Forged in Fire

by J. A. Pitts

  “Bedroom behind me,” she said to Stuart. Flames flared outside the high windows, but Qindra stood in the corner, untouched. She looked thinner and haggard, but she still mumbled, still held her wand in front of her, the flicker of blue coming from the tip.

  “Bedroom is all clear,” he said. “Smashed all to hell, but no bogies.” He stepped into the hollow room and stopped with a whistle. “She’s still there, after all these weeks.”

  “Yeah, we have a problem,” Katie said. “Last time we were here, Sarah touched her, and her spirit was sucked into the sideways, down to the cavern where Qindra’s spirit is holed up, protecting the joint.”

  “Dome’s down,” he said. “She’s not protecting anything at this point.”

  A huge crash shook the house. Katie stumbled, but Stuart steadied her.

  “Dragon!” Paul shouted from outside.

  They heard the distinctive sound of a firing crossbow and a roar that split the night.

  Stuart dodged back into the hallway, shouting. “Go! Get to safety!”

  The house shook again, and flames shot across the opening in the roof.

  “We gotta go,” he yelled, stepping back into the room.

  Katie stood, the guitar out and her sword sheathed. “I think we gotta risk it,” she said.

  “Fine,” Stuart bellowed and ran into the room. He grabbed Qindra by the waist, spun her around, and flipped her up over his shoulder. His arms bulged with her weight. For a moment, Qindra remained rigid, but as he turned to leave the room she went limp. He didn’t pause, didn’t slide into the ether like Sarah had done.

  “Let’s go,” he growled. “She’s heavier than she looks.”

  As they left the room, Qindra dropped her wand, and the house groaned.

  Katie knelt, snatched up the wand, and sprinted after Stuart. She’ll be wanting that when she snaps out of this, Katie thought.

  The front of the house had vanished. The dragon smashed her shoulder into the house once more. Stuart stumbled but kept running through what was left of the kitchen. Katie skidded to a halt. The dragon swung her head down through the gaping roof, her great eye—the size of Katie’s head—blinking with a wet, schlorping noise.

  “Oh, shit,” Katie breathed.

  Seventy-five

  The patrons of Kelly’s Burger Pit watched in amazement as three dozen men and women in armor and carrying swords and spears emerged one after another from the restroom. They each nodded to Kelly, who stood behind the counter, a slice of pie slowly sliding off her pie server.

  Skella apologized as the last of them emerged and fled up the stairs behind the militia. She stood to the side, waving at the gawping patrons. One sleepy-eyed kid waved back, and Skella grinned.

  Deidre was the last out of the restroom. Skella held the door open as she wheeled to the stairs. Two burly men trotted back down the stairs and grabbed either side of her chair.

  One of the women in the restaurant stood and pointed. “She’s got a gun,” she said.

  “Part of the show,” Skella said. “Nothing to worry about.” She turned to Kelly, who didn’t look half as confused as she might’ve.

  “You off to Anezka’s place?” Kelly asked, wiping her hands with a rag.

  Skella nodded. “Aye. Hope we aren’t too late.”

  “Go,” Kelly said. “Don’t worry about this lot.” She waved her hands toward the customers.

  As Skella raced up the stairs, she heard Kelly offering the patrons free pie.

  By the time she pushed through the door at the top of the stairs, the Black Briar crew had commandeered a bus. They hustled the elderly passengers off and handed the bus driver a wad of cash to take them into the pub and wait. Then they all loaded the bus and drove north toward the highway.

  “Think they’re okay?” Deidre asked as Skella settled in a seat next to her wheelchair.

  “With Sarah and Katie, I’m sure they’ll survive.”

  Deidre caressed the shotgun with one hand and rubbed her eyes. “What a total cluster fuck.”

  They pulled onto Highway 2 and were waiting at the turn to Chumstick when three ambulances came screaming up behind them.

  “Melanie and Dena made good time,” Deidre said, holding on to the bar by her chair as the bus made a hard left turn. “Let’s hope we can save some of our people.”

  Skella sat with one hand holding the side of her head. Jara had been afraid to hit her too hard, so she’d come to as he carried her out of Gletts’s secret cave. The freezing rain had also helped to revive her. She’d known Sarah needed her and had fought him.

  Unun’s voice had followed her as she ran through the woods, praying she could make it to the golf course before they stopped her. Good people had probably died because of her family’s growing xenophobia.

  She stared out the window watching lights flashing in the distance—fire, magic, worse …

  “I just hope we aren’t too late,” Deidre said, taking Skella’s hand.

  Seventy-six

  By the time I could stop coughing, I realized I’d come out of the mountain behind Anezka’s property. There were no bodies here, no spirits, cultists, or anyone. I could see the fires out on the road, and to my left Anezka’s house burned. The flames were green. No question what that was. The flames would lick the sky until dawn finally sapped them of their magic. Basically, the whole place was a loss.

  And Qindra had been in there. The thought hit me like a brick. I ran to the house, but it collapsed before I got close enough. Burning ash and choking fumes washed over me. I fell back, holding up the shield, and the heat was diverted. The shield glowed slightly around the edges, pushing back the night.

