by Isaac Hooke
Xaxia pouted, and headed for Weyanna instead.
While Gwen and Ziatrice bickered among themselves over who got to ride the silver, Malem climbed the wing Abigail offered. The membranous surface bounced like a trampoline beneath him until he reached the more solid body. He pulled himself onto her back, her silvery scales shining iridescent beneath the rays of the morning sun, and sat between where her two wings became stalks joined to her back. He hooked his armored legs underneath the jagged cross-guards that protruded a thigh-width from the base of each stalk, and further secured himself with small ropes wrapped around either leg.
Ziatrice joined him. Apparently she had won the chance to ride with him.
She sat behind him, sliding the haft of her long halberd in front of his belly, and then gripping it on either side of his hips, forming a handhold. She suddenly tightened Wither hard against his waist, pulling him close.
“Now I’ve got you pinned,” the night elf commented in his ear. He felt her hot breath on his cheek.
“Now, now,” Malem said over his shoulder. “Behave.”
Abigail swiveled her long, silvery neck around to eye them. “What mischief are you two up to?”
Ziatrice loosened her hold on Wither’s haft. “Oh, nothing,” she said, acting all innocent.
Gwen joined Xaxia aback Weyanna, while the orak mage remained perched atop Thrawn. When they were secured, the three dragons, one silver, one bronze, and one white, took to the air. They flew eastward, staying low over the Midweald forest. The wind of their passage made it impossible to talk. Of course, he could easily converse with those he had Broken.
Abigail’s voice came in his head. I told my father your suspicions regarding the orak numbers.
And?
He agrees with what you said. The orak numbers never seem to diminish, while the ranks of the other races allied to Vorgon become fewer with each passing day. He has decided to keep the Metals involved in the war effort for now, but he’ll keep a wary eye on the orak numbers in the days to come. If they become too many, he’ll reassess his decision.
Your father isn’t going to bring this up at the next war council session? Malem asked.
No, Abigail replied. He doesn’t want to risk breaking the Alliance, as was your fear. Then again, maybe every general and mage seated on that council already knows.
You say he’ll reassess his decision if the oraks become too many, Malem said. But depending on how the fighting goes over the next few days, that reassessment could come well before the week is out.
Yes, Abigail agreed. The Alliance might be no more in a fortnight. Even if we succeed, we might come back to find the countryside overrun with oraks, or worse creatures of the dark. But I pray it doesn’t come to that.
All the more reason to do this quickly, Malem sent.
7
Malem and the others flew over the city of Craternia and its surrounding farms on the western edge of the Midweald. They soon left behind the populated outer regions for the untamed wilderness of the center, where monsters roamed unhindered. Malem recognized the region immediately, because of the way the greenery thinned below—the spiders that claimed these parts as their hunting grounds had cleared away the underbrush between the trunks to make trapping prey easier. It was kind of counterintuitive, because one might expect the spiders would like a lot of foliage to snag their foes, since these particular varieties didn’t construct webs, but the spiders were the ones who were snagged more often than not by any undergrowth, thanks to the hooks covering their legs.
But spiders weren’t the only denizens, of course. Gryphons. Wyrms. Satyrs. Hill giants. Ettins. Ogres. Trolls. Goblings. Kildebeests. These and more claimed the central Midweald as their domain.
The first monsters appeared here over two hundred years ago, before spreading to other, darker parts of the realm. Legend placed the blame for these monsters squarely on the shoulders of Banvil, who, as part of the Balor’s experiments to break through to our world, was rumored to have created several temporary portals to these woods, allowing lesser monsters to flow freely from the underworld until they were sealed. It took Banvil two hundred years to perfect its design and create a portal large enough for the Balor itself to break through.
So, what do you think of Weyanna? Abigail asked in a casual tone in his mind, interrupting his thoughts.
She’s pretty, he answered cautiously.
Pretty! Ha! She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes upon, isn’t she?
No, he told her. That would be you.
