by Jean Rabe
Gistere’s eyes narrowed, and he raised his hands to signal the archers to fire. Then instantly his eyes grew wide and he held his gesture. He felt the presence of the Red Dragon in his head, felt the scale imbedded in his chest tingle.
This one intrigues me, Malys hissed. I could use someone with the tenacity to stand up to so many of your men. I want him – alive and whole. Slay the others as a lesson.
The subcommander swallowed hard and motioned to the archers, pointing out different targets – Palin Majere, Gilthanas, Ulin, Feril, and the burliest of the prisoners. In that instant, Dhamon rushed forward. Gilthanas joined his mad charge, even as the sorcerer had begun an enchantment.
Feril, stunned by Dhamon’s arrival, quickly came to her senses. There’d be time for an explanation later – if they lived. She reached inside her pouch and tugged free a sea shell. Ulin was behind her also, mumbling the words of a spell.
Palin had settled on an incantation just as Dhamon arrived. The astonishing return of the former knight threw him, and he had to concentrate to keep from tripping over the words to the enchantment. As he recited the arcane syllables, an arrow streaked by him, piercing the throat of one of the prisoners. Another streaked by, and he heard Ulin groan behind him.
“Son?” Palin whispered as the spell finished and tiny fragments of gold and silver, of ruby, emerald, and jacinth filled the air. The dying light of the sun touched the objects, and as the pieces spun about, they reflected a kaleidoscope of blinding color. Some of the knights threw their arms up to shield their eyes. But too late, Palin’s spell had blinded them – and practically all of the prisoners as well.
The sorcerer glanced behind him. Ulin was on the ground near the dying campfire, an arrow protruding from his back. “Ulin!”
Gilthanas darted toward his intended target, the Knight of the Thorn, but his path was quickly blocked by a knight wielding a two-handed blade. The elf barely stepped aside as the sword arced down, whistling through the still air.
Dhamon was near the Qualinesti, swinging the glaive in wide, sweeping motions. He was unaccustomed to the weapon, used to fighting with swords. At first this weapon seemed unwieldy, then it seemed amazing.
The glaive glowed faintly blue as it struck the raised long sword of a charging knight and cut the blade cleanly in half. The glaive continued its arc, slicing through the black mail of the knight as if the armor were thin cloth. It easily parted the man’s flesh beneath, blood spurting out to cover Dhamon’s chest and face. The Knight of Takhisis was dead before he struck the ground.
Dhamon spun about, blinking to clear his eyes, and found himself facing a pair of advancing knights. Holding firmly to the lower part of the glaive’s haft, he swung the weapon at waist height. Again it sliced through weapons and armor and two more men fell.
Subcommander Gistere saw his archers aim at Dhamon, and yelled to them to redirect their arrows, “At Palin Majere!” he shouted. “This one’s mine.”
Dhamon cut down three more knights as Gistere took a step forward, then halted in a defensive stance, with his long sword in one hand and a buckler shield in the other.
Dhamon whirled, dropping two more knights. Though he was practically covered in blood, none of it was his own. He eyed the subcommander. “Call your men off!” Dhamon cried. “There doesn’t have to be any more killing.”
Gistere shook his head and raised his long sword. Perhaps if he could wound the man just enough to make him drop that cursed weapon.... He glanced at his four archers, and noted with relief that they all still lived. Two were peppering the prisoners and the third had struck the younger sorcerer in the back and the Qualinesti in the shoulder. The fourth was sighting the Kagonesti. “His shoulder, his legs!” – the sub-commander shouted to the fourth archer, pointing to Dhamon – “nothing else!”
The archer complied and sank two arrows into Dhamon’s right thigh, just enough to hobble him.
The subcommander stepped forward and adjusted the hold on his sword so he could swing with the flat of his blade. Alive, Malystryx hissed a warning inside his head. And I want his weapon.
Meanwhile, the Knight of the Thorn crouched behind a fellow knight, protecting herself from GUthanas. The sorceress pointed a long-nailed finger at the Qualinesti, who had been slowed by an arrow lodged deep in his shoulder. The sorceress smiled at the elf’s pain and uttered a string of words indecipherable to those around her.
