Chapter 9 - The Trial of the Sky
The freezing wind howled across the stone platform of the Perch, tearing at Jaren’s tunic and whipping Alistair’s white robes into a frenzy. Fifty obsidian-tipped arrows were drawn to their maximum tension, the archers waiting only for Voren’s dropping hand to turn Jaren, the old keeper, and the legendary dragon into pincushions.
Prince Vane stumbled onto the platform behind the archers, his hands wrapped in bloody bandages, his eyes burning with a psychotic desire for vengeance.
"Kill them!" Vane shrieked, his voice cracking with hysteria. "Kill them all! Leave nothing!"
Voren’s hand chopped downward.
"NOW!" Jaren shouted.
Instead of cowering, Silver dove straight down toward Jaren, its silver wings wrapping completely around the boy in a protective sphere of shimmering, impenetrable light.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Dozens of arrows slammed into Silver’s scaled exterior—only to shatter into harmless splinters against the blinding shield of magic. Not a single scratch touched the dragon or the boy.
Before the archers could notch a second volley, Silver unleashed a deafening, earth-shattering roar that shook the very foundation of the Citadel. The shockwave of sound blew the front ranks of the archers off their feet, sending their bows clattering across the stone.
Then, Silver unfolded its wings.
They weren't the small, hound-sized wings of a hatching anymore. In the span of a heartbeat, fueled by the ancient magic of the Perch, Silver’s form expanded, growing into a magnificent, sleek beast with a wingspan that stretched wider than a war galley. Its scales burned with the brilliance of a thousand stars against the twilight sky.
Jaren instinctively leaped forward, his hands grasping the smooth, warm ridges of the dragon's neck. With a powerful sweep of its massive wings, Silver launched itself off the edge of the tower, soaring straight up into the open, starry heavens.
"Shoot them! Bring them down!" Vane screamed, scrambling to his feet, grabbing a fallen bow himself. He drew it back with his burned hands, a cry of agony tearing from his throat as he aimed blindly into the night sky.
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He released the arrow. It flew wide, tumbling uselessly into the dark abyss far below.
High Chancellor Voren stared up into the night, his face pale as paper, realizing with absolute horror that the age of the nobility's monopoly on power was officially over. The sky no longer belonged to kings. It belonged to the dragon and the boy who had scrubbed their floors.
