Page 25 of Wings of Ice and Steel

The enemy numbers were simply too great for three varanyen to dismantle. This was the Council’s fault. They hadn’t heeded the reports or simply hadn’t cared, believing Ariadnne capable. The dragons had decimated close to a third of the human force, but those left were still enough to destroy the gentle folk living in the soft southern lands if they broke through the wall.

That couldn’t be allowed. It was as simple as that—she had to do everything she could to stop the advancing horde before it swallowed Eradiata whole.

Glancing across the field, Lucius and Regulus had teamed up to take out another catapult that had come into range. Lucius’ blood dripped at a steady pace and the wound stilted his movements. It was Ariadnne’s turn, and this time Melixanthe didn’t stop her as she swept towards a lumbering tower. The sweat-soaked giants pulling it jumped as Ariadnne roared, ploughing into the side of the tower, smashing the supports and shaking off splinters.

Her chest inflated and she climbed higher, searching for another target when she heard Melixanthe shriek, followed by a jolt in her side.

Pain blossomed, a sharp, stabbing dagger that sent waves rippling through her shoulder. One of the giants had thrown an enormous spear—impaling her beneath the wing joint. Her wing was flailing, struggling to catch the wind. Horror rose. Up, up, up, her inner voice screamed as she willed that wing to keep moving.

She felt as knights re-attached around the spear, desperately trying to lever it out. Melixanthe yelled commands, but all Ariadnne could think was that she was going down. They were going to crash.

Panic overtook her. It filled her limbs with stone as the ground hurtled toward them. Her company. Nieve. They were all going to die, and there was nothing she could do. Terror, pure and unadulterated, enveloped her.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It couldn’t.

With her remaining strength she forced her flight towards a patch of ground where the enemy lines were thinnest; away from the deadly rows of archers near the front, desperately flapping her remaining wing to keep upright.

Seconds before impact, Ariadnne pleaded the gods to keep her from rolling.

To roll would be to crush everyone on board.

To roll would kill them all.

Hard ground rushed towards her, and her vision blurred—

Eleven

Ariadnne

Ariadnne struck the ground, the crash echoing from the tall peaks of the mountains. Pain seared as a hundred arrows dug deeper into her flesh, a cloud of dust smothering her senses and blotting out the sky. A low keen escaped her throat—a sound that abruptly halted as the silhouettes of enemy soldiers appeared through the murk.

Above, knights frantically released their straps. Ariadnne lashed the wicked barbs of her tail at the humans venturing too close as first one knight, then another leapt clear, shouting to form a shield wall. Only Melixanthe, Nieve and Josef stayed put, their worried voices rising.

‘It won’t budge!’

‘Keep trying…’

There was an edge of fear in Melixanthe’s voice that made Ariadnne instinctively panic.

‘Ariadnne, listen to me.’ Melixanthe’s authoritative voice cut through Ariadnne’s haze of pain. ‘The tip is barbed and it’s not going to move. You need to shift. There’s a chance while you’re fluid between forms… if you shift back quickly you can negate the damage of the shot.’ Ariadnne opened her eyes to stare. Did Melixanthe just suggest she shift? No… it would be suicide with a belly full of shot.

Around her, warriors fought. They had minutes at best before being overwhelmed. She turned her eye to the three gathered by the throbbing spear in her shoulder. To Nieve, who had put her life in Ariadnne’s hands. A mixture of guilt and longing made her heart clench.

In another life perhaps she would have learned what she truly fought for, what made her tick, what it would feel like to run fingers through that silver hair…

The pain was making her delusional.

But there was no other life, and no other choice besides the one Melixanthe had given her. She gave Melixanthe a nod.

Her side screamed in pain as Melixanthe seized the spear, bellowing for the others to grab hold. The worst part was that Ariadnne knew the pain was mild compared to what was coming. A belly full of tenethium shot—it might only be a handful for a dragon, but for a fae... She was about to be ripped to shreds.

No choice. She chanted the words as the shift shuddered over her, limbs and wings disappearing like leaves withering on a branch. Shot ripped through sinew and muscle and she screamed, the sharp burn all-encompassing. A few metallic pieces fell to the ground, alongside a multitude of arrows, but too much stayed buried inside her, the evil barbs clinging tightly to her flesh. A second scream shredded her throat. It was too much. She was barely aware as her warriors drew close, their defensive ring tightening.

There was a cry of relief—muffled and far-sounding—as the spear came free, but Ariadnne was beyond caring, her world shrinking to little more than a ball of agony.

Dirt beneath her fingertips, hard and cold, nails clenching against the ground. Ariadnne’s skin rippled, bare to the elements as she knelt amid the tangle of loose harness. Her breath came in ragged gasps, blood dribbling between her fingers as she clutched at her abdomen, groaning. Sharp, metal edges jutted through her torn skin, the shards pressing on organs, jagged barbs causing who knew what damage to her insides. Ariadnne paled as a wave of nausea and dizziness rolled through her.

‘Ariadnne! Shift!’ Melixanthe commanded. Ariadnne cast a bleary glance up. Her handler’s usually calm face was frantic with worry, her gaze darting between Ariadnne and the rest of their company. The line held, but increasing numbers of humans flung themselves onto their shields.