by Siobhan Muir
She didn’t understand those words, but she got the gist of them. “I will.”
“Very well.” He nodded to the west. “Take the goat path along the shore that creeps to the backside of the demon’s lair. You may watch from the safety of the rocks without being seen and wear this.” He made a complicated motion, and folds of magic settled around her. “It’s a glamour to make you appear as something natural like a rock or tree. Something the demon won’t notice. Stay low and safe, for both the dragon’s sake and yours.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Some day, I hope you will call me ‘father,’” he murmured.
Isabelle gave him her best enigmatic smile before she turned for the path heading around the Loch. She had no time for a would-be father. She intended to find herself a dragon.
Chapter Twelve
Jonarrion swallowed hard and tried to keep from vomiting. Goddess, he hated demon-reek. Not even the horizontal rain could clear the air of it. The rain did mask his footsteps along the rocky path leading toward the bowl before the demon’s cave. Before it curved around the opening, he shifted upward, wanting the high ground for their first meeting.
No point letting the thrice-cursed thing know I’m coming.
The rock was slick with rain and moss, but Jonarrion scaled it easily enough, slowing his motions the closer he came to the edge. Deep gouges marred the crest of the bowl where the demon’s tail had searched for him on his last visit. One deep crack offered the perfect cover to assess the battlefield, and Jonarrion scuttled over to it, flattening his body against the wet rock.
The dim light of the stormy dawn showed more shadows than details, but Jonarrion found the pockmarked ground littered with rock fragments and puddles. The steep and jagged walls of the depression offered plenty of handholds, but they’d be deadly for a collision. It would be close fighting, but he might be able to take the demon down faster with his smaller human size if the beast couldn’t maneuver in the tight space.
That’s not bloody likely.
He extended his leg to step down onto the rain-spattered floor when the wind shifted and ruffled the surface of the puddles just enough to show an oily rainbow ripple. Jonarrion froze and waited, straining his eyes to pick up the nearly invisible fluctuation. Another gust blew through the bowl, and the whole ground shimmered with an unhealthy kaleidoscope of colors.
What in the name of the Goddess is that?
Pulling back into the crevice, he inhaled deeply, seeking any scent to tell him what covered the uneven stone below him. Only demon-reek, water-saturated stone, and faint carrion reached his sensitive nose. The demon must have eaten recently. Whatever flooded the place had no external scent.
Jonarrion reached down between his feet and broke off a small spire of rock, rotating it in his hand until he got a solid grip. Then he flung it out over the ground of the demon’s retreat. The stone bounced and skidded over the cracked rock, each impact exploding in sickly iridescent ripples, expanding outward until they washed up on the walls. A low, unpleasant hum filled the damp air, and the noxious scent of the demon intensified.
Jonarrion pressed himself deeper in the shadows of the rock as the tip of the demon’s muzzle emerged from the deep cave under the heavily overhung rock. The nostrils flared to catch any trace of scent. The rippling slick extended within the cave, and the deadly head shivered with each undulation of the oily surface.
A spell web. Crafty bugger!
Like the web of a spider, the spell web alerted the demon to anyone who approached its lair. No wonder none of the humans had managed to kill the putrid thing. Jonarrion held still, watching the demon scan its demesne for enemies. It sat still, holding its position with a patience born of malice, waiting for something to move.
Damp, windy silence enveloped the bowl, and the minutes ticked by. Jonarrion relaxed against the crevice as rain trickled down his back, soaking his clothes to his skin. Eternity passed, measured only by the watery seconds and relentless gusts of frigid wind. At last, the nasty beast slid back into the darkness of its overhang, pulling its putrid stench with it.
Jonarrion remained still long minutes after its retreat, waiting for the creature to fall back into a false sense of security. Then he eased his body out of the crack and climbed carefully up the incline on silent feet.
We’ll see who’s taken by surprise.
