As I pressed Otto back with a combination of feints and lunges, I was aware of Dob turning slowly away from his torture session to regard us. No, to regard me.
His silver-blue eyes narrowed, and out of the edge of my vision, I saw the lightbulb click on for him as he saw me for the first time, my cloaking charm now on the floor and useless. He’d just realized I wasn’t some random intruder. I had to finish off Otto fast and figure out how to deal with Dob.
Sindari roared again, but it was distant, back in the orb room. He couldn’t help me. Otto backed me up again, and I struggled to keep those fangs and claws from reaching me. He had three weapons—fangs and two sets of claws—and all I had was Chopper. Fezzik had riddled him with bullets, but it wasn’t enough. Chopper could take off his head. I just needed an opening.
But he was incredibly fast, amped up on rage and bloodlust. Whereas my body ached, and my lungs burned from the exertion. I slashed for his head, but he ducked, and I barely clipped his ear, taking off the tip. He didn’t appear to notice. He came in low, slashing for my shin. I tried to back further, but I was against the wall again. I slid the blade toward his feline face, not expecting to hit but hoping to distract, then leaped into the air, somersaulting over him. As I landed behind him, I spun and lashed out.
One of the glass spheres I’d stuffed in my pocket tumbled out when I was upside down. It shattered on the ground as Otto whirled toward me, already lunging in.
With my charm on the floor somewhere, I caught a whiff immediately. Damn it. I held my breath, backed away, and hoped that Otto, who was closer to it, would be more affected.
The gas filled the air, and he jerked back in the opposite direction. That was my chance. He sneezed, and in that split second, I swept Chopper in for a logger’s chop. Even with my bodyweight behind it, and the magic of the blade, it didn’t fully take his head off, but it cut halfway through. That was enough to sever his spine.
As the fight finally faded from the ferocious panther, I tore the blade free, and spun toward Dob. Too late.
Bolts of electricity streaked across the room and slammed into my body at a dozen points. Agony blasted me from each spot, and a scream escaped my mouth before I could clamp it shut.
I pitched onto my side, my legs refusing to hold me upright. They twitched as if volts of electricity were coursing through them. Maybe they were.
My fingers wanted to spasm open and drop Chopper, but through the pain, I clenched down, as if the sword was my lifeline. The acrid gas in the air stung my eyes and throat, but that was the least of my problems.
Dob strolled toward me, his hands folded calmly on his flat stomach. He was the elf again, his face handsome and pleasant. With all that lightning coursing across the chamber and into me, he should have been the ugly zit of an emperor from Return of the Jedi. All he was lacking was the maniacal cackle and the dramatic finger movements.
He stopped a few feet away, and the lightning paused, the chamber sinking into dimness. For a moment, the agony eased from extreme unrelenting pain to sharp throbbing pain. I was on my hands and knees, every muscle in my body quaking. Chopper was beneath me, but I couldn’t grip it, couldn’t rise, couldn’t do more than twitch my head to the side to glare up at Dob through spastically blinking eyelids.
Dob’s nose wrinkled. He flicked his fingers, and the gas disappeared from the air.
It was little relief. Dob was glaring at me, and I couldn’t move.
“You cut off my toe,” he said. “I’d kill you for that alone, you presumptuous mongrel excrement, but it will be even better, knowing your death will hurt that pompous scale-rotted dog.”
Was that Zav?
“This is the point,” I muttered, groping for something I could do to get out of this, “where it would be nice if my father showed up and threw you into a bottomless pit.”
He didn’t get the reference. Not surprising. I regained just enough control of my fingers to wrap them around Chopper’s hilt. Still on my hands and knees, I used my body to hide the movement.
On the far side of the chamber, the dwarf rose to a sitting position. I wished I could count on him to help, but he didn’t look strong enough to even stand up.
Coming, Sindari whispered into my mind as Dob turned his head toward the tunnel.
Careful. He’s ready for you.
Streaks of lightning shot down the tunnel. Dob’s focus was in that direction, his face turned away from me.
