“You’ll kill us both!” the changeling cried, struggling in Burch’s grasp. She let go of the airship’s useless wheel and tried to shove him away.
“I don’t plan to die alone.”
“You bastard!” Te’oma screeched. “Let me go!”
“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted in her face, his nose less than an inch from hers. “Try one more thing for me,” he said, trying not to sound like he was begging. “Do that, and I’ll let you go.”
“We don’t have time,” she started. “What is it?” she continued, not waiting for him to press his argument.
“Can you reach it with your mind?” Burch shouted.
“What?”
“The elemental,” he said, jerking his head at the ring of fire. “You’re a telepath. Forget about the wheel. See if you can get its attention on your own.”
Te’oma stared at the shifter for a moment, her hair blowing straight up at the sky as the ship raced toward the ground. He released her and she blinked her white eyes at him once before saying, “All right.”
The changeling closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. For a long moment, nothing happened, and Burch wondered how it would feel to be crushed to death from a fall from such a great height. Would he have any sensation at all of bouncing off the ground after he smacked into it, or would he lose consciousness at that point? Curious as he was to find out, he knew he’d be happy to put off the answers until another day.
The first clue Burch had that the ship was stopping was when he felt heavier. The unexpected change in momentum drove him to his knees. It felt like the ship was swinging from the end of a long rope. Now that it had reached the end of its length, it slowed its descent, hovered where it was for a split-second, and then began its long climb back up again.
Te’oma screamed in delight as the airship zoomed back into the open sky, hot on the trail of Phoenix, which was now moving off to the south. She reached out and embraced Burch, hopping up and down the entire time. The shifter allowed himself a smile and gave her a one-armed hug back. With his other arm, though, he pointed up at the dragon coming down at them again.
“Just won’t give up, will it?” Burch said, pulling himself out of Te’oma’s arms. He picked up his crossbow from where he’d let it fall, thankful that he hadn’t accidentally set off the shockbolt, and he placed it on the bridge’s front railing. Then he got down on one knee and sighted along the shockbolt’s shaft.
The dragon swung back and forth in its flight path as it sped toward Keeper’s Claw, making it impossible for Burch to get a perfect angle at it. With only the one shockbolt left, he was determined to wait for the right moment to loose it. He didn’t miss often, but this attack had to be perfect. He wouldn’t get another chance.
Even if the shockbolt smacked the dragon square in its good eye, though, Burch wasn’t sure it would do a lick of good. He’d already loosed two of these amazing bolts into the beast, and it had still disabled the airship. If it hadn’t been for Te’oma’s psionics, right now he’d be dead.
Still, he didn’t have any better ideas at the moment. The only thing he could think of was to wait until the dragon opened its mouth to devour him before loosing the shockbolt down its rotting gullet. With luck, that would do it. The only trick was that it involved getting close enough to the dragon to be eaten, and Burch wasn’t all too comfortable with that.
“Let him have it!” Te’oma shouted at the shifter. “Now!”
Burch ignored her. The angle was either there or it wasn’t. Some people marveled at his skill with the crossbow. They asked him who’d blessed his crossbow or what kind of magic infused it. He always smiled at them and told them the truth. Most of them never believed him.
You just line up the angle. Don’t loose your bolt until it’s there.
Lots of things got in the way of an angle. People screaming in your ear never helped. Riding a bouncing ship driven by a sullen elemental creature of fire didn’t come up often, but it made things harder. Firing at a moving target, even one as large as a dragon, that was more common.
The trick, if there was one, was to let those other things go, to focus on the task at hand, and to wait for the angle to present itself. When ready met chance, you pulled the trigger.
Sometimes it never did.
The dragon spun in a swashing roll right over the ship and disappeared behind the airship’s rudder.
Te’oma slapped Burch on the back of the head. “Why didn’t you loose? What good does that bolt do stuck in your crossbow?”
Burch snarled at the changeling, and she backed off. That was one distraction taken care of, at least for now.
