by Isaac Hooke
Malem waded into the fray next to Bounder, and sliced open the throat of the first incoming orak. It was somehow satisfying as the creature sprayed his robe with blood before falling.
“Die, bastards,” he muttered.
He parried pikes, swords, and axes, dealing return blows when he was able. As usual, he had to mostly concentrate on gaps in the bronze armor, or aim for the exposed areas like the jugulars.
Most of his concentration was now devoted to fighting, and maintaining his control over Hastor. He couldn’t afford to expend any more energy weakening Saathar. It was in Hastor’s hands now.
The dragons continued to wrestle around the courtyard as he fought; the pair rolled into view ahead, squashing several oraks that were making a rush from behind an outbuilding, inadvertently helping Malem and his companions.
Three pike-wielding oraks suddenly charged him; he backed away, deflecting the blow of the first, but didn’t have time to parry the remaining two that were coming in.
But then Gwen was there, on Neeme, plowing through the creatures back with her heavy blade. She cut off the head of the first and slit the torso of the second, her blade passing right through the armor, courtesy of her monster strength. As usual, he found himself wishing he could do that.
With those two down, that left only the third, but when he turned to face it, a stream of fire ignited the monster and it dropped the pike to run away screaming. That the fire could burn atop that bronze armor meant Abigail had released some sort of flaming liquid, not just ordinary fire. That armor must have felt like an oven—it would be like wearing a searing grill around one’s entire body.
Abigail appeared beside him on horseback. “Barbecue, anyone?”
“Leave some for me,” he complained, though he was grateful. He advanced into the fray once more with her at his side.
At first it seemed they would win, but the four of them soon began to flag, and the oraks pressed the advantage—there were simply too many of them. He and the others were forced to back away, slowly retreating toward the keep. Enemy blades began to nick him as his strength ebbed; a sword on the edge of the bicep, an ax slicing open his tunic, a pike opening a good gash on the outer side of his thigh.
Malem could feel Hastor fighting nearby behind him, next to the keep, though the dragon was quickly weakening. He had the sense the creature was losing, and wouldn't last for much longer.
So this is how it’s going to end.
At that point, Abigail was too weak to do more than release a few scalding flames at any orak that attempted to get close to her or Ember, while Gwen, no longer having the strength to cut through their armor, barely defended herself and Neeme. The two women were already weary from the drain he had placed on them to control the dragon, and the combat only fatigued them further. Their mounts seemed just as tired, and only halfheartedly snapped at any oraks that got too near their vitals. They had gashes opened in their flanks. Bounder was faring poorly as well, coved in cuts and slices. Seeing the animals injured like that was heartbreaking.
And finally there was Malem himself. His sword arm felt completely numb, and the blade, so very heavy. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep fighting, let alone remain standing.
He realized he might have to release Bounder and Felipe, if only to Break a weak-minded orak and drain it of its stamina. But if he did that, the two would most certainly flee, and there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to rebind them, not when their minds were full of terror. There was also a chance they would die during their flight, especially Bounder, who was too close to the oraks to simply turn its back and run, not without suffering grievous injury.
He could also release the dragon. There was a chance it would keep fighting, as it was committed, now: the enemy dragon wouldn’t believe Hastor, even if the creature said it was free.
Xaxia was only a few paces behind him at that point. They couldn’t retreat past her, couldn’t let the oraks reach her. If they did, the cruel beasts would put her out of her misery for sure.
Xaxia... there was something about her he thought he should remember. Something important. But for the life of him he couldn’t recall what it was. That she was bleeding out? No, Gwen had bandaged her. It had to be something else.
A tall, angry orak was repeatedly ramming its sword down onto him, granting him no quarter. Malem deflected as best as he was able, but his sword arm was going to give out entirely any moment. He decided to release Bounder and Felipe. He had no choice.
I’m sorry, my friends.
But before he severed the link, he remembered precisely what it was he was trying to recall about Xaxia.