Crouching low, he worked his way along the top edge of the lair, stepping carefully on the ridgeline to keep from knocking more loose stones into the depression. The rock was cracked and broken from the tantrum he’d witnessed a few days earlier, and he’d use it to his advantage when it came time, but the loose stone made the footing treacherous.
When Jonarrion reached the overhang above the lair, he inched his way closer to the edge, careful not to dislodge any rocks. He drew his sword from his back and laid it silently on the ground beside him as he balanced precariously above the overhang.
He grimaced at the stench of carrion and demon enveloping his perch. Why do the bloody things have to stink so badly? Swallowing hard against the powerful odor, he searched for a rock large enough to snag the demon’s attention. He wanted the bastard’s whole head to come out of the accursed hole. Taking a deep breath despite the reek, he found and lifted a small boulder to shoulder height then hurled it as far as he could out across the open space.
The rock crashed into the uneven floor, splintering into thousands of needle-sharp shards. Ripples of ugly iridescence spread across the broken ground as Jonarrion swept up his sword and watched the entrance of the cave. The demon’s head shot out into the open, seeking the source of the disturbance, and Jonarrion silently leaped, slashing downward with his blade hissing through the rain.
The demon must have sensed him because it jerked sideways at the last moment, and the sword dug into its neck just behind the jaw. The demon shrieked and dove across the floor, batting at Jonarrion with one of its taloned wings. Jonarrion cursed and tried to roll out of the way, but the outer membrane of the wing clipped his legs and spun him into the wall beside the lair.
He slammed into the stone with a grunt and all the breath left him, but he lurched to his feet while his body struggled to breathe. Shit-colored blood, the consistency of thickened tea, oozed down his blade, leaving a yellowish stain on the polished steel. He shook the ooze off as his lungs expanded, pulling in the fetid air, and turned to face the hideous beast.
The demon shook its head, spraying the rancid brown blood across the walls of its domain. Each drop steamed against the rock where it landed, burning little pits in the already pocked ground. Jonarrion growled in his throat.
Acidic blood as well? Hellwinds. The whole Goddess-damned thing is toxic!
He just hoped it wouldn’t score his blade too badly.
The demon’s orange eyes focused on him and narrowed as it hissed at him.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to you,” he said cheerfully, his grin all teeth. “I thought today would be an excellent day for you to die.”
The demon paused to look him over carefully then pulled its head up and opened its jaws, emitting a sound that shook the rocks around it. The combination of a rumble and a hiss rattled Jonarrion down to his breastbone. It took him several moments to understand it was laughing at him.
He raised an eloquent eyebrow and broadened his smile.
Think you are strong enough to take me, human?
A voice like grating gravel in his mind made the hair on the back of his neck stand up in protest.
I have to admire your delusional beliefs, but it won’t save you in the end. Perhaps you have the date wrong and it’s your day to die.
Jonarrion chuckled, and the demon hissed with irritation. Surely the beast had encountered dragons before. He sensed it was well over three centuries in age. Most of the demonkin only developed external poison after the third century, and this one smelled older. He’d never been able to disguise his true scent, but it didn’t seem to recognize the smell of dragon, its ar
chenemy.
“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Jonarrion opened his arms and beckoned with the fingers of his free hand. “Unless you’re too afraid to test it?”
I do not fear you, human.
Jonarrion snorted with derision. “Then what are you waiting on? The rain to stop? You’re in Scotland, boyo. Not a likely occurrence.”
So eager to die, are you?
The heavily horned head shifted sideways, and the body followed in a sinuous slither, the belly scales scraping over the broken rock with a pained shriek.
Jonarrion pivoted his body to keep the hideous form in front of him. The demon could move fast, and he wanted to be ready for the strike when it came.
“Aren’t you? Or are you too afraid to take the chance?” Jonarrion sneered with derisive laughter. “Your hours are numbered, beast.”
The demon’s head shot forward in a deadly strike, but Jonarrion was ready for it and leapt sideways, twirling his blade in a deadly arc that caught the other side of the snapping jaws. He felt the impact as he twisted away, and the demon barked an infuriated exclamation of pain.
