Page 12 of The Last Dragon

A thin, translucent film enveloped Tariel, vibrating with residual heat. It was all he could do to shield him from the outside world while the elf was deprived of his own magic—and Cassian was beginning to regret his initial decision. If the elf had been able to fight…

No. If Tariel had been able to fight, he would have fought them without a second thought. He was an elf, after all. A councilor’s son.

“Excedo Carnem.”

The moment the whisper passed his lips, a second protective spell formed a shield around each of his traveling companions. Immediately, Cyrus, Erkan, and the others dismounted their horses and transformed. The cracking of bones gave way to a pack of massive wolves that immediately surrounded the elven prisoner, forming a wall with their bodies.

They had probably realized that Tariel was valuable.

Good.

Cassian then grabbed his own sword. As soon as his fingers closed around the hilt, the gemstones embedded at the top of the pommel glowed with an intense radiance, reflecting the latent power of his magic.

A dull thud echoed through the air. Phineas had just dismounted from his horse and was advancing across the cracked ground, seeming eager to engage in battle.

“That spell doesn’t allow you to protect yourself, does it? What are you trying to prove, Cassian?”

The mercenary didn’t answer. He stood facing him, motionless, rooted to the ground. The first blow sliced through the air with ferocious force. Phineas charged, and Cassian parried the blow in a deafening clang.

Quickly, the duel turned vicious. There was no nobility here: Phineas fought dirty, feinting at the throat and delivering low kicks to knock Cassian off balance. The prince was taller, broader, and larger, but Cassian made up for it with draconic agility, dodging the attacks with fluid, experienced footwork.

Cassian circled his opponent, his eyes scrutinizing Phineas’s stance with cold, analytical precision—he was too slow, too confident. The insolence in his gaze held a promise of defeat that the prince was burning to fulfill.

“Aren’t you going to attack? What will it take to make you lower your guard?” Phineas spat, furious at his inability to land another blow.

But that rage was briefly replaced by a smile that would send a chill down the spines of even the most seasoned fighters.

Suddenly, the prince’s free hand shot toward Tariel. A necromantic spell began to warp the air, treacherous and venomous—such was the true nature of the Morgraves corrupted by Malveth. But the moment the spell took shape, Cassian raised his bloodstained palm, the one marked with alchemical symbols, and a wave surged from his hand, absorbing the dark magic mid-flight to prevent it from reaching the elf.

The effort was colossal, and Cassian staggered under the force of this unnatural energy that momentarily coursed through him. It was the one moment when the dragon’s guard faltered.

Taking advantage of the opening, the prince’s sword sliced across Cassian’s side. The fabric tore, sending warm blood spurting onto the parched earth. Where his blood flowed, the earth seemed to regain its color, and grass began to sprout in small patches.

Cassian gritted his teeth, stifling a pained groan. Ignoring the burning sensation from his wound, he immediately raised his blade to parry another downward strike that threatened to split him in two. The gems on his sword shone with a blinding brilliance under the force of the impact and his muscles trembled under Phineas’s power, but with his gaze locked on the prince’s, Cassian held his ground.

Without giving his opponent time to react, Cassian landed a vicious punch to the prince’s stomach, causing him to drop his sword and the mercenaries to hold their breath.

Phineas stumbled back, clutching his stomach with a grimace.

“Now that’s a surprise. We’ve both lost.”

The soldiers stepped forward to gather around their prince, and Cassian retreated toward his own companions, clutching his side tightly. His body was struggling to close the wound, which worried him.

Something wasn’t right.

When Cassian tried to step back, he staggered, and a sadistic laugh rang out from the enemy’s side. His limbs grew heavy as Cyrus, in his human form, rushed to his side to support him.

“Cassian, are you okay? Why aren’t you healing?!”

“I can’t… Damn it… I don’t know what’s happening to me—”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” the prince interrupted, looking smug. “My blade is poisoned. You’ll lose consciousness soon, and I’ll take you with me on a delightful journey.”

Down on one knee, Cassian fought against the darkness engulfing his vision. He snapped his fingers weakly before touching his wound to collect some blood and draw an arc and three alchemical symbols on the ground.

“Cyrus! Go away! Leave Tariel—go away!”

“What..?”