“Hold them off!” he said.
29
Malem abandoned the severing process, keeping the animals bound to him for the time being, and retreated. He directed Bounder to cover him by dealing with the angry orak. The iguanid wearily obeyed; it snarled at the orak and forced it to back off.
When he reached Xaxia, he drew the sword from the hilt at her waist, exchanging his own blade for the magic one.
As soon as that sword was free, he felt vitality flowing into him from the hilt. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to wake him from the stupor of fatigue. And the weapon felt extremely light, which was a relief to his blade-weary arm.
Malem advanced to support Gwen, Abigail and Bounder; he moved in a blur, hacking and slicing. The blade glowed a bright purple as he fought.
The vitality the sword gave him increased with each orak he slew. As his reserves grew, he transferred some of that stamina into Gwen and Abigail, and vigor returned to all of them. Gwen began cutting through the lacquered chest pieces again, while Abigail released powerful fireballs anew that coated the enemies with flaming liquid.
Malem continued to fight. He no longer had to target gaps in the bronze armor, but instead could cut directly through chest and shoulder plates alike, just like Gwen at her strongest.
He felt invincible.
But he reminded himself that the wielder of that magical weapon lay dying on the flagstones behind him.
Don’t grow overconfident.
The dragon was flagging badly behind him, judging from Malem’s beast sense, so he focused for a moment on the creature’s viewpoint. Hastor was pinned by the bigger enemy: Saathar had its jaws around Hastor’s neck, and was slowly crushing the life from the other dragon. Didn’t look good.
Malem immediately gave much of the sword-granted strength and vitality to Hastor. He took a significant hit in speed in the process, but when he felt the dragon’s energy bundle flash with renewed purpose, he knew he had made the right choice.
A sword chop brought him back to his current situation, and he parried the blow, turned his blade around to issue a deadly armor-piercing stab in repartee. The big orak’s eyes rolled up in its head, and it toppled. Before it hit the ground, Malem was already striking at the next foe. His vitality continued to replenish with each fallen foe.
Nice sword.
The oraks finally broke under the renewed onslaught, and fled. They reached the horse line, cut free those horses that hadn’t yet escaped, and galloped off. Some of them couldn’t mount the rearing horses, and ran away on foot.
Gwen spurred Neeme among them, hewing down as many as she could. After taking down the closest, she turned around to give chase to those that had fled.
“Leave them!” Malem shouted.
But she ignored him.
He exerted his will over the link.
Come back!
Gwen squirmed underneath the vice of his mental grip; there was no chance of her breaking free of the link, of course, but she was fighting his mental command with all of her strength. He was wasting mental energy trying to get her to obey, vitality that was better spent keeping the dragon in check.
So he let her go.
She galloped toward the retreating oraks, but pulled up short a moment later as a blast of acid tore past from above. The deadly stream caught five of the laggards, and the oraks dro
pped to the ground, bronze armor and the flesh underneath melting.
From behind an outbuilding beside her Hastor appeared, limping. Fresh blood dripped from its teeth, mixed in with droplets of acid that had gotten caught by the toothy grille during the last release; more blood covered its chin and a good portion of its upper neck. Malem no longer sensed Saathar, he noted.
The horses began rearing, especially Gwen’s—which was closest—and Malem was forced to issue a calming vibe. Bounder fidgeted, too, but came to his side. Ready to protect its master, no doubt. Such loyalty was touching. No wait: the iguanid was actually hiding behind him. So much for loyalty…
Get back here, he told Gwen telepathically. He didn’t actually exert his will this time, not wanting to piss her off.
We need to kill them all! she transmitted back. Her horse had calmed down, and she lifted her calves to spur the steed past the melted corpses.
No, we don’t. He was ready to repeal the relaxing effect from her horse if she didn’t obey. There will always be more oraks. We’ve done enough here. We have to help Xaxia now. Gwen. Please.