You’re such a liar, she sent. But I do love the flattery! Listen, you should know, if anyone is deserving of the title whore, it’s she. Xaxia is completely right in this case.
Malem flexed slightly against the cross-guards of the wing stalks that held him in place. Just because she was teasing me by undressing? You were the one who warned me all dragons like to tease humans. That hardly makes her a whore.
You do like her. Already sticking up for her, and you don’t even know her.
Malem didn’t have a comeback for that. His cheeks felt slightly warmer.
Trust me, this one is more than a tease, Abigail continued. She actually follows through. You see, she has developed a particular liking for real humans, not the half dragon variety. She fucks a new Alliance boy toy every night.
Nice. That’ll certainly improve Alliance moral. At least for those who get to claim the honor of boy toy.
Oh no. Not at all. You see, there’s a catch: she eats her toys after.
No. He regarded the majestic white dragon flying beside him in a new light. I mean, she looks so… benevolent. Not exactly the kind of dragon you’d expect to do something like that.
Her tent is near mine, so I hear it nightly. First there’s the panting and heaving as her toy releases himself into her, then the sound of a canopy zipping open, and the soft padding of a soldier sneaking away into the night. But it always ends in a gurgled scream that’s quickly cut short. I once caught her licking the fresh blood off her lips. I’m not really sure why she does it. Maybe she likes the taste of man flesh. Maybe she doesn’t want rumors spreading about her licentious nature. Or maybe she just does it, because, well, she can.
Malem shook his head. Well that certainly brings new meaning to the phrase “man-eater.” I can see now why the human kings forced you Metals to sign a peace treaty requiring transformation-limiting collars all those years ago.
We’re not all like her…
True enough. Though I suspect there are other Metals with her particular proclivities, Metals to whom humans are little more than playthings to be discarded. It’s they who are going to make the human kings regret ever repealing that treaty. He sat back slightly. So this is just another warning on your part for me not to touch her?
Basically, Abigail said. Though she might be the one doing the touching.
But you already said she wouldn’t dare disobey your father’s ruling about me…
She doesn’t really consider herself a true Metal, so she probably thinks the ruling doesn’t apply to her.
Hmm, Malem sent. Maybe she wouldn’t kill me afterward.
Oh?
If I can sleep with her, and Break her, she won’t be able to eat me. Not once I’ve taken control.
You’re assuming she won’t try to eat you the instant she detects what you’re doing.
She’ll want the pleasure. They always do. You did, after all. As did Gwen, and Ziatrice. It’s too great of a temptation to resist.
Abigail didn’t reply for several moments. Then: My recommendation to you: don’t attempt it.
He glanced at Weyanna, and realized she was watching him hungrily with one eye while she flew. He decided then that he’d probably heed Abigail’s advice. Last thing he needed was to find himself dead inside the belly of a horny dragon.
Without warning, emerald-colored streams of magic erupted from the forest below. The ghostly darts struck the underbellies of Abigail, Weyanna and Thrawn.
As Abigail and Weyanna bled altitude, they began to skim the treetops below, tearing away the upper branches with their undersides. The pain sensation he felt from her flared.
“Hang on,” Abigail said. Her voice had lost its booming quality, and barely carried above the wind.
She tucked in her wings, as did Weyanna beside her, and they dropped between the trunks of two dense pine trees, ripping away more branches as they plunged to the ground.
Abigail landed heavily and promptly collapsed.
Weyanna hit the earth not too far from her—he could see the white dragon through the trees, with Gwen and Xaxia still secured to her back.
Malem quickly loosened the ropes tying him to Abigail’s wing stalks, and slid free. Ziatrice removed her halberd, releasing her hold on him, but before the pair could climb off the silver dragon’s back, Abigail was transforming. In moments Malem and the night elf stood on empty air: they fell to the ground.
He hit, rolling to break his fall. He rose to one knee.
Abigail lay naked, in human form, beside him.