More brown blood marred the length of his sword as he bolted along the scaly body, hoping to tear into one of the wings and ground the beast. The demon moved with him, jerking its sails out of the way and slamming its poisoned barb into the rock before Jonarrion’s feet. He pivoted and shook his blade to keep the blood from eating through his hands as he sought a different target.
You have more fight in you than most humans.
The demon pulled back a little to eye him.
“I wouldn’t want to make it too easy on you.” Jonarrion smirked around the adrenaline pumping through his body. “Even those who wish they were dragons need exercise!”
The demon huffed a disdainful laugh. You think I’m not a dragon, little human?
Jonarrion snorted. “I know you’re not. Dragons don’t smell as bad, nor are they as ugly.”
You’re an expert in dragons, are you?
“You have no idea, rotgut.” Jonarrion shrugged nonchalantly, but calculated where to hit it next. “I’ve been around enough to know the difference between them and you.”
The demon feinted with its tail, arrowing it for his feet again, but swiped with the opposite taloned wing at the same time. Jonarrion dodged right into the talon, and it ripped through his side as he checked himself, trying to shift direction. Pain flared through his body, jerking an agonized grunt from him, but he focused on moving out of the way of the returning barb, slashing with his diminishing strength.
The scent of his blood joined the miasma of odors filling the rainy bowl, and warm heat flowed down his side, coating his hip and leg. His breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered away from his opponent, keeping a wary eye on the demon. The creature watched him patiently, grinning with hungry malice as he fell against the pitted wall.
Time to die, little human. The creature’s eyes avidly watched each spurt of blood staining his side.
Jonarrion dropped his blade and held his hand to his side as he sagged down the rock. Each breath was agony, the wet sounds of the torn flesh filling the gaps between the rain, and the deadly slide of the demon’s scales against the stone as it repositioned for the kill strike. The wound was mortal in his human form, and he’d only survive if he shifted shape. But the excruciating pain blurred his mind, pulling further and further away from regard for his life. Would it really be so bad to drift away, to fade into the black comfort of death?
As the darkness converged on him, a bright image of auburn hair and Fae eyes blazed across the backs of his eyelids, and he took it down with him.
* * * *
Cold dread and despair enveloped Isabelle where she crouched on the edge of the creature’s bowl, watching the hideous beast coil to strike at Jon’s slumped body. The gaping tear in his side pumped so much blood down his leg, it looked as if he wore festival hose with different colored legs, dirty tan and dark, blood red. Tears started in her eyes, and she clutched the cloak the elf had given her tightly around her shoulders as she waited for the end to come.
She wanted to do something, but what? What could she do against such a monstrous creature when Jon Swift, a towering warrior, lay crumpled against the stone walls like so much rubbish?
Distract the blighter. I can throw a rock as well as any man in the village!
Isabelle scoured her surroundings, looking for anything she could hurl at the sinuous beast crouching over her lover. Dragon or not, she wasn’t going to let the thing take Jon down without a whimper. Her hands released the edges of the cloak and closed over sharp shards of stone lying within her reach as if the Goddess had placed them there specifically for her needs. She grasped them, the hard edges cutting into her palms, and surveyed the scene below her.
Isabelle had the sense Jon only needed some time, a little distraction, and he’d be able to return to the fight. Her logical mind wanted to scoff at such thoughts, but she shook it off and planned her route of attack. She’d have to throw the stones then run to another portion of the bowl before the monster spotted her. She could distract it, but not fight. She meant to divert its attention away from Jon and hide before it realized where she was.
Clutching the rocks tighter, she raised her head and peered over the cusp of the rocky ledge. The dragon-like brute hissed a sound filled with malignant triumph and opened its deadly maw, pulling its head back to strike. Isabelle rose to her feet, cocked her hand back, and left fly. She scrambled for another portion of the bowl, praying to all the saints she wouldn’t be seen. Her feet skidded on the wet stone, but she managed to flatten herself behind an upthrust boulder and freeze, holding her breath.
