Urthaenriel screamed in his ears—oh, a siren roar to compete with any storm-tossed tirade. She screamed at him to destroy the woman. Screamed at him to destroy something behind him back in the tavern. Screamed for him to destroy the dragon. Anything magic. Anyone who knew magic. Urthaenriel sang a song of chaos and hated all other voices but her own.

He ignored her.

“Duck!” he shouted at Janel. She did.

He rammed the blade through to the hilt. The wood gave, more like paper than fire-hardened oak. Then something massive slammed against the door. The building shook, and a bellow filled the air.

He pulled Urthaenriel out. Blue-violet blood coated the blade. Ice crystals formed as the liquid dripped to the ground.

“What are we—” Kihrin turned to Janel.

“The dragon’s not done!” Janel grabbed his misha and heaved him away from the door. Janel smashed herself against it, rooting her feet against the paving stones. A howling, hissing noise filled the room. Thick ice layers formed around the portal. The foundation rock cracked and groaned.

Finally, the sound of the wind outside faded.

Janel sank to the wet ground, her breath frosting the air. Kihrin sat down before her, Urthaenriel dangling from one hand. Water dripped nearby. The horses made soothing noises to each other as the firebloods edged forward to investigate.

After a long, weighty silence, Kihrin said, “You could’ve mentioned the dragon was coming to us.”

“Yes…” She exhaled, rubbing a hand against the side of her head. “I would have, except for one small problem.”

“What?”

“That’s the wrong dragon.”

1: THE OUTLAWS OF BARSINE

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since Kihrin D’Mon was sacrificed to Xaltorath

When Kihrin walked back into the tavern, a swell of questions greeted him—or greeted her. The guests wanted answers. What was that noise? Had it scared the horses? Were the horses all right? Had the weather worsened? Did anyone check the horses? Did the firebloods want to join them at the bar?

That last offer had sounded serious.

“The storm is still too severe to travel,” Janel projected in a loud voice. “Don’t try to leave.”

Kihrin raised an eyebrow but didn’t contradict her. An ice sheet several feet thick now trapped everyone inside. With an angry dragon waiting for them on the other side.

Just your typical night out at a tavern.

There seemed little point in panicking the crowd over something they couldn’t fix. Kihrin doubted he could help either, even with Urthaenriel, but he knew one thing: any dragon-slaying debate had become significantly less debatable.

But if the one outside was the wrong dragon, who was the right dragon?

After everyone returned to their drinks and chatter, Janel wandered back to the Vishai priest. She dumped Kihrin’s bag onto a chair.

“Aeyan’arric’s outside,” she whispered to Brother Qown, “and she’s iced over the tavern’s front door.”