Soul of Dragons

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Dragon fire,” said Osric, unlimbering a short bow and stringing it. “Only dragon fire burns that hot.”

  “Perhaps Corvad didn't get to Arylkrad after all,” said Kjalmir.

  “No,” said Romaria. “The signs are...mixed.” She stopped, stooped, and scrutinized the ground for a moment. “Most of the Malrags made it to Arylkrad.”

  “If Corvad slew a dragon,” said Osric, “we would see the carcass.”

  A flash of light caught Mazael's eye.

  “Wait,” said Timothy, sudden alarm in his voice. “My lords. That black diadem Corvad wears. It bestows the power to raise zuvembies?”

  “I am certain of it,” said Circan. “When we fought Corvad's zuvembies, I sensed the magical power in the diadem. I think it is a relic of Old Dracaryl.”

  Mazael looked at Arylkrad. A line of gold crowned part of the massive outer wall.

  “The lords of Dracaryl could command dragons,” said Timothy. “What if the diadem also gives Corvad the power to control dragons?”

  “Then he wouldn't need to fight the dragon to reach Arylkrad,” said Gerald. “He could take control of it...”

  A horrible realization came to Mazael

  “...and command it to destroy his enemies,” said Kjalmir.

  The line of gold atop Arylkrad's wall uncurled, and Mazael saw the dragon.

  The beast was enormous. It was at least a hundred feet long, its wingspan twice that. Its golden scales flashed as it turned to face them, and even across the distance, Mazael felt the weight of its burning red gaze.

  Its roar boomed over the valley like a peal of thunder.

  “Well, damn,” said Osric.

  The golden dragon jumped from the wall, its wings beating. The great beast moved with terrific speed, faster than Mazael had thought something that large could move...

  “Scatter!” he roared. “Beware the flame! Scatter! Scatter now!”

  The men ran in all directions, trying to take cover behind the steles and trees.

  Some did not move fast enough.

  The dragon's mouth opened, and a lance of hot-white flame erupted over its fangs. Mazael saw a dozen mules and half a dozen men vanish in the flames, the flesh burned from their bones in an instant. Four more mules caught fire and ran in terror and pain, braying piteously.

  “Arrows!” yelled Mazael, drawing Lion. “Aim for the wings! Force it to the ground!”

  His men scrambled to obey, the Arminiars loading their massive crossbows with barbed quarrels. Yet Mazael doubted it would be enough. Those heavy crossbows took time to load, and the dragon was deadly quick.

  Already the dragon banked over the entrance to the valley, coming around for another pass.

  ###

  Romaria raised her bow, the string drawn back.

  She had seen dragons before. In the passes of the Great Mountains, during her journeys to the barbarian lands of the east. In the peaks of the Old Kingdoms, far south of Knightcastle and Castle Dominus. But she had kept a wide berth, and took care to avoid the dragons.

  One did not fight a dragon and live.

  But now she had no choice.

  The dragon spun, and unleashed another blast of flame. Most of the men scrambled out of the way, but two were not fast enough, and died as dragon fire turned their flesh to ash and their bones to glowing coals. Another caught the edge of the blast and went up in flames and collapsed to the ground, shrieking in agony.

  He would not live much longer. A mercy, that.

  Osric loosed arrow after arrow, short bow thrumming in his hands. Mazael's crossbowmen and Kjalmir's Arminiars fired, sending a storm of bolts at the dragon. Most struck the dragon's golden scales and bounced away. But some punched through the taut leather of the dragon's wings, tearing holes in the membrane. Romaria loosed her own arrow, the shaft burying itself in the base of the dragon's right wing. The dragon roared in fury and rose higher, its injured wings pumping.

  It flew slower, but not by very much.

  Given enough time, the crossbowmen could damage the dragon's wings, force it to land. But the dragon would burn them to ashes long before they had the chance. And even if they forced the beast down, it could still tear them apart.

  Angry. She had to make it angry.

  The dragon circled and swooped down for another attack. The knights and armsmen hastened for cover, the crossbowmen trying to reload their weapons.

  Romaria did not move.

  She heard Mazael shouting, felt the dragon's crimson eyes fix on her.

