Twilight of the Dragons

by Andy Remic

  “Now you sure you want it there, village boy?” grinned Brozo, his words slurring just a little. Four of Hujo Krant’s gut-rippers had left him the worse for wear. Dek, also, had drank too much, and he nodded, grinning.

  “It’s a good place. And an incredible design!”

  “What is it again?”

  “It’s a demon, ain’t it?” said Skoffo, streamers trailing from the pipe he smoked. Skoffo had wild hair and a wild beard. He also had wild, mismatched eyes and shaking hands, but Dek couldn’t see that because he was drunk and on his belly.

  Brozo sat propped on a chair, watching Dek’s face. “Go easy with him, Skoffo. It’s his first tat.”

  “Ha,” snapped Dek. “How much can it fucking hurt? I’ve five bare-knuckle fights under my belt, won the lot, took punches from all them lads, jaw, temple, belly, ribs – I’m telling you, I have the highest pain threshold you’ve ever come across.”

  “Proud words, son,” said Skoffo. “Now keep still. Wouldn’t want to fuck it up now, would I?” His shaking hand dipped the thick needle into the ink-pot, and he stabbed it into Dek’s flesh.

  “Ow, ouch, you fucking son of a bitch!” he snapped, trying to turn.

  Skoffo started stabbing at speed, then scratched out part of an outline that fair made Dek want to turn round and break his jaw. Brozo leant over, and patted his arm.

  “How much can it fucking hurt? I’ve five bare-knuckle fights under my belt, won the lot,” mimicked a grinning Brozo, looking into Dek’s scrunched up face. “You believe me now when I say Skoffo is the quickest in the business?”

  “He might be the quickest,” said Dek through gritted teeth, “but soon he might just end up the deadest!”

  * * *

  The deadest.

  Dek grinned to himself, and then groaned. It was a good memory. A fine memory. What had brought that back? It was pain. Pain across the back of his hips, as if some great weight was pushing down on him.

  Where the fuck am I?

  What the fuck hit me?

  Was it a Pit Fight?

  Everything was hazy, blurred, like the morning after the most incredible night out he couldn’t ever remember.

  Was I drinking? Fighting? What?

  His mouth was full of dust, and he spat, and tried to bring his hand up to rub his lips – which was when he discovered he couldn’t move his arm. He started to tug, to pull, to flex his powerful muscles, but it was stuck. Panic entered his breast. Shit. Fuck. Was he the victim of some kind of rockfall?

  And then flickers of images began to return.

  Staccato. Fuzzy. Unreal.

  The big, black dragon.

  The tower.

  A sound like a never-ending earthquake, groaning and rumbling around him.

  “Oh, gods,” he muttered, “did that really happen?” He shook his head a little, and wiggled his toes. But his back was pinned down, across his hips, pain emanating across that first tattoo which had burned him so bad in those early days. Dek grinned to himself. “By the Seven Sisters, I’m truly fucked here, aren’t I?” And he boomed out more laughter, blinking dust from his eyes, after everything I’ve ever seen in my life, after all the trials and tribulations, all the punch-ups, sword battles, mud-orcs, elf-rats and now a fucking dragon, to be taken out in a fucking tower collapse… well, that just puts a ridiculous sour full stop at the end of my worthless fucking life.

  Suddenly, there came a crashing sound. Something shifted above Dek, and grunting, two silhouetted figures lifted a stone lintel and cast it to one side, where it clattered down a pile of rubble. Hazy firelight came in, along with rainfall that cooled Dek’s face.

  “Is that you, Dek lad?” boomed Narnok, his scarred face suddenly coming into focus like some horrific nightmare.

  “Aye, it is. What fucking took you so long?”

  “You cheeky, cheeky bastard.”

  Kareem was helping, and they lifted a wooden beam from Dek’s hips, and hauled him out of his hole. Dek stretched, and groaned, as a thousand aches and pain prodded and punched him. He blinked, rubbed dust from his eyes, turned his face to the rain, allowing it to cool his tongue, then took a second look around. This area of the city had been demolished. The collapsing tower had seen to that, wiping out most of the close surrounding buildings, and decimating many of the others. Fires burned. Down one square, a group of maybe two hundred armed guards had gathered.

