Light Dragons 03 - Sparks Fly

could take him out without anyone being hurt.”
    “And I appreciate your help. We’ll talk later about your mother and grandfather and everything,” I told her, and giving Brom a steely look that warned him what would happen should he disobey me, I hurried down the stairs toward the ground floor.
    I burst out of the building, braced and fully expecting to find Baltic, Nico, and Holland in full battle with the ouroboros dragons, but I saw ... nothing.
    “Well, this is anticlimactic,” I said aloud, looking at a whole lot of empty courtyard. To my left was a smaller tower, while behind me was the tower I’d just left. To my right, the silhouette of the partial remains of a third tower lurched drunkenly against the pinkish orange morning sky. Behind the semicircle made up of the three towers were two small stone outbuildings, the entire area composed of towers and buildings surrounded by the tall stone inner bailey wall.
    The air was crisp and cold, and smelled fresh despite the reddish brown dust that lay thickly over everything in sight. The faintest whiff of pine drifted down from the alpine trees that grew on the slopes behind the fortress complex, making me think of clean mountain streams and brisk hikes into the forest. Birdsong rose thinly overhead, peppered occasionally by the cry from a hawk no doubt out hunting for his breakfast.
    A scream of absolute rage had me moving before I was aware of it, pelting down a beaten track in the red dirt toward the main gate we’d been escorted through by the ouroboros guards. The gate, an anachronism of metal plate, was closed. It hadn’t been when we arrived, which meant someone had closed it. Baltic? Gareth? One of the ouroboros dragons? I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should open it to allow an easy exit, or leave it closed. Another scream from beyond the gate had me running for it, twisting hard at the intricate sliding lock, and pulling with all my strength to open it up.
    A wave of brown beings, approximately four feet in height, with garish clothing and long, thin fingers, washed up the road, a few of the little beings darting out to grab an unwary hare or other small furry animal.
    “Negret!” I swore under my breath, and, with superhuman strength, slammed shut the door and jammed home the lock. “Negret!” I yelled, spinning on my heel and running back toward the tower where Brom was located.
    At that same moment, a familiar voice bellowed, “Ysolde!”
    “Negrets are at the gate!” I bolted into the tower and ran straight into a large, hard object that I grabbed with both hands to keep from falling. “Baltic, negrets!”
    “I know; we saw them.” He frowned down at me. “What are you doing inside the fortress? You were supposed to remain outside, drawing away the guards. I was to locate our son.”
    “It’s not a contest,” I said, annoyed by his attitude enough to leave my main concern for a few seconds.
    “No, but if we make a plan, we should all follow it.” He pulled me after him as he exited the tower, Brom immediately behind us. “You must take Brom and escape, mate. I will keep the attention of the attackers until you are well away from the area.”
    “Are you crazy?” I shook him as best I could, which wasn’t easy because he was built like the steel gate out front. “I’m not leaving you here with those little monsters! They’re vicious, and cruel, and have an appalling fashion sense.”
    Savian, Maura, and Holland gathered around us as I tried to reason with Baltic, but he was adamant.
    “The half dragon knows of the location of the bolt-hole,” he said, nodding toward Maura. “You will take Brom, and go with Savian and her. We will stay here and draw the attention of all the others.”
    “I have a name, you know,” Maura said. “It’s only two syllables, and not that difficult to remember.”
    “Others? What others? More ouroboros dragons?” Suddenly remembering he’d been battling them, I checked him quickly for injuries. Fortunately, he had none.
    “No, we destroyed or chased off those who were left.” His voice was rich with satisfaction, and I had a startling memory of just how annoyed I used to be over his love for the opportunity to battle. It didn’t matter who was his opponent; he just loved to fight.
    “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said, poking my finger into his chest. “Don’t you deny it! I can see how much fun you’re having. You always loved to fight with people! I used to