I leaped to my feet, wobbled, and gained my balance. I swung Chopper at Dob’s neck, hoping he was distracted enough.
But my blade halted, as if it had hit an iron wall, inches from his neck. His head turned slowly back toward me. He lifted a hand toward me. I tried to sprint for the door, telling myself I could come back for the dwarf if I could figure out a way to escape Dob. But power wrapped all around me, pinning me in place, one of my legs raised ridiculously in the air.
Dob smiled, a predatory smile that wasn’t appropriate on an elven face, and stepped close. I saw my death in his cold eyes.
Then he paused, looking toward the cement ceiling.
“He’s coming,” Dob murmured.
Zav? I started to feel a shred of hope, but Dob probably sensed him from ten miles away. I couldn’t feel him yet. Wherever he was, it would take him time to fly here, and Dob could kill me in a second.
Once again, I tried to move my muscles. It didn’t work. All I felt was the pain ricocheting through my body.
Wait, could the lock-pick charm work? It wasn’t exactly an enchantment that held me, but maybe…
“Unfortunately for him, he’ll find only your body when he arrives.” Dob’s gaze settled on me again.
I mentally willed the lock-pick charm to unlock this magical cage around me. It didn’t work. But it also hadn’t worked the first time I’d tried it on the dark-elf bonds.
Dob lifted a single finger, morphing his nail into a glistening sharp talon and leaning close to cut my throat. I threw all of my energy into that charm. With the mental roar of a tiger, I commanded it to open the cage.
Something snapped, echoing in my brain, and I had control of my limbs. Dob was only inches away. I whipped Chopper straight at his face.
He stumbled back, the blade sinking into his cheek. But he recovered and flung a wave of power at me before Chopper could take off his head. Once again, I was thrown back against the wall, my head cracking hard. What did it take to kill this bastard?
I waved Chopper defensively as Dob, bloody and furious, strode toward me. Blackness edged my vision.
A bang sounded from above, and the ceiling crashed down all around us. Huge blocks of cement fell, and I flung my arms up to protect my head. A slab of rock struck my shoulder, knocking me to my knees again.
Sindari surged into view as more and more debris rained down from above. A refrigerator slammed into the floor right next to Dob, and I gaped in bewilderment.
Sindari stood over me, protecting me as more cement, earth, chunks of flooring, and even furniture came down from above. Then, the black scales of a massive dragon came into view. Zav plucked the elven version of Dob up out of the debris and rose up, great wings stirring the dust, whipping my braid around with their wind.
I scrambled out from under Sindari to peer up at the hole above us, not just in the floor of the house but in the roof. Dob turned into the silver dragon even as Zav gripped him in his talons. Nothing but the cloudy night sky was above them. They flew apart, raking and slashing at each other, and then disappeared from view.
A cutting board slid off a counter and tumbled through the hole, landing near the vault door. Zav had slammed right through the roof of the house, through the kitchen floor, and through the cement ceiling of this chamber.
One of the Pardus brothers’ shifter buddies came into view, staring into the hole at us. I reached for Fezzik. The shifter was bare-chested but gripped a gun in both hands, as if he’d been in the middle of a war.
Somewhere behind him, shots rang out, and tires squ
ealed in the street. The shifter rushed out of view.
I believe the orb is destroyed, Sindari told me, shaking dust from his silver fur. The shifters that were back there are dead. I had to ensure they would not come out to gang up on you.
I understand. Thank you.
I hadn’t wanted to kill the shifters, just stop the threat to Nin. But I couldn’t be surprised things had gone this way. The one being I did wish dead was up there fighting with Zav. I hoped there had been time for Zav to properly heal and that he could once again best Dob.
But what if he’d only come back to Earth because he knew I was in danger? What if there hadn’t been time for him to heal fully, and what if Dob could take advantage of that?
29
A rough voice spoke from the side, and I jumped. The dwarf. He was half covered in blocks of cement and faux wood boards from the kitchen floor.