But Gilthanas knew what the woman was saying. A spell-caster himself, though he often relied more on a sword, the elf gritted his teeth, thrust forward with the cutlass, and waited for the inevitable. A streak of orange-red light extended from the Knight of the Thorn’s finger to the elf’s chest. Prepared for it, Gilthanas was better able to take the electrifying pain. He thrust forward again, this time slipping past the mailed knight’s defenses. Rig’s cutlass carved deep into the man’s belly, and he fell to the ground.
The magical beam continued to pulse from her finger as GUthanas tugged free the sword with a considerable amount of effort. The elf glared at the black-robed woman and dropped to his knees, the pain starting to overcome him and paralyze his limbs. Gilthanas tried to lift the blade, and cursed when another jolt rushed through him. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, and the cutlass slipped from his hand.
“Die, Qualinesti,” the Knight of the Thorn commanded. It was all Gilthanas could do to keep from crying out. He fell forward on his hands, his entire body quivering. “Die, elf!”
“No!” Feril shouted. The Kagonesti had completed her own enchantment and hurled the sea shell at the Knight of the Thorn. The shell stopped in midair above the woman’s head, and a heartbeat later the air surrounding her shimmered blue-green. Beads of water stood out against her black robes and spread like a sheen of sweat across her face.
The sorceress gasped and drew her hands to her chest, ending the spell that had tormented Gilthanas. More sea-scented water collected on her skin and garments. The Knight of the Thorn whimpered and fell, foam flecking about her wide nostrils and mouth. Even GUthanas was impressed by the unusual magic. Feril had turned the air to sea water in the atmosphere immediately surrounding the sorceress and had drowned her.
The Qualinesti struggled to his feet and wrenched free the arrow that was stuck in his shoulder. “My thanks” he nodded to Feril, as he snatched up the cutlass and looked about. His shoulder throbbed and his arm was growing numb, but he shoved the pain to the back of his mind. Feril was occupied with directing the trees and vines in the area to join the struggle. They were snaking forward to bind the men.
When a knight rushed up to check on the fallen sorceress, Gilthanas hurried forward to meet him. Their blades clashed, and both drew back to raise their swords again. The Qualinesti dropped to the ground, rolled forward under the knight’s next swing, and drove Rig’s cutlass into the man’s stomach.
Gilthanas heard startled cries from somewhere behind him. Feril’s plants had entangled several of the knights, and they were panicked by what was happening. The elf charged at another knight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dhamon slice through two more, then pause to tug the arrows out of his leg. The ground was red with blood, and the wild-looking fighter had to be careful not to stumble over so many fallen bodies.
Palin Majere glanced over his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. His son still lived. Ulin had pushed himself into a sitting position. Palin returned his attention to the scintillating lights that still filled the air of half of the clearing. Focusing, he increased the potency of the spell. The gem shards and bits of gold and silver glowed brighter – like sparks from a fire – and spun toward the knights, burning the faces and hands of those who were not entwined by the foliage.
Ulin added to the threat. The younger sorcerer was directing all of his waning energy at the embers in the campfire. The pieces of wood, hot as coals, rose under his command and streaked toward the men. His fingers pointed out targets, and the coals unerringly obeyed. Ulin could barely maintain consciousness. He knew h
e was losing a considerable amount of blood.
Feril crouched as two arrows cut through the air only a few inches above her head. She reached into the pouch at her side, dropped to all fours, then rolled as another barrage of arrows shot by. She sprang to her feet and stumbled toward Dhamon in time to see him carve through another knight and take a step closer to the subcommander.
“We can end this!” Dhamon called. “You’ve six men left. Six – and you! With one word you can end this. Let them live.”
“Surrender?” Gistere asked. He raised his buckler and again felt the presence of Malystryx’s mind. The dragon hissed that giving up was not an option. She did not want her knights caught and questioned within another dragon’s realm – better that they die if necessary – even Gistere. The subcommander waved to four of his surviving knights, ordering them to charge. “I want them alive!” Gistere bellowed.
One knight continued sparring with Gilthanas as the other dashed toward Palin. Feril glanced around, concerned about Dhamon, but more worried about Palin, who was weaponless and too spent to cast another spell. She rushed toward the sorcerer.
