapped his beak haughtily. “You will address the Lady Scirye properly and keep your insults to yourself.”
    “Calling her a lady doesn’t make her one.” Koko smirked. “And she’s still crazy.”
    “Shut up, Koko,” Leech said, but he seemed to share the opinion because there was pity in his eyes as she spread the carpet on the glass-covered floor.
    Scirye did her best to ignore them. “Can you read the spell, Kles?” she asked her griffin.
    Kles had earned the knowledge painfully enough after all the pecks from the eyrie keeper. “Yes,” he said as he settled again on her shoulder, “at least I think I can. But is there any point in trying to talk you out of this?”
    “No.”
    “I didn’t think so,” the griffin said regretfully. “Then we’ll need a small bit of your life flow.”
    Scirye cut a finger of her free hand with the stiletto Prince Etre had given her and squeezed a ruby drop out onto the fingertip. “What next?” she asked, holding her finger poised over the rug.
    “This is madness.” Kles sighed. But he pointed a claw at theupper left corner. “Let the carpet drink there. And then say the words after me.”
    Scirye was startled when she touched the spot and felt the carpet almost kiss her finger. The gold threads around her fingertip began to burn with an inner fire.
    “Ytarte yentantse”
Kles began in the Old Tongue.
    When Scirye repeated the words, the carpet’s edges began to flutter slightly. Within the center, the image of Oado, the god of the wind, seemed to waken as if from a long slumber.
    Koko sidled in close to his friend and whispered, “Let’s go.” He looked about the room and then said conspiratorially, “We’ll cram what we can into our pockets and put the blame on the dragon and his buddies.”
    Leech shook his head. “I’d feel too rotten inside if I ran away now. If she can get this thing to fly, I’m going with her.”
    Scirye shook her head. “You’ll only get in my way.”
    “The dragon killed my friend, Primo,” Leech said. “Primo saved our lives. I never knew anyone so kind as him.”
    Scirye saw the determined look on his face. Just like her, he had a purpose now. A hunger for revenge was so much better than wallowing in their earlier despair. Whether he knew it or not, he had given himself over to the goddess so, for Nanaia’s sake, she would have to put up with him.
    She pointed to the shattered window on a nearby display. “Then get the throwing axes. They won’t travel as far as