“Too weak… to remain… dragon,” she said.
For once the sight of her nakedness did nothing to arouse him, and instead elicited only deep concern: she had four terrible wounds in her chest. The injuries glowed green in the centers, indicating where the magical darts remained embedded; around each the skin was torn open, forming jagged messes exposing raw muscles and bones below. Blood pulsed free in waves.
He carefully probed her wound and tried grabbing one of the glowing darts to pull it free, but it burned his fingers and he snatched them away. The skin was charred. “Damn it.”
He wrapped a cloth around his fingers and tried again. This time he was able to find purchase, but the dart wouldn’t budge. Abigail moaned, and the agony emanating from her energy bundle quadrupled. He stopped; worried he was going to kill her.
He lowered his pack and reached inside, retrieving the red dress she had given him for safekeeping; he considered fetching her undergarments as well, but decided she didn’t need them at the moment. He also grabbed the bandages. Ziatrice laid her big halberd against a nearby tree, and with her help, he bound Abigail’s wounds. When that was done, they pulled the dress over her naked body. Abigail was able to help them by shifting as necessary so that the fabric didn’t catch on the ground.
After finishing, the night elf pressed her finger into the bulge of one of the bandages visible through the dress and exhaled with a hiss.
Ziatrice gave him an urgent glance. “It’s moist. She’s still bleeding. Badly.”
“Weyanna needs to heal her,” Malem said. “I’ll check what condition the white is in.”
“In the meantime I’ll see what I can do,” Ziatrice said. “Dark magic can heal, when the wounds are caused by related magics.”
He nodded, then headed through the trees. He was a little hesitant about leaving the injured half dragon alone with the night elf, but he reminded himself Ziatrice was bound to him. As was Abigail. If she tried anything, he’d be the first to know, and he’d clamp down his will upon hers. Besides, they’d be in sight through the trees at all times.
When he reached Weyanna, he found that Gwen and Xaxia had similarly cared for her. He could see the bulge of bandages beneath the half dragon’s clothing where they had dressed the wounds. They’d given her some of their own clothes, since hers was in Rathamias’ pack.
“Can you walk?” Malem asked Weyanna.
“If they help me to my feet, I think so,” the half dragon said. Her voice was strained, lacking all of its former sensuality. Not surprising.
“I need you to heal Abigail,” he told her.
Weyanna smiled weakly. “I can’t even heal myself.”
“Well you’re going to try,” he said. “Gwen.”
He held an arm under her shoulder, and waited for Gwen to do the same on her opposite side, and then they lifted her. They helped Weyanna through the forest, acting as her crutches.
When they neared Abigail, Weyanna said: “Let me go. I can walk on my own, I think.”
They tentatively released her, and Weyanna moved forward slowly. She almost lost her balance once, and Malem offered a hand but she waved him off. She continued until she reached Abigail, and then sat down heavily beside her.
“I treated her with my dark magic,” Ziatrice announced. “I was able to stop the bleeding, but that’s it. My magic couldn’t penetrate the green substance inside.”
“I might need some of that dark healing,” Weyanna said. “But first…”
She turned toward Abigail and held out a hand over her chest. Weyanna took a deep breath, and then ghostly threads of energy emerged from her fingers. They were the weakest healing tendrils he’d ever seen; so faint they barely showed against the backdrop of the forest.
The threads wrapped around the locations of the various bandages visible beneath the red dress, and began to seep inside, but then retreated as if stung. The magic promptly dissipated.
Weyanna slumped, lying down. “My healing magic won’t take. As soon as it touches the wounds, it recoils. The same happens when I try the magic on myself. Nor am I healing naturally.”
“What about you?” Malem asked Abigail.
“I don’t seem to be getting any better, so no,” Abigail said.
“Ziatrice, help Weyanna if you can,” he ordered. “Xaxia, stay here. Gwen, let’s go check on Thrawn and Rathamias.”
