by Isaac Hooke
The armored half gobling took the item reluctantly. “A quiver with only one arrow?” She checked the underside as Abigail had, but there didn’t seem to be anything there.
“This is no ordinary quiver,” Abigail said. “It’s magic. We call it The Infitas Quiver. Looted from a band of elven archers passing through our territory, if I recall correctly. The arrows replenish infinitely. Go ahead, try it.”
Gwen gave her a doubtful look and then removed the arrow. To her delight, another arrow immediately materialized in its place. Gwen grabbed that one, too, and a third appeared. She kept taking them until she had a handful of arrows.
“Well I’ll be an ant-bitten caterpillar sinking to the bottom of a barrel.” She gave Abigail a contagious smile. “Thank you!”
“You’ll need a proper bow.” Abigail retrieved a bow from a rack behind Gwen. It was covered in jewels, but apparently she wasn’t impressed, because she put it back. She grabbed another, this one simple looking. She tested the weight, shaking it slightly, and the bow hummed. “This is the one. Its name is Wasp.”
Gwen accepted the new weapon. “What’s the deal with this one?”
“It’s magical, too,” Abigail said. “It will impart super human force to each arrow you launch. With it, your arrows will easily pierce orak armor, and dragon scales.”
“Arrows like that won’t cause much damage to a dragon, though,” he said.
“Maybe not individually,” Gwen said. “But with an infinite supply, I’m sure I can get a dragon bleeding, at least.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you make a porcupine out of some of those Night Dragons,” he said.
“So am I, believe you me,” she said. “I can’t wait to put my archery skills to use again. It’s been too long. A sword is a clumsy thing in comparison.”
“Speaking of swords, do you want a blade as a backup?” Abigail asked.
“Actually, I don’t think I’ll need one, not with this.” Gwen hefted the simple-seeming quiver. “Besides, restricting myself to a bow means I’ll have no safety net. I’ll know I have nothing to fall back on, and so I’ll fight all the harder.”
“Interesting philosophy,” Abigail said. “But I can definitely see that working. To deadly effect.”
Gwen grinned, baring her teeth. “I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength.”
Abigail continued down the aisle, until the bows and quivers gave way to swords. She passed several promising looking blades, finally stopping beside one that had a very distinctive hilt—it was carved into the shape of a black dragon, with the wings wrapping around to form a curved guard. It was weighted at the bottom with a pommel composed of a flat but round bloodstone, black as midnight but dotted with red flecks. The stone was positioned underneath the dragon so that it looked like it was grasped by the claws of the hind legs.
The weapon was scabbarded, so he couldn’t see the bare blade. The sheath was made of simple black leather, though a serpent had been embossed into the material.
Abigail wrapped her hands around the hilt, but then released it as if it burned, inhaling with a hiss. He felt a sudden spike of terror from her energy bundle in his head.
“Yes, this is the one.” She glanced at him. “Meet Balethorn. Dragon Slayer.” She nodded toward the weapon. “Go ahead.”
He nervously wrapped his fingers around the hilt, but felt nothing. Apparently whatever had spooked her was gone now. Either that, or the sword didn’t have the same effect on him.
He lifted the weapon from the rack, and wrapped his free hand around the scabbard to slide the blade free. It was made of fine metal, with a patterning on the surface reminiscent of flowing water. It was perfectly balanced and weighted, with dual cutting edges. The blood grooves of the fuller ran the length of the blade, ending nine-tenths of the way to the point—sword smiths used those grooves to reduce the weight of the weapon without sacrificing strength or weapon integrity, and it was a sign of good blade craft. There was also elvish or dwarfish writing on the blade, like Biter.
“Is it magical?” But he knew the answer immediately because the blade began to sing in his hands when it heard his voice. A hum that vibrated in pitch between low and high, changing without rhyme or reason. Like Biter, he had the sense it was promising him vitality in exchange for blood.
He slammed the blade home into its sheath.
