“Hold out your hands,” ordered Glint.
Mikoto slowly obeyed, watching warily as Glint’s big, brown hand dipped into a deep coat pocket. And brought out a puff of white fur.
Setting it carefully in Mikoto’s waiting hands, Glint simply said, “Take care of each other.”
And walked away.
FOUR
To Catch a Dragon
Sinder’s first instruction for Naroo-soh’s rookie ranks was little more than child’s play. “Find me.”
The battlers weren’t impressed. A hand went up. “That’s all?”
At a glance, Sinder could tell that eighty percent felt insulted. Most of the rest seemed to be trying to figure out if he was joking.
“Where’s Naroo-soh?”
“None of your business.” Sinder smiled sweetly.
“We’re meant to have an Elderbough instructor.” Murmurs of assent rippled through the group.
“You think Naroo-soh was going to take a summer away from the hunt to hold your hands?” Sinder gave them a pitying look. “You’ll get your Elderbough. But I’m the one you should be focusing on.”
Another hand. “May we know your name, sir?”
“Also none of your business.”
Glares. The insulted ones now radiated annoyance. If he could chivvy them into active dislike, they might actually try.
“You’re Naroo-soh’s picks, yes? His up-and-comers? Oodles of promise, just waiting to be tapped?” Sinder raised a hand. “How many of you believe that you’re the one we’ve all been waiting for? With you on the rogue’s trail, we may finally see results.”
While no one raised a hand, they stood a little straighter in their ranks, pride and confidence in their posture.
Poor kids. This was going to be the worst summer of their lives. But if Sinder did his job well, they’d live to see another.
He wanted to sigh, but he plastered on a smirk. “I admire your courage. You’ll need it.”
When it came to capturing the rogue, all the skills and tactics in the world came to nothing if you couldn’t find him in the first place. No easy task.
A dragon in truest form might seem showy, even garish, out of context. But drop them into nearly any landscape, and those markings allowed them to vanish. Even into a seemingly featureless plain. Sinder was on one such plain now, a wide stretch of tundra that wavered with green-gold grasses. Other than the occasional low bush, only the passing shadows of scudding clouds moved. They briefly washed the terrain in shadow, then cranked up the wattage with the squint-inducing glare of high summer sunlight.
Thirty rookies entered the practice field and waited. They scanned the area with hands over eyes, some with binoculars or spy glasses. A few began crafting sigils, which was the right idea, even though it wouldn’t do them much good. They fanned out, moving with care, but obviously confused.
One of the Starmark guards had entered the zone with them. She stood with feet planted, gaze lowered, expression thoughtful. An observer.
A battler approached her. “Are you sure there’s a dragon out here?”
“Yes. In striking distance.”
Also the right idea. Trust any Amaranthine’s senses over your own.
Another rookie quietly asked, “How can you tell?”
Which wasn’t as stupid a question as it might sound. Knowing a predator is nearby is a good start, but how you know determines your next step.
But their observer wasn’t on the team. She simply said, “There are boundaries, and he promised to stay within them.”
This was too easy, but these battlers really were Naroo-soh’s choices. They’d catch on. They’d learn, and then Sinder would have to try harder. But he’d impress them this once. Because the thing to remember when tracking a dragon, if there was any chance of anyone surviving the encounter, was that your eyes can deceive you.
When you’re scanning your surroundings, and you’re sure there’s no place where any dragon could possibly hide, you’re wrong. He’s there, and he’s still. He’s listening, and he’s laughing. And he’s almost certainly behind you.
Sinder’s jump-scare tactics didn’t gain him any popularity. After three days, the rookies still couldn’t find him in an open field. By the fourth, they were beginning to suspect they never would. Not without help. By the fifth, they were sure of it. Which was as ready as they’d ever be.
“Bring on the Elderbough,” Sinder drawled, by way of introduction.
The ranks fell silent as their instructor stepped out of the woods.
Sinder eyed them critically. Yes, they were surprised. But by now, they should be desperate enough to take what they could get.
When this group was first selected, Boonmar-fen Elderbough was supposed to have handled their training. But things went south, and Boon was off the grid. It had taken a little convincing, but in the end, Naroo-soh had agreed to send another brother.
“My name is Torloo-dex Elderbough.”
The battlers exchanged glances.
Sinder was pleased to see that the prevailing emotions were confusion and … awe. He was willing to bet that none of them had ever met an Amaranthine this young. Torloo looked twelve.
“Naroo-soh is my brother.” With a soft smile, he said, “Here is his promise. If by midsummer your skills exceed mine, he will come here, and he will run with you.”
Quite the incentive.
Sinder wondered how long it would take these rookies to realize that this kid had been running with Elderbough trackers since always. He was good. As in exceptional. Torloo could be ruthless, which might have been scary if he weren’t so damned cordial about it. Adoona-soh’s baby boy had already put Sinder on his back more than once. He was almost as good at it as Juuyu.
“New goal!” Sinder tossed his hair over his shoulder. “Now that you have an Elderbough to advise you, we’ll make the game harder. Find me before I find you.”
FIVE
Night Maneuvers
As soon as Torloo took over, Sinder stopped talking. Well, he stopped contributing useful information. His little asides were bland or barbed. All part of the plan. These battlers needed a tangible enemy to curse, corner, and confine. Because the real rogue was the worst taunt, the biggest affront, and a true monster on two legs or four.
Twelve years gone, and he was still out there—rending lives and raping girls.
Human agencies didn’t understand why it was taking so long to take this guy down. Every other year or so, they’d sling accusations and demand results. But a heart-to-heart with a few members of the Amaranthine Council, always with Lapis in attendance, sufficed to remind them what they were up against.
What these rookies were up against.
What Sinder could do with a few whispered words.
He tried not to look at them, to meet their gazes, to use their names. Otherwise, their hard eyes and muttered oaths might get to him. And this wasn’t about him. This was a dress rehearsal, and they needed to fully embrace their parts.
Sinder wasn’t thrilled to be the villain’s understudy. Neither was he loving Wardenclave’s rugged, rustic vibe. He was more of a climate-controlled penthouse kind of dragon. Communications and computer code. Social media and slipping onto servers. The team usually relied on him for information extraction, yet they’d shunted him to a place that time forgot. He was up a creek without wifi. Come to think of it, this might be the worst summer of his life.