Ghostflame (The Dragon's Scion Book 2)

by Alex Raizman

  “What are you?” The half-Alohym woman asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Haradeth said, offering her a hand.

  Synit stared at it suspiciously. “My name’s Synit. I’m an early attempt to merge human and Alohym. A failed experiment.” After a moment’s pause longer, she took Haradeth’s hand and let her take him out of the cauldron. “I…was supposed to help Armin and the others. But the battle turned against them so far, but the time I could move, it was over.”

  Haradeth didn’t have trouble believing that, seeing how stiffly she moved. It looked like she could barely do more than shuffle. “What were you supposed to do?” Haradeth asked.

  “I’m a natural lumcaster. Same as all…well, same as my sire. Rephylon. I came here to try to tap into Light. I hoped it would…” she shook her head.

  “It seems trusting.” Bix said, crouching on the cauldron. “I don’t like it. Things that trust too much usually want too much trust.”

  “I heard you call him a godling,” Synit said. “I know of the Little Gods. The Alohym want you all dead almost as badly as they wanted to wipe out the dragons.” Her mandible clicked together. “Anything that the Alohym hate that much is an ally of mine.”

  “Even disease?” Bix asked. “The Alohym hate diseases. Think it’s messy. Is disease your ally, plague-bringer?”

  Synit looked at Bix, then back at Haradeth, then back to Bix. “Obviously I meant any-”

  “Bah. Wasting too much time. Haradeth, I’m going to stab her.” Knives appeared in her hands.

  Synit nearly fell over from the surprise, and she groaned in pain when Haradeth caught her. “Bix, please, you’re scaring her. She can barely walk!”

  “Yes, I know.” Bix sighed and stalked away. “She’s useless. You should let me stab her. Since you won’t, hurry it up. We have a serious problem coming soon.”

  “She…she’s insane,” Synit said as Haradeth helped her to her feet.

  “You’re not wrong,” Haradeth said, keeping his voice low. “She’s also been very helpful. Light and Shadow, I’ll take a dozen psychopaths like her if it means we get to defeat those monsters.”

  “Agreed,” Synit said. Her sight was a contrast to Bix’s metallic gargle – when Synit sighed, it sounded like slabs of meat slapping together. He was glad she wasn’t in contact with him anymore. He didn’t think he could suppress the shudder any more than he had. “She’s not incorrect, however. I was…less than useless in the last fight. I’ll just be a liability.

  Haradeth grimaced. “Then climb back in that cauldron and wait until the fight is over.” Synit gave him a shocked look, and Haradeth shrugged. “I don’t have time right now to learn if you’re right or wrong. If you can fight, fight. If you need to hide, do so and we’ll keep you safe.” He fought an urge to roll his eyes. It was as bad as dealing with Tythel all over again. Synit was a half-breed obsessed with vengeance against the Alohym who would whine her way through anything she could. At least Tythel is competent in a fight.

  Synit stood there, perfectly still. Haradeth got the impression he might have offended her. He really wanted to care, but he couldn’t. “You work with Armin? I heard you talking when you arrived.”

  Haradeth nodded.

  “He tolerates your attitude?”

  “I’ve never given him a choice.” Haradeth shrugged. “Look, Synit, I-”

  “Have to justify things. Yes. I understand. You are…very human, little godling.”

  Haradeth bristled at the insult. “Look here you-”

  “Light and Shadow, will you two kill each other already!” Bix shouted. Both of them turned to face her. “Flath, meat is so stupid. Look. You. Synit. You are half Alohym so Haradeth finds you offensive because you’re a perversion of life he finds so precious. Haradeth. The first human who wasn’t in the service of the Alohym she met was Armin, who – if half of what you told me about him was true – was all ‘oh no you poor thing, let me hug you lots and make you feel better moo moo moo.’”

  Haradeth stared at her as Synit spoke. “Moo moo moo?”

  “That’s the sound humans make when they’re trying to be affectionate.” Bix said.

  “I think you’re thinking of cows,” Haradeth said.

  “No, cows go Mwraaww. I’ve heard them. Moo is a human word.” Bix shook herself. “Haradeth. Do you think bug girl hates the Alohym?”

  Haradeth nodded curtly.

  “Synit, do you think leafy-green hates the Alohym?”

  Synit considered for a second then nodded.

  “Great. So, we’re united in hatred. Story for the flathing ages. Now shut up because something nasty is coming up this tunnel and I’m gonna stab it until it stops amusing me.”

  Synit’s antenna twitched. “I can hear them. A couple dozen Alohym soldiers.”

  “Flath. Bix, we’re outmatched here.” Haradeth said. “We should try to-”

  “No, Haradeth. You two are outmatched here. A couple dozen Alohym soldiers are a warmup for me. Climb into the cauldron if you’re not going to let me stab Lady Alohym over there.” Her tail lashed the air like a cat waiting to pounce.