  “Damn it,” I shouted, watching the house burn. “Qindra?”

  “Here,” a voice answered. To the far left, along the back of the burning house, two figures rose from the shadows. I ran forward. It was Stuart and Qindra.

  “You were too late,” she said, smiling faintly. “This charming man and your Katie came for me. I’m glad you made it out.”

  Stuart lowered her to the ground, breathing in gasps. “Katie was back there,” he said. “I don’t know if she got out.”

  I stood, taking a step to the burning house, but Qindra touched me on the leg as I passed. “Hold,” she said. I turned, kneeling down to her. “She lives, but is seeking you. She will find you; do not despair.” She looked around and motioned past me with a trembling hand. “There. Take me there.”

  Stuart grunted as he lifted her again, smiling when I helped him stand. “I’m getting too damn old for this,” he groused.

  We moved to the back of the house, and I saw the dragon Anezka had built. The metal gleamed menacingly in the glow of the green dragon fire.

  “That will do,” she said. We moved forward. I kept Gram clutched tightly, expecting the damn thing to move. It had stalked the grounds right after the spirits had taken over, back when Qindra had first become trapped in the house.

  “The necromancer has stripped the spirits from this place, siphoning them off to perform his dark magic,” she said, wearily. “I have an idea. Help me stand.”

  Stuart lowered her feet to the ground and steadied her. She leaned forward, grasping the dragon by its great metallic jaws.

  “Sarah, if you please?” She held her hand out, grasping mine when I offered it. “Stand here.”

  She positioned me to the opposite side, our arms interlinked through the open jaws of the intricate machinery. The gears were intact, and the mechanisms were undamaged.

  “I believe,” she said, looking at me with an intensity I’d come to associate with fever or psychosis, “if we pool our resources, we can use this to our cause.”

  I nodded, unsure of her choice, but she reached forward, wiping the blood from my forearm and spreading it across the broad snout of the metal dragon. “Your sword?” she said, pointing. I held Gram up and she gripped the end, cutting her palm and adding her own blood atop my own.

  “Grip the side of its head,” she
said, placing her hands on the metallic housing on her side. “Now, if you can do it, push it with your will. Command it to waken.” She looked at me, grinning. “Think of it like you would when working a piece of metal. You are a maker, Sarah. Use that.”

  I concentrated, thinking of the way the metal felt beneath my hands, how I wanted it to waken, like Gram had, I realized.

  Qindra pulled back, stumbling a step, but Stuart held her upright. I stepped back as well, and she smiled, lifting her bleeding hand, and spoke several words I did not understand. Light flared from her bleeding hand and my bleeding arm, arcing to the dragon, setting its head in a glowing sphere. Neither of us moved for three beats; then, the dragon lifted its head.

  “The necromancer,” she said, straining. “The one who stole your life. He must be stopped.”

  The beast turned its head toward her, closing its jaws with a metallic crash.

  “And protect our people,” I added.

  It swung its head to me and took a step forward. I backed away, and it took another step.

  “Go,” Qindra said. “Seek the foul one. Claim your vengeance.”

  It took several more lumbering steps, and then its movements became more fluid, like it had found its footing.

  “I’ll be damned,” Stuart said, wiping his face.

  “Some of the spirits he killed were trapped within,” Qindra said. “They just needed a bit more energy to get moving.”

  I ran around to the side of the house and watched the metal dragon running toward the enemy. The green dragon, Trisha, stood between it and Justin.

  And she wasn’t passing up the challenge.

  “Damn,” I said, running forward. “Not the dragon. Get the necromancer.”

  “Sarah, wait,” Stuart called to me, but I had to do something.

  I didn’t want her to be killed. Stupid woman. How the hell had she gotten into this mess?

  Seventy-seven

  Katie watched the cultists regrouping beyond the shattered house. They fell back to the steep mountain trail, calling up more of the dead and sending them at the Black Briar line in a shambling scrum.

  She emerged from the ruins of the smithy. The green dragon had eyed her, blinking several times, but hadn’t attacked. There was a moment there where Katie thought the dragon knew her.

  She clutched her short sword in one hand and Qindra’s wand in the other. She should probably make her way to Jimmy and the survivors, but she wanted to go to Sarah, to find her. She didn’t think she was dead. No way. So she was out there, somewhere. Probably up on the plateau, fighting the damn necromancer. Maybe she’d risk that secret song again, see if she could get a clue without passing out.

  She slipped her sword back into its sheath, put Qindra’s wand behind her left ear, and took up her guitar. She strummed a few chords, then began the secret song. Immediately, she fell forward, her intestines cramping, and vomited. Scarlet splashed against the churned mud and snow. Okay, maybe not, she decided, heaving again. She tried to rise but only got a couple of steps in before the world spun and she fell, the sound of the last chord echoing in the night.

  Seventy-eight

  Neither Trisha nor the metallic dragon fought well. Jean-Paul would’ve eaten them both alive. He’d known how to use the assets he had. As it was, Trisha just batted the mechanical to the side and did not follow up with tail or wings. Really missing a lot of chances. She didn’t want to fight it, I realized. It was a distraction. Something else had her attention. Something I couldn’t sense.

