Light Dragons 03 - Sparks Fly

pack quickly.”
    He was off before I finished the sentence, hurrying with the bags down to where Ludovic was waiting at the car, promising over his shoulder he’d be packed in three minutes.
    I briefly explained the situation to Angela before going to stand by the car, rubbing my arms against the chill of the evening air.
    Brom would be all right. He just had to be.

Chapter Six
    T he town of Tarraco was tiny, tucked away in a mostly inhospitable, arid, and mountainous region in the north of Spain. It was also very remote, and as we drove slowly up a dusty, rutted track that led from the town proper, climbing in zigzag fashion to the remains of a medieval fortress perched high above the valley floor, I began to think that Gareth was cleverer than I had previously given him credit for.
    “This place is gorgeous,” I said, unable to help but admire the Romanesque architecture of the fortress. “I love how the buildings seem to tumble down the slope of the hillside, and how they are clutched by those immense spires of rock. It’s as if the fortress were born of the earth, not put there by man. Baltic, I don’t suppose you’d consider-”
    “No,” he said, pointing to the side when Pavel, who was driving our car, squinted in the darkness. “Dauva is not a Spanish castle. There, Pavel. We will stop there. They may see the lights of the cars if we are any closer.”
    The second car, containing Holland, Savian Bartholomew, and a still-distressed Nico, pulled in behind us. Savian, Holland, and I were all fine despite no sleep and the predawn hour; the dragons, however, looked rumpled and grumpy, as was usual when they were forced to take a portal that utilized a tear in the fabric of space.
    “I never understood why dragons have such an aversion to portals,” I said softly to Baltic, smoothing back his hair, and brushing out the wrinkles in his soft linen shirt. Even his clothing looked annoyed at having been forced through a portal.
    “It disturbs us.”
    “Yes, but why? Other beings have no issues with it.”
    “Dragons are superior. Elemental beings don’t like portals, either. You will enter the front of the fortress with Nico and Holland, mate. Pavel, the thief-taker, and I will slip in the side. Do you remember your instructions?”
    “We are to distract and subdue Gareth, if possible without putting Brom in harm’s way, or in the worst-case scenario, draw Gareth and Ruth away for a few minutes so you can locate Brom and release him.”
    Baltic nodded. “And?”
    “And?” I searched my memory for any other facets of the hastily concocted plan that had been borne of the half-hour drive from Tarraco. “I don’t remember anything else.”
    “And you will not put yourself in any danger, or try to deal with Gareth yourself.” His hands were hard on my shoulders as he frowned into my eyes. “I will not have you harmed any more than I will my son.”
    I licked the tip of his nose. “A sentiment of which I approve, and will be happy to reward once Brom is back with us. The same goes for you, too, you know.”
    “I am a wyvern,” he said arrogantly as he turned me and gave me a gentle push toward my team of rescuers.
    “Who can still be hurt or killed. You just remember that.”
    Baltic, who had already moved off into the darkness, lifted his hand to show he heard, before disappearing into the inky shadows.
    I turned to my companions. “Shall we?”
    We picked our way carefully up the track, trying to avoid making noise that could warn anyone of our presence. Baltic guessed that Gareth would have some sort of security arrangements put into place to detect the arrival of any visitors, but I wasn’t so convinced-intricate plans and attention to detail were never my bigamous ex-husband’s forte.
    “If we’re lucky,” I said as we walked under a gorgeous stone arched doorway that opened into a grassy area below the bulky tower complex that made up the still-standing section of the fortress, “Gareth will think he’s so incredibly clever, no one could ever find him here. I wish I could see the detail of the carvings better.”
    “Carvings?” Nico looked startled for a moment, then nodded his head as we clung to a drunken line of a curtain wall. “Ah, on the castillo . Eleventh century, I believe. Moorish influence. The sun should be up in an hour; perhaps we’ll be able to see them then.”
    I bit my lip, not speaking of the fear that held me in such a painful vice: that we wouldn’t be