He didn’t want to tell them, but he could no longer sense Thrawn. Rathamias he felt, though the sense was weak at this distance. He suspected the orak was beyond the night elf’s telepathic link, because she didn’t update him on the creature’s status, and simply nodded absently.
As they closed, his sense of the orak became stronger, but Thrawn remained blank. He wondered if the dragon had perhaps retreated.
But he was crestfallen when he saw Thrawn, still in dragon form, sprawled before him between the trampled trees. The big creature lay motionless, with blood seeping from his open mouth. Sanguine fluid also poured from his other orifices: eyes, nostrils, ears, staining those bronze scales.
“No!” Gwen rushed to the dragon. She wrapped her arms around his head and sobbed. “He was so beautiful.”
Malem heard the rustling of foliage, and instinctively wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. Balethorn didn’t scream for the dragon’s blood, for once—Thrawn was already dead.
He released the hilt as soon as he touched it, because his beast sense told him the rustling was Rathamias.
Sure enough, the orak mage appeared, rounding the dead dragon.
“You did this!” Gwen roared, jumping on Rathamias.
“No!” Malem said.
But she had already tackled the mage. She got in two quick punches before her body froze.
The orak slid her off, an expression of distaste on its twisted face. It stood up, brushed off its bronze armor, and retrieved its pike from the ground, which it used as a walking stick.
“The bronze was dead before hitting the ground,” Rathamias said. “I could do nothing. I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking. That big body took the brunt of the impact, cushioning my fall. I wasn’t able to sense Ziatrice, so I wasn’t sure whether you’d abandoned me. I took shelter in the stump of a small tree nearby. I’m relieved—”
“Release her,” Malem interrupted.
Rathamias shrugged, then glanced at the half gobling and tapped the end of the pike down hard.
Gwen’s stiff limbs loosened and she collapsed. She moaned as she pulled herself to her feet.
“Don’t do that again, fucker,” she told the orak.
Rathamias shrugged.
“Don’t jump me again.”
“She doesn’t like oraks,” Malem explained.
“I can tell,” Rathamias said.
“Or mages,” Gwen said.
Rathamias merely smiled in defeat.
He had the orak walk ahead of himself and Gwen—he didn’t like to turn his back on any beast he didn’t have under his full control.
When he reached the others, Abigail looked up from where she and Weyanna sat propped against a tree.
“Thrawn?” she asked.
Malem shook his head.
Abigail closed her eyes, as did Weyanna beside her. The latter woman wept quietly. For someone who ate humans for lunch, she certainly cared about her fellow dragons.
Rathamias dutifully assumed its place next to Ziatrice.
“I’ve stopped Weyanna’s bleeding,” the night elf announced. “But like the silver dragon, I couldn’t touch the green matter embedded deep in her flesh.”
“We tried to cut one of darts out earlier,” Gwen said. “Before wrapping the wounds. The dagger couldn’t pry it free, and all we did was cause her pain.”
Ziatrice nodded. “I’ve heard rumors of wounds like this. I believe it is Eldritch magic.”
“You fought side by side with the Eldritch, and you don’t know?” Xaxia said.
“We may have fought in the same army, but never side by side,” Ziatrice said. “Vorgon always kept the Eldritch near him, almost like his personal guard. So I’ve never really seen what their magic can do, except from afar. Those emerald streams we saw emerging from the forest are similar to Eldritch attacks I’ve seen.”
Abigail nodded. “It has to be the Eldritch. Likely servants of Mauritania herself. She must have hidden mages in the forest to watch the skies, knowing at the very least we’d dispatch some dragons to investigate. It was a mistake to pass this way, over the Midweald.”
“This Mauritania could have hidden servants in copses and hollows outside the forest as well,” Malem said. “In fact, taking that a step further, her scouts could even be scattered throughout the region. It all depends on the resources available to her. My point is, it’s possible it wouldn’t have mattered which route we took. So don’t blame yourself.”