He hefted his crossbow again and scanned the sky for the dragon. The sun rode low and red in the west now, making it harder to pick out the black-scaled creature against the encroaching night sky.
He was peering out at the bow when the beast appeared over the rudder, having doubled back instead of following the momentum of its loop out to the front of the ship. Burch started to swing his crossbow back to find the angle, but he was too slow.
Nithkorrh whipped its arched neck forward and spat something green and viscous down at the ship.
Te’oma screamed and dove over the bridge’s front railing, trying to avoid the burning acid, but the dragon hadn’t aimed it at her. Instead, it sloshed into the airship’s upper restraining arc and began eating away at the rune-crusted wood.
Burch swore as he sprinted toward the changeling, the dragon’s monstrous laugh echoing in his ears. The ship’s deck jangled beneath his feet, but he kept his legs pumping, the long, dark nails at the ends of his bare toes digging into the wood.
As the restraining arc melted, the ring of fire flared up and out, the elemental straining against its magical bonds. The first burst slashed out and caught Nithkorrh through one of its wings, setting it ablaze. The dragon roared in pain and surprise, and then it was gone, falling away behind the ship again.
When Burch reached the tremulous Te’oma, the ring of fire flared again. The heat singed his mane of hair.
“We have to leave!” the changeling shouted, trying to push the shifter away. “This thing is falling apart!”
“Not yet,” Burch growled in her face. “Not yet.”
Kandler smiled as he felt his life’s blood leaving him by the hole the dragon-elf had speared through his middle. He struggled to his knees, the world around him seeming colder by the minute. It wasn’t the chill of the high, thin air, he knew. His blood was his heat, the magic fire that kept him going, and it was leaking out between his fingers.
“You cannot have him!” Sallah said, slashing at Ibrido with her flaming sword, the sacred symbol of her office.
It was not her own blade, the one she’d been given when she’d been knighted. She’d left the fragments of that in Construct, having shattered it trying to avenge the death of Sir Deothen—her mentor, her commander, and her father.
This blade had belonged to her friend Brendis, a fellow knight who’d died at Ibrido’s hand. She’d taken it from the hands of the changeling who—at the dragon-elf’s behest—had impersonated him long enough to spirit Esprë away once again. Now she was ready to plunge it into the heart of the beast who had caused her so much grief.
Kandler staggered back against the railing along the airship’s bow. If not for the gunwale to rest against, his knees would have given out for sure. Instead, as his blood dripped down on to the deck between his feet, he watched the woman he loved fight for his life and hers.
Ibrido stood his ground against the lady knight’s onslaught, weaving his fangblade into a defense that shielded him from all her blows. The blade’s light heft and incredible strength combined to let him equal Sallah’s efforts and surpass them.
After the dragon-elf parried yet another of her mighty blows, Sallah fell back panting, brandishing her burning sword before her. The sweat on her brow glistened in the silvery light, giving her skin a metallic sheen, except for her fiery curls and her emerald
eyes, the same color as the tight-fitted scales covering her foe’s skin.
“You cannot stand before the light of the Silver Flame,” Sallah said, a snarl curling her lips. “Righteousness will prevail.”
Ibrido stared at the knight with his unblinking, yellow eyes for a moment, then laughed. “You think your little cult can withstand the full power of the dragons of Argonnessen? Nithkorrh alone is older than the candle you worship. He could snuff it out with the beating of his wings.”
Sallah narrowed her eyes at the dragon-elf as she caught her breath. “The Silver Flame burns in the heart of us all. It is the spark of goodness that melds us together like tongues of fire joining to form a mighty blaze.”
“Goodness?” Ibrido scoffed, stepping forward and slashing at Sallah with his blade, testing her, seeing how tired she was. “That’s a concept for fur-bearing beasts. Those with scales know better. There is no good or evil, only triumph and loss!”
The ferocity of Ibrido’s assault caught Sallah off guard. Still exhausted, she fell back before the dragon-elf’s flurry of blows, managing to bring her sword up just in time, over and over again. As she went, Kandler could see that she strove to keep her foe from getting past her to the justicar, protecting him from the beast too.
