I charged out of the tent in Bulriar’s wake; he was quick, he was large, and he was cackling the entire way like a gleeful child. I snatched my blade from where it rested against a wooden crate. My hands exploded with stinging pain as I was cursing the idiot who had left it leaning despite my clear instructions. I would have to educate the idiot if I were to find him. I tore after Bulriar, who was still laughing merrily to himself. I began to realise that the mentality of a man who clearly relished the opportunity to earn marks by taking on the world's apex predators was probably flawed. It was a good job he was on our side. The horn continued to sound from the living space one group over from us. I could already hear cries, shouts and the shrill shrieks of a Drake. I desperately tried to remember what Ulther had shared about his experience with one all those years ago.

  “They’re quick fuckers, Tull, they’re clever, and their tongues can grab a man from over twenty feet. If you lose sight of one, it’s behind or above you.”

  I was resolute. We needed to kill this thing, and fast. Drakes, like most of the bastard Lizards out there, could shift their scales to match the environment around them, but they were also able to climb most surfaces. Their natural shade was multicoloured, which is why rainbows are an ill omen. The males had great plumes of feathers, while the females were bigger and more vicious.

  Sayo, Sila and Gertha followed close behind me. All around, I could see warriors of the Free Nomads running toward the sounds of the horn. Men and women were all dressed in hide, leather or old pattern armour from various Kingdoms, mismatched in material and era. Each held some kind of spear, axe, bow or glaive. This was a community of fighters to be sure, but rather than the matching armour and equipment of a soldier, these fighters were as individual as they were fierce. The Free Nomads were warriors, and they knew it. I couldn’t help but smile as I ran with them. Courage was a rare commodity these days.

  We entered the clearing to find it strangely silent, but this was not the calm that descends after the storm of battle. This was the deep breath you take, before all of the evils burst forth from the ground. The dead and dying lay all around us, those still clinging to life holding the ruined parts of their body together. One man leaned against a pile of canvas from a collapsed tent; he was trying to stuff his own intestines back inside the gaping wound in his stomach.

  Ten warriors stood in a circle with their backs to each other, paying no heed to the wounded. You might think that callous, but it is simply the way of things. If you wish to survive, it is the way to concern yourself with others only once safety has been established; otherwise, you are just another corpse for the pile. Nearly every structure was flattened; the only structure still partially standing was the central tent, although huge gashes had been raked across it.

  “Where’s the Drake?” Bulriar and I both called out at once. He immediately looked at me, and I bowed my head, acquiescing, but he grinned and pointed at me.

  “Eager to kill it too, Son of Barraz? I like you, maybe you’ll get a second mark for it, heh?” His smile told me his words were not meant to wound me as they did. I bowed once more, severing the conversation.

  “It’s near Chief, the trees move here and there, sometimes branches snap. The bastard toys with us.” A young woman holding a trident said, she didn’t look at us, merely continued searching the treeline with her eyes.

  “Then we join the circle, make us too tasty a picnic to ignore!” Bulriar joined the circle, licking his teeth and giggling dangerously. His manner put me on edge at that moment. He looked like someone who was battle-cracked, their mind shattered from too many horrific experiences, but the survivors visibly relaxed when he drew near.

  I wonder how much of his bravado was an act to inspire and how much was genuine. It would have to be a lot, though; he was covered in tattoos of various beasts. You don’t get that by being meek.

  The guards and the others folded in next to us. I was next to Bulriar, who stood on my right, Gertha took place next to my left side, although I noticed Sayo hovered for a half second before my friend moved her aside. That warmed my chest a little, and I chuckled. Bulriar took this as a sign we were alike and clapped my shoulder.

  “The glee before battle, you taste it too. No wonder you carry a dangerous mark, Son of Barraz!” He whirled his axe around in his hand, the large weapon like a piece of straw being waved by a child.

  It was oddly silent and eerily still around us. I could hear the clamour of other warriors from sections farther from us as they raced over, but we had a good minute, maybe two, before our reinforcements would arrive. A distant screech told me that Eggs had heard the commotion and was no doubt speeding towards us, which bolstered my spirits considerably. Although the Drake still had more than enough time to shred us.

  A branch snapped ahead of us, directly in front of me by thirty metres. I could see nothing, no shape, no sudden movement. I squeezed the grip of my sword in my hand, using my breathing to fight away the pain from the injuries the Lindwyrm had inflicted on me. I held out my sword directly in front of me with the tip pointed from where the sound had originated. I needed none of my guards in this moment, not unless Drakes had decided to pick up Steelweaving. Everyone slowly turned to face the same space as me, and the circle became a line. It then broke into two groups as we gently moved to flank the space, those with spears creeping further ahead. I heard another branch crack in front of us, and I locked eyes with Gertha. She nodded, holding two coins between her teeth.

