Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“That’s…unusual.” No one screams and runs or mans the wall of cross-bolts as we pass over the coastal town. They just…wave.
“It’s unsettling,” Tairn agrees.
“It’s not a bad thing to be liked.” Andarna clicks out of her harness and flies off to Tairn’s right, tipping her wing when a group of children runs across a field, their arms extended.
I breathe a sigh of relief as we sail over green-leafed trees. Perhaps the color isn’t quite as rich as the tones on the Continent, but it’s definitely a welcome sight after the monochromatic scheme of Hedotis.
A sparkling river leads us into the hills, and we pass a sun-drenched waterfall before reaching a plateau, then continue due west along the winding riverbed.
Three more waterfalls and rises in elevation later, the capital city of Xortrys comes into view and takes my breath away.
It’s situated at the base of an enormous, curved waterfall, and the way the river splits around the city makes it appear as an island of its own. The city walls look like they rise from the water itself, and the structures beyond defy any and all architectural logic, as though vertical additions were erected upon existing buildings as they were needed, growing the city skyward.
“The south bridge is the main gate,” I remind Tairn, and he banks left along the southern branch of the river, flying toward the enormous structure that spans the water.
“Is that a gate? Or an amphitheater?” Tairn asks as a huge clearing comes into view at the end of the bridge.
“Uhh…both?” Along the western tree line sit rows upon rows of benched seating, enough to fit hundreds—maybe thousands—of people.
And they’re half full.
“Do you think this is normal, or…” The other option makes me a little queasy.
“They’re expecting us,” Andarna replies with excitement, descending into the field before Tairn. Her left wing trembles as she flares them wide and she lands a second before we do, dead center in the field.
The crowd comes to its feet in a raucous cheer as Tairn tucks his wings in and prowls forward to Andarna’s side. A few people dart from the stands and make a run for the bridge, too smiley to be fleeing for their lives.
“They’re spreading the news.” Tairn turns his head slowly, and I mirror his movement, lifting my flight goggles and taking in what is easily the oddest and potentially most dangerous arrival we’ve faced yet. We’re more than outnumbered, though no one appears to be holding any weapons against us, nor do they approach; they simply watch.
The stands rise a good twenty feet over Tairn’s head, and the people in them cheer louder as our squad lands in a single, long line. The earth shudders with each dragon’s arrival, but the gryphons fit themselves into formation gracefully. The excitement in the air is a living, palpable thing, roaring in my ears louder than the waterfall in the distance, clinging to my skin with more tenacity than the stifling heat and humidity, humming along my veins as though their zeal is contagious.
“This is weird.” I glance to the right and note Andarna scraping through the manicured grass with a single talon. “Stay close.”
“Any closer and I’ll be under him,” she retorts, her full claws flexing in the ground.
“Stop tearing up their grass before they—” Tairn lowers his head to the ground and inhales so deeply, his sides flare as his lungs expand. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” The buzz from the crowd grows to a fever pitch, and a wave of energy rushes up my body, prickling the back of my neck in a feeling that reminds me of… I gasp.
Magic.
To live amongst the Zihlni, you must prepare to accept luck as your guide and chaos as your standard.
—Zehyllna: Isle of Zihnal by Major Asher Sorrengail
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
No wonder the leaves are almost fully green. Zehyllna has magic. Not enough to channel or even properly shield, and nowhere in the realm of wielding, but there are definitely two strands of power trickling down the bonds from Tairn and Andarna.
I shove my flight jacket into my pack so I don’t sweat to death and make quick work of dismounting. Tairn dips even lower in deference to my aching ribs, and I pat the scales above his talon in thanks as I walk onto the field.
To my right, Andarna flicks her head left and right repeatedly, like she can’t fully focus on one sight before another catches her attention, and on my left, Ridoc stares up at Aotrom, saying something I can’t hear over the noise of the crowd. Just beyond him, Trager throws his head back in laughter, then reaches up to scratch under Silaraine’s silver-feathered jaw.
The gryphon tilts her head to give him easier access and closes her eyes.
I can’t help but wonder how long she’s had that particular itch, since it’s in a place she can’t reach.