The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  Cinder put her hand to the hilt of her sword, belted at her waist. She drew the weapon and passed it over to Mercer. “You’d better take this. I’m not much good with it anyway.”

  Mercer frowned at the sword and the vials of oil. “It’s a lot like attacking an elephant with a pocket knife.”

  “I’ve still got my staff,” said Drake.

  “Maybe we should make a run for the docks,” Cinder suggested.

  Mercer shook his head. “Even if we made it onto the ship, the dragon would freeze the boat solid. Might as well die fighting.”

  Drake planted his staff and levered himself up. “You said it before; our only chance for survival is to kill the dragon.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Mercer said.

  Cinder looked thoughtfully at the solid wall of ice and the frozen spears bursting from the door. “If we freeze, do we die and wake up in the Real? Or are we trapped in suspended animation?”

  Drake cocked an eyebrow and Mercer’s face clouded over. Neither knew the answer, and they didn’t care to speculate.

  “This keeps getting worse,” Cinder said.

  Mercer tested the edge of the sword and nodded approvingly. “Drake and I never met a beast we couldn’t kill.”

  “Ever killed a dragon before?” Cinder asked.

  “First time for everything.” Mercer turned to Drake. “We’re going to need all the enchantments you can whip up.

  He nodded, screwed his eyes shut, and a second later Cinder felt a curious sensation like warm honey drizzled all over her body. A shiver went up her spine. Next came the unpleasant feeling of pins and needles and her face pinched.

  “It will protect you from physical damage,” Mercer told her. He was busy tearing strips of cotton from his cloak and stuffing them into the vials of oil.

  Drake’s brow wrinkled. Sweat gathered on his forehead and his lips quivered. He cast one final enchantment. Cinder couldn’t place the feeling at first; it was elusive and indefinable. All the muscles in her body felt tense and ready for action. She had the sudden urge to go to the gym and lift weights. She realized she felt stronger, like she was capable of lifting heavy loads without straining. “Strength?”

  Drake nodded. He was winded and put his back to the wall. A new streak of grey had colored his beard.

  Cinder went to the door and took hold of one of the icy spears. She gripped the shaft in both hands and strained. The frozen spear broke off with a sharp snap. “Wow.”

  Drake trembled and palmed sweat from his forehead.

  “How long do you need?” Mercer asked.

  “Give me a couple of minutes,” Drake croaked.

  “Need you in top form,” Mercer said.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Drake told him. He slipped down to the ground and rested against the wall, marshalling his strength while Cinder and Mercer finished preparing the vials of oil.

  “What do you plan to do with these?” Cinder asked.

  “Ever heard of a Molotov cocktail?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s pretty simple.” He held up one of the vials and indicated the strip of cotton. “You light the wick and throw it.”

  “Just don’t drop it,” Drake told her. “You’re protected against ice, which will make you vulnerable to fire for the next few hours.”

  Cinder took in some air and let it out slowly. She nodded.

  Mercer chucked Drake on the arm. “Once more into the breech?”

  The wizened mage gripped his staff in boney fingers and pushed himself up. “Let’s go make history.”

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Twisting passages brought them to the top of the fortress, where a door opened onto a winding stair which wrapped around the outside of the tallest tower. They could see the whole of the snow-swept town from here. A transport ship labored through the floating ice packs to the harbor. Howling wind swept across the crenelated battlements, buffeting the stair in ice and snow. The tower rose into the sky, a stalwart lance of rock valiantly defying the worst of the arctic conditions. High above, at the top of the tower, the dragon rested on his stone dais. To reach him, they would have to brave the open steps and gale-force winds.

