Blademage Dragontamer

by Deck Davis

  Did that mean his taming skill didn’t work on command? Or that it didn’t rely on magic? More importantly, that it didn’t rely on Larynk’s sphere? If his taming was something inherent inside him, then even if he couldn’t use it except to help things, at least he didn’t have to beg Larynk for scraps of power. It was something.

  The realization left him as quickly as it had come, replaced with worry. Flink seemed okay, but what about Longtooth.

  “Where’s the rat?” he said.

  “Hmph. Don’t talk to me about him.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t you remember? Before the pirates got us, he was going to leave.”

  “He was just scared, Flink.”

  “In my village, you don’t leave people because you’re scared.”

  “This is all new to him. When I met him, he’d never even left his lair. He pretends he’s fascinated with everything, but he’s crapping himself. Give him a break.”

  Flink stood up. “I might have known you’d take his side.”

  “C’mon,” said Charlie. “Sit down. I’m thankful you looked after me, really. But you didn’t have to undress me.”

  She stormed out of the dwelling, leaving Charlie alone with only one thought; women. Or gnomes. Or half-human gnomes, to be exact.

  He got up. His legs were still shaky like a punch-drunk boxer, and he only made it as far as the chair before he sat down. He grabbed another jug, full of clean water this time, and gulped it down. Some went down his windpipe, and he spluttered.

  He wiped the water from him and propped a metal plate against the wall and studied his reflection. Man, he wasn’t getting any prettier since the last time he’d stared at his ugly mug. Flink had gotten rid of most of the blood, but his left eye was swollen and purple from where he’d hit the ground face-first, and his beard was dirty and scraggly. He thought about using his dagger to shave it, but he stopped. As stupid as it sounded, his beard was only of the only things he had going for him right now. It was a prop; beards were cool, and by extension, it made him feel better about himself.

  He gathered himself together. There was still a hell of a lot to do, and he felt guilty he’d been out for a day and a half. The others would have been working on their escape, collecting things from the forest to fix Crosseyes’s ship.

  Crosseyes. The name jarred his thoughts, and he remembered what Mia had said, about how he’d tricked the god who had made him, by finding out his Alter and selling the information to buy his ship.

  Suddenly, everything seemed to clear now. Crosseyes’s excuse for wanting to sphere gaze on Larynk’s sphere was bullshit. He didn’t want to look at a past he’d forgotten, it wasn’t about nostalgia.

  The answer was a lot simpler. Was it more likely that a pirate who’d plundered and pillaged for centuries would suddenly turn over a new leaf? Or was it more probable that he had simply changed his method of stealing, that he had a new idea in mind?

  Crosseyes wanted to look into Larynk’s sphere because he thought he’d be able to find his Alter. Then, he’d use that to bargain for something. For Serpens to clear a passage for him to escape, maybe? Or would he try and sell the information to the demi-gods in the Pantheon, in return for an even greater reward?

  The train of thought brought another idea to him; one that he’d never considered, one that caught him by surprise, going against his nature.

  If Charlie could find out what Larynk’s alter was, then the power shifted back to him. Larynk might hold his spells in his sphere, but if Charlie had that vital piece of information, he could make Larynk do what he wanted.

  Or, he could stop thinking like that. He wasn’t a sneak; he never had been. Betrayal was as foreign to him as the idea that boybands could actually write pretty good music, or that Adam Sandler was a misunderstood genius. He just couldn’t contemplate it.

  Larynk might hold the cards, but he held them for a good reason; he wanted to escape Serpens’ planet. Charlie trusted his motives, even if he didn’t like his power over him.

  Maybe he could tell Larynk about Crosseyes, but that would cause a rift. The fact was, they couldn’t escape if they didn’t have Crosseyes’s ship. They’d be stuck here with Serpens, the god of dragons who was losing his mind, and Mia, the pirate who now hated him.

  Goddamn it. It was his fault, wasn’t it? Sure, Mia was here because she wanted Crosseyes, but if Charlie hadn’t accidently shorted the forest defence, she’d have never been able to land safely. She’d have been forced to crash-land just like Crosseyes had, and her crew wouldn’t have been in a good enough shape to set up camp and capture freaking dragons.

  Between Serpens and the dragons, they were screwed if they stayed, but the dragon god wouldn’t let them leave. So, they were going to have to find their own escape, like they’d planned. He was going to have to trust Crosseyes to fix his ship.

  He was going to have to keep it to himself for now. Play along with Crosseyes, get away from the planet and to safety, and then he’d tell Larynk. Until then, he was just going to have to keep on as he was; improving his skills, working on his taming, and helping Crosseyes with his ship.

  A sound from outside the dwelling broke him from his thoughts. It was a chorus of voices, ranging from angry shouts to what sounded like pleading. He hurried outside, willing his woozy legs to carry him. Then he stopped, frozen in place at the door, staring at the scene outside.