“It’s a Drainer,” Abigail said as he attached the scabbard to his belt. “It craves monsters, with a particular thirst for Night Dragons. It steals their vitality from them, sometimes transferring a portion to you.”
“Sounds a little like Xaxia’s weapon,” he commented. “Though hers seems to prefer oraks.”
“Balethorn will easily slay oraks, but it will give you no stamina,” Abigail said. “As I told you, it thirsts for dragons.”
“The perfect weapon to take into battle against a black,” he said.
“Exactly,” she agreed.
“Will it drain you?” Gwen asked.
“Oh, yes,” Abigail said. “Which is why I was a little reluctant to give it to him.”
He smiled at that. “You don’t have to worry about me draining you with this. If I really want your stamina, I could take it directly through our link.”
“I suppose you could, at that.” Abigail cocked her head. “A caution about the blade: Balethorn has the spirit of a red dragon bound within. You must have a strong will to wield this weapon, or it will take control of you.”
“I think my will is strong enough,” Malem said. “I broke you and Gwen, didn’t I? And a black dragon.”
“But only because we let you,” she said.
He nodded, conceding the point.
“Stay here.” Carrying his old weapon, she went to the back of the room and returned in a moment carrying fresh robes. “Put these on.”
“What’s the matter, boy toys don’t wear dragon scale armor?” he quipped.
“You walk out of here in those, you will be questioned, yes,” she said. “Now put on the robes.”
He slid the robe over his new suit of armor, and Gwen did the same with hers. She couldn’t hide the bow beneath the robe, so she wore it over top, slung across one shoulder: it looked inconspicuous enough, given its simple shape and construction. No one would have guessed it was magical.
He glanced at his back, checking to see if the outline of the buckler attached behind the armor was visible beneath the robe’s fabric, but the shield was small enough to blend in.
“You’re going to have to put on the helms,” Abigail told them.
Malem looked down; the helm bulged obviously beneath the robe. Not in a good way.
“We look like two male cats in heat who’ve confused each other for the opposite sex,” Gwen commented.
“Male cats don’t go into heat,” he said. “They’re always aroused.”
“You would know that,” Gwen said.
He opened the robe and detached the helm from his belt. He tried it on. The vision obscuring properties weren’t nearly as bad as Gwen had made them out to be. He decided he’d probably keep it on during the coming battle.
He raised the hood and wore it low over his face, hiding the helm. Gwen did the same after donning her own helmet. He looked the half gobling up and down.
“You know, the outline of her armor is still a little obvious under the robe,” he said.
“If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m a bodybuilder,” Gwen told him. “And this is not a bow, but a special type of one-stringed harp.”
“No one will ask,” Abigail said. “Come on.” She still held his old weapon on the way out. “Mind if I relegate your former sword to the trash heap? I ask in case it has some sentimental value.”
“Go ahead,” he told her. “Felipe stole it for me from the camp of a traveling merchant.”
“As usual, you’re a man of impeccable morals,” she commented.
He shrugged. “I never claimed to be a good man. You knew who you were getting in bed with.”
“Suppos
e so,” Abigail said.
Gwen crossed her arms. “Well I certainly didn’t!”
“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “You’re adventurous. Unlike the princess here.”
“Ha.” The two women both said the word at the same time. They exchanged a glance, and giggled. It was a stilted, stiff giggle, heavy with the weight of the coming fight, but a giggle nonetheless.
On the way out, Abigail tossed his former blade into a crate of broken equipment near the entrance. The old man on duty nodded, murmuring “princess” as she passed. He paid no heed to the pair with her who had come inside dressed in ordinary clothes, and left in bulky robes.
Now there’s loyalty, Malem thought.
In the hall outside, she said: “It’s almost time to meet my brother. I expect we’ll leave shortly. Return to your quarters in the servant area, and when fifteen minutes have passed, meet me at the southern parapet. No sentries will be on duty: they’ll be in the middle of a shift change. I’ll be waiting for you, along with the others my brother and I have gathered.”