  Sheltering in the open door, Mercer gripped the sword in his right hand and a vial of oil in his left. His eyes narrowed against the biting winds. Frost gathered in the stubble of his beard. His heart was gently pounding in his chest and his hands trembled. He was going up against a dragon with a long sword and six bobbles of oil. Their chances were slim at best. Adventurers die sooner or later in the Realms, and Mercer knew his time would come eventually. Killed by a dragon was as good a death as any he could think of. Certainly, it was preferable to spiders, or hodags, or even a mob of angry grimlacs. But if he could pull it off . . . At the top of those steps was a new pair of legs and maybe, just maybe, a life in the Real with a woman who didn’t see him as broken. All he had to do was kill a dragon.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Cinder huddled close to him, shivering violently as she strained to see around the bend in the stairs. She gripped two of the Molotov cocktails in her shaking fists. Her pretty face was tight with fear and turning blue from cold. Snow gathered on her eyelashes. Her long hair blew around her head in a wild cloud.

  The air was alive with the gentle current of controlled electricity coming off Drake in waves. His head thrust forward on his vulture neck and his shoulders were pulled up around his ears. Boney hands gripped his staff with white knuckles. He shifted his weight and whispered, “He’ll know we’re coming.”

  “Whatever happens, don’t stop until you reach the top,” Mercer said. “We can’t fight him on the stairs.”

  Cinder nodded in nervous excitement.

  “Everyone ready?” Mercer asked.

  “Ready,” said Drake.

  “Now or never,” Cinder agreed.

  Mercer slipped out the door and a terrific gust nearly ripped him off the first step. He didn’t stop, and he didn’t wait to see if the others followed. He moved as fast as he dared on the icy stair, trusting the others to follow his lead. Every step was treacherous. His boots shifted on the slick stone and the blowing winds did their best to send him to his death. His hearing was gone, replaced by the loud rushing of a freight train in his ears. Snow blotted out his vision. The only thing he saw was a wall of white. He gritted his teeth, hugged the wall, and took the risers two at a time while his heart drummed against his chest.

  From overhead there came a piercing shriek that cut through the air like a knife. The dragon knew they were coming, and it was ready for them. Fear told Mercer to turn back, but he forced himself to keep moving. He mounted the icy steps, one after another.

  How many more? How far to the top?

  From the corner of his vision he saw a dark shape glide past and air from the dragon’s wings slammed him against the wall. Behind him, Cinder let out a grunt, or maybe it was a curse; it was hard to be sure. Mercer forced his legs to move. His thighs burned with the effort and he struggled for breath. It felt like his lungs were frozen.

  The dragon made another pass, but this time Drake threw a violent tongue of flame from his staff which lit the sky and sent the dragon wheeling away with an angry shriek. The sudden burst of heat turned the cold air instantly to steam. Mercer lunged up the steps, using the steam for cover. Stairs materialized out of the fog. Several times he almost tripped. Still gripping the sword in his right hand, he used the pommel to help feel the next step and then the next. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and he heard the telltale whoosh of the leathery wings over the sound of the wind. The dragon was coming around for another pass. This time the creature would blast them with his ice breath, or sweep them off the tower with his tail, and it would all be over. They weren’t going to make it. A roar of anger and impotent fury ripped from Mercer’s throat. Then he was scrambling onto the top of the tower.

  Cinder stumbled into the back of him in her haste and then Drake came
wheezing over the top step, clutching his chest. A second later, the dragon’s icy breath hit the side of the tower with earth-shattering force. Jagged shards shot up from the steps like lances.

  They sprinted toward the middle of the tower and the raised platform at its center. Thick carven pillars and the stone roof provided little relief from the wind but would force the creature to close the distance. Drake threw a simple cantrip, hardly more than a child’s firecracker, but it covered the top of the tower in thick, billowing steam. He was working at the very extreme limit of his abilities and it showed on his face. The air around him turned to crackling energy that buzzed and sparked.

  “Where is it?” Cinder shouted to be heard.

  Mercer wheeled around, looking for his enemy, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, Drake opened his hand and produced a ball of fire in his upturned palm. Cinder used the fire to light both of her vials with trembling hands. The cotton wicks caught. Orange tongues of fire leapt and flickered, turning the cotton black. Cinder, in turn, used her flaming wick to light Mercer’s.

