by Isaac Hooke
“I think a different approach is in order,” she said.
Malem nodded, then glanced at Solan and Gannet. “You two, get up there. Pull at the guard while she continues to throw herself at the blade.”
The pair nodded, and stripped down. They turned their backs on the team members so that Malem and the others wouldn’t have to get an eyeful.
“Ooo,” Xaxia said. “I love it when they do that.” She glanced at Gwen as the pair dropped their drawers. “Who do you think has the cuter ass?”
“Solan, by far,” Gwen said.
Solan glanced over his shoulder. “We can hear you!”
“Oh, we know,” Xaxia said, winking.
Solan reddened. From his energy bundle, Malem knew it was a mixture of embarrassment and anger.
The pair transformed and flew to the top of the blade; they wrapped their talons around the two sides of the hilt, angling themselves so that their wings wouldn’t collide as they flapped, and pulled upward.
Meanwhile, Nemertes continued to plow her body repeatedly into the blade.
Finally, she succeeded in knocking it loose enough for the two dragons to lift. Slightly. The pair released it a moment later, unable to carry its weight, and the blade dropped once more.
“Again!” Nemertes shouted.
The pair lifted once again, raising the sword only a short distance. Nemertes plowed into it before they could drop it again, and this time her weight toppled the blade.
Solan and Gannet released the guard before they were drawn down with it, but Nemertes was committed, and followed the blade down.
“Timber!” Timlir shouted.
“Shut up, Dwarf!” Nemertes said as she collapsed atop the blade.
Behind her, the earth and some treasure were dislodged in a neat line by the emerging sword tip; beneath, a trench remained cut into the ground in its wake.
Nemertes stood up. “Well, that was… exhausting.”
Malem fed her stamina to appease her, and she glanced at him in thanks.
The other Metals transformed and helped load the sword onto the great Blue’s back, resting it between her wing stalks.
“Man, that’s heavy,” Nemertes said. “I’ll never be able to fly with this.”
Tendrils of light emerged from Grendel and darted toward the big blue dragon.
“Hey, no!” Nemertes said, trying to move away. The sword partially slid off as she moved, but she was too late, and the light wrapped around her before vanishing within her scales.
“How about now?” Grendel asked.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Nemertes said.
Because the sword had partially slid off her back, it was digging into one wing stalk; Abigail quickly corrected it.
When that was done, Nemertes straightened her legs tentatively. She seemed to rise easily. “It feels way lighter! The fuck did you do?”
“A small buff to ease your burden,” Grendel said. “We creatures of the light have to stick together.”
“I like her!” Nemertes exclaimed.
“How long will it last?” Malem asked Grendel.
She took him aside, and brought her lips close to his head. She spoke softly, for his ears alone, well aware that dragons could hear much better than normal humans. He kind of liked having her that close…
“I didn’t actually grant her any kind of buff,” Grendel said. “She only thinks I did. This is all her. It’s called the placebo effect.”
“Nice,” Malem said. “I’ll have to try that sometime.”
Malem and the other non-dragons climbed onto her back, and secured the sword around the belly of Nemertes with the spare rope they had brought. It wasn’t enough.
“I got this!” Timlir said, sliding down Nemertes’ wing toward the ground. His ax tip slightly scraped her leathery membrane along the way.
“Hey, watch the ax, bucko!” Nemertes said.
Timlir ignored her, and leaped onto the ground. He raced to one of the nearby black dragon corpses, and began hewing his axe repeatedly into one of the legs.
“What are you doing?” Xaxia called.
“Dragon tendons!” Timlir said, producing a long, stringy mass of flesh from the wound he’d carved. He chopped off the end that was still buried in the arm, cutting the mass free. He slid his ax along the slimy surface of the fresh tendon he’d extracted, clearing away the gore to reveal a white string beneath. “Dragon tendons are the most versatile material around! You can use them in fashioning ropes, baskets, beds, saddles, you name it! Why, you can even use them in armor! Almost as good as the scales!”