  “I thought I was dead,” said Dek.

  “So did we.”

  “Where’s Mola?”

  “Down there, looking for Trista.”

  “Fuck! She’s still missing?”

  “Yes, lad,” rumbled Narnok, and his scarred face was filled with apprehension. “Come on. We have to keep searching.”

  “Where’s the fucking dragon gone?”

  “Over there.” Narnok gestured vaguely. “Group of archers took her on, she’s chasing them up towards the North Gate breathing fire up their arses, no doubt.” He grinned, a quite savage look. “Glad we found you.”

  “Now we need to find Tris.”

  They started calling her name, and moved down the rubble pile towards Mola. Mola’s eyes were red-rimmed, and he had the most savage look on his face.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Don’t fucking ask!”

  “Hey, Mola, what’s up with you, big lad?”

  “It’s my dogs,” he said, voice wretched. “I can’t find my dogs. I’ve been whistling for ages. They’re gone, Dek. Gone and crushed.”

  Dek bit his lip, wondering what to say. In the end, he said nothing. He knew how much Mola loved his mutts.

  They started calling for Trista once more, occasionally looking to the sky. But there was no sign of Volak, and after a while, they busied themselves moving rocks and calling her name. Until a growl rumbled out from the shadows.

  Atop the rubble of the tower, Narnok, Dek, Mola and Kareem straightened from their labour. Narnok still had his axe, but the others had had to scavenge for weapons, either in the fall or in nearby houses. None were happy with what they had found.

  “Is that one of your dogs?” said Narnok, carefully,

  Mola shook his head. “No. I know their growls anywhere. That,” he gestured to the dark insides of a half-collapsed town house, “that’s something different.”

  “It can’t be the dragon,” muttered Kareem, hoisting a half-rusted short sword that looked too small for his large hands. “She wouldn’t hide in a bloody house and growl at us. So what is it?”

  “Remember,” said Narnok, single eye glinting, “just before the tower collapsed? There were shapes. Dark shapes. Running through the streets. Some across the rooftops.”

  “I know what I thought,” said Dek, and his words were terribly soft.

  “What’s that, lad?”

  “I thought they were splice,” he said, eyes fixed on the dark, sagging opening to the house. Something was definitely in there, peering out at them. He could just distinguish a section of outline; it was big. Too big.

  “That’s fucking impossible!” boomed Narnok, slapping him on the back and making him cough. “Those fucking things died with Orlana the Changer.”

  Dek shook his head. “No. I’ve heard stories. About rogue ones, out in the countryside. Rogue splice. Gangs of villagers get together to hunt them down. There have been some shocking casualties.”

  “Dek lad, you’re talking a whole load of donkey bollocks… ” Narnok grinned, as from the shadows emerged a splice, limping, great rigid muscles tensed and ready to spring, its long head turned away, so the equine muzzle was almost on its side. A big red eye bulged, and open wounds across its face oozed black blood.

  The Iron Wolves took a step back, and brandished their weapons.

  “Fuck me!” said Narnok.

  “I… don’t believe it,” muttered Kareem, stroking his beard.

  “Right,” hissed Narnok, eye not moving from the beast. “They’re tough fuckers, these ones. We’ll have to attack from different si
des.”

  Kareem stared at him.

  “What?”

  “I was on Desekra,” said Kareem.

  “Were you?”

  “I fought against the mud-orcs, old man.”

  Narnok opened his mouth to retort, as another growl came from the left, where a huge, splintered beam lay propped against a wall. It was surrounded by crushed rubble. Limping sideways, came another splice. Narnok’s mouth shut with a clack.

  Then, from behind them, a third growl rumbled out.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking joking!” wailed Narnok, and turned slowly as a third creature came from the shadows. And the Iron Wolves realised, with rising horror, that there were more… more splice, crouching in the shadows behind these first ones…

  “This is turning into a really shitty day,” said Kareem, turning slowly, short sword weaving before him.

  “One is hard enough to kill,” snapped Dek. “What are we supposed to do against… ten? Eleven?”

