—and Valerie runs.


    *


    For a time they travelled in silence, preoccupied by the physical tasks of navigating the loose shrapnel, steep inclines and narrow gullies. Occasionally, the path required them to walk in single file. Ghen led the way, seeming indifferent to his injuries. Valerie followed behind him, and Avon brought up the rear. Without her magic, she would soon have been out of breath.


    Occasionally, shadows swept overhead. The wyverns had given up their attack, but they were still circling.


    She wasn’t scared, but she was hot, sticky and thirsty. Valerie broke the silence first. “Do you think we’re close?” she groused. “Are we even going the right way?”


    “You said follow the wyverns,” Ghen answered without looking at her. “I’m following the wyverns.”


    She slowed down until she drew level with Avon, then poked him in the shoulder. “He’s still hoping the wyverns get us.” She called to Ghen: “You realise they’ll get you too, right?”


    Ghen ignored her. Watching him put one foot in front of another like a soldier trudging through a battlefield annoyed her.


    “Ghen,” she said. “You can talk to me, you know. I did save your life. Maybe you’d like to say thank you.”


    He ignored her.


    “Let the man be,” said Avon when she opened her mouth again. Valerie shot him a look.


    “Ghen,” she said. “I’m curious. Why did you ward me off on the street that day? I wasn’t threatening you. If you hadn’t revealed yourself, we never would have known about the wyvern’s claw, and you wouldn’t be here right now.”


    Ghen not only ignored her, he increased his stride, scrambling up a grassy bluff without so much as a backward glance.


    “Hey!” She didn’t want to climb up there. “Come back down.”


    He dropped into a crouch at the top of the bluff, gesturing behind him. “There’s a spring.”


    “Good,” said Avon. “I’m parched.”


    She didn’t know how he could be so calm. The brook they’d been following had wound its way in and out of the mountain path, and right now she couldn’t see it, but she could hear running water. Ghen perched on a grassy knoll above them. But the way up there was a steep, slippery crag.


    Avon climbed it with the same ease he’d swallowed up every mile so far, then to add insult to injury, stood upright at the top of the bluff like some monarch surveying his land and shielded his eyes against the sun.


    “It’s just up here,” he said. “Come now, Valerie, don’t you enjoy an afternoon stroll?”


    She glared at him. “Do I have to remind you that I’m the only one wearing a corset?”


    And a gown too, which had snagged already on gorse. Her travelling clothes were made for walking or horse riding or sitting, not hiking. Thank Maska she was wearing boots, not slippers.


    “A terrible burden.” Avon’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps you can magic your way up.”


    She wished she could. The knoll was mocking her. Besides, they had an unfair advantage with their long legs. Valerie wasn’t petite; in fact, she had been taller than all the palace ladies except Mona, but she wasn’t reaching six feet anytime soon. Maybe she’d bewitch herself a growth spurt just to mess with him later.


    “Perhaps you can come down,” she retorted, “and I’ll show you how I magic my way up.”


    Ghen had vanished somewhere over the hilltop. For a moment she worried that he might run, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. Straying too far would only make him a target for the wyverns, and where would he go out here in the mountains anyway? No, she thought, he’s on a leash just like I was.


    Avon reached the path in a few quick strides. As soon as his boots hit firm ground, she grabbed him by the lapels.


    “Look at that, my very own carrier.”


    “Oh,” he said, leaning forward, “does my lady want a lift?”


    Her cheeks flushed. She didn’t have a chance to answer before he swept her off her feet, Valerie laughing in surprise. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight for the few seconds it took for him to climb the bluff. He set her down at the top, then bent over to catch his breath.


    Valerie looked down at the path below. “It’s not that bad, actually. I probably could have climbed it.”


    Avon wheezed out a laugh. “You’re welcome.”


    She turned away from the path, and her eyes alighted on the spring. The hill angled downwards from the grassy knoll to a shallow pool surrounded by rock. They’d reached the brook’s source. Valerie followed its bubbling trail down the other side of the cliff where it found its way back to the mountain path. Ghen knelt by the pool refilling their flasks. She licked parched lips, finding a new burst of energy as she hurried over to him and grabbed a flask to slake her thirst.