“Why does it sound like you’ve done this often?” Abigail asked warningly.
“Because I have!” Timlir said. “Never against Metals, of course. Only Blues.”
Nemertes growled.
“Don’t worry,” Weyanna told Nemertes. “I’m trying very hard not to eat him, too.”
Timlir smiled nervously, and glanced at Malem, looking for obvious backup.
“Now, now, Weyanna, let’s not get hasty,” Malem said. “Continue, Timlir. We need rope. And if dragon tendons will do the trick, then it’s dragon tendons we’re going to use.”
“This is gross,” Sylfi said. “You have to look at it from our perspective. How would you feel about wearing a rope made from another man’s tendons on your back?”
“Nemertes, do you really care where we source the rope for your back?” Malem asked.
“Not really,” Nemertes said. “I just want to fly this to our destination so I can get the fucking thing off my back.”
“Good,” Malem said. “Timlir, proceed.”
When Timlir had cut and cleaned enough of the tendons to form the extra cords, Malem and the other non-dragons used it to finish securing the sword to Nemertes back.
It was slightly springy so that Malem had to tighten the two ends before he could secure it. He glanced at the white dragon next to him. “Weyanna, your help…”
“Not me, I’m not touching that stuff,” Weyanna said.
“Me neither,” Abigail said.
Solan and Gannet finally helped Malem tighten the bind by grabbing onto either end of the cord in their mouths, and pulling until their heads overlapped. Malem tightened the slack portions in a triple knot, and released it.
“Nice knot,” Xaxia commented. “How do you expect to open it?”
“We’ll have to cut the sword free,” he admitted.
With the help of Solan and Gannet, they secured the remaining tendons so that the sword was properly held in place.
“See, takes a man to get the job done,” Gannet told Weyanna.
She sniffed, looking away. “You men certainly like holding rotting things in your mouths.”
“Ah, my old weapon,” Goldenthall said. He had approached Nemertes, and patted a portion of the blade that hung down near the tail of the great blue dragon.
“Mine now,” Grendel said. Her eyes flared bright yellow momentarily.
“Take it,” Goldenthall said, raising his hands and stepping back.
“He feigns weakness and subservience, that one,” Nemertes said, nodding toward Goldenthall. “And acts like an idiot as often as possible. But I see past your mask, Balor. You own Goldenthall.”
The former king stared at her for a moment, seeming worried, but then he broke into a giggle. He performed an odd dance, and then did a bow. “Thank you, Lady Dragon!”
“He certainly has me fooled,” Gwen commented.
Ziatrice frowned. “I have to admit, sometimes I don’t know what to think. But does it really matter if the man is Goldenthall, or Banvil? He serves his purpose, nonetheless.”
Malem had no comment to make on that, because he mostly agreed with Ziatrice, which was probably a terrible thing. The man was his direct line to Banvil.
So instead, Malem said: “We ride east!”
Because Nemertes was carrying Banvil’s sword, he could no longer ride with her. He would have to take one of the other dragons instead.
May I
have this dance? Abigail asked. She lowered a wing.
Why yes, you may, Malem replied. He scooted up the leathery membrane of her wing until he reached her silvery back.
Mauritania, Gwen, and Ziatrice were having some argument at the base of the wing below him. Meanwhile, Grendel slipped right past them and clambered up to join him on Abigail’s back.
“Hey!” Gwen shouted at Grendel, and then threw up her arms, stalking away to another dragon.
“What was that all about?” Malem asked.
“Haven’t you guessed yet?” Grendel replied.
“Fighting over a spot?” he said.
“Good guess,” she told him.
Malem positioned himself between the two wings, next to where they became stalks that connected to Abigail’s back. Jagged, cross-guard-like protrusions jutted from the base of each stem, about a thigh-width above the scales below, and he hooked his legs underneath them. He retrieved special harnesses from his backpack and slid them around his thighs, and each stalk, tightening them to further secure himself. His scabbard rested along his inner thigh.
