Chapter 35
WITH A FEW lazy wingbeats, the dacon turned and flew back over the city. He loved flying on her broad and muscled back. Her movements were majestic and powerful. He had never flown a stronger mount.
The wall of smoke loomed before him, a mass of broiling black clouds. Fires consumed farm land and forest, thick smoke spreading from the fire front. Wind whipped the trees on the ground, throwing up eddies of dust. The air tasted of smoke and grit. And icefire. It streamed through the air, forming ever-strengthening cords that danced over the dacon’s skin. Isandor felt none of it; she drank it all in, like a camel in desperate need for water. With each wingbeat, muscles became more powerful and confident. With each wingbeat, she came closer to the front.
Soon, tendrils of smoke d