Her eyes still shone with anger and bloodlust, but hearing those last few pleading words in her head finally brought her back to her senses, and she resignedly trotted Neeme back to his side ahead of the dragon.
"I thought you were going to lose," Malem told Hastor.
The dragon ignored him. Instead, it scooped up one of the dead horses in its maw and began chewing. Armor crumpled and bones snapped. The big dragon swallowed a moment later, and then crunched down on two oraks that lay one atop the other. Their lifeless limbs flailed about in the dragon’s mouth as it munched away.
Still chewing, Hastor limped forward—pulses of pain shot through the dragon’s energy bundle with each step.
Malem kept Biter in hand as Hastor approached. Just in case.
The hulking reptile swallowed the two oraks it was chomping with a big gulp, and then its lips curled back in a sated smile. “That’s better. To your comment: I thought I was going to lose as well. But when you gave me that boost of strength, I managed to reverse the chokehold Saathar had on me. Ripped out the bastard’s neck before he could counter." The dragon bobbed its head toward the keep.
Malem followed its gaze: on the ground in front of the structure lay the body of Saathar, throat cleanly ripped out.
“Nice handiwork,” he commented.
“It’s not a work of art, I admit,” Hastor said. “But it gets the job done.”
Malem retreated to Xaxia and knelt beside her. She was still alive, but her breath seemed even more strained than before. “You are a dark practitioner. Can you heal her?”
Hastor wearily trudged to Xaxia’s body, and after a cursory perusal, said: “It’s too late for her.”
The dragon sat down next to her and the ground thudded. It rested its four paws on the earth like a big cat.
“You have to try,” Malem insisted.
Hastor yawned mightily, and then rested its head on its forelegs. “She is too far gone. I waste my energy.”
Abigail shifted uneasily beside him, and said: “We have to go. If the dragon can’t—”
“Do it,” Malem said, ignoring her.
Hastor gave him an annoyed look. “I just ate. I need to heal. I’m already weak, do you not sense this? I risk myself in attempting to save her.”
“Please,” he implored.
The dragon stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, coughing slightly in the process. Then Hastor lifted its head. “As you wish, Master.”
Hastor stared at Xaxia with hypnotic eyes. Nothing seemed to be happened, but Malem could sense the drain on the dragon’s energy bundle. Hastor was doing something, but so far there were no physical manifestations of whatever that something was.
Malem took the opportunity to study the dragon closely. Hastor hadn’t been kidding when it said it needed to heal: in several places the scales had been torn open or clean away, revealing the gory muscle tissue underneath. One of those wounds was grievous—either Saathar had breathed acid into it or had taken away a huge chunk with its jaws. That particular injury was located on the meaty part of Hastor’s right foreleg, and explained why the dragon walked with a limp.
And then black swirls emerged from its head and traveled into Xaxia’s exposed chest. Except these weren’t swirls of death, but of healing. The dark corruptions disappeared from her exposed flesh, though there were still some red runnels where the earlier black veins had corroded.
Hastor turned its head toward him. “I have done all I can for her. The rest is up to her. She must rest.” The dragon took two steps back and then collapsed. It raised its head slightly and shook it as if to slough off what must have been an overwhelming weariness.
Malem gave the dragon more of his stamina, momentarily forgetting that he was also taking it not just from himself, but Gwen and Abigail as well. The two women sagged.
Hastor gave him an appreciative look. “Thank you.” The dragon lowered its head and promptly went to sleep.
Now that the massive creature was asleep, Malem felt safe enough to sheath Biter. He untied the scabbard from Xaxia’s hip and slid the sword inside. Then he secured her scabbard to his belt for safekeeping, inside his open robe.
He retrieved his old sword from the ground beside Xaxia and sheathed it in the second scabbard on his back beneath the robe.
“Give our strength to the dragon now, huh?” Gwen said, leaning on Neeme’s strong neck with one hand. “I see where your priorities reside.”
“We have to go…” Abigail tried again. “The oraks will bring reinforcements. More dragons.”