  “Bix-” Haradeth started to say.

  “Nope!” Bix said.

  At that moment the first of the Alohym soldiers rounded the corner, an unlight arcblade held in his outstretched hand. He shouted and charged Bix.

  Haradeth could barely see her arms move. He just got a vague sense of movement from them.

  It was, he imagined, what the mouse saw right as the viper strikes.

  The soldier fell at Bix’s feet. His torso landed first, divested of its previous attachments. It was followed by his collapsing legs and then by his right arm. His left hit the ground in three separate chunks. His head sailed over Bix to land behind her, clattering against a pile of gold coins. Bix shivered. “Now. Let’s get stabby.”

  Not waiting for Haradeth to speak, she dashed at the speed of a diving falcon for the next soldier to round the corner.

  Bix leapt onto the chest of an Alohym soldier. The man screamed and tried to raise his arcwand towards her. Before he could finish the motion, Bix buried a dagger in each of his eyes. The man fell forward, landing on his knees. Bix kicked off his shoulders, sending his body rolling into the ones that were behind him. Two more raised their arcwands and shot at her. Bix rolled away from the point of impact and left to the roof of the passageway. Her daggers and feet dug into it, and she began to skitter across the ceiling.

  That was when she started singing. It was a tavern song, one Haradeth knew well. His eyes widened as he listened to it come from the mouth of an automaton dispensing bloody death.

  “I met a man on the road to Greymoan,” Bix sang as she dove off the ceiling, her daggers held outwards. She sliced through the necks of the two who had shot, and they clutched their throats. Blood ran between their fingers.

  “When he saw me, he called to me.” Bix flipped around, her tail lashing out to wrap around a soldier’s neck. One next to the newly struck soldier swung with his arcblade, trying to sever Bix’s tail. Bix’s dagger lanced out, catching the blow. In one fluid motion, she snapped the man’s neck and drove her dagger into the other man’s knee. When he fell, her other dagger met his chin.

  “Oh, fair maid, why do you walk alone?” Three more soldiers charged her, screaming in what was either defiance or fear. Bix waited until they grew close. The moment they were in range, she popped up on her tail like a Jack-on-Spring and thrust daggers into two of their chests. Holding on by the daggers, her tail lashed up and caught the third in the groin.

  “Because alone is how I wish to be.” The soldiers began to back up now, arcwands unslinging. They started opening fire, beams of unlight lancing towards Bix. She dodged them with the speed of a monkey dancing among the treetops, using her tail and feet and arms interchangeably.

  “He called me fairest he’d ever known,” Bix kicked off a wall, driving herself across the chasm. Her tail sprung a blade with the motion, and with quick
whips she drew it across the stomach of every soldier she passed. Three fell, clutching their guts and screaming in agony.

  “And for my hand he started to plea.” True to the song, Bix drew out the last word as she flipped between unlight beams.

  The Alohym soldiers stopped firing. “So, I” Bix sang, drawing out each word. As she sung, her back began to vibrate and four new hands sprung from her back, each ending in a bizarre implement unlike anything Haradeth had seen before – one some kind of needle attached to a tube, another a serrated blade that spun, a third like a two-pronged fork with lightning dancing between the tines, and the final a device that looked like it was loaded with tiny needles attached to thread.

  “Stabbed him, stabbed him,” Bix sang the words as she danced into the group. The original lyrics were far bawdier, and far less murderous, that what she was singing, but Haradeth could barely focus on that. His attention was completely held by the spectacle.

  The saw blade lashed out, severing a man at the knee. “Stabbed him,” Bix sang, and the electric fork rammed into a soldier’s kidney, causing him to dance and bleed from the eyes, “Stabbed him,” Bix brought one of her knives around directly into another man’s groin, and Haradeth winced.

  “I stabbed him right there on the road,” The limb that ended in the needle loader aimed at fleeing soldier. It began to fire needles, and they started to wind through his skin.

  More were starting to break and run. “I stabbed him,” Bix swung the needle-tube around and shoved it into another man’s neck. The tube constricted, and the man clutched at his head as blood ran from his ears.

  “And offered to carry-” Bix had to duck under a frantic slash, her tail lancing up to crush the man’s trachea “his-” Bix dove forward on the closest fleeing soldier. “loooooooooad.” She ended his screaming with two daggers thrust into his lungs.

  The remaining Alohym soldiers were routed. They were hardened men, veterans of dozens of battles, and they’d seen horror before. Yet even the strongest man was not prepared to stand against a metal woman half their size singing lewd songs as she cut their fellows down.

  Bix turned to Haradeth and bowed. She was covered in so much blood, her usual bronze color was almost uniformly crimson. After a moment, she glanced up at him. “Start clapping.”

  Haradeth began to clap like his life depended on it. Synit joined in, her antenna twitching in terror.

  Bix smiled and bowed again.

  Chapter 47

  “Lorathor, behind you!” Armin shouted.

