Red Axe, Black Sun

by Michael Karner

  The pariahs’ weapon wasn’t made of steel, or silver, or any other metal derived from fallen stars or earth-born. It was a living being, a primeval thing chained to the structure of the aqueduct and buried beneath the city in a cold slumber. The first, only, and last dragon everyone attendant would ever see in their lives. You knew what it was when you saw one. Was it the fact that it was so outlandish and huge compared to any other creature, or the manifestation in every memory these beasts had left imprinted? Dryston didn’t know. He was only certain that someone had to tame it before it regained its full strength, when they wanted to use it against whatever came through the star alignment.

  GODSMITE TOOK A STEP FORWARD and mounted the aqueduct. He passed dragon priests on the way up and Cairn-breaker’s gangers that were brave or foolish enough to stay that close to the monstrosity. Godsmite looked it in the eye and approached its horned head, which was the size of an ox. The path was slippery and the heights already neckbreaking. The edges of the aqueduct fell down into a gaping abyss, in which the dragon was confined in the subterranean domain. It must have been brought in through air or sewer shafts that Godsmite didn’t want to imagine. A warm breeze from the heater fires and the breath of the beast blew up against his skin. He had seen fellow species in the wild, witnesses of an early age, like the wyrm he had hunted in the icy sea. But this one was the pinnacle of the inhabitants of old earth. It was a predator that could survive on land, in the skies, and underwater. It had also fought the wyrms. It had fighting wounds of bites and sucker cups of a kraken. Some wounds never healed, Godsmite thought, as he raised his hands to the scarred scale-surface. His hands, too, were bound. The shackles vibrated. The screws shook and loosened. They moved as if touched by an invisible hand and unscrewed themselves. Burst open, the handcuffs slipped from his wrists and clanked onto the ground. Without even wondering what had opened his chains, Godsmite took the last step and touched the beast.

  It felt wet and cold. And immensely hard.

  Godsmite came to as the demon left him. He remembered nothing since falling asleep in the cellar. He hadn’t fallen asleep gently. It was more of a stroke, a sudden blackout, where his brain shut down and left his body crumbling to the ground. Overloaded by the information that had entered his mind, the information that something different than him was about to take control. The demon had traveled far and fast, using the open window the star alignment presented into this world. Somehow, the demon had found Godsmite in this damp cellar. He knew this from when he had shared his mind with the demon and it suppressed him in his own mind like in a prison. Not that walls or iron would hinder it. The entity had looked for the strongest being alive; it always did.

  The demon left Godsmite the moment it felt the pulse of the dragon leaving hibernation. Controlling the dragon’s form, the demon reared its head and snapped at Godsmite. Without effort it bit into the barbarian king’s arm and tore it off at the shoulder. Godsmite was still standing when the huge jaws opened and consumed him in searing fire, tearing armor, clothes, skin and muscles from his bones as if he were falling into a sun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  PARIAHS’ AQUEDUCT

  THE BEAST STOPPED TO LET out an earth-shattering, primeval scream, invoking the same fear every human had. It drowned Jarnsaxa’s shriek that was so loud it made her throat bleed. She only realized she had uttered his name when Godsmite was gone. And then all hell broke loose.

  SOMEHOW, the chains that held the dragon down had vanished. The creature just wanted to be break free, but only after repaying its tormentors. It spat igniting naphtha into the rows still standing on the aqueduct, like veterans standing in front of a trophy or historical monument they had claimed. Pariahs, gangers, and barbarians were showered in fire and dropped into the abyss like fireflies.

  On the ground, it wasn’t less chaotic. Argis dived forward. He armed himself with an axe and was going to get away as long as he was still alive. This was not what his elven seers had foreseen. Why hadn’t they told him this?