  The beast plunged towards her, mouth yawning wide to drown her in its flames.

  In one smooth motion, Romaria snatched an arrow from her quiver, raised her bow, and fired.

  The shaft buried itself in the dragon's tongue.

  ###

  The dragon twitched when Romaria's arrow disappeared into its mouth, a shudder going through its golden body, and loosed a scream of astonished rage. Mazael watched as Romaria fired again, her arrow plunging through the dragon's wing.

  “Human insect!”

  The dragon's voice thundered like a collapsing mountain.

  “You will suffer for this! You will scream!”

  The dragon spun, lining up to loose its fire upon Romaria.

  “You will beg for mercy! You will fall on your knees and...”

  Another of Romaria's arrows buried itself in the dragon's tongue.

  “You'll have to catch me first!” shouted Romaria.

  The dragon's scream of fury pressed against Mazael's ears like a living thing.

  Pride, Mazael realized. The dragon might not have any physical weaknesses, but it still had the weakness of pride. It regarded humans as insects, as vermin, and for human vermin to cause it even the slightest pain was an intolerable insult.

  The dragon turned in pursuit of Romaria, ignoring the crossbow quarrels that plunged into its beating wings.

  ###

  Romaria ran.

  The dragon pursued, still bellowing threats, lining up for another blast of fire. She let herself slow, and the dragon's mouth yawned wide. But instead of loosing another arrow, she reversed direction, diving to the ground. The dragon shot overhead, moving too fast to change its course, fire blasting from its maw.

  Its left foreleg smacked against one of the black steles, putting a wobble into the dragon's flight. It tried to turn, but it was flying too fast, and smashed into the hillside, its claws digging furrows into the earth. Its wings folded as it tried to regain its balance, and Romaria seized the opportunity, firing one, two, three arrows into its right wing. Her arrows plunged into the folded wing like knives, pinning it in place.

  “Mortal!” shrieked the dragon, spinning to face her. “You will burn for this! I will boil the blood in your veins and feast on your flesh!”

  The dragon raced at her, moving faster than a galloping horse, far faster than any human could run.

  ###

  Mazael sprinted towards the dragon, watching as Romaria lured the great creature to crash against the hillside. She loosed volley after volley of arrows into the dragon, pinning its right wing in place.

  Trapping it on the ground.

  “Kjalmir!” shouted Mazael. Those massive Arminiar crossbows and their barbed quarrels had been built to kill Ogrags. At close enough range, he suspected they could punch through steel plate...or a dragon's scales.

  And a concentrated volley of those quarrels might be enough to bring down the dragon.

  Kjalmir and his red-cloaked Arminiars hastened to Mazael's side, and as they did, the dragon charged at Romaria, bellowing.

  ###

  The dragon thundered towards Romaria.

  No fire. Her arrows had taught it better. The beast would simply trample her, or rip her to shreds with its talons. And no human could outrun a dragon on foot.

  But Romaria was only half-human.

  She flowed into the shape of the great black wolf and raced to the dragon’s right.

  The dragon stopped in shock, head rota
ting to follow her. Ancient the creature might have been, but it must not have ever encountered an Elderborn before, or else it would know of her power to change shape.

  The dragon pursued her. It was just as fast as Romaria, even in her wolf form, but she was far nimbler. She dodged and spun around the trees and the dragon ran after her, loosing blast after blast of fire. Romaria sped in circles around the dragon, avoiding the flames, dodging the long talons and the whip-like sweeps of the beast's tail. The dragon's smell, like hot iron and serpent's scales and burning meat, made her fur bristle. But she also smelled the blood and sweat of men, and glimpsed the Arminiars running at the dragon, massive crossbows in hand.

  Those huge crossbows. If they got close enough, the crossbows' barbed quarrels might penetrate the dragon's scales.

  If the dragon stayed in one place. If Romaria held its attention.

  She dodged another blast of flame, and Romaria threw back her head, howling in derision. The dragon came after her, flames erupting from its mouth. Romaria ran left, bracing herself to avoid another burst.

  The Arminiars and Mazael drew closer.

