Drachengott

by K J Taylor

  The men didn’t stop to argue. Distracted by the battle still raging around them, they ran off to help their friends, leaving Nils sprawled with his spear beside him and his rescuer standing over him.

  She turned to look at him, and a strange jolt went through Nils at the sight of her.

  The woman was slender and elegant, with a pale and beautiful face. Glossy black hair hung over her shoulders, and her eyes were an odd reddish-brown, like his scales. But she looked worn and tired.

  She smiled down at him. ‘You’re safe now,’ she said. ‘Can you make yourself human again? We need to get out of here.’

  Gasping, Nils managed to stand. Who are you? he demanded.

  The woman stooped and picked up the spear. ‘My name is Freya, and I am your friend. But it isn’t safe here. We both need to get out of the city. Please, change shape. I know you can.’

  Reluctantly, Nils made himself human again. Standing up on two legs once more, he reached out for the spear. ‘Give that back — it’s mine.’

  ‘Of course.’ Freya handed it to him. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking it away from you. Now come — stay close by me. Explanations can wait until we are safe.’

  She walked away, pushing past the Gottlosen, who let her pass. Nils followed, limping, feeling the blood trickling down his back. He couldn’t feel much pain yet, but it would come soon enough, he knew. Still, the shock had been enough to take away his will to fight. Holding the spear close to his side, he stuck by Freya. The Gottlosen ignored him now, all intent on reaching the city centre and dealing with the defenders there. Perhaps they assumed he was one of them.

  Freya guided him out through the city gates and into the Gottlosen camp, where the wounded were being carried into the medical tents. Meanwhile Freya went to the edge of the camp, where a small tent stood alone. She pulled the flap aside, and ushered Nils through it.

  Inside there was a folding bed, a couple of upturned crates, and a small chest.

  ‘Sit on the bed,’ Freya told him. ‘I should treat your injuries.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Nils growled. ‘I don’t want you touching me.’

  Freya paused, then smiled. ‘Very well.’ She opened the chest and brought out a leather pouch, which she offered to him. ‘There are bandages and medicines in here. You can dress your own wounds if that suits you better. Will you at least tell me your name?’

  Nils took the pouch, but stayed standing. ‘Nils Schächer is my name, and what do you want from me?’ he said. ‘Who are you? You’re not a Gottloser — are you a Ketzer?’

  Freya’s smile softened and became beguiling, seductive. ‘I am like you,’ she said. ‘I was loyal, but I was betrayed.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ said Nils, powerful shoulders hunching. ‘How do you know anything about me?’

  ‘Please.’ Freya reached out to touch him, but stopped before she made contact. ‘There’s no need to be so angry. I know you were betrayed because I can see it on you. And why else do you refuse to trust me after I saved your life? You’ve been taught not to trust; betrayal is all you know. People have lied to you, haven’t they? People you thought you knew.’

  Her voice was soft and persuasive, and there was something else to it — some quality that reached into Nils’s heart and made him relax. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes, they lied. I loved her, but she lied to me. Everyone did.’

  ‘Who?’ Freya asked the question gently. ‘Why would they do that to you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nils sat down and put the spear across his lap. ‘My own mother lied to me. But now she’s dead.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Freya sat down opposite him. ‘Then you’re alone?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nils. ‘But why do you care?’ he added, some of his anger and suspicion returning even in the face of her sympathetic gaze. ‘Why did you help me?’

  Freya sighed, and the gentleness in her eyes receded. ‘You aren’t the only one to have lost things, you know,’ she said. ‘I, too, have lost people I loved. I had a family, but it was taken away from me. The one I trusted betrayed me, and the man I loved . . . I had to leave him. So no, you aren’t the only one to be alone. But there is a chance for us both. If you’re willing to trust me, I can help you.’

  ‘Help me?’ said Nils. ‘With what?’

  ‘With that.’ The woman pointed to the spear. ‘That’s why I helped you. Because I saw you had that.’

  ‘What about it?’ said Nils, pulling it back. ‘It’s just a spear.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know what it is?’ said Freya, with some surprise. ‘I’m sorry, but since you already had it, I assumed—’

  ‘It’s an ornamental spear,’ said Nils. ‘I just decorated it with this stone. It’s nothing special.’

