Blood and Ashes

by N M Zoltack

Something had already started to fracture within Horatia, but to see Prince Marcellus Gallus of Vincana lying on the ground, bleeding, wounded, the dragon standing above him, ready to strike the killing blow, caused her to snap.

  She glanced around her. Even Cassia had her sword aloft, as did the others.

  None needed her to say a word, and she and the others dismounted, allowing their horses to flee to safety. This battle might well cost them all their lives, but the horses needed not to panic.

  The dragon glanced about, distracted by the horses, but one thundered toward them, and a woman with long black hair leaped down from the destrier’s back.

  The woman who had spoken with Horatia when she and the Valkyries had been outside the swamp, waiting to see if they were worthy.

  “Do you fight for the likes of him?” she asked, lifting her chin toward the dragon.

  “Do you?” Horatia returned. “You seemed to love—”

  “Am I worthy now?” the woman asked with a smirk.

  Horatia recalled they had never exchanged names.

  The woman’s gaze fell to the queen and then to the prince. Her expression shifted to that of fierce… protectiveness. “They cannot die,” she exclaimed.

  So you have come, the dragon said. Come to die.

  “If I must,” the woman said.

  Horatia felt a wave of hatred roll over her. Strangely enough, the emotion was not hers but the dragon's. He hated this woman with everything within him.

  No, not merely hated. He feared her.

  The dragon turned away from the prince and blasted fire. The woman ducked and rolled out of the way. She was nimble enough, but her gripping on the sword was unlike anything Horatia had ever seen. Did she know how to wield it in a way Horatia did not? Or had Odium spoken truly, and the woman would die?

  Perhaps this woman had the hope necessary to be a sacrifice.

  Horatia dashed forward to stand between Odium and the woman. Other Valkyries lined up as well.

  “No,” the queen shouted, rushing toward them. She gripped Horatia’s arm. “The dragon cannot die. Not yet. Vivian said—”

  “Another sacrifice. Hope.” Horatia nodded.

  “Sacrifice?” the woman uttered, her dark eyes wide. “No more must die.”

  “Not the dragon,” the queen urged.

  The woman did not listen. She rushed forward. When the dragon’s claws swiped by, the woman jumped high enough that she landed on his limb but only for a moment before she fell back to the ground, tumbling into a roll rather than landing hard on her joints.

  Smart girl.

  “Attack!” Horatia called.

  “Do you not listen!” the queen shouted.

  But the Valkyries did listen to Horatia, and they attacked. They strove to wound the dragon, to injure him. Horatia did not know if she or any of the others had the heart to wound the beast, but they fought regardless.

  With each swing of her blade that glanced off his hard scales, Horatia could feel hatred.

  Not Odium’s hatred, although she could still feel the dragon’s influence nudge at her, trying to get her to embrace his will once more.

  The hatred she felt was her own.

  Hatred toward the dragon for using her.

  Hatred toward herself for not being strong enough to resist him.

  Hatred toward herself and her fellow Valkyries for falling the innocent people in that village they destroyed because the dragon had forced them to.

  With everything that was in her, Horatia fought. Despite the dragon almost tearing off her left arm. Despite her left leg being shattered by the whip of the dragon’s tail. Despite doubt and despair.

  And slowly, that hatred welling within her turned to love.

  Love for the prince she had served and wished she could serve under again.

  Love for the kingdom that had trained her.

  Love for her fellow Valkyries who fought all around her, many of them injured as well.

  Cassia fell, motionless, and others did too. Liviana leaned against Horatia, the two supporting each other.

  The dragon’s claws clashed against Horatia’s blade. The dragon’s might proved too much, and her blade shattered.

  Another Valkyrie kicked up a sword, maybe Cassia’s, and Horatia reentered the fray. The dragon’s underbelly was the only place where it seemed vulnerable, but the dragon flew above them, teasing them, just out of reach.

  Horatia cocked back her arm and waited, waited, waited… She heaved, launching the sword into the air like a spear or a javelin.

  Odium flew too quickly. Her sword missed his underbelly, and his tail knocked the sword aside.

  To Horatia’s surprise, the woman caught the sword with her left hand. She nodded to Horatia as if in thanks and dashed over to the horse she’d ridden on. Curiously, the horse had been standing close to Vivian’s bones. Perhaps the horse had been the fallen warrior’s.

  Despite holding the two swords, the woman climbed onto the horse and slowly stood. She threw one sword up and then the other, just as Horatia did.

  One bounced off, striking too high on the upper torso of the beast, but the other, the other lodged itself.

  Horatia let out a cheer that turned into a scream as the dragon unleashed a fiery blast that instantly turned several Valkyries to cinder.

  74

  Bjorn Ivano

  Not knowing what else to do with himself, Bjorn prepared himself to leave Atlan Castle. He assumed that wherever Olympia would go, she would bring him. He did not wish to leave her side. Surely, she knew that, yes?

  But hours passed, and she did not come. How long would she take to say farewell to her brother?

  Incensed but also worried, he stalked the floors of the castle, looking for either Olympia or Ulric.

  "You need to be working harder, faster. If you need more men, then have my militia help you," Ulric said from around the corner. The man was giving orders as if he had the authority to do so, as if he were a prince or even a king.

  Bjorn approached Olympia’s brother and a man with a worn, wrinkled face.

  “If I may have a moment,” Bjorn said stiffly. He waved away the man with white and black hair.

  The man grumbled. “The queen and I—”

  “I speak for the queen,” Ulric said sharply.

  The man nodded. “Very well.” He slinked away but only after glaring at Bjorn.

  “I did not mean to interrupt,” Bjorn said stiffly.

  “You most certainly did, and I am grateful for it.” Ulric rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know how Rosalynne does it. I’ve been there when she gives orders, and they do not question her, but then she truly is queen, and I am…” Ulric side-eyed Bjorn.

  Bjorn said nothing.

  "My…" Ulric smiled then. "My sister," he murmured so no one could overhear, although there was no one about them. "She told me about you, about why you returned to Atlan, that it was for her, to help her find me."

  “Did she come to see you? Did she say farewell?”

  “She did.”

  Bjorn let out a curse. “How long ago did she leave your side?”

  “Maybe a half hour ago. Why? Is something wrong?”

  “She left without me. She said she had no plan.” Bjorn slammed his fist against the nearest wall. “She lied to me.”

  “Mayhap she does not wish for you to be around anymore,” Ulric said mildly.

  Bjorn glowered at the man. “Did she say anything of the like?”

  “No,” Ulric admitted.

  “I have made mistakes in the past. I will not make excuses for it nor deny it, but I… I hope to be worthy of her one day, and I…” He pressed a hand to his chest.

  “You’re afraid,” Ulric said.

  “You are not the queen’s guard. You’re a genius!” Bjorn said sarcastically. “I must go.”

  “When you see her, tell her that I have been considering what she said.”

  “And?”

  “And I am still considering?”
Ulric shrugged.

  What an exasperating man.

  Bjorn rushed out of the keep and went straight to the stable. He saddled his own horse, too impatient to wait for a stable hand, and he headed to the castle gates. Three guards were atop the post, talking.

  “You there!” Bjorn called. “Did a woman come this way? Perhaps on a horse, mayhap not? She would have been wearing a hood. Black hair…”

  “Oh, yes,” one of the guards said.

  The other two nodded.

  “We spoke to her about the vicar—”

  “Which direction did she head?” Bjorn asked impatiently.

  “Straight into Atlan,” the first guard said.

  “How long ago?”

  “Maybe… half past an hour ago?” another guard suggested, and the other two shrugged and nodded.

  Bjorn muttered a curse and urged his horse to gallop. Straightaway from leaving her brother, she had fled. Why?

  He raced through the city, not searching it, merely going, going, going, trying to outpace the swelling tide of fear rising within him.

  And then he heard the sound of swords and smelled fire and smoke.