  The dragon stopped and spun, its tail smashing into one of the steles. The black stone shattered, chunks flying through the air.

  At Romaria.

  She ducked under the rubble, and the dragon unleashed its fire. Not at Romaria, but at a patch of bushes and trees in front of her. The bushes went up in a wall of billowing flame, the trees disappearing in curtains of fire. Romaria staggered a stop, the sheer heat of the inferno singing her fur. The fire would burn out in short order, but not quickly enough for Romaria to run around it before the dragon caught her.

  She was pinned.

  The beast bellowed in glee and charged, mouth yawning wide.

  ###

  Mazael watched Romaria blur into the form of the great black wolf, watched her dance around the dragon's enraged attacks. But even she could not keep that up forever. The dragon was too strong, too fast, and even a glancing hit from its fire would kill her.

  Then the dragon set a patch of trees in front of Romaria ablaze. She skidded to a halt, trapped between the flames and the charging dragon. The creature's mouth yawned wide, ready to devour her.

  But it was the best chance Mazael and the Arminiars would get.

  “Now!” said Mazael, pointing Lion.

  Kjalmir bellowed an order, and his knights raised their massive crossbows.

  The dragon realized the threat at the last instant. It stopped, its head swinging, its jaws opening wide. Mazael saw the fire glimmering in the dragon's maw, the white light preparing to erupt in a beam of hellish flame.

  Then the crossbows thumped in the Arminiars' hands.

  A volley of barbed bolts slammed into the dragon's neck and flank. At this range, the bolts tore through the golden scales and sank into the dragon's flesh. White blood, the color of molten iron, sizzled over the scales. The dragon reared up on its hind legs, screaming in agony, the hot blood dripping down its gold-scaled side.

  Yet none of the dragon's wounds looked fatal.

  “Now, lads!” said Kjalmir. The Arminiars dropped their crossbows, drawing the steel war hammers strapped to their backs. A blade would be useless against the dragon's scales, but the blow of a heavy hammer could dent the scale and pulp the flesh beneath it.

  Mazael sprinted with Kjalmir's men to face the dragon, Lion in his right hand, a war hammer taken from a slain Arminiar in his left. The dragon dropped back to all fours, the ground shaking with the impact, fire blossoming in its mouth.

  ###

  Romaria shifted back into her human form as the quarrels tore into the dragon's side. The beast screamed its fury, and Mazael and the Arminiars charged it, hammers in hand. The dragon's head swung to face them, their fire glimmering in its mouth.

  She raised her bow and fired, the arrow sinking into the side of the dragon's tongue.

  The dragon's head snapped to the side, its blast of fire shooting over the charging men, and its hateful glare fell on Romaria.

  ###

  The blast of flame erupted over Mazael's head, his face reddening from the heat.

  But it missed, and the Arminiars closed with the dragon. Steel hammers rose and fell, white blood bursting forth. It was far hotter than human blood, and Mazael felt a stab of pain when some splashed on his jaw.

  The dragon shrieked in pain. Its tail smashed into the Arminiars, sent two of them tumbling through the air. Its talons closed about another man, ripping him in half like a bloody doll. Kjalmir raised his massive hammer in both hands and brought the weapon crashing into the joint of the dragon's left foreleg. Mazael heard a snap, and the dragon's leg wobbled, its belly scraping against the earth.

  And Mazael saw his chance.

  He flung aside his hammer, seized the wounded foreleg, and scrambled onto the dragon's back. The scales felt hot beneath his gauntlets, like metal left in the summer sun. The dragon, distracted by the pain of its wounds, did not notice him. Mazael half-ran, half-climbed up the dragon's back, Lion in one hand, his other gripping the bony spines of the dragon's back. The beast's neck rose up, fire blasting from its jaws and incinerating three of the Arminiars.

  Mazael caught the spines behind the dragon's head, Lion braced in one hand.

  The dragon felt his weight against its neck and howled, snapping its head back and forth. Mazael clung to the neck, one leg wrapping around a bony spine for support. The dragon drove its head forward, trying to dislodge him, and Mazael threw all his weight into the motion, thrusting Lion before him.