  ‘But the stone is.’ Freya paused. ‘That is no ordinary spear, Nils. It’s a very special weapon. And it has a name. Haven’t you discovered what it can do?’

  Nils frowned. ‘No, it’s just a spear. It’s never done anything special.’

  ‘Have you tried channelling your magic through it?’

  Nils started to answer her, and stopped. He touched the jet stone, felt the tingle under his fingers, and swore softly. ‘By the Drachengott’s talons, why didn’t I think . . . ?’

  ‘You should be careful,’ Freya warned. ‘Don’t try it until you know what the effect will be.’

  ‘Then do you know what that is?’ said Nils.

  ‘Yes,’ said Freya. ‘That weapon in your hands is called the Soul Thief. With it, you can tear the soul out of any human or dragon you choose. The effect is instant death.’

  Nils gaped, and then shuddered. ‘You’re making that up — how could you know?’

  ‘There are stories about it,’ said Freya. ‘Secret stories, in forbidden books which the Jüngen burned long ago. You found that stone under the Drachengott’s mountain, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Nils. ‘But does that mean . . . Did someone else have it before me? Did the Jüngen capture it?’

  ‘No,’ said Freya. ‘The Soul Thief has never been used before. All this time, it’s been waiting to be made. Waiting for you. You are its maker and its rightful owner, and only you can use it. Now the only question is: what will you use it for? Who has hurt you?’

  Nils stared past her at the tent wall, overwhelmed. The weapon in his hands was exactly what he needed. With it he could kill anyone he wanted — even the Dragonsbane himself. The Magic Taker wouldn’t be able to stand up to it. He could kill its owner and take both weapons to the Drachengott, and then—

  Freya’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Tell me your pain. I will understand.’

  ‘I’m a dragon,’ Nils said shortly. ‘A dragon who was brought up thinking he was human, but I’m not. I’ve always been a dragon. My mother told me I was human — that I was her son. But I can’t have been. Humans don’t have dragons for sons.’

  Freya’s smile disappeared. ‘How old are you?’ she asked sharply. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘Only about four, I think,’ said Nils, with a bitter smile. ‘I know I look older.’

  Freya’s breath hissed between her teeth. ‘And where are you from? Where did you grow up?’

  ‘Zauberwald,’ said Nils.

  Freya stilled. She looked utterly shocked. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It can’t be . . .’ she trailed off, then looked up at him again. ‘What happened in Zauberwald? What did they tell you?’

  Puzzled, Nils gave her a brief outline of his mother’s death, his discovery of his true form, and his flight to the mountains. And all the while as he talked Freya kept her eyes on his face, obsessively staring at him as if she wanted to take in every detail of his features. It quickly made Nils uncomfortable. Just who was this woman, anyway?

  He finished his tale and stood up. ‘So, now I’m here and you tell me I have the Soul Thief,’ he said. ‘And it all makes sense now. Nils Schächer, Nils the Thief. Well, I know whose soul I’m going to steal now. Thank you for your he
lp — I’m going now.’ With that, he walked out of the tent.

  Freya ran after him. ‘Nils, wait! Where are you going?’

  Nils bared his teeth. ‘To find my enemy. Now go away. I’m going to do this alone.’

  ‘Nils, no,’ said Freya. ‘You can’t face the Drachengott alone. There are others—’

  ‘I’m not going to the Drachengott,’ said Nils. ‘Not yet. Not until after I’ve taken my revenge on Rutger Dragonsbane.’

  Freya froze. Then in an instant, panic overtook her. She rushed at him, screaming. ‘No! No, don’t!’

  She made a grab for the spear. Nils took a step back and swung it at her. The flat of the blade hit her in the side of the head, and she crumpled to the ground with a faint groan.

  Nils paused, looking down at her — he hadn’t meant to hit her so hard. But he saw her begin to stir, and hastily turned away. Changing into a dragon, he flew off as fast as he could go, following the river toward Drachenburg, and his destiny.

