Get the fuck up.
“This is a heap of spangle shit,” I mutter, pushing to a stand.
It continues to move in sweeping arcs, pushing closer with each prowled step.
I walk backward, keeping my eyes mostly on the animal, though passing the odd glance over my shoulder. It doesn’t take me long to realize where it’s herding me.
Toward the warriors.
I stop, widen my stance, and narrow my eyes on the beast. “I am not going with them,” I say, pointing at the males.
It roars—baring a maw full of honed teeth, its breath buffeting me with such force I have to squint. The sound bounces off the canyon’s sheer walls like an echoing volley.
Maybe I am going with them after all.
Groaning, I tip my face to the sky and close my eyes, dragging my fingers through my wet, tangled hair.
All I want to do is slit Rekk Zharos’s throat. Is that too much to ask?
“Fuck!”
My curse bounces off the walls, hitting me over and over.
Pretty sure going to war with this thing wouldn’t end well. And I can’t hunt Rekk if I’m dead.
Dropping into icy resignation, I spin and charge toward the warriors, cutting a few sharp glances at the creature now prowling close enough to my heels that it could snap at them if it wanted to.
Reaching the two males, I stop, throwing my hands up in a show of displeasure. “Let’s get this over with, whatever this is. Try anything questionable and I’ll gut you both with my nails.”
Frowning, they stare at me for a long while, pass some words between themselves, then dip their heads at me, almost like a sign of … respect. They do the same to the creature at my back, then gesture toward a path that clefts through the sheer, rust-colored cliff on this side of the river.
“Comá, Kholu.” They gesture me forward. “Comá.”
No idea about the other word, but comá must mean come.
Truly, honestly, the last thing I want to do.
I cut my majestic, mythical beast another scathing look. “Unless Rekk Zharos is up that path, nice and cornered for me to slaughter, I’m going to be pissed. Just so you know.”
The Fate Herder licks its chops, steps closer, and nudges me forward with its big fluffy head.
Muttering beneath my breath, I trail the warriors, pausing at the base of a stone staircase cut into the cliff, casting a forlorn look at the river.
One step closer, sideswipe to the head.
The Fate Herder growls, and I growl back, baring my teeth at the beast. “Stop being so bossy,” I gripe, charging up the stairs, chased by the sound of its great paws padding on the stone behind me. “You won.”
The pathway is like a crack formed in the world’s crust, weaving off in all directions, seeming to go on.
And on.
“This is quite the tour,” I mutter as we cut left up another vein of stairs. Or perhaps I’m just impatient, being herded by a massive feline close enough that I can feel its hot breath puffing against the back of my neck.
We take another turn, the air thickening with the rich smell of roasting meat. We move between a tall, lofty entrance framed by …
Bones.
Two colossal bones so large they can only belong to one thing. A dragon that died before it had a chance to soar into the sky, curl up, and turn to stone, instead rotting where it fell.
My eyes widen as we step past the macabre entrance into a massive chest cavity four times the size as I imagine Rygun’s to be. As though the mammoth beast fell many phases ago, its corpse swallowed by the elements.
It’s been mostly hollowed bar a few swooping pinnacles reaching for the clefts in the ceiling—holes bored between some of the thick arching ribs, allowing sunlight to pour down.
The ground is pocked with domed tents made of smooth animal hides all stitched together, reminding me of Rygun’s saddle blanket, the tents like tumbled boulders, painted to look like the scorched terrain in this part of the world. Likely camouflaging this place from anyone soaring above who might otherwise look down the holes in the ceiling.
Clever.
Stone arches frame the entry of each dwelling, all so beautifully carved, boasting creatures of every caste. But predominantly dragons—their realness embossed upon the stone in such immaculate detail.
A shriek snaps my gaze to the arched walls of the chest cavity littered with faunycaws. Winged beasts less than half the size of an average Moltenmaw, looking like knobbled bulges of leathery stone. Perfectly disguised were it not for the way their heads swivel on stumpy necks, big, gloomy eyes blinking.
One of them loosens from the wall and flits between the pinnacles, screaming, saddle ropes fluttering in its wake. My mind clutches the vision like a newborn babe seeking comfort. Seeking an anchor in this place I have no knowledge of.