They flew through the night, the cold wind blowing against Clive face. But it seemed all the stealth in the world couldn’t hide a dragon flying across the sky.

  Shouts erupted from below. A horn blared through the camp. Watch fires flared brighter. Soldiers spilled from tents in various states of dress, weapons half-drawn, all pointing skyward at the dragon-shaped shadow crossing the moon.

  Clive looked down.

  From this height, the camp had transformed. What had been an imposing military encampment now looked like scattered embers on black earth. The soldiers were insects scurrying between the lights. The command tent where Sion had ordered his arrest was just another dark square among dozens.

  They all seemed so small.

  He felt a strange melancholy. These were the people who'd tried to save him. Who'd stitched his wounds, shared their rations, followed him into battle. And he was abandoning them. Azura's wings beat steady, carrying him farther with each stroke. The camp shrank further. The shouting faded beneath the wind.

  No regrets, rider, Azura spoke through their bond. Not now.

  "I know."

  But he looked back anyway, just once, before turning north again.

  They’d been flying for perhaps ten minutes when Azura’s body tensed beneath him. Just when he thought he’d escaped, Azura spoke out.

  Three rising. Fast.

  Clive looked back. Dragons. They climbed in formation, angling to cut off his escape route.

  Yarra's dragon took point. Guma's flanked left. Miranda's swept wide right, closing the net.

  "Bank left," Clive said. "Make them think we're committing."

  Azura obliged. The three riders adjusted, tightening the formation. Closer now. Close enough to see their faces.

  “Surrender, Clive! We have you surrounded.”

  Miranda raised her hand. The dragons spread wider, boxing him in.

  Clive closed his eyes.

  [Etheric Vision]

  The world shifted. The physical dragons faded to ghostly outlines. In their place, currents of ether flowed. Each dragon left a wake in the ether.

  Clive scanned the ether flows. There. A gap between Yarra and Guma's ether trails. The current was clean, undisturbed. Narrow, but navigable.

  "Dive," Clive said. "Thirty degrees, then pull up hard through that gap."

  Roger.

  Azura folded her wings and dropped.

  His stomach lurched as the ground rushed up to meet them. The soldiers below them grew from ant-sized to something more recognizable.

  "Now!"

  Azura's wings snapped open. They shot upward through the gap.

  "He's through!" Miranda's voice carried over the wind. "Guma, cut him off!"

  The bronze dragon wheeled, trying to intercept. But Azura was already past. The ether showed Clive everything—where Guma would be in three seconds, where his turn would force him to bank, where the turbulence from his wings would destabilize any pursuit.

  "Left. Level out. Wait for it..."

  Miranda came in from the right, her dragon closing fast. She was cutting off the path above, trying to force him back down towards the camp.

  From the side, Yarra was firing arrows at him. Ether gathered around her as her dragon pulsed with power. She was preparing something.

  She's casting," Clive said. “When I say dive, go straight down. Don't level out until I tell you."

  "Understood, rider."

  Yarra's crossbow glowed blue-white. The ether coalesced around her, drawing inward, compressing—

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Dive!"

  Azura plummeted.

  Three ice bolts shrieked through the space they'd occupied a heartbeat before. The projectiles kept going, disappearing into the darkness above.

  "Level!"

  They pulled out low, skimming the treetops. Pine branches whipped past, scraping against Azura's belly scales. Her tail clipped a trunk, sending splinters flying.

  Too close

  "Can't go higher. Not yet."

  He risked a glance back. Three shapes dove after them, still in formation. Miranda led, with Yarra and Guma flanking. They weren't giving up. They were closing the distance, using gravity to build speed.

  Thirty seconds. Maybe less.

  Clive yanked his paintbrush from his belt, nearly lost his grip as Azura banked hard around a rocky outcrop. His paintbrush clattered against the saddle. He caught it, fumbling, his hands still numb from the cold.

  "I need ten seconds of stable flight."

  You won't get ten. I'll give you five.

  Azura leveled out. The pine forest blurred beneath them. Behind, Miranda shouted something.

  Clive's brush hit the air. No time for detail. He worked in broad strokes, slashing white and gray across the paper. Cumulus formations, dense and billowing. Not realistic—impressionistic. The essence of clouds, the concept of obscurement.

  The painting took shape. Formless masses, layers of gray and white bleeding into each other. He added depth with quick dabs of shadow—

  "They're casting!"