In that instant, a howl cut through the clearing. Fury raced down the road and into the campsite, a mass of flying red fur that slammed into the knight attacking Palin. Palin grabbed up his son’s staff, and the wolf fell to tearing out the throat of the fallen knight.
A few feet away, Dhamon drew his lips into a snarl and gripped the glaive tighter, swinging it in a tight arc to keep four knights at bay. One tried to leap past the weapon, but Dhamon kicked forward, his foot landing hard against the knight’s mailed abdomen. The glowing blue edge of the glaive sang through the air as he raised the weapon and brought it down on the man’s shoulder, slicing halfway into the knight’s chest. The glaive came effortlessly free, and Dhamon swung at a second knight who had dared to inch closer. The edge cut through the man’s sword and continued its deadly path, quickly dispatching him.
Dhamon faced only two knights now, and both gave him an increasingly respectful distance. They circled him, looking for an opening. They were constantly stymied as he continued to pace them and use his glaive to keep them at bay.
When the knight fighting Gilthanas risked a glance toward the others, the Qualinesti swept in, striking the knight’s gloved hand with his cutlass. The long sword flew free, and the knight was forced to retreat a step. Gilthanas motioned with his head, nodding toward the trail that continued on the opposite side of the clearing. “I’d get out of here if I were you,” he whispered.
The knight glanced at his subcommander.
“I won’t offer again,” the Qualinesti said.
The knight backed up another few steps, keeping a wary eye on Gilthanas. Then he spun on his heels and dashed away. Gilthanas saw Palin kneeling by his son. The Kagonesti was speaking to the Majeres, hovering over them, but her words were too soft for Gilthanas to hear.
The elf turned his attention to Dhamon. He had cleaved through another knight, and the remaining one had dropped his sword and was begging for mercy. The subcommander snarled “coward” at his man as he brushed by, extended his weapon, and offered a mock salute to Dhamon. “Barbarian, I will take you alive. Although you may lose a few limbs in the process.”
“I’ll not be bested by the likes of you,” Dhamon returned, as he stepped forward to meet the man. Gistere was nimble, despite his heavy mail, and he effortlessly dodged Dhamon’s first several swings. He darted in close, inside the blade of the glaive, and thrust at Dhamon’s already wounded leg. Gistere’s sword managed to graze the leg, and swinging again and again he forced Dhamon to retreat.
“You’re good “Dhamon observed, as he took a defensive stance, “but I have the better weapon.”
“But I am the better weaponmaster,” Gistere sneered. The subcommander sprang forward, leaping over the path of the glaive as Dhamon swung it too low. Gistere landed next to the man and raised his sword high, bringing it down, pommel first, on Dhamon’s shoulder.
Dhamon fell to his knees. The blow was almost impossibly strong and was followed by another of equal force. The air rushed from Dhamon’s lungs and he scuttled away, gripping his weapon. “No!” he shouted to Gilthanas, who was coming forward to help him. “This fight’s mine.”
Gistere smiled, stepping closer. The strength in his arms and legs were a gift from Malystryx. He hadn’t yet worked up a sweat, though his opponent had. His body was soaked with sweat – wherever it wasn’t soaked with blood. “It will be a short fight, I think,” he said as he stroked down with his blade.
But Dhamon leapt to his feet at the last moment, spun his weapon, and brought the glaive’s edge up. It cut through the subcommander’s sword and continued toward the man’s mailed chest. The glaive’s keen edge parted the black links as if they were cloth, then struck the red breastplate beneath. It sank no deeper, but bounced off.
Gistere pushed off against the ground, vaulted over Dhamon and rushed toward the body of one of his men. There the subcommander snatched up a fallen sword, and turned just in time to see a flash of silver descend toward him.
Dhamon had spun as fast as the knight, wielding his weapon in the widest arc he could swing. Now the edge of the blade cut into Gistere’s stomach, just below the red breastplate.
The subcommander’s fingers released their grip on his sword and flew to his wound. Blood flowed over his hand, as he dropped to his knees. You have failed me, Subcommander Rurak Gistere, Malys hissed inside his head.