  Dryston saw Argis break away and looked to Skadi. He had promised not turn her in for the antidote. He had promised that he would find another plan. But what he promised most to himself was that he would take Argis down for what he had done to Skadi. The antidote was gone now. There wasn’t much left of the pariahs, the only people that would have built up reserves, and there was no way Argis was going to strike a deal with them now. His chance of surviving the poison was practically zero. The realization came with such clarity now. The struggle and uncertainty was over. This was the point where it was clear that he had been chasing something he wouldn’t reach. The desperation fired his limbs up and drew the last reserves from his poisoned body as he started into one last sprint. He would reach Cairn-breaker. He would take Argis down with him.

  THAENA ASHCROFT SHOT the crossbow she had reclaimed from the crypt, a last token of her lost hideout. She engaged the dragon together with the Wild Hunt and contributed to the few who were able to reach the monstrosity at all. Throwing axes, daggers, bolts, arrows hurtled through the air from beside her. Most missiles bounced away from the armor-like scales. Some got stuck and broke from the impact.

  Thaena found herself a good position to lie on her back, crossbow prepped between her legs and aiming with her feet. She released the string and chucked another bolt, reloading without lowering her aim. And another. And another. Her pace already matched the repeating crossbow of Asukara Uryah, who was shooting from the middle of the crowd, producing distinct clanks.

  This was before the dragon became airborne, of course. Something that big should not have the mobility to move that fast. It manoeuvred through the narrow vault, defying gravity with wing strokes like a squid, hitting the ceiling multiple times and sending down debris.

  Once in the air, there was only running away from it. The dragon opened its mouth and showered the aqueduct hall with liquid fire. A pack of Cairn-breaker’s gangers got caught yards away from Thaena. They instantly caught fire and began to melt, screaming. Thaena saw the last survivors trudging through a wall of fire, a clown-faced elf and an ork with a skull-mask. They both collapsed when out of the fire, arms outstretched to her. The stench of naphtha and burnt flesh assailed Thaena’s nostrils like she had never known before. But the dragon’s shriek was worse as it passed over. The rugged, flailing wings flapped, compressing air in the confined space that nearly knocked her from her feet. The scream was trapped inside the dungeon and reverberated from wall to wall. The creature looked for a way out, sending echoes to its unknown surroundings that drummed in Thaena’s ears, making her almost numb. All she could think was that they must not let it out to roam freely in the world. Her kids were out there. She would rather bury herself together with the dragon beneath the surface.

  ASUKARA URYAH’S FIVE-SHOT MAGAZINE clacked empty. He doubted that his weapon had done much damage. The bolts were like pinpricks, at best. Ravage’s orc-bow would do more, but his aim was off. It proved nearly impossible to hit vital points during flyby. The dragon’s form looked like an acupunctured patient. It flick-rolled through clouds of grime and raining ash.

  “Keep calm and run for your lives,” the orc joked.

  Asukara Uryah’s sense for gallows humor had gone missing entirely since he had lost his eye. He wasn’t sure what could injure the dragon at all. Magic, maybe.

  Out of his dead angle, a figure emerged, one of the many withdrawing. It was on collision course with Asukara. He saw it too late to avoid crashing, but he saw just in time that it wasn’t fleeing at all. It was about to attack. He knew the figure. It was the one that claimed his eye: the Kolanthel. The reason he had taken the trouble to join the Kolanthel-hunters and come here.

  Asukara let go of the empty crossbow and drew sharp bolts with each hand. He didn’t believe in an eye for an eye; he believed in two eyes for an eye.

  The assassin sidestepped him and went straight after Kyra. He accepted a bolt in his torso just to reach her. Asukara saw at point blank range that
he had gone through more than this. His face and hands showed fresh burn scars. The Kolanthel respected dragons and mages now. He knew about the value of the sorceress.

  IT WAS A RARE DAY when Argis Cairn-breaker didn’t understand things. He didn’t understand when things went wrong. He had seen his archenemy of Vacomany ripped apart, but the events had gotten out of hand. Why hadn’t his seers told him about that? Was this something they hadn’t foreseen? Or was this something they simply hadn’t told him. Had he been misled by his own council? They weren’t human, after all.