  [Aerial Illustration: Cloud Shroud]

  The air around them thickened. Moisture condensed from nothing, droplets appearing in the space between heartbeats. The vapor spread outward, billowing up and back, swallowing Azura's tail, her wings, the stars above.

  In seconds, they were flying blind.

  The mist clung to Clive's face, cold and damp. He couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction.

  "Can you navigate?" he asked. With all the mist, he couldn’t see the ether currents anymore.

  I don't need eyes to fly.

  Behind them, voices carried through the fog.

  "Where—"

  "Lost visual—"

  "Miranda, do you have them?"

  "Negative. The clouds are too thick. I can't—"

  The voices faded. Azura banked left, then right, weaving through the cover Clive had created. The sounds of pursuit grew fainter.

  After a minute, there was only silence. Silence and the steady beat of wings through manufactured fog.

  "North," Clive whispered, tucking his brush away. "Keep going north."

  The clouds thinned as they flew, dissipating behind them. But by then, the three dragons were distant specks against the southern sky, circling uselessly over empty air.

  Azura climbed higher, aiming for real cloud cover this time.

  The adrenaline drained slowly, and that’s when the cold really hit. The wind tore at Clive’s face, causing his eyes to water. His cheeks went numb. The cold bit through his cloak.

  Was it always this cold at altitude? He'd ridden Azura before, but never this high. His fingers felt stiff where they gripped the saddle horn.

  Warmth bloomed beneath him.

  Azura's scales heated, radiating through the leather saddle. The chill in his legs faded. His hands thawed. The wind still cut at his exposed face, but the core-deep cold retreated.

  Better?

  "Better." He leaned forward slightly, pressing closer to her warmth. "Thank you."

  We have a long flight ahead. You will need your strength.

  After a few hours of flight, Azura's wing beats grew heavier. Her body temperature dropped beneath him.

  I need to land. I'm hungry.

  "How long can you keep going after you eat?"

  Through the night, if I must. But I'll need meat. A lot of it.

  They descended through a gap in the clouds. Azura touched down in a clearing beside one of those streams. Her legs buckled slightly when she landed. She'd been carrying him for hours without complaint.

  Clive slid from the saddle, his own legs nearly giving out. Sitting motionless in the cold had left his muscles stiff and aching. He grabbed the saddle to steady himself.

  "How much do you need?"

  Two deer. Maybe three, depending on size. She lowered herself to the ground, tucking her wings against her sides. I would hunt myself, but the noise would carry for miles.

  "I'll handle it."

  Clive drew his sword. He moved into the tree line, letting his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness beneath the canopy.

  Hunting without a bow was going to be interesting.

  He crouched low, slowing his breathing. There—the soft crunch of something moving through underbrush. Deer, probably, or maybe wild boar. Either would work.

  Clive circled downwind, placing each foot with care. A snapped twig would send the animal bolting. He couldn't afford a long chase. His chest still ached where Sion had hit him.

  Ten yards.

  The stag's head lifted. Ears swiveling.

  Clive moved.

  He closed the distance in three strides. The stag's head snapped up. It bolted.

  Clive's blade cut empty air. He stumbled forward, nearly fell, caught himself against a tree trunk. His chest exploded in pain.

  "Damn it."

  He straightened, spotted the stag thirty yards away. It had stopped, ears swiveling, trying to locate the threat. Clive moved again, slower this time, more careful with his approach.

  The stag bounded away before he got within ten yards.

  Third attempt. He found another deer, a doe this time, smaller but closer. He crept forward, sword ready. She looked up at the last second. His swing went wide. She vanished into the underbrush with three graceful leaps.

  Fine. Different approach.

  He pulled out his paintbrush, loaded it with red from his palette.

  [Paint: Red Fireball]

  The deer grazed at the edge of the clearing, maybe forty feet away. Clive waited until it lowered its head to the grass, then released the spell.

  The fireball streaked forward, trailing sparks.

  The deer moved. A casual sidestep, as if it had decided that patch of grass looked less appealing. The fireball sailed past and detonated against a tree in a shower of embers.

  The deer looked back at him, ears twitching, then trotted off into the darkness.

  "You're joking." Clive stared after it. "Deer don't dodge fireballs. That's not—they shouldn't be able to—"

  Apparently they could.

  He stood there a moment longer, breathing hard, bleeding steadily, growing angrier by the second.

  He took out sketchbook. Fine. When it comes to hunting, it seems a [bow] was necessary.

  The warrior who conquers armies may still starve in the wilderness.

  — Attributed to Grand General Louis