  Thankfully, Lorathor didn’t wait to turn to look at what had Armin shouting. He dove forward, and Clarcia’s outstretched hand passed through the open air. Clarcia let out a low hiss and began to shamble forward.

  “Light and Shadow!” Lorathor said, bringing up his arcrifle and sighting Clarcia with it. Before Armin could even speak, he fired three short bursts. Arclight flew and struck Clarcia in the shoulder, chest, and forehead. She staggered backwards and fell over. “Thanks for the warning,” Lorathor said, raising the rifle. “I thought she was dead.”

  “She is,” Armin said.

  “Right, now. But I mean when I came in she looked…” Lorathor trailed off. “Necromancy?”

  They both turned back to Clarcia. Her limbs were jerking unnaturally as she started to rise. She reached a crab position and her head turned unnaturally until it was facing them. “Necromancy,” Armin confirmed.

  Lorathor shot her again. Beams of light streaked across the small cell. Clarcia barely rocked at the impacts, hissing and scurrying across the floor with preternatural speed. “Flath!” Lorathor shouted, throwing himself to the side as Clarcia’s jaw snapped shut inches from his knees.

  Armin backed up, staring at her with wide eyes. It was Clarcia. It was Clarcia. She still looked like herself, even unnaturally twisted like this. “Armin!” Lorathor shouted. “Move!”

  Clarcia was closing the gap between them. When she got close, her legs folded up over her body. For a moment she was walking on her hands, then her feet finished their arc and touched the floor, pulling her body and head upright in a swift motion. Armin threw up his hands and caught her on the shoulders. She bowled him over as her head twisted back into place. They hit the floor hard, and Armin wheezed as the wind was driven from his lungs.

  Clarcia wasn’t impeded. She was snapping her jaw at him, only inches from his face. There was breath coming with the snaps, each one unnatural hot and reeking of the grave. The smell was enough to turn Armin’s stomach. If not for his hands on her shoulders, she would have torn out his jugular in an instant. Even with his hands in placed, her strength was immense. Armin pushed her upwards, and her fingers dug into his arm. Armin screamed as her fingers began to tear deep furrows on his skin.

  An arclight beam struck Clarcia in the back of the skull. It blew straight through, and flesh, bone, and brain matter tore from her face. Clarcia didn’t even flinch at the sensation. The jerking motion tore one of her eyes loose, and it dangled from an optic nerve on the side of the head. “Get her off me!” Armin screamed.

  A tentacle wrapped around Clarcia’s neck and began to tear her backwards. Armin stared at it in wide eyed horror as more tentacles join the first, grasping and tugging at Clarcia. Scrambling back and rising to his feet, Armin looked at the tableau, trying to process what he was seeing.

  Lorathor was gone. Where he had been was some kind of…thing. Tentacles from an octopus attached to a humanoid torso. The tentacles wrapped around Clarcia as she struggled against the bonds. The creature wrapped a tentacle around her throat and wound it up to her forehead, pulling her head back so her jaw wasn’t able to reach the other parts of the thing. “Armin, get out of here!”

  That was Lorathor’s voice. Coming from this monstrosity. Lorathor’s voice, and now that Armin looked, he could see the eyes. Yellow and with oddly shaped pupil.

  Sylvani eyes.

  Armin sat down hard, his knees no longer able to support his weight. It was too much by far. He couldn’t process it. This horror, something out of the depths of both the ocean and nightmare, was entangling the undead being that had once been his friend. Clarcia growled and hissed, snapping at the creature, but unable to find purchase. There were dull plates covering the tentacles, flexing with them, and her fingers could not find purchase on their bulk.

  “Armin, move!”

  Barely able to think, Armin just kicked his leg, letting the thing that had once been Lorathor hear the clatter of the chain. Lorathor snarled and began to tug hard on the Clarcia zombie.

  Armin began to hear the cracking of bones. Clarcia’s struggles became more frantic, and flesh began to tear under the force.

  Someone was screaming. Dimly, Armin realized it was him.

  As he watched, helpless to do more than scream, Clarcia’s arm came out of its socket. Freed from her shoulder, it started to try and wrap around the thing that had been Lorathor. He – some part of Armin was willing to accept that this thing was, in fact Lorathor, although he could not hope to process how that had happened – brought two free tentacles around to grab onto the flailing arm. Bones crunched under the stress, and then the cracking sound turning into a grinding noise.

  When Lorathor tossed that arm free, it was still twitching, trying to move and rejoin the attack. However, he’d shattered every bone in the limb, and it couldn’t do anything but flop uselessly on the floor. Bit by bit, Lorathor started to dismantle Clarcia.

  She wasn’t helpless though. Lorathor’s grip would slip at time, and her jaws would find purchase. She bit through the strange armor that shifted with Lorathor’s form, cracking both teeth and plate with the force. Lorathor howled in pain, although Armin couldn’t see anywhere for him to be howling from.