“Quinny! Roll!” He looked up blearily to see Prea kneeling next to him and slapping at his back, and Tarquin dimly realized part of his tunic was burning. He cried out and flipped onto his back to smother the flames. Prea nodded, breathing in relief. She helped him climb to his knees.
“Where’s the wyvern?” he gasped, staring at the sky.
Prea pointed. It was circling again.
“Souls in hell.” Tarquin tugged at his wound to make more protection, but Prea grabbed his wrist.
“Look!”
Tarquin hadn’t seen Five climbing the wall, but he was standing on the conical roof of the nearest bastion, hands clenched and tail wrapped tightly around the hilt of another wooden practice sword. He screamed at the wyvern: an inhuman roar that carried across the bailey like a clap of thunder. The wyvern ignore