  The bounty-hunter he had promised the antidote to caught up with him. He was surprised when the man’s axe hit him in the neck, tore through his artery and got stuck in his spine, locking him with his killer awkwardly in place for a moment. Argis crashed to his knees, his eyes staring at a point far away.

  DRYSTON COULD HEAR SKADI startle as he put his knee on Cairn-breaker’s thigh and pulled the axe free, releasing a gush of blood. The body slumped down like a felled tree, burying his face into the ground.

  Dryston broke down on his knees and his neck sagged. With the perception of his victory, he also knew that he was abandoning any chance of a remedy. He had cut the lifeline that could have pulled him back. But it was the right thing. Men like Argis Cairn-breaker had done so much evil that they didn’t deserve to live. He had made him pay for his sins. One soul against another. The old trade. Nothing had changed since the beginning.

  Skadi rushed to his side and caught him from toppling over. She propped him up with all her force and held him tight, then tried to look into his lowered eyes.

  “Dryston?”

  “I promised you I would take him down for you,” he managed to say.

  “What’s happening with you?” she asked.

  “Too many injuries,” he lied. He hadn’t ever told her about the poison that was driving him to undertake that mission. He didn’t tell her that he was planning to trade her for the antidote and only changed his mind at the last moment. In her perception, he was one of the heroes that were brave enough to follow her path and work down the death-list that was the purpose of her life. It wouldn’t benefit either of them if he were to shatter her illusion with the truth.

  He wasn’t the noble hero she thought he was. He never was the shire reeve many believed.

  “What’s happening?” she sobbed, closing in so that her head was above his.

  He smiled as he suddenly felt warm rain trickle on his face.

  AN ERUPTION GRIPPED the elf-assassin shortly before he could hit Kyra. The shockwave hurtled him through the air, where he clashed together with Ysara Horne. She dived into him and took him down, coming too close for her sword. They crashed onto the floor, and the woman somehow managed to get the upper hand. Coming out on top, she pinned the Kolanthel’s knife arm against the ground and reached for the sword lying at her side. It all happened in a blur for Kyra, emotions and instinct taking over in a dangerous struggle. The elf-assassin’s legs wrapped around Ysara’s neck and shoulders and began to choke her, holding her head and arm in place.

  Kyra’s vision was fading, the damages of her own spell clearly visible on her. A split lip, trembling fingers, her eyes bloodshot and wide. Her heart rate had accelerated beyond healthy numbers and she felt the urge to throw up any time.

  She couldn’t help Ysara, not with her magic and not without. Ravage was on the spot, together with Barknar, to intervene. The choke hold on Ysara’s neck was so tight the woman was already passing out.

  “Help me finish that bastard!” Ravage cried. He lifted his boot to stomp on the elf’s head while he was helpless on the ground.

  Barknar’s spear pierced through the orc’s thigh and got stuck to the end of the rusty blade, making Ravage cry out in pain.

  “It looks good on you, orc-scum,” Barknar remarked and let the spear, with its victim, fall.

  Kyra’s mind refused to believe what she was seeing. The treason unfolding in front of her, when Barknar helped up the assassin from underneath her unconscious friend.

  This was the moment she had dreaded the most all those times. The moment where her powers failed her and all bets were off. She looked out for the one that could save her now.

  Her last strength left her body as she recognized Dryston’s crumpled form with Skadi at his side, her bent back showing the tattooed death-list through layers of torn clothes.

  Kyra had brought him into this, and now she was too late to save him.

  The elf grabbed her, this time sure that there would be no retribution. Barknar turned away from her, running as far from the maimed orc as his feet allowed. From the vault’s heights, out of the darkness, the dragon returned.

  THE DRAGON WANTED TO GET OUT, it was consistent in that much. It steered its body up into a vertical rise, once having located a ventilation shaft that was broad enough to fit through. It was a stretch, even for a creature as versatile as the dragon, but the need to reach the surface and the will of freedom drove it on. It bumped against the shaft walls, scratching scales, claws, and horns on the way up, splintering stuck bolts and arrows like toothpicks as it went.