  The dragon!

  Bjorn coaxed every bit of speed out of the horse. As soon as they cleared the city, the horse reared. Bjorn almost fell off, and the moment the horse brought all four legs down, Bjorn jumped from his back and raced forward.

  Female warriors fought against the dragon. Marcellus was wounded on the side, Rosalynne tending to him.

  And there was Olympia. The insane woman had a sword in her hands, and Bjorn raced to stand between her and the dragon.

  “Bjorn, what are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “What are you doing?” he countered.

  She started around him, but he did his best to fight while keeping her away from the dragon. She was the brightest spot in the world, and he would not allow the dragon to have her!

  The dragon flew a little lower, and Bjorn managed to drag his sword across the underbelly. The dragon shrieked and belched fire.

  “You cannot kill him!” One of the warriors grabbed his arm with an iron-clad grip.

  “Why not?” he demanded, jerking his arm free. The dragon was making a loop around, and for now at least, Olympia was staying behind him, although with the dragon turning, Bjorn had to maneuver around her to keep himself between her and the foul beast.

  “There must be another sacrifice,” the warrior babbled. “A third one. One of hope. Only after the sacrifice can the dragon be killed.”

  “A sacrifice of hope?” Olympia asked, her dark eyes shining. A breathtaking smile crossed over her delicate features, and she dropped her sword, letting it clatter against the ground. “Bjorn, I should have told you this a long time ago.”

  “I know,” he grumbled. “You’re welcome.”

  “Not thank you.” Olympia laughed. She never sounded so happy before. “No. I mean, yes, of course, thank you, but… I love you, Bjorn. I love you with all of my heart.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and the rest of the world faded away. All that mattered was Olympia, but then, how was that different from any other moment.

  “Goodbye, Bjorn,” Olympia murmured.

  “I love you too,” he said, drawing her close and then embracing her tightly. They hugged for a moment, and Bjorn watched and waited and then shoved her to the warrior. “Everyone,” Bjorn called, holding out his arms and spinning about so all eyes were on him. “This is Olympia Li.” He held out his sword to point to her. “The daughter of the previous regime.”

  Bjorn made eye contact with Rosalynne. He was not close enough to hear her gasp, but her chest certainly heaved as if she had. Even Marcellus lifted up slightly to see the Li princess.

  “I love you, Princess Olympia Li,” Bjorn said, and he tossed his sword onto the ground and stared into the monstrous face of the dragon. “I am hope. Hope that the world can be a better place because Olympia lives. Hope that Dragoona can heal and come back from all of this hatred and turmoil. Hope that Tenoch and Vincana and the isles can know peace once more. I sacrifice myself.”

  Bjorn closed his eyes and smiled.

  If she could, Olympia would have sacrificed herself, but he also hoped she would realize what he had a long time ago.

  Dragoona had far more need of Olympia than the world needed him.

  75

  Princess Olympia Li

  The dragon opened his mouth.

  “No!” Olympia shouted. She struggled against the Valkyries grasp, but the woman hung onto her, too strong for Olympia to break free.

  But then, by some chance, Olympia did get an arm free. She was ready to elbow the warrior clear in the face when the dragon let out a terrible blast of fire.

  Right in the path of Bjorn.

  Olympia threw that elbow. The woman staggered a bit, but she did not release her hold, and then other valkyries came to hold Olympia back as well.

  Even Rosalynne walked around behind the dragon to come to Olympia’s side.

  “Do not,” the queen whispered, her voice sick with grief. “He sacrificed himself, and that is well and good, and you will not—will not!—take that away from him. He did it for you.”

  The flames slowly died, and Bjorn was gone.

  He made no vow, the dragon said, his words echoing in Olympia’s mind, ripping away at the jagged pieces of the ragged organ beating in her chest. Your sister, Vivian, she sacrificed herself to save you, but not in the name of anything else, and so, yes, for now at least, your life will be spared, but hers…

  The dragon lowered his head to stare at Olympia.

