Weysh tugged on the trigger inside, and a moment later his wings rested, wide and reassuring, against the muscles of his broad dragon back. General Sol now craned her head to look up at him.

“Noriago, take off!”

Noriago turned, smacking Weysh with his tail, and took off for the hoops.

“Nolan, take off!”

Weysh roared, spread his wings and pushed off with his incredible leg muscles, taking to the sky. He pulled his legs in as tightly as possible and leaned forward, pushing through the air with long, powerful wingbeats. Everything fell away and in that moment he had only one purpose in life: to take down Noriago.

Wind whistled in his ears and hot fire churned in his chest. Weysh opened his mouth and released his flame in a glorious jet, hoping to distract the other dragon more than anything, but Noriago darted down and it passed over him, the light of it flickering in his bronze scales. Noriago put on a burst of speed and soared ahead.

Weysh growled and shot after Noriago, but Weysh’s fire breathing had only served to steal focus from his own flying and he dropped too low, causing an instant, icy burn that seared his stomach. Hissing, he pulled up. The hoops were floating rings of ice magic, and a bright patch of frost now stung his underside. Ignoring the pain he sped on, chasing Noriago’s skinny hide through the hoops. But the little snake was fast. If he could just catch him he would knock him into the rings and send him spinning to the ground below. Then he’d land on him and push him into the grass, maybe tear one of his wings and put him out of commission for a while. Show him his place.

But the distance between them was increasing, and they were quickly approaching the end of the flight course. He couldn’t let that jackass get away. Weysh drew in a deep, gurgling breath and shot off another frustrated jet of flame, but when the plume of fire cleared Noriago was gone.

Something slammed into Weysh from below, shoving him up into the top of one of the ice hoops. He caught a glimpse of the bronze-scaled dragon underneath him before pain zipped through his wings and they went numb. He roared, deep yet screeching, as he fell through the hoop and hurtled to the ground. He hit the grass hard, pushing all the air from his lungs, and lay there in dragon, dizzy and moaning. Noriago switched to human and stood over him laughing, and if Weysh could have moved he would have snapped him in half between his jaws, murder charges be damned.

“All right, Noriago, take your place,” called General Sol, and then it was her standing over Weysh, disapproval all over her face.

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

Weysh changed to human, still on the ground.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed.