by Rachel Aaron
“I’ll go,” Marci volunteered. “You should stay here in case Justin comes back so he doesn’t freak when he sees Amelia.”
Julius didn’t think Justin was coming back, but he wasn’t exactly keen to disobey his sister by leaving the house, and besides, he was tired. He’d been tired when this whole thing started. Now he felt like his legs were going to give out if he didn’t sit down.
“Just be careful,” he said, moving off the door so she could leave. “Fate has it out for us today.”
“Always am,” Marci said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
He barely had time to register the touch of her lips before she was off, running down the stairs to her stolen wreck of a truck. He would have chased after her, but Amelia was already stirring on the couch, blowing out long lines of angry smoke as she struggled toward consciousness. So, with a final, longing look at Marci, Julius closed the door and went to his sister, standing over her protectively as he pulled out his phone and hit Justin’s number. He was calling more out of thoroughness than any real hope Justin would answer, but that couldn’t keep his heart out of his throat as the call rang… and rang… and rang.
Chapter 12
On the opposite side of the city, Justin Heartstriker stepped out of his cab and into the middle of nowhere.
He paid his fare and sent the cheap little coffin of an automated car away, keeping Julius’s pathetic excuse for a sword loose in his grip as he walked down what was left of the crumbling sidewalk. Down the street, the collapsing church he’d used as his stakeout slumped dejectedly in the morning sunlight, its broken steeple bobbing slightly in the cool breeze. But though it was oddly comforting to see something familiar in this horrible city, the broken-down church was not his destination today. That stood in front of him.
He stopped at the sidewalk’s edge, looking up at the two-story tall chain link fence that cut across the landscape like a line on a map, bisecting the flood-ruined ranch homes that stood in its way. Hanging high on the links, well above what few slumping roofs remained, rusted metal signs the size of small billboards proclaimed what everyone already knew in huge, block capitals.
WARNING!
ALGONQUIN CORPORATION RECLAMATION PROJECT IN EFFECT BEYOND THIS POINT
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
The notice was repeated every ten feet in multiple languages. There were no threats to back it up, no listed fines or penalties, not even cameras. But then, none were needed. All the land in this part of the DFZ was saturated with the magic of wild places humans could not tame. It scared away even the most drugged out, desperate humans, which was why, despite the fact that parts of the fence stood within sight of the skyways, no one lived in the ruined houses that lined the cracked streets. Of course, this also meant there was no one to see Justin as he marched into the closest overgrown lot, trampling the tall grass under his boots as he made his way to the fence. But though his mind should have been on his surroundings, all Justin could think about was how his brother had betrayed him.
He’d thought they understood each other. He’d thought—or he’d thought that Julius thought—they were friends. So how could he have done this? How could Julius have just handed Justin’s fight, the one he knew meant earning his Fang back, to another dragon? And not even a proper dragon like Conrad, but Amelia.
It was insulting. It was shameful. But if Julius thought he could control the Fifth Blade of Bethesda by holding back something as stupid as a duel location, he was even more of a fool than everyone took him for. That, or he’d forgotten that this was the DFZ, and Justin was a dragon who’d spent the last three days planning his incursion into Reclamation Land. It wasn’t like getting Vann Jeger’s attention would be hard.
With that, he lifted his sword and cut a Justin-sized hole in the fence, stepping through the sundered chain link into the place were no other dragon had set foot for over sixty years. But when he stopped to survey Algonquin’s secret base, all he felt was a sharp sense of disappointment.
The forbidden side of the fence looked exactly like the rest of this part of the DFZ. Every direction he looked, it was just more of the same cracked asphalt streets, sagging, abandoned houses, and overgrown lots like you’d see anywhere else in this part of the city. Of course, Justin had known that just from looking through the fence, but after all the build-up, he’d expected something more dramatic. A giant illusion covering a portal to another dimension maybe, or a hidden army of spirits. So far, though, Algonquin’s Reclamation Land just looked like…land. Justin couldn’t even tell what she was supposedly reclaiming. He could, however, feel the heavy magic coiling around him like an angry snake, followed by the unmistakable sense of being watched.
