Free Blood and Royalty by M. R. Mathias Page B

young man could be.
    The other ebon-skinned Outland boy was a sobbing mess now.
    “Once you’re gone, we will use one of those timbers.” Rikky pointed to a small pile of building and restorative materials that were stored in the crawl space. “We can get the opening wide enough that we don’t have to dally when we make our run.”
    We can come nowsss, Silva hissed into Marcherion’s and surely Rikky’s mind, for it was Rikky who answered her.
    There are too many mudged here. Pascal is Aikira’s son. I won’t risk it.
    March knew Pascal hadn’t heard them, but Pascal seemed to know they were talking to the dragons.
    The exasperated sound Silva sent out across the ethereal let them know she didn’t like it. But she would wait for Marcherion, with Blaze, who March knew wanted to be charring these sheep for himself right now. It struck Marcherion that, only after the Dragoneers started having children, did the female dragons become so overprotective of them.
    They’d had to spell Golden to sleep to keep her depleted core from failing her. She wanted Pascal safe more than she wanted to survive, which was unnatural for a High Dracus. She’d expended herself while constructing the shields.
    Crystal hadn’t been nearly as bad, but she hadn’t been lending her magic, only her icy breath. The fact that, once a mudged was close enough to touch her scales, its wings would stiffen and fail from her chill, was amazing to March, but Blaze didn’t seem to like her.
    “You men hold tight.” Marcherion gave Pascal a firm nod, and then clasped Rikky’s shoulder. “Even if I don’t make it, Blaze will come; but you are right. With two dragons and me covering you, you’ll have a better chance.”
    “This ain’t no coffin chore,” Rikky said. “You’ve gotten too skinny to even make a morsel for one of them bastards. Just don’t take too long.” Rikky smiled, and March remembered just how much he’d missed his old friend.
    Once those ranks of wyrms come down, it’s done, Rikky voiced.
    The last was said in the ethereal, Marcherion knew, so as not to scare the boys.
     
    *
     
    “This is Orn Spike?” Clover shook her head in wonder as she and Zahrellion stood looking at the unsheathed sword, where Jenka had laid it on a table.
    Aikira was finally asleep, and Jenka was off doing something that he said had to be done, but hadn’t elaborated on what it was.
    Both Zahrellion and Clover were about to go join the search for Pascal, their dragons having absorbed enough energy from the pads above. Zahrellion had used a druidic spell to freshen her own senses, and the great power of Clover’s dragon tear kept her ready.
    Clover grabbed the sword by the hilt, sort of hoping for some reaction from the weapon, but there was none. She let out a sigh and then offered Zahrellion the chance. Zah laughed and declined, but here came Princess Amelia, levitating a few inches off the floor as she slid up behind them. Clover saw her in the reflection of the shiny steel.
    “It is for Jericho,” Amelia said matter-of-factly. “If you grab the hilt, mother, the sword will ignite. If I touch it, or Jericho, it will too.”
    “You’re serious?” Clover was suddenly feeling the sort of rush of excitement that she used to feel when she and Crimzon were about to go dominate a battle.
    “Watch.” Amelia glided forth and wrapped her little hand about halfway around the hilt. The blade started glowing a light shade of blue, but flared out, and the whole room suddenly lit up with white-hot magic. This only lasted a moment, then she was gliding back, a grin of triumph on her face.
    “Your father held the hilt earlier, while he was looking at the markings, and nothing happened.” Clover looked at Amelia, then Zahrellion in turn. “So it is you, Zah, who carries the blood of the demon-fighter in you.”
    “I never knew my parents. Linux told me they died in a troll attack before I was born. The druids of Dou found me crying in the