He reached into his pack and grabbed another harness, securing this one to his waist.
“So how do we do this?” Grendel asked from behind him. “I have nowhere to place my legs.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You’ll have to scoot in behind me and wrap your arms around my waist. Then I’ll slide this harness around you and secure you to my hips.”
“Okay, but what about your backpack?” she asked.
“Oh yeah.” He closed it, and offered it to her.
Grendel reluctantly accepted the pack and shrugged it on. “How can you carry this all day? It’s heavy.”
He shrugged. “I hardly notice it anymore.”
She gazed at him, and hesitated.
“Maybe we could tie another tendon around this dragon,” she said. “And I can use that instead. Or we can retrieve the saddle from Nemertes.”
“Too late for that now,” he said. “We’re leaving. I’m not going to untie the Balor’s sword just to get access to the saddle. Besides, it’s too big, it won’t fit on Abigail’s back.”
“But what about the tendon option?” she pressed.
“No tendons,” he said.
She sighed, then she hiked up her dress almost to the point where he could see her panties, and then squeezed in behind him. He could see her bare legs on either side of him as the dress settled around her upper thighs. She had very nice legs indeed.
Noticing his gaze, she frowned. “Should’ve worn a riding dress.”
He could smell that mint and lavender breath of hers. A good smell.
“Do you have one?” he asked, his voice catching ever so slightly in his throat.
“No,” she admitted.
He slid the harness down over her head and around her waist, so that it wrapped both of them, and tightened it. She squeezed against his back, pressing up against his dragonscale armor.
Her breathing seemed to change subtly, when she clung so close against his body like that. It almost seemed… aroused.
She hasn’t been with a man in years, he reminded himself. Maybe decades. He grinned widely. I’m going to have to remedy that.
But then he remembered where they were flying. And that there was a good chance none of them would make it through this alive, especially not her, this vessel of the Paragon.
He closed his eyes, and hung his head.
“What’s wrong?” Grendel said, her voice betraying no hint of the arousal he thought he’d sensed. “Are we going to take off, or what?”
Malem raised his head, and glanced at the other dragons. Their riders had secured themselves between the wing stalks just as Malem had. Gwen and Ziatrice rode with Mauritania and Wendolin, respectively.
Metals, scoop up as much of this hoard as you can, Malem ordered. We can use it to augment my treasury.
There isn’t enough here to pay even half the army for a month, Ziatrice commented.
Every little bit helps, Malem said.
The metals grabbed heaping scoops of the treasure in the talons of their fore and hind legs, and then took to the air.
Nemertes didn’t bother—she already had enough of a burden. She rose ponderously, and followed behind the other six dragons.
Going to be a long flight, Nemertes sent.
33
Soon, the scarred plains gave way to the green ocean of the Midweald. Malem kept the dragons high, flying well above the forest. He had learned his lesson the first time he had cross this forest on dragonback, when scouts of Mauritania had fired the Green Rot up at him and his dragons. The Eldritch magic had penetrated the scales of Abigail and Weyanna, and they crashed into the forest. The magic had crippled them for the rest of the journey through the Midweald: they had to cross in human form, too weak to become dragons. It hadn’t been the most enjoyable of experiences.
He studied the distant treetops, and the occasional clearings among them. There could be rogue mages hidden down there even now, or monsters with innate magic such as basilisks, or the witchdoctors of gobling tribes. Yes, it was best to remain as high as possible so that he could have some warning of incoming magic. It did mean that he and the others had to constantly scan the trees far below. The dragons were doing that even now.
Except, perhaps, Nemertes. She lagged behind them, flapping her wings laboriously. He could see her visibly panting: her neck curled back and forth with each breath, her lungs heaved. Of course, he couldn’t actually hear her panting above the wind generated by the flight of his passage.
Do you need a break, Nemertes? he sent.
No, she said.