Good, he thought, pulling himself taller as he resumed his march through the tall grass toward the nearest street. Let them watch. Let them fear. Dragons had been too cautious for too long, and Algonquin’s hold on this place had solidified as a result, but he was different. Julius and the others could cower all they liked, but Justin was going to make history. When he brought home Vann Jeger’s dripping head for his mother to hang in her collection, all the world would learn what it meant to challenge the Heartstrikers, and he would finally earn his rightful place at the top of the clan.
As always, that thought brought a smile to his face. He was so busy going over what he’d say to Julius and Chelsie when it happened, he didn’t notice the fog rolling in until he was neck deep in it.
Justin froze with a curse, readying his sword. Fog wasn’t normally a problem for a dragon with his nose, but this was no ordinary water vapor. It was magic. Wild, cold magic that drenched everything with the scent of rain and rotting leaves. He couldn’t even smell the crumbling asphalt under his feet, but it wasn’t until Justin looked down that he realized this wasn’t because of the fog, but because the street he’d been following into Reclamation Land wasn’t there anymore.
Ten steps ago, he’d been walking through the same dilapidated neighborhoods that surrounded all of Restoration Land. Now, he was standing on what could only be described as loam. Dense, soft leaf litter, the sort you only found in deep forests, covered the ground at his feet. Likewise, the shadows in the thick fog were no longer the shapes of rotting houses and abandoned cars, but trees. Massive, gnarled, ancient trees as thick as Justin was tall. One trunk was actually right next to him, its heavy bark saturated with water from the fog as though it had always been here, and Justin was the one who’d moved.
With that realization, a cold sensation that might have been fear began to creep up his neck before Justin banished it. There was no point in getting spooked. He’d come in expecting something like this, and given the amount of magic in the air, a suddenly appearing forest was actually pretty mild. He wasn’t sure what kind of trees he was looking at, but given their size, they were obviously older than the sixty years since Algonquin took this land, which meant either the forest was magically created, or he really had stepped through a portal and hadn’t noticed. Either way, he was in too deep for caution now. But just as Justin was about to say screw it and change so he could fly up and get a view of this place from the sky, his ears picked up an unusual sound.
It was rhythmic, regular, and deep. Almost like a drum, but not, because it was also getting rapidly closer, each beat vibrating the ground under his feet. It sounded like something he should know, but Justin was so unfamiliar with horses, he didn’t actually recognize the sound of charging hoof beats until the rider burst through the fog directly in front of him.
Justin jumped back with a growl, sword ready. But even before he knew what he was looking at, he knew it wasn’t human.
The rider in front of him was eight feet tall, seated on a horse made of what appeared to be nothing but water. His shape was that of a large, menacing man, but his skin was the color of deep water and his beard was the glossy green of sea kelp. He wore his long seaweed hair braided back from his face like a Nordic warrior, and his huge body was covered in thick-shelled muscles, which
he wore like armor. But while the long dragon spear in his hand was as good as an engraved announcement, what really gave him away was the scent. Even through the heavy fog, the warrior in front of him smelled of salt water and dragon’s blood, and Justin lifted his sword with a triumphant grin.
“Vann Jeger.”
The spirit looked down on him with utter disdain. “You know my name, and still you trespass here.” He tipped his huge wooden spear forward, pointing the dark stained tip at Justin’s chest. “You must want to die very badly, wyrm.”
Justin ignored the weapon in his face. “I could say the same of you for daring to speak to me,” he said proudly, pulling himself to his full height. “I am Justin Heartstriker, the dragon who attacked the Pit, and we have unfinished business.”
Vann Jeger’s black eyes went wide. “You?” He threw back his head in laughter, showing a mouthful of flat, yellow teeth. “You?” he cried. “Impossible! I saw the green fire in the distance with my own eyes. The dragon who attacked the Pit was clearly a powerful scion of the Quetzalcoatl himself, one of Bethesda’s best. You are a baby.”
“I am the Fifth Blade of Bethesda,” Justin snarled. “A Knight of the Mountain!”
The spirit’s laughter cut off as quickly as it had begun. “Do you think me a fool?” he said angrily, his black eyes dropping to the sword in Justin’s hands. “That is Tyrfing. A fine blade and a legend, but not a Fang of the Heartstriker.” He sat back on his horse. “If you’re going to lie, serpent, at least make it believable.”
Justin’s jaw twitched. “I don’t need my Fang to defeat an old has-been like you,” he growled, stepping into position. “Fight me, and we’ll see who’s lying!”
“Me? Fight you?” Vann Jeger’s lips curled in disgust. “Do you know who I am? I am the Death of Dragons, the one who has dedicated his immortality to ending your kind. You’re a braggart who can’t even manage to show up with a suitable weapon.”
Justin bared his teeth in fury, but the spirit was already turning away. “I challenged the dragon from the Pit because I wished to fight against a Fang of the Heartstriker,” he said as his horse began walking back into the fog. “You have no such weapon, therefore, you are beneath my notice.”
“What the—You’re not going to fight me?”
“Of course not,” the spirit said without looking back. “My weapons are treasures, the lost masterworks of their age. To use them on a baby like you would be an insult to the brave heroes to whom they once belonged. But fear not. Just because I do not wish to waste my time or blades on insignificant insects doesn’t mean you’ll leave this place alive. I shall send my human team to grant your suicide wish.”
“Then you’ll be sending them to their deaths!” Justin roared. “I came here to kill you!”
Vann Jeger looked back over his shoulder with an expression of absolute disgust. “Kill me? A pathetic creature like you?” He turned back away again with a snort. “Impossible. You couldn’t even kill my boredom.”
That was the last straw. After a month of being looked down on by everyone in his family, being condescended to by his prey was the absolute end of Justin’s patience. He didn’t care that he was facing Vann Jeger’s back, he didn’t even care that the spirit had not yet accepted his challenge. He simply attacked with a roar, swinging Tyrfing as hard as he could.
The tiny sword wasn’t meant for dragon magic. It bucked in his hands, actively rejecting the power Justin forced into it. But Justin had practiced this strike until it was a part of him, and he pushed it through anyway, sending a slice of magic sharp as his fangs and hot as his fire flying straight at Vann Jeger’s back.
The attack cut through the tree trunks like wire through butter, setting the chunks of wet wood ablaze as they fell. It cut through the fog, incinerating the choking, wild magic until the forest was clear. And when the strike reached the spirit, it sliced him, too, going through Vann Jeger like a scythe through grass. It sliced his horse and spear, too, dividing each into neat halves.
Justin froze, staring at his enemy, whom he’d apparently just cut in two. Surely it couldn’t be that—
Before he could finish his thought, the sundered spirit and his horse collapsed, pouring to the forest floor in a cascade of water only to instantly reform—horse and rider, both whole and uninjured—directly in front of him. That was all he had time to see before the spirit grabbed him around the neck and lifted him bodily off the ground.
“You will pay for that,” Vann Jeger rumbled, his huge hand squeezing the dragon he was dangling like a caught fish in front of him.
“Sounds like someone’s a poor loser,” Justin gasped, dropping Tyrfing so he could use both hands to pry the spirit’s hold from his neck. “What’s the matter, water drop? Did I break your stick?”
He glanced pointedly over Vann Jeger’s shoulder at the giant wooden dragon spear, which, unlike the miraculously re-forming spirit and his horse, was still lying in two pieces on the ground, and the Hunter began to growl. “Do you know what you have done?” he snarled. “You’ve disgraced a treasure!”
“How great can it be if it breaks in one hit?” Justin snarled back, kicking his dangling legs at Vann Jeger’s stomach.
The spirit smacked his attack away. “You have no respect! I am the soul of the deep fjord! From the very beginning, the humans who lived on my shores have burned their heroes on my waters. They believed that their souls would be lifted to Valhalla, but their weapons became mine, as do all things that fall into my depths. For thousands of years I have kept their treasures, the work of their hands, and now you treat them as mere tools?”
He tossed Justin down, slamming him into the ground. “I have changed my mind,” Vann Jeger said, hopping off his horse to land with a crash next to the prone dragon. “I was going to grant you an honorable death against a well-matched, if human, foe. But I have no mercy for a wyrm too stupid to recognize a priceless artifact when he sees one.”
“So you’re going to fight me now?” Justin said, grabbing his sword again before shoving himself back to his feet. “And here I thought you were scared.”
Vann Jeger scowled. “Still delusional, but it matters not. If you wish so badly to be crushed, I will oblige, if only because it will give me a chance to teach you the value of true treasures before I take your head.”
He reached out his hand as he said this, and the broken spear vanished, fading into the mist that still crawled across the ground. In the same instant, a new weapon appeared in Vann Jeger’s grasp. A long sword this time, its four-foot-long, rune-marked blade condensing from the mist like a water droplet. Just like the wooden spear he’d just broken, it was obviously magical. Justin was staring at it, wondering just how many weapons the spirit had at his fingertips, when Vann Jeger attacked.
For a slower dragon, that would have been the end. The spirit moved like water, his giant body warping and shifting unnaturally as he drove his sword straight at Justin’s heart. But Fang or no, Justin was a Knight of the Heartstrikers. He dodged with time to spare, using Tyrfing’s small size to his advantage as he slipped the little blade up under Vann Jeger’s defense to stab the spirit in the ribs.
The short sword slid through the spirit’s armor, sinking into his flesh like a stone into a pond as Justin watched in triumph. But when he tried to yank it out again for another stab, the blade refused to budge. Confused, Justin yanked again, but the short sword was stuck fast. He was still pulling with all his might when the spirit chopped down at his arm from above.
Cursing, Justin released Tyrfing, snatching his hand out of the way a split second before the spirit took it off. But as he was leaping back to avoid Vann Jeger’s sword, his own weapon sunk into the spirit’s armored chest, vanishing into Vann Jeger’s body like a coin dropped into a deep pool.
“What did you do to my sword?”
Vann Jeger’s black eyes gleamed. “Delusional and stupid, I see.” He ceased his attack and straightened up with a cruel grin, patting the spot on his massive ches
t where Tyrfing had vanished. “Did I not just tell you, little whelp? Everything that falls into my waters belongs to me.”
Justin couldn’t believe his ears. “You ate my sword?”
“Think of it as a requisition,” the spirit said haughtily. “An idiot like you was unworthy of a work of art like Tyrfing. And as you see…” He shifted his long sword to one hand and flexed the other. The moment his fingers closed, Tyrfing appeared in his off-hand grip, gleaming in the silver, misty sunlight as the spirit turned both blades on Justin. “It’s in much better hands now.”
“Then I’ll just have to take it back,” Justin growled, smoke curling from his mouth. He didn’t care about Tyrfing, but like hell was he going to lose anything to this freak. It was also time to try a new tactic. From the way he’d instantly put himself back together after Justin’s first attack, it was clear Vann Jeger was a water spirit in the most literal sense of the word. But while being made of water apparently meant you didn’t care if you got stabbed or chopped in half, a sword was only part of Justin’s arsenal, and losing one now wasn’t going to set him back.
With that, Justin retreated, ceding ground to the spirit. Vann Jeger eyed the distance cautiously, but eventually he stepped in just like Justin knew he would. Opponents who thought themselves superior always fell for that trick because they thought they had nothing to fear. What Vann Jeger didn’t know, though, was that Justin had been looked down on by every serious opponent he’d ever fought. He was always the challenger, the one fighting up, and he knew how to draw his enemies in, leaving his chest temptingly open to attack while he kept his eyes on Vann Jeger, daring him to try.
It was an invitation no fighter could resist, and wise as he claimed to be, Algonquin’s Hunter was no exception. He charged after only a few seconds of taunting, stampeding across the soft, wet ground with his two swords—the long blade and the stolen Tyrfing—positioned to stab Justin through the lungs and heart. Even so, Justin waited, watching the spirit’s swords until they were mere inches from his chest. Only then, when his enemy had committed to the attack and could not turn back, did Justin let go, dropping his human mask in an explosion of fire.