Still holding his middle together with one hand, Kandler slipped his knife into the other. He knew he’d never get close enough to stab into between the dragon-elf’s scales. Instead, he reversed it and grabbed it by its gleaming blade, smearing it with his blood. Then he hurled it at Ibrido’s head.
The dragon-elf never saw the knife coming. Kandler’s feeble throw lacked the force it needed to hurt Ibrido, but when it smacked the dragon-elf in the nose it stopped him in mid-slash.
Sallah saw her chance and stabbed at the dragon-elf with her sword. Its vicious point rammed right through the scales in Ibrido’s chest and stuck there between his upper ribs. She tried to wrench it back, but Ibrido’s free hand reached up and held the blade in place.
The dragon-elf bared his teeth at the lady knight. “Time to end this,” he said, slashing out at her with his blade.
Defenseless without her sword, Sallah flung herself backward, trying to avoid the whizzing arc of Ibrido’s fangblade. She almost made it, the tip of the blade slicing through her breastplate and across her chest.
“No!” Kandler shouted as Sallah backpedaled. He couldn’t tell how badly she’d been hurt, but he refused to let her stand alone against the dragon-elf’s sword.
The justicar shoved himself off the gunwale so he could be at Sallah’s side. As he did, she stepped in the pool of blood he’d left behind when he’d been run through. Her booted heel slipped in the slick, red fluid, and she tumbled back on to the deck.
Kandler reached out to catch Sallah and wrapped his arms around her. Too weak to support both his weight and her, he fell backward to the deck too, cushioning her landing.
“So now you see how history shall record this,” Ibrido said as he tossed Sallah’s sword aside. “My triumph. Your loss.”
The emerald-scaled dragon-elf stalked toward Kandler and Sallah, tangled together on the deck.
“Go ahead,” Ibrido said, waving his sword over them, ready to plunge it through their hearts or their heads. “Beg for your lives. I love it when they beg.”
Kandler snarled at the dragon-elf, trying to find something to say, when Sallah turned her head and kissed him full on the mouth. Too startled to respond, he stared down at her as their lips parted.
She looked up at him with her emerald eyes, blood on her ruby lips. He realized he could taste it on his own. “I love you,” she said.
He squeezed her in his arms as he glanced up at Ibrido gazing down at them in disgust. “I love you too,” he whispered.
Esprë tried to run after Sallah to come to Kandler’s aid too, but Xalt and Duro wouldn’t let her.
“They are fighting to protect you,” Xalt said, holding her by the arm. “If you put yourself in harm’s way, you can only distract them.”
“But he’s killing them!” she said.
“Have some faith in them,” Monja said from the ship’s wheel. “I’ve never met warriors so fine.”
“Look at Kandler,” Esprë said. “He’s dying! I have to help them.”
“Hold still, little elf,” Duro said as he leveled his crossbow at Ibrido. “You’ll spoil my aim.”
The dwarf pulled the weapon’s trigger and loosed a bolt at the dragon-elf. It stabbed into Ibrido’s shoulder, causing him to howl in pain. Duro cheered his success as he hunted for another bolt and slapped it into his crossbow.
“See?” Xalt said, his hand still on Esprë’s arm. “Sallah is there now. She will protect him.”
The young elf, the dwarf, the halfling, and the warforged watched the lady knight and the dragon-elf square off in a dazzling display of swordplay. Esprë held her breath through most of it, only letting it out to squeal with delight or dismay.
Duro cursed as his crossbow wavered toward the fight. “I can’t get a clear angle,” he said, “not on a moving airship.”
“Burch could do it,” Esprë said.
“He is occupied,” Xalt said, pointing down and to the starboard, where Nithkorrh assaulted Keeper’s Claw.
The young elf heard Monja praying at the wheel. “Can you do anything for them from here?” she asked the shaman.
The halfling shook her head. “When I pray to the Host every morning, I don’t ask for the power to hurt others, only to help and heal.”