The horned head whipped around toward her, and she refused to even blink lest the evil beast hear the slide of her lashes together. Cold wetness seeped through the fabric of her gown and the corset beneath, but she ignored the discomfort, sinking into stillness as she watched the bowl below her. The creature scanned the rocks, and she swore it saw her, staring at her with its malevolent orange eyes. Isabelle didn’t fear much, but the serpentine monster scraping over the pockmarked floor froze her blood and shook her to her core.
Isabelle could barely see anything around the edge of the rock, but the dragonlike creature filled most of her view. She wanted to close her eyes and pretend it would never see if her if she looked away, but she forced herself the keep still and wait. If she had to move again, she needed to know which way to go.
Nearer and nearer it stalked her, and she suspected it was toying with her. Panic skittered over her mind, screaming at her to move and run to safety, but she gritted her teeth and held on. The creature slithered so close she could smell its putrid stench wafting off its skin even through the frigid rain. She stopped breathing to hide the clouds of her breath and waited, the seconds stretching into agonizing units marked only by her terrified heartbeats.
Isabelle swore the nasty eyes found hers as it paused, opening its maw until she could count each and every dagger-sized tooth in its rank black mouth. Its pause went on longer than expected, and she dredged up the courage to turn her gaze back to the floor of the lair.
Her heart jerked in her chest. Jon had disappeared, the rain slowly washing away the blood stain marring the rock where he’d rested. She quickly scanned the whole area, but he’d left no trace, as if the wind had blown him away.
Where the devil is he?
The world exploded in light and heat as fire rained down on the hideous beast from above, blasting her backward down the slope of slick rock. She skidded to a stop near some broken talus and searched the sky for the source as an agonized scream rent the air.
Isabelle froze once more.
A glorious and terrifying creature filled the heavens. A sleek and armored head with great smooth black horns rising from the back held lupine-blue eyes focused on the hideous animal on the ground.
“Holy Goddess…”
The great beast pumped its wings and rose higher into the
air. Tall, sharp, black spines marched along the neck, across the back, and down the length of the sinuous tail, ending in an onyx-black barb. The body and wing sails shimmered an iridescent sapphire blue in the dim light of the rainy day.
So that’s what a dragon really looks like. The mouth opened, and another bright gout of flame immersed the bowl below. Isabelle couldn’t see what burned, but the heat and the stench of burning flesh polluted the air, making her choke.
Another hair-raising shriek barreled out of the depression beyond her sight, followed by a burst of evil-green flames in a large crackling ball. The ball hissed through the rain toward the sapphire beast, but disintegrated in a burst of golden-orange fire. Great wings pumped and pulled the blue beast higher into the sky, before it folded its sails and dropped like a falcon, forelimbs with glistening ebony claws extended forward.
Isabelle wrinkled her nose and scrambled back up the incline, scraping her hands and knees raw on the rough, uneven rock. Shrieks and snarls erupted from the bowl as she reached the edge in time to see the two great creatures swipe at each other with wings and talons. The blue dragon had reach on the puce-colored beast, but the singed and stinking brute was faster, slithering out of the way like a huge snake.
While the two creatures resembled each other, a distinct nobility and beauty suffused the form of the blue one. The pieces of its body flowed together in a harmony of shape unmatched in its ugly opponent. The yellow-brown monster oozed malice and hatred as much as its black blood dripped from tears in its hideous flesh where the blue had torn it. Seen apart, she would’ve sworn they were the same animal, but side by side, she realized Jon had been right. The creature who’d attacked the village was not a dragon.
Wings folded, the creatures struck at each other, bellowing and shrieking unintelligible curses. Sickly green and glorious golden fire flashed as they sought to burn their opponent, the puce serpent snapping its jaws at the blue while it slashed with its tail, the barb glinting hideously. Isabelle frowned, trying to understand why the blue dragon took such care to avoid it, and realized each time the dripping tail scraped the rock, it left a greasy smear obvious even on the rain-slickened stone.