    She dipped her hands in the clear water too, splashing it on her face to cool herself down, and washed away the last of the blood and dirt caked beneath her fingernails. Avon did the same.


    Refreshed, Valerie rose and wiped her hands. Her mood had instantly improved. She shaded her eyes and looked up at the dark shape overhead. Was the wyvern observing, she wondered, or waiting for another chance to attack? Would it know when they were vulnerable? Ghen had strayed outside the bubble of her magical protection for a couple of minutes there when he’d been at the spring.


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    “Look,” said Avon, setting a hand on her shoulder, “there’s a bridge. We’re on the right track.”


    Her breath quickened. She followed his gaze, and yes, the path continued onwards to a gap between two sheer cliffs. A wooden bridge spanned the gap, broad enough for five people to walk abreast and perhaps a ten yard span to reach the other side.


    They approached the bridge, each of them peering over the edge. It looked mostly intact. One of the rails on the left side was missing, a broken stump that appeared rotting at the top. A tangled mix of gorse and bare rock scattered the gully below.


    “It looks sturdy,” Avon observed, “but the foundations could be rotten. No one has been up here for forty years.”


    “Ghen,” Valerie began.


    Their guide held up his hand. “I’ll go first.”


    Grim-faced, Ghen didn’t hesitate. He stepped onto the bridge, and Valerie held her breath as the wood creaked under his weight. One step, two steps, three steps… He trudged across, slow and deliberate, and the bridge held firm. It looked fine. Her heart raced, but he crossed without incident and beckoned them from the other side.


    That gave her a moment to voice a growing suspicion.


    She drew closer to Avon. “Hey… What if he turns on us? He obviously doesn’t want us here.”


    Avon glanced at her. “That would be foolish. He’s not a fool.”


    “Why take the risk?”


    Avon frowned, his face silhouetted by the sun. The closer they got to the monastery, the closer they got to the wyverns’ nest. They didn’t know Ghen. For all she knew, he might be willing to sacrifice his own life to prevent them from reaching a place he considered sacred.


    “What exactly are you suggesting?” Avon asked quietly.


    Ghen stared at them from the other side of the bridge. Two or three dark shapes now circled overhead. Sooner or later they might test the barrier.


    “Kill him,” she said, and Avon scoffed, shaking his head. “He could be a sorcerer! You don’t know. He had the claw, didn’t he? I don’t know why you brought him in the first place. We can find this place ourselves.”


    “You wouldn’t say that if the bridge had collapsed. I brought him with us because he knows this terrain.” Avon turned away. “I’ll go next. You follow.”


    She wanted to protest, but Avon had already stepped onto the bridge. He crossed it in a few decisive strides, and Valerie glanced up, starting to feel nervous. One of the wyverns had dropped a little lower…


    She couldn’t wait. The bridge had held for both Ghen and Avon; there was no reason it wouldn’t hold for her. Valerie clutched the locket, checking that it lay secure around her neck, then stepped onto the first plank. The back of her neck prickled. She felt exposed. It’s a few yards, she told herself, and her companions were the ones in danger, not her.


    She walked.


    Above her, a wyvern’s call echoed across the cloudless sky. Ghen and Avon watched her approach.


    She stopped.


    Not by choice. Not out of nerves or because her feet slipped or the bridge wobbled. She stopped because she couldn’t walk any further. Because she had hit an invisible barrier.


    Valerie swallowed. “I can’t reach you!”


    “What?” Avon didn’t have to raise his voice. It seemed silly that she couldn’t cross these last few feet. “What do you mean?”


    “I mean there’s a barrier!”


    Avon and Ghen glanced at each other, but Valerie quickly reassessed her options. The wyverns couldn’t have caused the barrier; they were too far away and they moved, which meant their magical bubbles moved with them. No, this was solid. Which meant… Something nearby radiated the same kind of magic that the wyverns did, except it wasn’t moving, and it was… bigger? Older?


    What if it came from the monastery?


    If she wanted to reach it, she only had one option. Valerie took a breath. “I’m going to leave the locket.” She backed up, retreating across the bridge. “When I do, we have to run, okay?”


    Another wyvern dipped lower, sailing over the bridge.


    Avon stepped forward. “No. Valerie, don’t—”


    She crouched down by the bridge post and made a shallow dent in the soil there—sheltered enough to safely leave the locket, she hoped. She lifted it from around her neck, placed it in the depression and added a rock on top of the locket’s chain to weigh it down. Then she stood up and walked across the bridge.


    It was like whiplash. In three steps, she crossed from one magical bubble to another. In the first step, she remained within the locket’s sphere of power. Avon called to her in irritation. The wyverns swooped around the bridge. In the second step, her magical senses vanished. She blinked, feeling unsteady. In the third step, they flared into life again, but something had changed.


    The wyverns shone with magic. She didn’t only see them, she felt them—bright beacons soaring through the sky. And she felt something else too, a great pulse of magic, a magnetic pull drawing her deeper into the mountains. It felt like a silvertree.


    The wyverns screeched. They sensed her too.


    “Run!” she screamed.


    She broke into a sprint, dashing the last few feet across the bridge, and then Avon caught her hand and they ran, all three of them, across the clifftop and into a narrow chasm. A wyvern swooped down as they emerged from the chasm, and Avon met it with the point of his blade which flashed brilliant white—


    It split in two and shattered into rock.


    She didn’t have time to think. “This way!”


    The path curved sharply left and up. A second wyvern caught a glancing blow at Ghen’s scalp; he ducked and scrambled on. Avon fended off another, and then they reached a plateau surrounded by cliffs, and Valerie caught her breath.


    A great power called to her. It came from straight ahead: a building made of dusty old stone.


    If she had time, she might have noted that its architecture resembled nothing she had seen in either Drakon or Maskamere. Instead of pointed spires, each of its towers had a domed roof. Curved archways shaped the windows. Spiral pillars sprouted up at regular intervals from the entrance to the mountain path. And perched on each of them like watchful crows…


    Wyverns.


    Avon halted, his feet sliding in the dirt. “Dammit!”


    He let go of her to grip his sword two-handed, brandishing it as the wyverns flapped their wings. If the entire flock descended on them…


    “We’re too easy to attack as a group.” Valerie grabbed Ghen’s arm. “Run! Distract them!”


    Ghen shook her off with a scowl, and she thought he was going to tell her to shove it. But then his eyes met hers, and his expression flickered. His jaw set. And he charged towards the monastery.


    “Ghen!” Avon swore under his breath.


    The wyverns launched into the air—dozens of them, like the flock that had attacked them on horseback. But her ruse worked: several of them shot after Ghen while others dived at her and Avon. She shrieked, dropping down. Avon stood his ground. The blade flashed above her—once, twice, thrice—and another wyvern shattered into pieces. Shuddering, she reached out to grab one: a shiny black rock, gleaming bright as obsidian…


    No blood. They weren’t creatures of flesh and bone at all.


    Clutching the rock in her fist, she got up. The wyverns banked away. Did they fear death?


    “Come on!” said Avon. “Now’s our chance!”


    One last sprint. Ahead of them, Ghen had fallen short of the door, the mob descending on him. She took a breath and gripped Avon’s hand, praying to grant them fleetness of foot. His skin was hot, the rough texture familiar. She felt his determination, his raw, ragged strength. And she felt Maska’s sword bleeding through his body and into hers: light and power and grace.


    They charged.


    A burst of energy raced through her, light and free. Her feet ate up the distance with ease, and when Avon set upon the wyverns attacking Ghen, the flock dispersed. They picked him up and dragged him through the great stone entrance.


    “Close it!” she cried.


    The wyverns were regrouping. Groaning, Ghen threw himself at one of the doors while Avon shoved the other. She watched the gap closing, the black shapes swooping outside, wheeling around to dive at the entrance—


    The doors shut. Ghen and Avon sank down to the floor, gasping for breath. If not for the light of Maska’s sword, Valerie wouldn’t be able to see them; they had retreated into blackness.


    They were trapped.