  Serpens was there, his bare chest covered in sweat. He waved his dragon arms around like a madman, flailing them but not actually hitting anything. His face was as pale as ever, cast almost in marble like Larynk’s, yet anger was woven deeply into it. Beside him, his humongous dragon eyed the villagers, with green lights glowing between the cracks in its dragon scales. Its head was so big that Charlie could have climbed into its nostrils, if he liked the idea of being burned alive by dragon breath.

  “You broke it,” said Serpens, pointing.

  Charlie flinched. At first, he thought Serpens was pointing at him, then realized his finger was aimed at Ozkar.

  The three-nippled village elder kneeled before his god. “I swear to you, Serpens, I”

  “You dare use my name?”

  The villagers muttered to each other. To a man, none dared meet their god’s stare.

  Serpens smiled now, and the sudden change in expression was jarring. Even though he was smiling, there was something deeply cruel behind it; a knowledge that no one else had, knowledge of wicked intentions. It was the smile of a madman. No, not a madman. A mad god. That was much, much worse.

  “Come, mortals,” Serpens said, a tone of insanity undercutting his voice. “Tell me; I won’t be mad. Who broke the forest squares?”

  Fear tugged at Charlie’s chest. Serpens was blaming the villagers for what happened in the forest. The villagers would see him soon, and they’d blame him.

  It would have been so easy to go back into the dwelling and close the door. To let Serpens’ madness overtake him and let him blame his people.

  Damn it. Why can’t I be more like Mia or Crosseyes?

  He strode forward across the village, his steps shaky. If he didn’t already know that it was the effect of his concussion, he would have said his legs were unwilling to take him to Serpens. He pushed on, until he was past Ozkar, and he stood in front of the god.

  The dragon flicked a lizard-like eye in his direction. It breathed out, and a gust of warm air bathed him, drying the water he’d splashed over his face.

  “This is not your business, mortal,” Serpens said.

  Charlie cleared his throat. Was he going to do this?

  He had to.

  “Actually, it is my business. It was me. I broke the square.”

  Then he waited. He waited for Serpens to focus his fury on him. He didn’t know what the god would do, and every cell in his body begged him to run, but he stayed. He couldn’t leave and let innocents take the blame.

  But instead of punishment, Serpens ignored him. “Come with me,” he
said.

  This wasn’t directed at him; it was at Ozkar.

  “Come with me,” he repeated.

  “You’re not listening,” said Charlie. “It was my mistake, not his.”

  Serpens spoke in a faint voice now. “If one mortal can ruin my defence, then I must address my concerns with its maker. Come, mortal, we will talk about this elsewhere.”

  Ozkar reluctantly approached the dragon. As he did, Serpens swiped out, smashing his cheeks with the back of his hand. It seemed like such an easy blow for him, but Ozkar’s jaw broke and hung loose, and he collapsed to the ground with blood pouring from his mouth. The villagers almost lost their heads, some burst into tears while others wailed. Some looked at the ground, their fists clenched, terror written on their faces.

  Charlie felt woozy. He wanted to do something, but what?

  He didn’t get the time to think. Serpens and his dragon took to the sky, with Ozkar, unconscious and led across its neck. With a great flap of wings, the dragon departed, and they flew east, toward the forest.

  The guilt in Charlie’s stomach was so strong it almost knocked him over. He couldn’t let this rest, but what could he do? Where was Serpens taking Ozkar?

  This was his fault. All of it. He couldn’t just watch.

  “Apollo,” he shouted.

  The chimera scrambled across the ground, his paws scraping on the stone. Charlie leapt on his back and onto his saddle, and he pointed at Serpens.

  “Follow that god!” he said.

  A figure ran toward him. It was Larynk, his marble eyes wide. “Wait!” he said.

  “I can’t let this happen,” said Charlie.

  “Damn it, you mortal idiot. I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  If Serpens had gone much further, they would have lost him. As it was, Charlie and Layrnk rode Apollo through the forests, watching through the treeline to see the silhouette of Serpens’s dragon in the sky, a blot in heavens casting a shadow over everything it passed.

  When they reached the edge of the treeline, the dragon descending swiftly to the ground, landing next to a giant dragonstone mound in the middle of a grassy plain. This structure dwarfed anything back in the village, rising so high that even a kilometre away, Charlie’s neck hurt when he tried to see the top of it.

  This was the furthest into the forest they’d ever been, and now they caught a glimpse of what else covered the planet; this world wasn’t just one giant forest, but instead the land beyond the trees was a plain of plush, overgrown grass, some blades taller than a dragon, other flattened. Gigantic skulls were spread around, bleached hulks of bone with open mouths, and long, trailing skull bodies. They could only have been dragons, long dead beasts standing as landmarks amongst the grass.

  “Did you really have to hold my waist?” said Charlie, all too aware now that Larynk’s arms were wrapped around him.

  “I thought I was going to fall off. Your lion needs more training.”

  Charlie patted Apollo, who responded by giving him a giant lick, coating his whole face in salvia.

  “So, do we keep going?” said Charlie.

  “Unless you came here for the view?”

  “What if he sees us?”