  A burst of air from the dragon’s wings hit Mercer in the back. He wheeled in time to see the creature appear through a wall of smoke. It touched down with a roar. Vast wings spread out from its scaly body and its jaws opened wide. Talons dug deep gouges in the stone beneath its feet.

  Cinder never hesitated. She reared back and hurled the first of her vials at the floor in front of the beast. Glass shattered and blue flame spread like ghost fire, engulfing the dragon’s legs and belly.

  The creature reared up and screamed.

  Before it had a chance to recover, Cinder had thrown her second vial. The glass sailed through the air, turning end over end, to break against the dragon’s hide in a brilliant flash. The dragon’s voice reverberated off the pillars and shook the tower. Its skin blistered and blackened. Fire ate through the beast’s armored hide like acid through flesh. The dragon reared back in pain and, with two sweeps of its massive wings, extinguished the worst of the flames. But the damage had been done. The dragon settled onto all four with gaping holes in its wings and smoldering wounds on its belly. It staggered once and then drew in a rattling breath.

  Drake stepped forward and poured all of his will into a hasty barrier just seconds before the dragon spit death. The icy spray hit Drake’s shield and piled into a wall of white. Drake staggered, went down on one knee, but managed to hold the spell against the dragon’s fury.

  When it was over, a wall of ice stood before them, shielding them momentarily from the eyes of the beast. They used the distraction to light more vails. The dragon roared and brought one taloned claw down on the wall, shattering the ice into tiny shards and sending chunks spinning across the tower.

  Cinder had another vial lit by then. She and Mercer threw at the same time. The fiery cocktails shattered at the feet of the monster and bathed it in flame. Another terrible shriek ripped from the dragon’s throat, and its mighty tail whipped around.

  “Duck!” Mercer yelled.

  Cinder threw herself to the ground and Mercer splayed out beside her, but Drake wasn’t fast enough. He tried to throw a shield with his staff, but couldn’t gather enough energy so soon after his first spell. The barrier was only half formed when the dragon’s tail slammed into it. Drake was thrown off his feet and landed in a heap.

  Cinder screamed, “Drake!”

  But he didn’t respond.

  There was no time to check on him. Mercer grabbed another vial from Cinder’s hand and whipped it at the dragon’s head. The glass vial shattered against the dragon’s breast and added to the carnage. A hungry whoosh filled the air and the dragon reeled. It tried to lift off, to escape the flames, but its wings were ruined. Strips of charred skin clung to bones. The dragon threw itself on the floor of the tower and rolled around like a dog in the dirt, smothering the fire that consumed its body. A weak moan escaped and then the dragon drew breath.

  They had one vial left and no way to light it. Mercer yelled, “Run!”

  He and Cinder turned and sprinted around the raised platform as the dragon unleashed its breath. Icy spears slammed into the floor and went racing past on their right. They continued around the dais, trying to keep the slab of stone between them and the dragon.

  “What now?” Cinder yelled.

  Mercer didn’t have an answer. His only plan was to survive the next few moments and hope an opportunity presented itself. All he could think of was staying alive. The dragon was hurt and crippled, but far from dead and twice as dangerous now that it was wounded. From the other side of the dais, the dragon bellowed in anger. The sound shook the ground beneath Mercer’s feet.

  He put his back to the stone and looked around for anything that might give them an advantage, but they were trapped on the top of the tower and all out of weapons. Cinder hunkered beside him, one glass vial in her hand and fear written on her face.

  Before Mercer could come up with a plan, he felt a deep tremor in the stone and looked up. The dragon had mounted the raised platform and its huge wedge-shaped head appeared over the side, looking down at them with hatred in its yellow eyes.

  Cinder let out a shriek and Mercer did the only thing he could—he wrapped his arms around her and tried to shield her with his own body. The dragon drew in a rattling breath, but before he could spew ice, he was hit by a lance of white-hot fire.

