Free Alora: The Portal by Tamie Dearen

in her ears. She wanted to turn her face away from the monster. Yet her eyes locked onto it, and she couldn’t tear them away.
    The bright moonlight gave a sickeningly clear view of the approaching creature. Like a humongous bat, the wendt flapped its leathery wings. The thick, heavy body seemed similar to movie scenes of a small dragon. But the strongest impression was the malevolence emanating from every pore on its body, as if it pushed a nauseating fog in its wake.
    “Wesley, Mr. Franks… do you see it?”
    “I can see it,” Brian declared.
    “Let it get closer,” said Wesley. “Don’t waste an arrow.”
    Alora kept her gaze on the creature, ready to send it back to Vindrake the moment she felt her wander-jewel had linked to it.
    “Ready?” asked Wesley. “On my mark… Three… Two… One… Now .”
    She never saw the arrows leave the bows, but she heard their release. And she saw them impact the wendt. It screamed and faltered but continued its relentless flight toward the heart of Laegenshire.
    Mr. Franks muttered something and then darted his eyes toward her. “Sorry Alora. I’ll try to watch my language.” He and Wesley had already nocked a second set of arrows.
    “Go,” said Wesley.
    Now the wendt was almost directly overhead. An arrow hit the creature’s neck. Was it Wesley’s or Mr. Franks’? Either way, the animal dropped like a rock toward the platform. Like a really large rock. Wesley yelled a warning, pointing at the plunging dead body, but it was too late to escape. Alora steeled herself, staring, as the wendt’s form grew larger and larger. She knew the moment she could tag him—it felt like a dawning recognition. Without a moment to spare, she sent him to Vindrake, wherever he might be.
*****
    “Sire! Are you injured?”
    Vindrake fumed as he picked himself up from the ground. This time Alora had sent the wendt on a collision course with his horse. The steed had startled, rearing to throw him off in a most undignified fashion. He cursed when his right foot gave way, pain shooting through his ankle.
    Glaring at his guard, he trembled with barely restrained anger. Were they laughing at his distress? No they couldn’t laugh—not outwardly—because the bloodbond prevented it. Yet Vindrake felt it… Some of them were delighted he’d been thrown from his horse. He remembered another time when he’d been publicly humiliated. The laughter of his father’s council members still rang in his ears.
     
    “No, Vindrake, you’ve already received all the gifts God granted you… you can never gain another. Yet, you mustn’t fret. For the council will recognize your leadership when you are of age to replace me, regardless of the gifts you possess. Also, with your brother coming into gifts of strength and weapons, he’ll be poised to be your weapons master. His gifts will more than accommodate any you are lacking.”
    “Vinnasae speaks truth, Drakeon.” Barristae, the chief judge of Water Clan, affirmed with a nod. “The council is sworn to follow the succession of leadership.”
    “But Father, if I study the ancient scrolls, I may find a way to acquire more gifts. Perhaps I may even be able to obtain another major power. My gifting in language is strong. I may decipher meanings others have missed.”
    Stifled laughter tittered throughout the room as Vindrake’s cheeks burned.
    “Vindrake, we haven’t time or warriors to spare on a useless expedition to the Craedenza in Glaenshire.” An indulgent expression covered his father’s face, but irritation crept into the edges of his smile.
    “I could go alone. I don’t need any warriors with me.”
    This time his father laughed aloud, and the council members joined in the chorus. Vindrake turned his back to hide his burning cheeks.
    “Ah, Drakeon BarVinnasae, you may not have my gifting, but you have my courage, misguided though you may be. Surely you can recognize you could never travel in safety on the long journey to Glaenshire