  Chapter Eight

  The place where Nils’s mother had died was not as far away as he had thought. He flew on into the afternoon, the sun slowly sinking on the horizon behind the mountains off to his left. Although he was tired and his wounds hurt, he dismissed it all. Nothing else mattered but to get to Drachenburg and the man he knew — knew — would be waiting there for him.

  Ironic, really, he thought with savage amusement. The Drachengott had condemned him for stealing the very thing which would kill Rutger Dragonsbane and avenge hundreds of Jüngen lives. But Dragonbane’s death would earn Nils his forgiveness. Maybe it would even earn him the Drachengott’s blessing.

  It was night by the time he reached Drachenburg, but he arrived to find that he was not the only invader. Another camp had been erected just outside the city walls. Other Jüngen, he wondered?

  Exhausted, Nils landed among the tents and changed back into human form. He walked through the camp, hoping to find a place to lay his head for the night, while he scoped things out. There were dragons around, many of them resting between the tents. The human soldiers sat around magical fires, quietly discussing the situation, and the red stone amulets around their necks told Nils all he needed to know.

  ‘The Dragonsbane might think he’s invincible, but he’ll soon know better,’ one woman told her friend. ‘Just before dawn, he’ll know.’

  Nils didn’t stop to listen any further. He didn’t care what the Jüngen were planning to do just before dawn; Rutger was here and that was enough. Nils hid behind a tent, transformed back into a dragon, and curled up to sleep in the open. Dragons did not need blankets, and anyway he had always slept better this way.

  That night he did not dream at all.

  ***

  Nils woke up just before dawn. His wounds had stiffened during the night, but he got up anyway and stretched, noting the faint glow of light on the horizon. The Jüngen should be beginning their attack soon.

  Sure enough, as he left his sleeping spot and walked into the middle of the camp with his spear in his talons, he saw the army stirring. Moving quietly, they emerged from their tents and began to gather by the city wall nearest to them. The dragons came, too, keeping to the ground. Nils joined them, curious, his angry excitement mounting.

  At the base of the wall, keeping a safe distance, a line of Jüngen joined hands. Magic glowed between them as they shared their energies, and then they unleashed it all at once. A column of magic, bigger than anything Nils had ever seen before in his life, its colour a mix of all the shades of the rainbow, slammed into the wall all at once. A deafening explosion split the air, and the stone shattered. Fragments of broken rock flew back into the city, all away from the Jüngen, who charged forward over the rubble the instant the debris had settled. The dragons followed, roaring a challenge.

  Nils stood there in shock for just a moment, but the momentum of the charge caught him up, and he leapt — springing into the air and flying over the wall’s remains into the city.

  Inside, the carnage had already begun. The Jüngen poured into Drachenburg like ants, all shouting: ‘Drachengott! Drachengott! DRACHENGOTT!’

  Nils roared it, too, in his dragon’s voice, and as the defenders appeared he attacked along with his fellows.

  But this time he didn’t let himself be carried away. He kept to the air, avoiding the Gottlosen on the ground, and only spitting the odd flame at anyone directly below him. After a moment or two, seeing sense, he found a perch on a rooftop and began to move through the city, searching for the one he wanted.

  The sun slowly rose over Drachenburg, its light pale and sickly. Nils watched the fighting below, still gripping his spear as he made his way toward the castle where Lord Warin had once ruled. And, after him, Reinhard. Now the banners flapping from the walls no longer carried the Drachengott’s symbol. The symbol on them now was a blue mink holding a sword, on a red background. Could that be the Dragonsbane’s flag? Surely it had to be.

  Below, the Gottlosen fought back against the Jüngen, but they were outnumbered and outclassed. An ordinary weapon might be able to kill a magic user, but much of the time the Jüngen were quick enough to throw aside anything that came at them. Some of the higher-ranking fighters had even surrounded themselves with shields of wind or fire, leaving them invulnerable.

  Nils watched as the tide of battle moved in toward the castle, with the Gottlosen being steadily driven backward. It looked as though it would be over in no time. But still there was no sign of the Dragonsbane. Nils reached the castle and perched just above it, looking down on its front gate. Nothing seemed to be happening, and he had just begun to think of trying to get into the castle himself when the gate burst open and a gang of people came charging out. None of them were carrying ordinary weapons — none of them other than their leader.