  The connection she felt to the dragon flared to life, but it was not something born of love or nature, and yet it was not hatred either.

  It was mutual understanding.

  The dragon blasted fire at her, but the valkyries shoved her and the queen out of the way. Olympia almost fell onto Rosalynne.

  “Bjorn’s sword!” Olympia called.

  “Horatia!” Rosalynne pointed.

  The accursed Valkyrie who had mentioned the sacrifice in the first place, the same sacrifice Olympia had been willing to make for Bjorn’s sake, glanced in the direction the queen pointed.

  Bjorn’s sword remained nestled in the underbelly of the beast.

  “Fetch it for me,” Olympia demanded.

  The Valkyrie glared at her but then nodded.

  Olympia had no choice but to continue running, bobbing, ducking, weaving. The dragon was chasing her with claws, his tail, his fire, and if she stopped moving, she knew she would die.

  Silver flashed out of the corner of her eyes. Bjorn’s sword, the tip wet with the dragon’s black blood, was being passed from Valkyrie to Valkyrie, moving closer and closer to her, and then, it was thrust into her hand.

  Olympia paused and stood before the dragon. “You fear me.”

  Why would I? You are nothing. Not even a princess.

  “That is where you are wrong, but titles do not matter. The Fates do not matter. You do not matter. Nothing does, and that is not life. That is death.”

  She held up the sword.

  “I am death.”

  The dragon had his long neck stretched out, his jaw touching the ground as he opened his mouth. She could see the orange-red glow of his fire, and she jumped over his teeth to land on his tongue, and she raced toward the fire. The flames, the heat all stole her breath away, incinerating her flesh, but she continued down his throat, cutting his esophagus, hacking at his soft insides, using the sword to help keep her balance as the dragon must have lifted his head.

  She hacked a hole and burst out of the esophagus, clinging to the thin wall so that she did not fall. The fire allowed her enough light to see that there were two more tubes. One for breathing, most likely, and the other was red hot and must be for the fire.

  Olympia hacked a hole into the non-fire one and slide down to soft pink tissue the expanded and compressed. The lungs, she assumed, which mea
nt, yes, there was the dragon’s heart.

  She plunged Bjorn’s sword into the black beating organ again and again. Black blood spewed everywhere, covering her, choking her, burning her. Her skin bubbled wherever the blood touched her, but she continued until the dragon’s heart beat no more.

  The fire slowly died out, and she struggled to find purchase as the dragon must have collapsed, tilting everything within him, including her, to the side. She gave the heart one last slice for good measure and staggered her way back to the esophagus. She climbed back inside and dragged herself up to the mouth. It took everything within her and using Bjorn’s sword as well for her to prop open the mouth.

  Whispers and shouts rang out as she had the mouth open a bit, and others came to aid her. Olympia could not even lift her feet to step over the dragon’s teeth. The sharp dagger-like fossils cut into her legs, but she felt no pain. Dimly, her body grew cold as she thought she hit the ground, and she knew that she would not survive this. She had been burned too badly, had bled too much, had given her all.

  And with her last thought being that she hoped Bjorn was right and that she had made a difference, she breathed no more.

  76

  Ulric Cooper, Personal Guard to Queen Rosalynne

  Ulric had just finished assigning guards to slay any and all rodents within the peasants’ quarters and asked the servants to locate how they were getting in as the like had never happened before when a man with freckles burst into the throne room.

  Yes, Ulric had not meant to work from this room, and he was not remotely near the thrones, but he had discovered people had gathered there to have their issues addressed by Rosalynne, and as the queen was not there, Ulric did what he could for them.

  “I’m a scout,” the man wheezed. “Donnchad Boyle. Where might the queen be?”

  “You can tell me the news directly,” Ulric said.

  “The dragon’s been spotted.”

  “Flying toward the castle?” he demanded. Perhaps it was for the best that Rosalynne was not within the castle walls.

  “No. The winged menace is just beyond Atlan. There are people there, fighting it.”