  The blow caught the dragon in the flank, burning through his armored hide and throwing him off the raised platform. The beast crashed down with a rending boom and an anguished howl.

  Drake, battered and bruised, limped around the corner of the dais. He clutched his staff in both hands. His beard was snowy white.

  The dragon tried to rise, slumped back to the ground, and then tried again, gaining his feet only with a terrific effort. Meanwhile, Drake had produced a weak flame in his open hand and Cinder held out her last vial.

  Mercer snatched the Molotov cocktail before she could light it, and Cinder looked at him with questioning eyes. He ignored her, pulled the wick from the bottle, and doused the blade of his sword in oil. He held the sword out and Drake lit it. Blue flames raced along the steel.

  “What are you doing?” Cinder yelled.

  “The only thing I can do,” Mercer told her.

  The dragon let out a roar and limped across the tower toward them. Mercer ran to meet him, flaming sword in hand. He bellowed a challenge. The sound echoed over the rooftops and off the distant mountains. The dragon reared up onto his hind legs and swiped at Mercer with his claws.

  Mercer brought the sword up in both hands and braced himself for the impact. He could still feel Drake’s enchantment coursing through his veins, and he met the dragon’s attack with all his strength. Fiery steel bit into the dragon’s claw and the beast recoiled with a scream. Mercer staggered under the impact, recovered, and charged. He deflected another attack and ducked a third. The dragon let out an angry roar. Mercer danced inside the beast’s swiping claws and slashed at the dragon’s belly with the flaming sword. The steel sliced through scales and ripped open flesh.

  The wedge-shaped head darted forward, and Mercer had to leap aside to avoid being bitten in half. The dragon’s teeth came together with a loud crack! Mercer used the opportunity to bring his blade down on the dragon’s neck with a flat hacking noise. The monster screamed and reared back. Mercer pressed his advantage, hacking and cutting at the powerful hide.

  Claws flashed and Mercer felt talons rake his chest, rending his leather armor. Blood spilled over the stones and the pain threatened to send him spiraling down into unconsciousness, but Mercer clung to reality through sheer force of will. He was wounded and exhausted. The enchantment had saved his life, but one more blow from the dragon’s claws and he was finished.

  The dragon tried again to bite and again Mercer threw himself out of the way just in time. He rolled across the stone and came up on his knees as the dragon swung his head around. Mercer thrust with the sword in a desperate attempt to ward off another
biting attack, and the flaming point pierced the dragon’s eye.

  The dragon shrieked. Dark red blood spilled from his wounded eye. He rose up, thrashed his head about, and flapped his ruined wings, but the charred appendages failed to lift the beast into the air. Mercer threw himself at the wounded monster, swinging his sword with wild abandon. He crisscrossed the dragon’s belly with deep cuts and then drove the blade to the hilt in the creature’s chest. Steel pierced the dragon’s hide with a wet ripping noise. The dragon reeled, blinded in one eye and bleeding, and stumbled toward the edge of the roof. His claws slipped on the stone and he went tumbling over the edge.

  Chapter Eighty

  The last of the fire winked out, leaving Mercer’s blade soot black and trailing smoke. He stood at the edge of the tower, looking down at the ruined body of the dragon far below. The creature had crashed through one of the crenelated walls, destroying most of the defensive work and impaling himself on a jagged finger of rock. Cinder and Drake joined him at the precipice. Drake leaned heavily on his staff and Cinder wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from cold. A bitter wind swept across the tower, and large white flakes swirled around their faces.

  “You did it,” Cinder said.

  “You killed a dragon,” Drake croaked.

  “We killed a dragon,” Mercer corrected. He spared one last glance at the corpse of the giant beast and then lumbered away from the edge. Cinder helped him over to the dais and he put his back against it.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He worked the straps on his armor—Cinder had to help—and shrugged out of the breastplate to reveal deep gashes running down his chest. Dark red blood oozed up from the cuts. Now that the battle was over and the adrenaline was wearing off, pain came flooding in, and Mercer winced.