Page 135 of Foundling

But there’d be time for that.

Right now, Leita had to win that time.

Jumping into the air, she flew for the border. Just inside, the faelands greeted her as an old friend, ethereal hands running over her face and shoulders as though to assure itself she was well. The pressure in her chest returned, and while Leita didn’t welcome it, there was a reassurance to feel the magic again.

“Will you trust me?” she asked it. Landing right inside the faelands, she crouched to dig her hands into the earth. “Will you help us?”

The grass curled around her fingers. Yes.

Sucking in a hopeful breath, Leita told the faelands in her mind what she wished. She envisioned threads of magic reaching across the meadow to find each of her fae, imbuing them with a sliver of strength from the faelands itself.

Share your power, she pleaded. I can’t do this alone.

The earth trembled beneath her fingers, and white threads appeared in the grass. Leita watched in amazement as the threads pierced the border, slithering across the meadow to every fae. One by one, the magic found them, twining round their fingers. She didn’t know if they realized or felt the change, but it was there when they needed it.

Already her warriors fought valiantly, the training they’d done with Attalus clear. The triads worked together to isolate a single dragon or pin two together, crowding them to negate their long necks and spitting flames.

But more than a few lay wounded or unmoving across the meadow, and dozens of dragons hovered above, waiting for space to swoop down and join the fray.

Can you reach that far? Leita asked, nodding at the cliff.

The grove of cypresses behind her rattled their limbs.

She smiled wildly. Meet me on the other side.

Leita flew back through the hole, the ground beneath her upturning and splitting. She landed on Thalia, and together they led the reaching roots for the nearest dragon.

The faelands fought against the invasion, reaching with grasping roots. Dragon roars turned to shrieks as the very ground turned against them. Woody fingers broke through the dirt to wind round ankles and tails.

One after another, dragons fell to the ground, bound there by constricting roots.

Thalia jumped to the side, avoiding a stream of flame from above. Dragonfire rained down onto the roots, trying to burn them away.

Leita reached out for the nearest fire and clenched her fist shut, snuffing it.

Back and forth Thalia ran, Leita buffeting out fires. Her warriors cheered, adding their magic to encourage the roots and put out errant flames.

With her fae handling the fires, Leita lifted her hands into the air and began to swirl her fingers. The sea breeze off the cliffs grew into mighty gales, shaking the cypresses and overfilling dragon wings. Those trying to hover over the battle went head over tail, jettisoned out to sea or back across the strait.

Unleashed, the faelands rumbled underfoot, an earthquake shaking the cliff itself.

I think it knows it’s time to end this, Thalia told her.

Agreed.

Changing course, Thalia ran hard for the battling brothers.

The ground around them had been utterly devastated, scorched and slashed beyond recognition. Both dragons panted, tired from the duel, but neither would yield.

Riding around to catch his peripheral vision, Leita called, “Attalus!”

His long snout swung in her direction, and his large golden eyes narrowed into a scowl. He sprang at his brother, putting himself between Leita and Araxos.

She tried to summon roots and magic to hold the anax, but Attalus was too close.

Thalia leapt away to avoid a swiping tail, whickering in annoyance. Attalus ducked the front half of Araxos, claws swiping across his brother’s throat. The wicked curves caught on a loose scale, ripping it away, and blood welled at the exposed skin.

It was a wonder neither had bled until now, their hard scales scuffed and dented but holding.