  They’d stopped, a short distance away, lips curled back, deep rumbles emerging from twisted throats.

  “I think we have a problem,” said Mola.

  “Yes, I can see the fucking problem!” moaned Dek.

  “No. A bigger problem!”

  “Really?”

  They all looked up. And saw the dragon circling high overhead. Then she swept down, and something tumbled from her mouth even as she entered the dive. It glinted, silver, and it took moments to realise it was a knight in full armour.

  Volak landed with a crash in Tower Square, and shook out her wings, her head coming up, eyes fixing on the Iron Wolves.

  “I confess,” she said, voice a musical rumble, “as to being amazed you still live.”

  “You murdered my fucking dogs!” screamed Mola, taking several steps forward.

  “Yes, yes, come to me little fat man. Let us see if your fat can run molten through the gutters.”

  “I’ll cut off your fucking head,” he snarled.

  Volak chuckled, head turning slightly, to observe the splice. “Interesting choice of playmates,” she said. Fire flickered around her nostrils. “They are not born of this world, but carry the stink of the Furnace in their skin. I wonder which demon gave them a stamp of approval.”

  Kareem shuffled sideways, and nudged Narnok in the ribs.

  “Hey! What?”

  “Look!”

  “What?”

  “The splice!”

  And indeed, the group of splice had turned, and their odd eyes and drooling muzzles were facing Volak. Every single one of them.

  “They don’t seem to like her,” muttered Kareem.

  “Good! Neither do I!”

  “I think…” said Dek. But it was too late. The splice attacked.

  One leapt from the shadows, a bound, to land on Volak’s back. Jaws snapped down as claws, or rather, a curious combination of claws and broken hooves, stabbed and scraped at her scales as her head reared, she turned to look behind, and backed up several steps and roared.

  The others leapt forward, bounding across the ancient stone flagstones of Tower Square. Three more leapt onto Volak’s back, and she reared up suddenly, a terrifying vision, as one splice jumped for her throat. Her claw slammed out, catching the splice and sending it flying through the air, where it hit the cobbles rolling, dug in its claws, leapt up and charged back into another attack.

  Flames roared out, setting one splice on fire. Up went its tattered, scarred horse hair, but still it came on, screaming now, jaws chomping, until Volak grabbed it between both claws and ripped it in half. Blood rained down. The great wyrm tossed aside the two body parts with contempt, and looked back again at the four on her back, biting and clawing and stabbing. Her tail whipped up, the great spike lashing through a splice, impaling it. Blood poured from its twisted horse muzzle. Volak’s tail lifted the creature high into the air, still wriggling, still vomiting blood, and launched it at a nearby half-collapsed church, where it crashed through a wall and lay still.

  Yet more splice came from the shadows, charging at Volak, leaping at her, leaping on her. She realised her error too late, and unfolding her wings, gave a great flap, lifting up from the ground, spinning slightly. But there were ten splice on her back now, doing their best to cause maximum destruction, and the weight alone must have been incredible, never mind the fact they were squirming and fighting. Volak roared again, wings flapping, and lifted perhaps twenty feet off the ground. A splice came from the top of a building, a massive leap, soaring through the rain to clamp jaws on the very edge of Volak’s left wing. Volak screamed, fire roaring, as she tipped to one side, started to spiral, and was dragged back down to the ground by the sheer weight of splice…

  “Come on,” growled Narnok.

  “What, fuckwit? What do you mean come on?” Dek stared at him.

  “Let’s go join in!”

  “Join in that?”

  “Together, we can kill it!”

  “Together, we can get fucking torched!”

  “Come on, brothers!” roared Narnok, single eye squinting, scarred face contorting. He might have looked like a clown, if he hadn’t been so fucking lethal.

  Volak roared again, and flames washed Tower Square, turning night into day. Rain sizzled. Splice rumbled and spat and growled.

  “I agree.” Mola stepped forward, boots crunching old stones, and in each fist he carried a battered short sword. “I want to fuck her for what she did to my dogs.” Tears still wet his cheeks. “I say we help the splice, although I never thought in my lifetime I would utter such words. We have a common enemy now. An enemy common not just to the city, but the whole of Vagandrak. That dragon needs to fucking die.”