“Not yet!” he shouted. Then he felt a rush of dizziness, and his legs began to tremble. Gistere fell to his back, felt his throat filling with blood.
Dhamon was at the subcommander’s side. He knelt, trying to listen to something the man was trying to say.
“My mail” Gistere breathed, “please, off” He coughed and blood ran over his lower lip. Dhamon pulled the man to a sitting position and tugged the shredded chain shirt free. Gleaming on his muscular chest was a red scale.
Gilthanas had come over, curious at what was transpiring. “What is this?” the elf asked, pointing at the scale.
Feril joined them, and her breath caught at the sight of Dhamon. He looked like an animal, practically naked, his hair a snarled mass. Singlehandedly he had slaughtered more than half of the knights. Fury, his muzzle dripping with blood, padded to her side and sniffed at Dhamon.
As the subcommander’s lips moved, Dhamon bent closer, putting his ear next to the dying man’s mouth. Gistere’s fingers found the edges of the scale, dug in, and with the last bit of strength he could summon, he dug it loose.
Gistere screamed as he tore it free. His fingers burned like his chest had stung when Malystryx placed it on him. Dhamon cradled the man and stared at his chest, at the bloody indentation that remained, and at the scale he clutched.
“You can’t hope to win,” the subcommander gasped. He felt Malystryx’s mind drift from his, and he suddenly felt very cold. He shivered and gazed into Dhamon’s eyes. “You don’t know what you’re up against.” A smile formed on his lips, and he slapped the scale against Dhamon’s bare thigh. “Take it off, and die like me.”
The scale instantly adhered to Dhamon’s flesh, wrapping around his leg like a second skin and searing the former knight as if he’d been branded. Dhamon moaned as a jolt of heat shot from the scale and through his entire body, making his throat tight and dry. He fell back, releasing the knight and clawing at the dirt. The pain continued to race through him, waves of agony that surged in time with his heart. He writhed on the ground.
“What did you do?” Feril screamed at the subcommander. But her cries fell on deaf ears; the man was dead. She dropped to Dhamon’s side and tried to help him, but she couldn’t stop his contortions.
Fury paced around Dhamon, growling softly and keeping his distance. Palin nudged the wolf aside as he stepped closer, still supporting UHn. “Dark sorcery to be sure,” the elder Majere stated.
“We’ve got to take it off!” Feril shouted, grabbing at the scale.
“No!” Gilthanas warned, pulling the Kagonesti away. “The knight said Dhamon would die if he removed it. He might have been telling the truth. We don’t know what kind of enchantment was involved.”
“It’s killing him! We’ve got to do something!”
“Wait,” Palin told her, “watch.” He readjusted his hold on his son, who was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Feril and the three men watched as Dhamon’s contortions gradually subsided. He lay on his back, taking great gulps of air into his lungs. After several moments, his eyes met Feril’s, and the Kagonesti helped him to stand.
“I’m all right,” he said. In truth, he felt better than he had a few moments before, stronger somehow, though his leg tingled oddly.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What did he do? The scale? And how did you get here? How did you get here —”
“Alive?” The tingling sensation had left him, and he could no longer feel the heat of the scale, though one glance confirmed that it was still there. “Feril, I —” She was in his arms instantly, tugging at his beard to bring his face down to hers.
“My survival is a very long story,” he said between her kisses. “There’ll be time for it later.” He held her tighter, desperately, and their kisses deepened. “As for this scale, we must cut it out,” he said when he finally came up for air.
“Ahem,” Gilthanas politely coughed after a moment.
Dhamon and Feril slowly separated. His fingers drifted down to entwine with the Kagonesti’s, and his eyes reluctantly left hers to take in Palin, Ulin, and Gilthanas. Curiously, the wolf continued to keep his distance, growling.
“It’s obviously a dragon’s scale,” Palin said, pointing to Dhamon’s leg. “I want to study it as soon as we get back to the ship. We’re not going to take a chance on losing you a second time by cutting it out here.”
Gilthanas retrieved the glaive and pressed the haft into Dhamon’s free hand. “Quite an amazing weapon,” the Qualinesti said.
