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swords, Dorian couldn’t get a clear shot. Not
with the Crochans darting around the beasts,
too fast for him to track. Some of the wyverns
bellowed and tumbled from the sky, but many
stayed aloft.
Glennis barked orders from the ground, a
great bow in her wrinkled hands, aimed
upward.
A wyvern soared overhead, so low its
spiked, poisonous tail snapped through tent
after tent.
Glennis let her arrow fly, and Dorian
echoed her blow with one of his own.
A lance of solid ice, careening for the
exposed, mottled chest.
Both arrow and ice spear drove home, and
black blood spewed downward—before the
wyvern and rider went crashing into a peak,
and flipped over the cliff face.
Glennis grinned, that aged face lighting. “I