  “Come ON!” roared Narnok, and sprinted down the rubble, battered axe in battered hands.

  Mola followed, with grim long strides, his eyes filled with hatred, his heart filled with vengeance.

  Dek and Kareem looked at one another.

  “They’re mad,” said Kareem, twirling his short sword and rolling his neck to release tension. “Fucking mad.”

  Dek grinned then, showing missing teeth. “Yeah lad. But you only live once, right? And you have to live that life to the full!”

  With howls, they charged down the scree of tower stones, catching up Narnok and Mola, and all four charged, ducking a random blast of fire as Volak spun around, claws and tail lashing, fire spewing from her angered, triangular head.

  Tower Square was a chaos of thrashing limbs, snapping jaws, squeals and growls and bites, random jets of flame igniting detritus lying all around, and even splice, that sprinted away, howling, only to return seconds later, leaping back at the dragon in an attempt to bring her down.

  Volak was suffering.

  There were two long wounds down her back, where splice had used razor claws and sharpened hooves to lever up scales and attack the unprotected flesh beneath. Dragon blood ran down her matte black flanks, and dripped to the cracked and broken flagstones.

  Narnok arrived, with the others, and started hacking at Volak’s chest. Her head came down, eyes widening as Narnok’s axe flashed up, carving a groove of sparks across her black scales.

  “I said I’d carve my name on your arse!” he screamed.

  Volak’s claw lashed out, a backhand swipe that picked Narnok up and propelled him across the square, to land hard, rolling, axe clattering beside him and damn near cutting his own head from his sorry neck.

  Volak’s head lifted, and she roared, and her head dropped, and fire screamed from her maw. But the splice pulled her to one side, three on her wing, tearing at her, and she was dragged staggering across the square until her tail snapped round, spike impaling a splice, then sawing it in half with five long, measured movements. Horse guts and human internal organs spilled to the stones, where they glistened like oil.

  She whirled about, then, the mighty wyrm, and her tail and claws lashed out, cutting two splice in half simultaneously. Then she leapt, wings beating, but instead of trying to take t
o the sky, she flipped backwards, landing on the splice which tortured her from behind, crushing them, if not to death, then at least into broken, pulverised bones.

  Kareem ran in, sword hacking. Volak’s rear leg caught him, smashing him aside where he lay, stunned, wondering if he were dead.

  Dek danced backwards as another claw sought him, then he rolled to one side as a blast of fire nearly disintegrated him. “Fuck this,” he muttered, and ran to Kareem, helping the stocky fighter to his feet.

  “We’ll never kill the fucker like this!” screamed Dek.

  Kareem nodded, speechless, still dazed from the blow.

  Volak rolled over, and using legs and wings, regained her feet. Behind her lay five dead splice, crushed into sacks of flesh-filled bone dust. Three more squirmed, crushed out of recognition but still, amazingly, alive.

  Volak roared, and fire painted the skies, turning rain to steam in an instant.

  Narnok pushed himself to his knees, still stunned.

  And Mola stood, a sword in each fist, eyes defiant.

  “Fuck you!” he screamed, and charged Volak.

  Volak’s head suddenly dropped, eyes narrowing, and with a short intake of breath, she narrowed her lips, and sent an intense blue jet of fire straight at Mola. He was caught in the blast, picked up, smashed backwards, clothes and skin and beard and hair flaming bright until… until the jet of fire whistled and screamed, reaching an intensity of pitch, and Mola slowly disintegrated in that blast, the flesh charred from his bones, his bones burned into ash…

  The fire stopped, abruptly.

  Two smoking short swords hit the stone flags with clangs, steel turned blue from the heat, their lengths twisted, distorted, bent out of all recognition.

  And Mola had gone.

  Volak’s head came up, and her proud, arrogant, condescending eyes surveyed the remaining men and splice, most of whom were backing away, their fight gone, their bones broken.

  “Is this the best you can hit me with?” she snarled, and lowering her head she spat a ball of fire to the flags. “IS THIS IT, YOU FUCKING INSECTS?”

  “Er,” said Narnok, turning to Dek.