Esprë looked down the length of the ship to see Kandler struggling to stand against the railing along the bow. Blood trickled through the fingers he held over his stomach.
“I think we’re going to need some of that,” the young elf said.
Hope leaped in Esprë’s heart as she watched Sallah launch a furious attack at Ibrido. She couldn’t hear the words they traded over the sounds of their clanging blades and the crackling roar of the airship’s ring of fire, so she crept down from the bridge, trying to get closer.
“I do not see the wisdom in this,” Xalt said as he escorted the girl on to the deck. “I do not believe Kandler would approve.”
“He’s too hurt to object right now.” She took a few more steps forward along the ship’s starboard side, trying to get a better view of what was going on. She noticed Duro creeping forward along the port gunwale, looking for a clear angle with his crossbow, too.
If Ibrido defeated Sallah, Esprë didn’t know what she would do. She’d been sure that Kandler could handle the dragon-elf. Everyone she knew always said he was the best swordsman they’d ever known, but that damned sword of Ibrido’s more than evened the odds. How could Kandler have hoped to win a swordfight in which his foe destroyed his sword?
Esprë was grateful that Sallah’s sacred sword had held up better against Ibrido’s fangblade. Otherwise, she knew the lady knight would already be dead. Right now, she was Kandler’s only hope—and by extension, Esprë’s too.
The young elf knew that the others would be no match for Ibrido should he beat Sallah. Xalt was next to useless with a weapon. Duro’s crossbow bolt had barely broken the dragon-elf’s hide, and she guessed the fangblade would slice his axe apart in seconds. That left only Monja and her, and the shaman had already declared herself a healer, not a fighter.
It would be up to Esprë then. As the thought struck her, the dragonmark on her back began to burn.
When Ibrido lay open Sallah’s breastplate, the young elf gasped in horror. The lady knight seemed to hang there in the air for a moment, shocked at the ease with which the dragon-elf had sliced through her armor. Then she stepped backward and slipped in a pool of Kandler’s cooling blood.
Esprë stifled a scream as she watched Sallah fall into Kandler’s arms. She knew she had to act, and fast, or Ibrido would kill them both.
The Mark of Death on her back felt like it might sizzle through her tunic. She felt icy fingers of glowing black run down her arms and envelop her hands, which she f
lexed as she slipped up behind the dragon-elf. Xalt tried to pull her back by her elbow, but the warforged flinched away at her freezing touch. She turned and shushed him with a finger to her lips. The ebon glow didn’t bother her at all.
Esprë remembered what had happened the last time she’d tried to kill Ibrido, and she refused to make the same mistake again. This time, she would strike before he could react. On one level, it seemed an act of cowardice to her to ambush someone like that, but she knew it was a matter of survival. If she took on the dragon-elf toe to toe, he would cut her to pieces. The only chance she and everyone else on the ship had was if she could catch Ibrido by surprise.
Esprë reached out with her glowing hands to grasp at the dragon-elf as he prepared to finish off Kandler and Sallah. She struggled to be as silent as she could, but just before she could grasp Ibrido from behind, Kandler spotted her, and his eyes grew large with surprise.
The justicar bit his tongue, trying not to give the young elf away, but the look on his face was enough to arouse the dragon-elf’s suspicions. Ibrido snapped his head around to look over his shoulder, and his crimson, reptilian eyes caught Esprë in their unblinking gaze.
As if Ibrido were a walking basilisk, Esprë froze.
“So,” the dragon-elf sneered, “you think to kill me with your deadly touch? A good try, elfling, but—”
A crossbow bolt smashed into Ibrido’s snout and ricocheted off into the open air. Stunned, the dragon-elf tottered backward and lowered the tip of his fangblade.
Before he could recover, Esprë leaped up and wrapped her hands around his throat. As she did, she let go every bit of power she had pent up in her dragonmark.
The night-colored glow flowed out through her hands and swallowed Ibrido whole. The dragon-elf dropped his sword as he toppled backward, frozen stiff as if rigor mortis had already set into his joints.
The Road to Death: The Lost Mark, Book 2 Page 30