You sure? he asked.
Yes! she replied.
Yes you need a break, or yes you’re sure? he pressed. He couldn’t help the mocking tone that crept into his voice.
Fuck! Nemertes said. Just let me fly!
I deserved that, he thought. Poor dragon.
He fed her stamina, taking from himself, Gwen, Mauritania, Wendolin, and Ziatrice, and he sensed relief from her, but she didn’t send thanks. He didn’t expect her to.
Eventually, she did indeed need a rest, and Malem picked out a clearing in the forest for the party to land. Not all the dragons could fit, and they had to perch partially on the trees and the ground nearby. Nemertes got most of the clearing all to herself, which was only right.
Solan ferreted out a moose from the forest, and deposited the carcass, replete with dripping blood, in front of her.
“All yours,” Solan said.
Nemertes wrapped her jaws around the head. She glanced up in delight. “Still warm! You’re such a dear. Did I ever tell you: if I were still sexually active, I’d choose you as a mate?” It was such an odd thing, hearing her say those words while holding the moose’s head partially in her mouth.
“I heard that from Gannet, yes,” Solan said.
She began to devour it greedily.
“Breakfast in bed,” she said between bites, with bloody tendons hanging from her teeth. “Now this is how an old dragon such as myself should be treated. Like a princess, not some pack mule!”
“Got news for you,” Xaxia said. “You don’t really look like a princess right now, with bloody sinews drooping from your teeth.”
“I look like a princess whether I have intestines in my mouth or feces smeared across my face!” Nemertes boomed, rearing her head. “Now let me eat in peace.”
Xaxia was cowering before the display of might, but when the dragon returned her attention to the meal, the bandit recovered enough to shrug. “Touchy.”
“Why do you think she’s taking so long to eat it?” Gwen asked Malem softly. She didn’t want Nemertes to hear, evidently. “She’s taking such small bites. She could swallow it whole, by my estimate.”
“Maybe she wants to savor it,” he said. “Maybe she’s too tired for bigger bites.”
When they had rested, the party took to the air once more. Malem landed only once m
ore before reaching his kingdom in the Midweald, so that the big dragon could rest.
And then, by early afternoon, the party reached the massive clearing his army had clear-cut from the forest. His city was progressing well: he could see buildings in various stages of construction below, spanning the clearing from one side to the other.
Near the perimeter, dragons cleared trees and dug pits in the ground, paving the way for new structures. Behind them, oraks chopped away the branches from the fallen boles, forming logs. Further in, men and oraks used ropes to haul logs to the construction sites. Earth elementals, directed by mages among them, helped stab those logs into the ground, forming the foundations of different buildings. Other earth elementals carried large stones to each site, while rock elementals pounded those stones into dust to be used for bricks. Goblings mixed the stone dust with water and lime, and set them in molds that were heated in kilns kept lit by fire mages. Dwarven bricklayers stood on ladders and applied the finished bricks to partly formed walls. Nimble night elves and Eldritch used ropes to move across the outer surfaces of the completed brick buildings, and pressed plaster over the exteriors.
The troops were definitely earning their pay.
And yet, despite all of this, Malem felt a growing rage: the army was supposed to be preparing to march.
This doesn’t look like an army mobilizing for war, Gwen commented.
No, Malem said. It does not.
He sounds pissed, Mauritania said.
Goodie! Ziatrice commented. Maybe we’ll see some rolling heads.
Just yours, Mauritania told her.
Ha! Ziatrice said. Your head is going to roll before mine ever does!
We’ll see, Mauritania replied.
The avenues between buildings were designed to be wide so that dragons could pass through alongside the smaller monsters, if they so desired. There were a few Blacks and Blues lounging there in the sun, along with other members of his dark host, and they looked up lazily as he passed. If they recognized him, the monsters didn’t show it: most merely lowered their heads to rest once more.
Look at those lazy bastards! Brita exclaimed. Earning pay for lounging about!