  Far down in the scorched chamber, a crippled pariah activated a lever as her last action to stop the monster. A grumble went through the ceiling of the building above their heads. The afflux to the heater stones opened, redirecting, built-up magma streams past the opened floodgate into the ventilation shaft. A split-second too late, it missed the dragon flying by the lock. The immense temperature caused its wings to catch fire for a moment. The gnome warden priestess looked up to see its burning wings being brushed off by the shaft walls as it exited the underground domain. A second later, the stream of magma came down over her and the remaining survivors in the aqueduct hall.

  THAENA ASHCROFT was panting as she reached Dryston. She skidded on her knees and looked in Skadi’s face for any hint about Dryston’s state. The Valkyrie shook her head.

  “He’s not gonna make it.”

  “Damn you are!” Thaena exclaimed. She grabbed Dryston by the collar and shook him, trying to bring him back to the living. “Wake up! You’re not allowed to die! I don’t allow you to die, you hear me?”

  “I don’t care what anybody allows me,” Dryston replied. “I take what I want, just like I took Cairn-breaker’s life, and right now, what I want is rest.”

  Thaena slapped him across the face and brought Dryston back round for a moment. His eyes were beginning to faint again.

  “Damn you, Dryston!” she cried. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t you remember the time when we were about to step into Skybridge?”

  “I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast today,” he joked.

  “I was too afraid to go on. I wanted to take the easy road and leave, but you taught me to take the hard road. It is a choice, you told me. Look what that choice let me become!”

  “You made the right choice,” he told her. “I can’t believe it’s you, Thaena. I don’t even recognize you anymore. I mean it in a good way.”

  “Don’t let me down now. Now it’s me who has to tell you to fight on.” She looked around desperately.

  “There’s nothing left to fight for me,” Dryston said. “My work here is accomplished.”

  “I need you! The dragon is gone. It escaped to the surface. My kids are out there! You know what that means? I have to do the same thing that you taught me that day. My quiver’s empty; I’ve no bolts left, but I will chase this beast away from my kids. I won’t allow myself to give up, as much as I won’t allow you to!”

  She touched his forehead with her fingers and took leave, running to rescue her children.

  Skadi, the only one left there, embraced him tightly in her arms.

  “I’ll tell you the story of my home,” she began, rocking him back and forth. “It’s not one that I tell easily, but to you, it is an honor to let me tell it to you. You have contributed to vengeance on one of the men who began that story. You have closed one of the circles. If there is anything you wish fo
r, I will do it for you.”

  Dryston propped himself up and leant closer to Skadi.

  “I know your story”, Dryston said. “Now there is one man left on the list, who I never heard of. I don’t know where he is, but you will find out one day. That’s why I want you to leave. Get away as long as you can and live to fight another day. Survive and kill the last one. Think of it as doing it for me. The end is important in all things. If you can end it than I can die knowing my feat here was not futile.”

  She nodded. Skadi swallowed and got up to leave.

  “I promise.”

  THE ABYSS GAPED BENEATH HER, the same blackness that had swallowed her love after the primeval creature had ravaged the barbarian king’s body. The unthinkable had happened, something she had never prepared for. The one she had set all her hope on was suddenly gone and left her with a void that could not be filled with new promises or faith in the future. She didn’t know how much time had gone by, staring into the dark, and she didn’t know how much longer she would continue. It didn’t matter. Ultimately, her muscles would give in, and she would slump down like the burning remains of her love and savior.

  “Jarnsaxa,” a voice called her.

  She turned, her face robbed of any expression. King Tancred stood at the other side of the aqueduct. He had come from slaying Godfrey, and though it felt that he had fulfilled his reason for coming, the release of the dragon made everything else pale in comparison. Tancred moved awkwardly, cautious at a height that seemed to not affect Jarnsaxa at all.

  “Jarnsaxa,” he repeated. His voice was croaky and shaking for a king. His kingdom was on fire. Jarnsaxa guessed he realized the mistake he had made. He didn’t want to make his next by losing her too. He stretched his gloved hand out to her.