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  Then a wet squelch from behind darted past my ear, and I watched as Bulriar was suddenly grabbed by a large, perehensile tongue.

  “If you lose sight of one, it’s above or behind you.” Ulther’s words echoed in my head as Bulriar bellowed in fury. Neither of us hesitated, I immediately sliced at the tongue, just below where it had grabbed Bulriar, while he, unable to move his arms simply angled his head down and bit the creature as hard as he could. Perhaps we were more alike than we thought. My blade bit deep, and I was rewarded with thick, crimson blood as the creature shrieked. The tongue released Bulriar, who joined me at my side as I watched the tongue travel backwards, over twenty feet into the maw of a Drake.

  It stood on four legs and was easily six times the size of Eggs. Its scales shimmered in the light, and I could see the iridescent hues rippling across them. The beast had a wide mouth with savage, sharp teeth that gleamed with the promise of death. Thick black leather hung out the corners of its mouth and joined behind its head; it was probably some kind of tent lashing that had been caught as it wreaked havoc, but it was strange, almost too neat. The Drake's black eyes watched us unblinking. It seemed we had its utter focus. My stomach dropped when I saw no feather plumes protruding from its head. This one was female, which are traditionally larger and more vicious than males. This bloody thing was massive. How had it got the jump on us when only moments ago we’d heard it fighting tooth and claw? It must have retreated to regain an advantage. I knew Drakes could change their scales, but for it to move unseen or unheard by seasoned survivors of the Free Forests was astonishing.

  “KILL THAT BASTARD!” Bulriar roared and charged the beast. The angry, mad chieftain was going to get himself killed if merely charging was the plan; I’d only survived that folly a few times before finally seeing sense.

  “Bulriar! Wait!” I called out, but the chieftain either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. I charged after him as others called my name, but nobody else charged with me. They simply fanned out further and advanced. The beast charged directly at Bulriar, and the Chieftain roared as he raised his axe. The Drake launched at him, her forelimbs and claws outstretched. That was the moment Bulriar suddenly threw himself sideways, rolling over and immediately driving his axe into the Drake’s shoulder. It wailed in pain, but its momentum carried it forward, and I realised nobody else was charging with me because this tactic meant they would be trampled. They’d fanned out to take advantage of the creature, presumably reorienting itself.

  I had the brief thought of how clever it was to use the creature's strength and speed against it before it ran into me, sending me careening into a pile of canvas. My armour did its job well enough in protecting me, and I was only slightly dazed. I saw warriors charge in at the Drake before the sky suddenly went black, and discordant sobbing echoed from everything around us. The creature reeled from flames in its side, and it rolled across the ground, crushing a man beneath its bulk.

  “Get her, Gertha.” I spat before pulling myself to my feet.

  I reached down for my sword when I saw a drop of blood fall from my hand onto the handle. Mummer’s Balls. My bitewounds had started bleeding again; I’d need to get them looked at. For now, I’d have to hope I could wield a slippery grip at least half as well as I normally did.

  The Free Nomads worked in beautiful concert. I saw Sila lunging with his spear, before managing to lasso the creature around one of its forelimbs, three other Nomads jumping on the rope with him to pull it down. Sayo darted between feet and limbs with incredible speed, slashing with her curved blades while Gertha buffeted the creature with powerful gusts of air. The other Nomads stabbed, slashed and harried the creature. I noticed that they never pressed their attacks, each making one before darting away, while others attacked from other sides.

  They were splitting the Drake's focus, confusing her.

  Bulriar tried to jump on the beast's back before being swatted away like a fly, roaring the entire time. I shook my head and grabbed my blade, gripping it tighter than usual to account for my own blood ruining my hold. I gritted my teeth against the pain, even in death, that fucking Lindwyrm was a thorn in my side.

  A branch snapped behind me, and startled, I whirled around.

  In front of me was a figure dressed all in black cloth and tall leather riding boots with vicious, inch-long spurs of dull metal at the heels. Only their eyes were visible, but the blue hue of skin between them told me they were Nargazian, the widely accepted masters of horsemanship.

  They held a sword in two hands, pointed down at the ground as they adopted a wide stance that told me they were in the opening stance named Glinted Gate. They stared at me in cold fury. That’s when I realised two things.

  Firstly, this individual was clearly educated in Steelweaving.

  Secondly, the leather hanging out of the Drake’s mouth was no accident.

  Somehow, this heavy-footed bastard had swapped a horse for a bloody Drake. What was a Steelweaver doing alive? What were they doing here? Why did they want to fight me?

  They nodded at me, the way Peevan used to before allowing the sparring session to start. How dare they! Presuming to be my teacher. I felt fury flush through my head and my heart.

  I raised my sword without giving the courtesy of a salute and charged.