Page 13 of The Last Dragon

“Leave!”

The very moment the last symbol was drawn, a shockwave sent the army and the wolves reeling. Cassian knew it: despite his impending unconsciousness, as long as his heart kept beating, Tariel’s body would be protected by his magic.

Cassian finally collapsed to the ground. Cyrus whistled the retreat, abandoning Tariel to the enemy, but the elf was enveloped in an impenetrable warmth.

The mercenary knew the Morgraves and Phineas’s immense pride well.

The prince knew full well that bringing back to the castle a mercenary capable of absorbing necromancy and an elven mage would make him the prodigious heir, restoring a semblance of hope to his fallen kingdom.

They were in grave danger.

Tariel

The emotional roller coaster that followed could have—and should have—killed him.

It all started with doubt.

He didn’t have an army.

Tariel was alone in the face of what awaited him, in the face of the dangers that seemed to cling to him. Why hadn’t he been entitled to an escort?

While this thought had initially been driven by his ego a few weeks ago, it now bordered on despair.

Yes, that’s what it was: the elf was doubting.

Next came fear.

Tariel was, in fact, terrified. Cassian had no known reason not to hand the elf over to the prince standing before them. In fact, he has more to gain by selling me on the black market, he thought.

Power, a title… Who wouldn’t want that? Wait… Did Tariel actually have a title? He was a mage—a mere mage, the son of a counselor—shut away in his elven city. Of course, he didn’t have a bloody title.

If he wanted to escape, now was the time… But the elf was rooted into place.

Eventually, it was anger that flooded the elf’s wounded heart, which seemed periodically enhanced by a magic that was not even his own.

At that moment, he hated the man lying unconscious on the ground.

He hated him with every fiber of his being.

He hated that heat, that magic he knew nothing about, but could feel all around him.

Cassian was going to die, and he would take the elf with him.

He felt powerless. Vulnerable and pathetic.

“You bastard… You damn bastard! No, take me away! Please, don’t leave me with him… With them!”

Tariel lowered his head, his shoulders slumping as the soldiers laughed in his face. He should’ve been used to humiliation by now… But he wasn’t, and his heart, his pride, were in shambles.

A soldier stepped forward, seemingly to rough him up a little and tie him to the back of a horse, but the brute was hit squarely in the face by an invisible blast.

The man was thrown backward, which startled the elf as well. He definitely hadn’t done that, since he was deprived of his magic. Tariel’s gaze fell briefly on Cassian’s lifeless body, lying a short distance away, still bleeding from his poisoned wound. Was that him?

The elf remained lost in thought for a moment before letting out a sigh and obeying the orders being shouted into his ear—after the stunt he’d just pulled, he didn’t need to rile the guards up any further.

Accompanied by charming insults and delightful threats, he allowed his hands—already bound by Cassian’s restraints—to be tied to the ropes attached to a horse’s saddle. Cassian’s massive body, utterly unconscious, was tied by the ankles to another mount, condemned to be dragged across the cold, rocky ground. Amid the most unpleasant clinking of buckles and chains, the group set off, forcing Tariel to walk ahead, dust whipping against his face.

“Brynjar,” he murmured to himself, his voice muffled by the wind, “how am I supposed to remain patient?”