“And how many is that?” he asked.
“I’ve arranged for two more, at least,” she said. “We’ll just have to see how many loyal Metals my brother can dig up.”
She gave Malem and Gwen the directions to the southern parapet from their quarters.
“What about Hastor?” he said.
“I’ll talk to Jayden about your dragon,” she said. “I’m sure he can arrange something.”
“Are you sure you can trust your brother?”
“If not him, then who else?” Abigail asked. “I can’t do this with you and my two dragon friends alone. Not against an entire besieging army. I’m hoping my brother has gathered at least twenty of us.”
“Can your quarters fit that many?” Gwen asked.
Abigail gave her an astonished look. “That, and many more. My quarters are fit for a princess... besides, we’re meeting on the parapet, not my quarters.”
“Oh yeah, a princess, I forgot,” Gwen said. “My best friend’s a dragon princess. By the way, will we have to give these gifts back when we return?” She indicated the bow.
“Probably,” Abigail said. “See you in fifteen minutes.” And then she was fast retreating down the hall.
He stared after her, watching her go. He couldn’t help the sense of doom he felt then. The worry emanating from the energy bundles of the two women in his head didn’t help.
Give these back when we return...
What if there was no return from where they were going?
Maybe he should have tried harder to change Abigail’s mind. Maybe he should have said or done something more. But he hadn’t.
And now he would have to live with whatever dire outcome came to pass.
Maybe it was just nerves. Maybe the coming battle would be a breeze, and he had nothing to worry about.
But most likely, they would face their deaths out there.
If either of the women died, he didn’t know what he would do.
The Breaker would be broken.
37
Malem and Gwen reached their quarters in the servants section without issue, and waited for the necessary fifteen minutes. Like most people, he relied on the sun to count the passage of time, so he stayed near the window. He had also developed a rough time sense that allowed him to estimate the hour to a reasonable degree, and when he felt that fifteen minutes had passed, he confirmed the positioning with the sun.
He and Gwen made good time to the southern parapet. He paused while still inside the hall, well before the exit to the southern walkway. Hastor didn’t have the parapet in view from its position on the western wall of the fortress, so Malem momentarily released Felipe to bind a rooftop pigeon to his will.
Malem half expected the keep’s entire compliment of guards would be waiting there to ambush them, but he was relieved to find Abigail there with her brother and Melody. Their collars were gone. The three of them waited with five other men and women he didn’t recognize, presumably dragons. Though none of them had collars either, so he couldn’t be sure. There were no other sentries, as Abigail had promised. One of the half dragons waited near the entrance, watching the hall.
Malem dismissed the pigeon and rebound Felipe. Then he went to the exit and stepped outside with Gwen, joining the waiting individual, who escorted them to the others.
Abigail introduced the men first. “Malem, meet Fortus, Caliban, and Smite. Fortus stands for Fortifier in our tongue, and Caliban, Cloud Dancer.” She turned toward the women next. “And these are Ragan, Heren, and Melody. Ragan means Firestorm in the Metal language, and Heren, Tornado.”
Malem inclined his head in greeting. “I recognize the healer.”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “We’ll need her healing magic in the fight to come. Our natural healing isn’t going to cut it.”
He surveyed the group. “So only eight of you. Are eight Metal Dragons really enough to defeat the army of a Black Sword?”
“Probably not,” Heren said. “But we’ll certainly bloody their noses.”
"We have to try nonetheless,” Abigail said. “With us, the people of Fallow’s Gate have a small hope. Without us, none at all. Our hope is that our attack will encourage the defenders of Fallow Gate to sally, so that the enemy will be crushed between the forge of the defenders and the hammer of our fiery breath.”
Malem wasn’t entirely convinced. “I’m not sure what your scout reported, but there were at least fifteen black dragons besieging Fallow Gate the last time we passed that way. And at least a thousand oraks, several of them potentially mages. And then there is the Black Sword…”
Jayden sneered at him. “Are you and the green woman afraid, Breaker?”