“What’d he say? Sindari, can you find my charms? Otto tore them off. I’m going to try to help this guy.”
I can easily find mine. I am attuned to it.
Good, if you could be attuned to the other ones, too, I’d appreciate it.
I climbed over rubble and pulled broken chunks of cement off the dwarf, rock dust turning him an ashen gray. Normally, I would have expected a dwarf to be nearly indestructible and eat boulders for breakfast, but this guy had been half-dead even before the dragon started tormenting him.
A screech sounded above, and I jumped again, pointing Fezzik at the hole.
Dob flew past with Zav right on his tail. Zav snapped down, his large fangs flashing before they sank into that tail. Dob roared and twisted in the air, slashing at Zav.
Half fighting, half flying, they somehow stayed aloft. Drops of water spattered down from above. No, I realized, as I spotted fresh red splashes on the debris. Drops of blood. The writhing dragons tumbled out of view, and a second later, a thump reverberated through the earth. Had they struck down?
Gunfire punctuated the roars and screeches, reminding me that the battle wasn’t over. As soon as I freed the dwarf, I had to get up there and help Dimitri and the werewolves. And Zav, if I could. I couldn’t assume he would be able to best the tricky Dob a second time. And there were still shifters up there to worry about.
A callused hand gripped mine. The dwarf met my gaze, then spoke in a string of words I didn’t understand.
“Sindari?” I asked hopefully.
Here. Sindari trotted over with my broken leather cord in his mouth and two charms, his cat figurine and the translation trinket. He laid both down. I will gather the others. I brought the most important ones.
“I see. Thank you.” I grabbed both, rubbed the translation charm, and patted the dwarf’s hand. He was still gripping my wrist. “Go ahead.”
He frowned, no understanding in his eyes. Unfortunately, the charm did not work both ways.
I pointed to my chest. “Val.”
More gunfire sounded, bullets whizzing right above the hole. It was a ludicrous time to try to communicate with someone. I went back to shoveling the debris off him. We could play Charades later.
“I’m sorry I do not speak your language,” the dwarf said. “I am Belohk. You have saved my life and slain my captors. You are a mighty warrior.”
“I’m glad you think so.” It was legions above the dragons calling me a mongrel and a criminal.
I know a few words in his language, Sindari said, bringing more charms over. The thong was broken so I could only stick them in my pocket for now and hope I didn’t lose any. I’ll attempt to share what you’re saying.
Good. Thank you.
“I should have realized as soon as I saw your sword. The blade of Dondethor, a true master craftsman.”
I was in the middle of heaving a slab of rock off him, my battered body protesting the effort, and almost dropped it on my foot. “You know who made my sword?”
He—Belohk—looked at Sindari, waiting for a translation. Then he nodded. “The work of the legendary craftsman Dondethor is recognizable by all good dwarves. One of his works hangs in the museum in the Granite Castle deep in the First Mine.”
“Is he still alive? Is there an instruction manual for the sword that I can buy?”
His forehead creased. I probably shouldn’t have asked that. His estimation of how great a warrior I was had likely plummeted. What kind of warrior didn’t know the history of her weapons?
But I might never get another chance to talk to a dwarf. I had to put dignity aside and learn what I could.
“Dondethor passed to the realm of the blessed ancestors more than ten thousand years ago.”
Hell.
“The secrets of the blades are passed from father to son, mother to daughter. They are not written down. Did your father or mother not share them with you?”
“No, I got the sword from a zombie lord. I didn’t ask him if his parents had shared the operational instructions with him.”
As Belohk digested that—or maybe indigested it, as his pained frown suggested—he rolled onto his hands and knees and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled, and I grabbed him to give him support.
“Then the sword was stolen from the original owner. It should be given back.”
Give back Chopper? I didn’t shake my head with vehement rejection, even if that was my first reaction, but made myself ask, “Do you know who it belongs to and where the family would be found?”