  It turned out to be a moot point; Serpens dismounted from his dragon and ushered it into the colossal mound of stone. Then, he remerged alone and dragged Ozkar with him.

  Charlie, Larynk and Apollo entered the wild grass. It was like walking through a giant cornfield, where the grass was so high they couldn’t see anything to their sides. The only thing they could see was the landmark ahead, the jagged dragonstone tower that rose into the sky.

  The wind whipped the grass ahead of him, and one edge of a blade of grass chopped into another, scissoring it. Where the grass had been cut a greed liquid spurted, spreading on the ground and sizzling. So, not only was the grass so razor-thin it could cut things, but some kind of toxic chemical burned inside it.

  He suddenly became all too aware that he was trapped with long stalks of sharp grass on either side. He crouched a little lower, so the swaying tips of the grass blades couldn’t get anywhere close to him, and he focussed on the dragonstone tower.

  When they reached it, Charlie’s nerves were a mess. All it took now was for Serpens to see them, and that’d be it. On the other hand, how were they going to help Ozkar without Serpens realizing? They couldn’t exactly sneak the villager away.

  “How are we going to get him out?” said Charlie.

  “We’re not. We’re here to see what Serpens is doing.”

  “I can just leave him. It’s my fault he’s in this mess.”

  “Blame yourself all you want. I’m here to see what the lunatic is doing. Wait – you hear that?”

  He did. A chorus of chants came from the dragonstone, drifting from the opening in the centre of it, a hole that gaped like a hungry mouth. There was something sinister about the chanting; it wasn’t words, for one thing, but a chorus of sing-song growls, like a hoard of beasts trying to hum a tune. It sounded wrong; like a lion roaring along to a pop song. Maybe that would have been worse, actually.

  The effect was that Charlie didn’t move. He wanted to creep inside, but he was worried about what he’d see. But Larynk was right; they needed to see what Serpens was doing. Even if they couldn’t risk helping Ozkar, they hadn’t come all this way just to turn back. Whatever information they could find about Serpens was an advantage.

  “Stay here, boy,” he told Apollo.

  He and Larynk crept toward the opening and then went inside. Inside the dragon tower it was one big atrium, a cavernous opening that seemed to stretch for miles horizontally and vertically. The walls and roof were made from dull brown dragonstone, except parts of them glowed green, and various skeletons were fasted to them.

  There were people here, but not ones Charlie had ever seen. They wore the same style tunics and shirts as the villagers, except these people weren’t half as muscled. Their malnourished limbs were all skin and bone, and some had hair falling out from their scalps. Some of them had dragon scales on their skin, almost as if they had been grafted onto them. Together with the strange animal noises they chanted in unison, it gave them such an inhuman effect that Charlie shuddered.

  Who were they? And why were they here instead of in the village? What the hell was going on with their bodies?

  At the far end of the atrium were Serpens, his dragon, Ozkar, and yet another dragon, except this one looked dead. Its scales had lost their lustre, and it had a hole torn its side. It’s orange lizard-like eyes were wide open but unmoving. Ozkar was laid out on a rectangular alter made from dragon bone. He was unconscious, and his jaw hung sickeningly loose.

  Charlie shot Larynk a look, and it was strangely reassuring that the god seemed as freaked out as he was.

  “Another mortal has disappointed me,” said Serpens, his voice booming. Then, he looked sad. “Have I not protected you all? Have I not done my best for you? And you cannot even do as I ask. This man will be a lesson to you all.”

  The chanting continued regardless of Serpens’ words, a chorus of bestial sing-song, each noise sending a chill down Charlie’s spine.

  Serpens walked to his dragon – his alive dragon – and grabbed hold of its eyeball. He wrenched it free.

  Charlie gasped. Then he covered his mouth with his hand. He expected the dragon to roar, to rise up in fury and scorch the hell out of the place, but it didn’t flinch. And then he realized why.

  That wasn’t its eyeball. It was Serpens’ power sphere.

  Unlike Larynk’s obsidian sphere, Serpens’ was orange, and when it rested it seemed to hold fire inside it, streams and whirls of orange and red that mixed together inside the glass.

  He placed the sphere on the alter next to Ozkar. Then, he took Ozkar’s hand and placed it on the sphere. He grabbed the giant paw of his dead dragon and lifted it like it weighed nothing and placed it over Ozkar’s hand, as though the injured mortal and dead monster were making a pa
ct.

  “What was lost will be renewed. And with this mortal’s failure comes a chance to be reborn!”

  Orange, mana-like light burst from the sphere and coated the villager and the dragon, twisting tendrils of flames and energy mixing and melding, lashing over them and covering both their skins. A fog rose from the mixture, thick and black, and the smell travelled the atrium until Charlie, even way over at the entrance, gagged on it.

  But the chants carried on, rising and falling with the octaves of the same bestial tune, over and over, and Charlie felt the sounds burrow into his mind.

  He ducked away from entrance and then, outside, took a deep breath, filling his lungs with clean air.