“We will,” Malem assured her.
Xaxia’s leather corset was now useless, considering he had cut it open, so he tossed it, and applied healing unguent to the remaining red wounds in her chest. Then he quickly bandaged them and closed Xaxia’s robe to conceal her nakedness. He loaded her onto Bounder’s back in front of the saddle, securing her with spare rope.
“I’ll carry her belongings,” Gwen said, returning from the keep. She held the saddle, along with the bags she had retrieved from Xaxia’s dead horse, and secured both to Neeme instead.
Malem quickly moved between the animals and applied the last of the healing unguent to the most glaring cuts and scrapes the animals had obtained, and then mounted Bounder.
He rested a hand on Xaxia’s unconscious form. “It’s going to be all right,” he told her quietly. He glanced at Abigail. “Now we can go.”
The fire mage was gazing at the eastern horizon, down the gorge leading to the keep, which remained empty. For now. “Finally.”
He glanced at Felipe. The little monkey was perched on a rusty iron fence that surrounded one of the outbuildings, and casually chewed an apple. Underneath the monkey were a pile of dead oraks from the battle. The monkey spat out a seed and picked its teeth.
He directed Bounder close to the fence, meticulously steering the iguanid over the bodies. “Felipe!”
The monkey obediently leaped down and landed on his shoulder.
He swung about and made for the entrance, the women riding in tow. He paused to shout over his shoulder: “Hastor!”
In reply the dragon stretched sleepily.
Felipe promptly crawled inside Malem’s collar to hide.
“I’m coming,” Hastor said, though the dragon remained otherwise prostrate and motionless.
“Now!” Malem said.
Hastor opened a peevish eye, then finally stood to its full height, looking very imposing as it did so. Gwen and Abigail continued galloping—it was easier to do that than trying to fight the renewed fear the dragon instilled in their horses.
“You are a cruel taskmaster,” Hastor said.
“You haven’t seen cruel yet,” Malem told it.
The dragon unfolded its wings experimentally, revealing a big tear in the leathery skin of the right wing, on the lower part.
“Can you still fly with that?” Malem asked worr
iedly.
The dragon examined its wing. “I believe so. It doesn’t hurt, but I’ll be slower than usual until it heals. Maybe if you let me take a quick fifteen minute nap…”
“No time,” Malem said.
“I don’t suppose there’s a chance you can send another shot of vitality my way?” Hastor asked.
“Maybe once we’re underway,” Malem told it. In truth, he didn’t really have any vitality left to give. He was unwilling to drain Gwen and Abigail any further, and the sword was no longer feeding him energy, either. He reached inside his robe and tentatively drew it, but the blade imparted nothing.
Needs some killing to make it happy.
He sheathed the blade again and spurred Bounder forward. “Let’s go!” he called over his shoulder.
Bounder raced from the keep. Malem was relieved when he sensed the dragon pull into place in the sky above. He glanced up and saw its massive form silhouetted against the sun.
On the move again. With a dragon at my beck and call.
Despite its injuries, the dragon was able to fly swiftly enough to match the pace of the riders below.
As with Spirit, Malem was able to access Hastor’s vision to survey the surrounding terrain from a bird’s eye perspective. So far, the eastern foothills remained free of incoming foes.
He was beginning to feel hope: what had seemed an impossibility only an hour ago now felt attainable.
We might actually deliver Abigail’s message after all.
30
Malem turned north as he exited the gorge formed by the two hills, and soon pulled alongside Gwen and Abigail.
“The Black Sword made a mistake,” Gwen told him over the thudding of hooves. “Instead of diverting only three dragons from the siege of Fallow Gate, the Sword should have diverted all of them.”
“More are coming, don’t you worry,” Abigail told her.
Felipe peeked out from Malem’s collar. The monkey tensely peered in every direction, and then slumped in relief when there were no monsters to be found. But then Felipe stiffened suddenly, and slowly looked toward the sky and the dragon flying overhead.