  The sword sank to the hilt in the dragon's neck, at the base of its horned skull.

  The dragon's scream filled Mazael's ears, and ever muscle in its body went rigid at once. The whiplash of its neck catapulted Mazael into the air, Lion's hilt ripping from his hand. He smashed hard into the ground, his armor clattering, his bones snapping. Agony erupted through him, and he rolled onto his back, expecting to see the dragon attack.

  Instead the creature trembled for a moment longer, and then collapsed to the earth in a limp heap.

  Mazael blacked out a moment later.

  ###

  Romaria lowered her bow, breathing hard.

  Kjalmir and the other Arminiars stood staring at the dragon's carcass, stunned. Veterans though they were, the dragon's defeat had still shocked them. Romaria cast a quick glance at Arylkrad. If Corvad was in the castle, he couldn't possibly have missed the battle against the dragon.

  He would be preparing.

  “Gods save us,” said Kjalmir. “I was certain were finished. But Lord Mazael...gods, I never saw such boldness.” His blue eyes, bloodshot from heat and smoke, fixed on her. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady. Lord Mazael died valiantly.”

  “Oh, he's not dead yet,” said Romaria as Gerald approached. “It will take more than a fall to kill Lord Mazael. See to your wounded, Sir Commander. If Corvad watched the fight from Arylkrad's walls, he might try to fall upon us while we are confused.”

  That shook Kjalmir out of his shock. “Aye. I've not chased Corvad across the realm and seen a dragon slain only to fail at the end.”

  “How many dead?” said Romaria as Gerald approached.

  “Seven more of mine, and nine of Mazael's,” said Gerald, voice grim, “and another five who wish they were dead. Gods, but fire is a bad way to die.” He shook his head. “And Mazael...”

  “He's not dead yet,” said Romaria, crossing to the dragon's immense carcass. Lion's hilt jutted from the creature's head, smoke rising from the wound. Romaria gripped the hilt and yanked the weapon free. White blood, glowing with an inner heat, dripped from blade. The sword had taken no damage from the dragon's blood.

  Lion was older than the dragon, older than Dracaryl itself.

  Gerald frowned. “But...”

  “Make ready,” said Romaria, shaking the final drops from Lion's blade. “If Corvad saw the fight, he might attack at any moment.”

  She left the knights to their task and hur
ried away.

  Romaria found Mazael forty yards away, in a tangle of bushes that had evaded the dragon's fire. He looked terrible, his face bruised, his arms and legs jutting at odd angles. A bolt of fear passed through Romaria. Suppose he had hit the ground too hard? Suppose the impact had shattered his skull, damaged his heart, wounded him beyond even the ability of his Demonsouled nature to heal?

  Then he took a deep, rattling breath, and Romaria heard the crackling noise as his bones forced themselves back together. The bruising on his face faded, the gashes from the fall closing. He shuddered, and his eyes fluttered open, full of pain.

  Romaria knelt besides him, helped him to sit.

  “Gods,” muttered Mazael, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “that hurt.”

  “What madness possessed you,” said Romaria, “to climb on the dragon's back?”

  “Osric said there was a weak point behind its head,” said Mazael. “And it worked, didn't it? The dragon's dead.” He blinked. “It is dead?”

  Romaria handed him Lion. “It is.” On impulse she seized him in her arms. “Don't frighten me like that.”

  He coughed out a laugh. “I'll avoid fighting any more dragons. If at all possible.” He got to his feet, leaning on her. “The others must think I'm dead.”

  “They do,” said Romaria. “This will be hard to explain.”

  “Aye,” said Mazael, taking a deep breath. Already he seemed stronger. “Well, we haven't time to discuss it now. Corvad awaits.”

  He walked towards the others, Romaria at his side.

  ###

  Gerald, Kjalmir, Osric, Timothy, and Circan stood at the head of the surviving knights and armsmen. Far fewer remained than Mazael would have liked. Osric had not overstated the ferocity and power of a dragon.

  Both Lord Richard and Toraine Mandragon had slain dragons. Little wonder men feared them.

  Osric saw Mazael, and his eyes grew wide over his black beard.