The minds of both were gray, shifting and rolling like thick fog, so that nothing tangible could be seen. Suddenly, Maristara hurled a lance of flaring orange that sliced through the gray, fogbound mind of Draconas, boring its way into the depths of his brain. At the same moment Maristara flew at him, streaking through the air, her jaws gaping wide, her claws outstretched.

Draconas had to defend himself on two fronts simultaneously— within and without. He flung up an iron-black shield to block the mental missile and went into a steep dive.

The missile burst on the black shield. He had saved himself from death, but only barely. If the missile had found its target, it would have exploded in his brain with mind-shattering force, knocking him unconscious and causing him to plummet from the skies. As it was, he lost control of his dive for half a moment and tumbled downward, his bellowing cry of pain echoing off the ridgeline. He pulled himself out of the fall, dazed and disoriented, his mind blotchy and swirling.

Maristara dove down to finish him off.

Marcus held his breath and clamped his own brain down on the urge to shout a warning, for he could see, boiling beneath the ugly miasma on the surface, the colors of Draconas’s mind, sharp-edged and clear and cold. The dragon’s seemingly confused Sailings had, in reality, been bringing him nearer and nearer the elder dragon. Now underneath her, presumably defenseless, Draconas did a twisting roll that carried him out from under her slashing claws. Emerging, he flipped head over tail and then launched himself straight as a spear at Maristara.

The move caught the elder dragon completely by surprise. She had no time to evade his attack. Draconas lowered his head, so that the spikes of his mane became a battering ram. Like a ship ramming its foe, he struck Maristara on her flank.

The shock of the impact sent both dragons reeling. Draconas drew blood from his enemy and knocked her halfway across heaven, but he did not sink her. Maristara was tough and she was clever and she had fought her own kind before, something Draconas—a relatively young dragon—had not.

She was also hurt. He’d done damage to her, and though she wanted with all her being to continue the fight and destroy this dragon, she could not afford the luxury.

Damn that lizard Grald. If he hadn’t gotten himself killed, she could have indulged her hatred and finished off the Walker. If she died, however, there was no one to lead her forces against the humans except Anora, who had her own important task to perform. Besides, quite frankly, Maristara didn’t trust Anora. Maristara never trusted anyone.