Another voice carried along the line. Someone else. Sounding worried. Ginkgo’s ears twitched. “That Hallow?”
“Yes. We have cause for concern. I will need you to check. Now.”
Ginkgo lifted the sash on the window and slipped outside. “On my way next door.”
“What about Timur?”
“They’re rooming together. See? I made good on my promise.”
An impatient grunt. An ominous silence.
Ginkgo eased open Zisa’s door and half-stumbled into the tree’s waiting arms.
“Sinder here?” Ginkgo whispered.
Zisa eyed the phone in his hand and shook his head.
From the bed in the corner, Timur quietly called, “Ginkgo?”
Hallow must have grabbed the phone because his voice came sharp and clear. “Get to him. Immediately. His crystal’s vibrating nearly to pieces, and its song tells of pain.”
“On it,” he promised, signaling urgently. Timur’s feet hit the floor. “Juuyu?”
Sinder’s partner was back. “Get to him,” he begged. “For I cannot.”
“On our way.” Ending the call, Ginkgo hurried to the bed and scooped up Gregor, who’d been tucked between Timur and Mikoto. “I’ll sneak him in with Kyrie and Lilya. Don’t wait on me. I can catch up.”
Mikoto stirred. “Trouble?” he asked.
“Sinder’s probably hurt.”
“Need help?”
Ginkgo didn’t stay to answer. Whisking across to Waaseyaa’s house, he hurried the sleeping toddler to the guest room. Kyrie was not only awake, he stood at the window, fingertips touching the screen. “Hey, little bro. Watch Gregor for me?”
Kyrie shook his head and asked, “Sinder?”
“Not sure. Probably injured. We’re going.” He scooted Gregor under the sheet at the center of the bed, right next to Lilya.
“I will come.”
Only then did Ginkgo realize that the boy had already dressed. He’d probably interrupted him in the process of going out the window. “Dad wouldn’t like it.”
“Dad will not scold.” Kyrie turned wide eyes to him and solemnly said, “Sinder is screaming.”
Mikoto had been training for emergencies for more than half his life, so he was in his basics and boots even faster than Timur. But he was a long way from Colt and his arsenal. “Do I need a weapon?” he asked.
Timur spared him a glance. And a second glance. “No. Ever ride?”
“Yes.”
“You’re with us, then.” Timur led the way outside. “Fend is going to be cranky, having to carry two of us.”
“I will run,” offered Mikoto, lengthening his stride to keep up with the battler.
Timur laughed. “No need. He’ll run twice as fast, just to be rid of us. Right, friend?”
Fend slunk out of the darkness and yowled testily.
Mikoto mounted first, but he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Dogs had ruffs, and Merl’s mane was fair game. “Where …?”
Timur crowded him from behind, one arm locked around Mikoto’s chest. “He’s just a big kitten. Scruff him. I’ll be your brace.”
Following his example, Mikoto buried his hands in thick fur and muttered a low, “Apologies, Fend.”
The big feline grumbled and leapt, and Mikoto lowered his body and adjusted his hips.
Bowing over him, Timur said, “Quick learner.”
Mikoto hoped he’d have the chance to show Timur that he could do a whole lot more than ride. But that wasn’t the most important thing here. “Orders?”
“You want some?”
“I am a battler. I run with the guard. I know these mountains.”
Timur hooked his chin over Mikoto’s shoulder, putting his mouth right next to his ear. “Ever face a dragon?”
“No.”
“Then you’re at a disadvantage. Listen well. Dragons in truest form are formidable. Claws and jaws and horns and ridges. Don’t ever lose track of their tail.” Timur’s tone was grave. “Most believe that dragons become even more dangerous in speaking form. Speed becomes a factor. And with a few words, they can ensorcell a whole rank of battlers.”
“Which will we be facing?”
“We’ll be facing Sinder.” Timur’s hold tightened. “Our friend needs us, and we’ll do whatever’s needed. Got it?”
“Yessir.” But Mikoto needed more information. “What happened to him?”
“Something bad if we received a call.” As lights began showing between the trees ahead, Timur’s grip nearly robbed Mikoto of breath. “Faster, Fend. He’s suffering.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Scream
Kyrie had no trouble keeping up with Ginkgo, who lofted a handful of illuminated crystals to zip ahead and light their run through unfamiliar woods. Long before they reached any kind of destination, Kyrie knew something bad was happening.
The wind carried frightening scents. They made him want to run faster, but also to stop.
“Okay, little bro?” Ginkgo asked.
Before Kyrie could answer, he heard his first dragon scream. It made him want to scream back.
Ginkgo scooped him up and ran on. “That bad?”
“He is trying to say, ‘Stay back. Go away. Leave me.’” The words hurt because they offered a terrible kindness. “Sinder does not mean it, though.”
Ears askance, eyes worry-wide, Ginkgo asked, “How can you tell?”
Tapping his fingers over his heart, Kyrie admitted, “I might only half understand. But that is the truth of his call. He wants a rescuer.”
“That’d be us, yeah?” Ginkgo kissed the top of his head. “Timur’s just ahead, and I’m catching Torloo’s scent. They’ll need our support.”
Kyrie simply nodded.
“ … the next trial,” Torloo was saying. “An experimental technique combining sigilcraft and crystal-tipped bolts. Crossbow delivery.”
“But why red crystals?” Timur was pulling at his hair.
“We must test all hues, and the samples provided were arranged in a spectrum.” Although his tail was puffed double, Torloo’s voice was steady, his answers succinct. “Red was first.”
Ginkgo let Kyrie down and shouldered his way between Timur and Mikoto.
Torloo continued. “He reacted poorly. He is contained, largely thanks to Salali, but he has not calmed. There is some concern with regards to the damage a rampaging dragon can cause.”
“To the village, or to himself?” growled Timur. Kyrie thought Lilya’s big brother looked dangerous right then. Like he was daring the assemblage of battlers to say the wrong thing.
“He knows us. Trusts us,” said Ginkgo. “What I want to know is who cut him?”
“No! Well, yes, a dart pierced him. But after that, Sinder hurt himself.” Torloo pointed to the sigils that danced in midair, forming a roughly hexagonal barrier. “Once we had him penned, he began thrashing. Trees shattered, and he threw himself against the resulting splinters.”
Kyrie felt bad for Torloo, whose misery was palpable.