Page 415 of Of Empires and Dust
A Koraklon soldier charged at her, screaming, fire consuming him.
Belina hurled the spear, watching as it smashed into the man’s face and sent him careening backwards.
The only problem now was that she was stuck on a wall covered in fire along with some very angry Valtarans. Shoutssounded behind her, and she turned to see Lorian soldiers charging through the arch, some kneeling and nocking arrows.
“Fuck.”
Something swooped past the wall, and Belina got the worst idea of her life. At least, one of the worst. Fourth worst. That time in Karvos was definitely the worst.
She sprinted forwards and leapt onto the crenelations, having only half a second to pick her target before launching herself from the walls.
She slid two knives from her belt, the world seeming to grow still around her. At that point, as she hung in the air, nothing but a freefall of a few hundred feet separating her from hard stone, Belina elevated the situation to the third worst idea she’d ever had. Behind Karvos and that stunt with the chickens.
She glanced at the wyvern that swooped low, its wings unmarked by the orange and white that Alina’s Wyndarii bore.
Belina slammed into the creature’s side so hard the wind fled her lungs like an Ardanian at a whorehouse. She drove her knives down through the creature’s hide, its wing slapping her in the face. The wyvern shrieked and howled, spinning in the air, Belina’s stomach churning.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Belina’s legs swung, and it was all she could do to keep hold of her knives. She was seriously considering raising this idea above the chickens on her ‘stupid list’.
When the wyvern levelled out, Belina pulled one knife free and slammed it back down, doing the same again as she hauled herself onto the creature’s back. She ripped the knives free and crouched behind the Wyndarii in the saddle. Before the creature could twist or turn or spin, she leapt forwards. Belina wrapped her legs around the Wyndarii’s waist, squeezing for dear life, and rammed her knives again and again into the woman’s neck, blood spurting.
When the Wyndarii slumped forwards, Belina sliced through the straps that buckled the woman to the saddle and tossed her aside, quickly lunging forwards and grabbing the saddle’s handles, leaving her knives to fall.
It took all of four heartbeats to realise why Wyndarii used straps and buckles. The wyvern dropped into a nosedive and Belina flopped upwards like a limp fish, legs flailing. Squeezing her stomach muscles as tight as she could, she pulled herself back into place and looked down at the battle below.
The Narvonans had fully joined the fray now, their monstrous tharnas crashing through the Lorian and Koraklon lines, their darvakin riders carving paths of blood. If these were the reinforcements Aeson had promised, he had delivered tenfold.
The wyvern jerked beneath Belina, twisting its neck back and trying to rip her from the saddle.
“Not food!” she roared, pulling another knife from her belt and slamming it down into the creature’s shoulder. “Not. Food!”
The wyvern shrieked and swooped right. As Belina held on with every shred of strength she had, she looked down to see a column of blue and gold marching from the inner city. Thousands upon thousands. If they passed through the gates and smashed into Alina’s flank, the battle would be a short one.
Belina reached back, relieved to still feel the two jars of Godfire firmly in her pouch.
“All right,” she said to herself, looking from the unrelenting flames on the walls to the column of marching Koraklons. “How the fuck do you fly these things?”
She reached forwards and slammed a second knife into the wyvern’s other shoulder. New handles. She yanked on the right, and the creature answered by swerving in the same direction. Delighted with herself, Belina steered the wyvern back towards the marching warriors.
The wind whipped past Belina’s face, her eyes watering. As the wyvern dropped low and swept over the soldiers below, she reached into her satchel and grabbed a jar of Godfire and launched it backwards, doing so again in quick succession, the knuckles on her other hand pale and white around the hilt of the knife.
She glanced back to see the soldiers parting where the jars landed, then grabbed the second knife and steered the wyvern towards the closest roof. Unsurprisingly, the beast was uncooperative and swept straight past the roof.
It appeared she should have thought about getting off the wyvern before leaping on.
As the wyvern plummeted towards the ground, blood streaming around the knives driven into its hide, its wings flapping uselessly at its side, Belina drew slow breaths and readied herself.
One heartbeat passed, the wind battering her, her lungs swelling. Two heartbeats. Three. Four.
The wyverns swept over the soldiers, spear tips clinking against its underbelly.
Five heartbeats. Dayne better fucking thank her for this.
Just before the wyvern crashed down into the street, Belina leapt from the saddle, an unsuspecting soldier softening her landing. She slammed into the man, then hit the ground hard, something snapping in her left arm. She rolled, skin tearing, stone beating against her.
When she finally stopped rolling, her head spun and she could barely feel her arm – except for the excruciating pain. That, she could feel.
