Page 71 of Under Restless Skies

I recall the feeling when his magic hit me last time, recall the blood on my chest and my life fading away, but I don’t let fear terrorize me.

“Wait!” I’m not sure how I can keep my tone light and a smile on my face. “You said you had no wish⁠—”

“I have no problem hurting you.” There’s no emotion in his voice, not even anger or irritation, and he keeps his magical object pointed at me.

Somehow, his cold, matter-of-fact tone stirs fear into my insides. This is someone who wouldn’t hesitate to blast me to pieces, someone who sees no difference between me and a rock on his path.

Before I can even register what he’s doing, he flicks his wrist, and a blast of that strange, brilliant energy comes my way.

It’s death again, about to embrace me. Pain, ready to take me.

Instinctively, I put my hands in front of me, as if they could do anything against his formidable magic, and my eyes shut as I brace for impact—which never comes.

When I look, I see the rider swinging an arm, and sparks of energy flying everywhere, ricocheting on the walls until they dissipate.

My palms tingle, and I don’t understand what happened. Was his burst of energy just a warning?

He sets his dark eyes on me again, points the staff, and sends his pernicious blast. I raise my hands—and the magic never hits me.

Instead, it turns back in his direction, and a wave of his arm rebounds it. This time, it’s coming straight at me, and I keep my hands ready. The blast stops barely inches from my skin, then goes in all directions, branding the walls with tiny carvings, as if the energy had become thousands of arrows.

The rider narrows his eyes, then steps in my direction, carrying his staff, but no longer pointing it at me. Considering he’s much taller and stronger than I am, there’s no doubt that he has no need of magic to defeat me.

His enormous hand shoves me aside, and I stumble into the wall, my shoulder scraping the stone. But as he steps past me, I shoot an arm out—and push the staff.

The mysterious object clatters on the floor behind him. He spins while I drop low and scramble for the artifact on hands and knees.

“Don’t!” he roars, a hint of fear in his voice.

My fingers close around the shaft. It’s warm, almost feverish, and faintly humming. I get up and point the artifact at him—then realize I have no idea what to do next.

Well, that was great.

Too late anyway, as he’s already reached me and is now grabbing the staff, pulling it from me.

My grip holds, and we are suddenly locked together like two children fighting over a stick.

My knuckles ache, my fingers burn, and still I hold on to the object, even if all odds are against me, even if his strength is ten times greater than mine. My hands might be white and trembling, and yet I refuse to let go.

As I’m trying as hard as I can to pull the staff, its tip becomes brilliant. He lets go of the object and takes a step back. A second later, a surge of energy heads in his direction, but he waves a hand and pushes the energy back—straight toward me.

The impact is so strong that it pushes my body back and I almost fall. Almost. I keep standing, my breath heavy, the staff still pointed at the villain—who has just reached the door of the room with the hatchlings.

Still facing me, he steps back and points a hand at the lock. I run toward him, wielding the staff as if it was a lance, ready to impale his body if needed, but he raises his other hand, palm out, and I slam to a stop against nothing, as if the air itself had gone solid in front of me.

I cannot let him steal the little dragons, so I yell from the top of my lungs, “Help!”

He points both arms to the door, but then the invisible wall in front of me disappears. As he’s distracted, trying to break into the room, I run to him and jump, tackling him and dropping us both to the floor.

For a second, the impact gives me the advantage, but then his body shifts under me, pure power unleashing all at once. Using my own momentum against me, he rolls us over before I can react, and I find my back against the stone floor, his weight pinning me. The staff clatters away as he captures my wrists, holding them in an iron grip above my head.

With his face close to mine, his features contorted in disgust, he asks, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Help!” I yell. “Someone!”

In one brief movement, he catches the staff and stands. At least now I’m the one in front of the door. Intent on wasting his time, I scramble to my feet. This close, the rider towers over me, and I know I have no chance.

He frowns and stares at me as if I was the most disgusting insect that has ever existed. “You think you’re protecting them?”