Gwen was the one who answered. “Not at all. Only eight of you means more oraks for him and me.”
Malem sighed. From the look on Abigail’s face, and the determination he felt from her energy bundle, he knew there was no dissuading her.
“What should I do about Hastor?” he asked her.
“Who?” Jayden replied.
“His black,” Abigail explained. “On the western parapet.”
“Oh,” the prince said. “Yes, I’ve ordered the guards there to look the other way should the Night Dragon decide to flee. When it joins us, if any patrols intercept before we leave the city, we can say we’re transferring the dragon to the dungeon.”
“As if the black dragon would even fit,” Abigail said.
The prince shrugged. “We’ll say it’s a special dungeon that the king just opened up in the mountains. Reserved for subjects who question their prince.”
Abigail snickered. “Okay, good luck with that. Good to see you have everything planned out.”
“Can we just get this over with?” Ragan said. “I feel like the whole city is watching us.”
“I agree,” Fortus said. “I’ll feel a lot better once we’re outside the city walls, because if anyone’s going to see the inside of the dungeon, it’s not your black dragon, but us. I’d rather face the entire army of a Black Sword than to have to look my king in the eyes and explain to him I tried to sneak his daughter into a war zone.”
“Metals, we ride!” Abigail said.
Malem and Gwen stepped back, giving the half dragons room as they transmogrified. Their clothes ripped away as their bodies grew. Abigail transformed a lot faster than the last time, and though she didn’t scream in pain this time, he still registered the agony from her energy bundle. That snapping he heard was definitely the sound of bones breaking and reshaping.
And then it was done. The men and women were replaced with dragons. Abigail stood before him, resplendent in her scales of iridescent silver and reddish-gold.
Once again he was left in awe of the creature she had become, and he could only stare when she lowered her sweeping wing to provide him a ramp.
“Well, are you going to get on?” Abigail asked. As usual her voice had the same timbre and sound as it did in human form, except
it was possessed of a resounding intensity, even though she was obviously trying to keep the volume low.
He still stared at her.
“Quickly,” the prince hissed. “The patrols on the other walkways are beginning to notice us.”
Malem snapped out of it and approached the silver dragon Abigail had become.
“Wait, we never actually talked about who would take me,” Gwen said. “I was assuming I’d ride Hastor.”
“I’ll take you, gobling,” Jayden said.
Gwen seemed hesitant, but then she shrugged, rounding Abigail to make her way toward the prince. “I’m not a gobling. Call me Gwen.”
Jayden lowered his wing to form a ramp as Abigail had done. “Hurry up!”
“Something tells me I’m going to regret this…” Gwen said.
Before pulling himself onto Abigail’s wing, Malem got rid of the robes that covered his armor. The fabric could only get in the way of what was to come.
Gwen did the same, letting her bronze dragon scale armor flash beneath the midday sun. He could only imagine how his own golden armor must look.
I hope it strikes fear into the heart of the Black Sword.
Then again, their opponent would probably only laugh. Not out of any real amusement, but out of spite.
He wrapped his hands around Abigail’s membranous wing and hauled himself onto the surface. It sank slightly beneath him, bouncing as he advanced, a little like the leathery surface of a trampoline but without nearly as much give. He tried to step mostly on the bony protrusions that formed the frame of those membranes, not wanting to damage the delicate flesh she needed for flight. He remembered quite well the screech he’d elicited from her the first time he ever did this, when he accidentally put too much weight in the center of a wing segment.
He was a little relieved when he pulled himself onto her back. As he did so, her torn red dress on the ground caught his eye.
“When you transform back, you’re going to be naked,” he commented.
“I’ll bet you’re looking forward to that.”
“I certainly am!” he said.
He positioned himself between the base of her two wings, where they met her back. The scales attached to the stalks there were jagged near the tips, and formed a small cross-guard of sorts that he could grasp. He did so.