  At their head was a stocky, armoured man carrying a short sword, with a blue mink symbol over his chest.

  Dragonsbane! Nils bellowed.

  Below, Rutger Dragonsbane led his friends into battle. The Gottlosen fled past him, and those who had come out of the castle began to attack the Jüngen with magic. They were hopelessly outnumbered, but then Rutger began to use the Magic Taker. Nils watched as a Jünger sent a magical attack toward Rutger, but, although it was aimed for the man’s chest, it hit the sword instead, flowing into it in an endless stream. The Jünger staggered and tried to pull back, but he couldn’t move. The Magic Taker sucked the power out of him, and Nils saw the misshapen pommel glow as it absorbed the man’s magic. The Jünger himself continued to struggle, but in a matter of seconds it was over. He fell dead, leaving others to take his place.

  But nobody wanted to fight the Dragonsbane. As soon as the Jüngen realised who he was they retreated, trying to run past him and attack his friends instead. None of them were foolish enough to try to face him directly.

  No one but me.

  Nils jumped down from his perch and transformed back into a man. Holding the Soul Thief up over his head he shouted: ‘Dragonsbane!’

  Rutger glanced back at him, and Nils saw his face properly at last. He was handsome enough; brown-haired with a matching beard, and green eyes. But his expression was hard and angry.

  Nils lowered the Soul Thief, and channelled his magic through it. Sure enough, it worked. His power flowed down the shaft and into the stone, and the moment the two met he felt it: that same chill he had felt when he had first touched the stone with his hands. It tingled in his arms and in his ruby, but he growled and pushed it away, sending it out through the spear. A beam of black energy streamed out of the spear’s tip, and hit a woman directly in front of him. She instantly collapsed, and the stone briefly flashed green.

  Nils started to laugh. He sent the dark energy at everyone around him, and a dozen Ketzer died. With every death the stone flashed another colour.

  But they weren’t who Nils wanted. He lowered the spear and shouted again. ‘Dragonsbane! Come and fight me!’

  Rutger had already seen what he was doing. With a roar
he charged back toward Nils, dodging his friends. Nils waited for him, snarling, ready and waiting to take his revenge and his salvation.

  A scream came from behind him. ‘No!’

  Ahead, Rutger skidded to a halt. He looked straight past Nils, wide-eyed, the Magic Taker lowering. Confused, Nils glanced back over his shoulder in time to see her. Freya, running toward him, hand reaching out to catch him by the arm. And as she ran she shouted again: ‘No!’

  Rutger seemed to have completely forgotten about Nils, and even the battle still raging around them. He looked straight at Freya, and an expression of pure joy and disbelief spread over his face. ‘Swanhild!’

  Freya grabbed Nils by the arm, and made a frantic snatch for the Soul Thief. ‘Stop! Nils, stop!’

  Nils shook her off. ‘No,’ he snarled, and sent his magic through the spear one last time. It flowed into the stone and out through the point, and the dark beam of energy escaped.

  It hit Rutger directly in the chest.

  The jet stone glowed blue, and Rutger Dragonsbane silently fell, eyes wide in disbelief, still fixed on Freya’s face.

  Dead.

  ***

  A strange silence followed. Nils stood, chest heaving, the Soul Thief in his hand. He saw the Magic Taker hit the ground, but he didn’t hear the clang. But a moment later the silence was shattered by Freya’s scream.

  ‘RUTGER!’

  She ran past Nils and hurled herself down by the Dragonsbane’s side, lifting his limp body into her arms. She touched his face, saying his name, begging him not to be dead. But Rutger did not stir, and Freya began to cry — horrible, racking sobs which shook her whole body.

  Nils took a few steps closer, confused. ‘Why are you here?’ he said. ‘What are you doing? What—?’

  Freya looked up, red-eyed. ‘What have you done?’ she screamed. ‘What have you done?’

  Nils stopped. ‘I took my revenge,’ he spat back. ‘Now the Drachengott will forgive me.’