If I seemed cooperative, maybe he would be more likely to help me. And I was cooperative, however reluctantly. I’d had the sword for ten years, so I wanted very much to state it was mine, but Zav had also implied it was stolen. If I ever did find the legitimate owner, I would feel compelled to give it back.
“I do not know,” Belohk said. “Sometimes, great weapons were given as gifts to kings and queens and emperors and empresses from other lands. A few were even sacrificed to dragons for appeasement. I could take you to my homeland to do the necessary research, but I am a prisoner here.”
“How did you end up in this situation?”
Maybe I’d better get his mind on that and give up on getting more information about Chopper. If I kept asking about it, he might feel compelled to try to take it from me so that he could deliver it to its rightful owner. If that owner showed up with provenance, I would return Chopper, but I wouldn’t go looking for him or her.
“I was kidnapped and sold and dragged into this… forsaken realm. Which has no portals, no way back. No way home.” He turned haunted eyes on me. “I have a wife and children and grandchildren. And it is a volatile time back home. I worry about them.”
“If I could get you back home, I would. Trust me.”
Clumps of dirt and flooring tumbled down, and I whirled, again pointing Fezzik upward.
Dimitri was leaning over the edge. He jerked back out of sight. I lowered the weapon, and he poked his head over the side again.
“We’ve got a problem.” He looked toward a portion of the sky that wasn’t visible to me from down in the hole.
“Just one?”
“It’s a big one. I think our dragon is losing.”
I swore. “I’m coming up.”
“Zav seemed to be kind of injured from the beginning, and the other one is taking advantage.”
I’d been afraid of that.
Dimitri offered me a hand, but I pulled myself up into the wreckage of the kitchen on my own. Not because I was too proud to accept help but because I didn’t want him to get hurt because he was focused on me.
The gunfire had dwindled, but the dragons were still fighting nearby, snarls and roars alternating with loud thuds. I saw only Dimitri’s van out in front of the house—the kitchen and living room walls had been flattened, interior and exterior, leaving the view to the street open. Maybe when the dragon fight had broken out, the werewolves had decided their job was done. I didn’t blame them.
Flames turned the gray night sky orange, and I looked up in time to see Dob spewing fire from his maw, the size and roiling heat of that
gout a hundred times what any flamethrower could produce. Zav, swooping low as he tried to evade the attack, took the brunt of it. He disappeared entirely inside of the fire even as it spewed past, engulfing one of the neighboring houses and a tree.
Fear for him had me running through the wrecked living room to a spot where I could see better, where I could help better. Would that fire kill him, or could his defenses handle it?
Zav flew out of the flames but couldn’t turn quickly enough to avoid hitting the house. He crashed through an exterior wall, clipping a chimney hard enough to knock it down, the bricks tumbling all around him.
Dob roared and swooped out of the sky toward Zav, talons as long as swords outstretched for the kill. Zav lay crumpled among the wreckage, the bricks half burying him.
I took cover behind a corner of the Pardus house that was still standing and leveled Fezzik in Dob’s direction. The bullets wouldn’t hurt him, and I knew it, but if I could distract him for a moment…
As he dove, I opened up with automatic fire and emptied the entire magazine.
The rounds didn’t bounce off his silver scaled hide, but they also didn’t do any damage. They did make Dob spread his wings to slow his descent and glare in my direction. His eyes flared with silver light, and I flattened myself to the ground, anticipating an attack.
Raw power slammed into the corner of the house, obliterating it. Chopper must have given me some protection, or maybe Dob had aimed too high, for the brunt of it went over me.
Behind me, Dimitri swore as drywall and wood blew all the way out to the river. He’d also flattened himself to the ground.
“Stay down!” I yelled back at him. “Go down in the basement!” At least no stray debris would slam into him down there.
As the wave of power waned, I knelt up, loading another magazine.
Dob’s diving attack had turned into a landing. Now, he crouched in the grass a dozen feet from the unmoving Zav. His focus shifted back to his dragon nemesis, but I fired again, aiming for his glowing eyes, hoping in vain to find a vulnerable spot.
Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons Book 2) Page 26