  I skirted the edge of the rocky incline, watching as the remaining cultists made their way up the trail, back to Justin and his altar.

  Then I heard it.

  “Mama!”

  It was the cry of a small child. In the midst of the retreating cultists, I saw them. I have no idea where they’d been keeping them hidden. There, being carried by the panicked, retreating bastards, were Jai Li and Frick and Frack.

  “Mama,” one of the troll babies called.

  Trisha turned aside, her great head searching for that cry. I knew what I had to do. I ran in, dodging the metallic dragon. Didn’t want to get stepped on. When it rammed into Trisha’s huge bulk, Trisha spun, smashing it with her tail, sending it staggering back a dozen paces. She turned and launched herself into the air. I was buffeted aside by her back draft. I crouched down, my hands over my head, protecting my face from the flying debris. Goggles next time, I thought. Not the coolest, but I needed something to protect my eyes.

  I blinked rapidly, trying to find her through watering eyes. She dipped down, buzzed the fleeing bad guys, and smashed several cultists off the trail. Those farther up the trail forged ahead even faster. They had the children. Those farther back on the trail hesitated, unsure whether or not they should move ahead. Trisha banked and swung around for another pass. The lower group separated. Most fled back down toward the lowland, but two ran ahead, ducking low, carrying a body between them.

  I had no idea who they were carrying, but if it was important enough to risk their lives against the green dragon, it had to be somebody I didn’t want them to have.

  “Back up the trail, Sarah,” I said, breaking into a run.

  The dragon wheeled and soared across the plateau, roaring her displeasure. Trisha was pissed. I hoped it was bad news for Justin and his flunkies.

  Seventy-nine

  Our people were down, out of the fray. I hazarded a glance back toward the last place I’d seen them, but I couldn’t see anyone. I hoped they were just hunkered down. Jimmy and Stuart would hold them together. I was just stressing about Katie. Girl had cajones. I just wished I could hear her singing.

  By the time I got to the trail, the dozen or so cultists below had scattered north, away from the house and the fires. Good riddance, I thought. Keep running, fuckers.

  I sprinted up the trail. Okay, big-ass dragon; necromancer; a smattering of tired, worn-down cultists; and some kids. I was feeling old and busted myself, but somebody had to stop them. I had a crazy glowing shield, one hammer on my hip, and Gram over my right shoulder. What I needed was a couple of giants or something. My ass was tired, but I was gonna rock Justin’s world … or die trying.

  No one stopped me. I made it all the way to the top, running out onto the plateau, before anyone even looked my way.

  Justin had Trisha backed up against the mountain, her long neck curved down to rest at his feet. He was chanting something, sending magic flowing into her. She whimpered, her eyes darting to the side. He was holding her there; it was obvious by the way her whole body vibrated.

  I followed her gaze and saw that two red-robed cultists held Frick and Frack. The kids were struggling with a fervor only infant trolls could muster. It would’ve been almost comical if they hadn’t been standing near the altar amid the broken bodies.

  Their intent was clear enough. They were going to sacrifice the kids. I was seriously outnumbered, but no one had noticed me yet. I had to figure this out. Too many targets, too much that could go wrong.

  “It will free you, my dear,” Justin crooned, his voice still strangely amplified. “You do not need these vermin.”

  Smoke curled from her jowls and her whimpering grew louder, but she didn’t move. The corded muscles along her neck stood out as she strained.

  “Kill Sawyer first,” he said, the strain obvious in the way he stood, like he was trying to hold her down physically.

  Wait. Sawyer? So, he was the second dragon. Fuck me.

  Two burly men in cloaks jogged to the altar, carrying a limp and bloodied Frederick Sawyer. He looked so small and broken. Nothing like the powerful predator I’d met. The red-robed cultists did not move aside, however. “We kill these first,” one called. “You do not have enough power for the ritual, otherwise.”

  Justin rocked to the side as Trisha lurched, raising her head a few feet off the ground. He grunted, holding her head, pouring more magic into his binding. I could see it flaring from him, washing over her.

  “Your power
ebbs,” the second red-robed cultist called out. “These will bolster you, give you the power you need for your transformation.”

  Justin did not turn, just looked into Trisha’s nearest giant eye.

  “It is for the best,” he said, pushing once more, flooding the plateau with light. I could see the binds on her, then—glowing ropes that twined around her great bulk. Ropes that ran from her to him in an intricate braid.

  He twisted his hands, his physical metaphor tightening the magical bindings. Her movements slowed to a stop. The additional bindings were too much for her to overcome. Justin stepped back, his body shaking. “Quickly,” he said. “She is stronger by far than we anticipated.”

  He turned toward the two in red, looking at them with his hands on his thighs, his breath labored. “You are correct. I do not have the strength to take Sawyer’s heart, not properly.” He straightened. “I’ll slay the children myself.” He motioned for them. “Tobin—” a lithe elf stepped toward the altar, holding a struggling Frack. “Dane—” a burly man with rough features had Frick in a vicelike grip. The child’s struggling was much less.

  Nu uh, I thought, running forward, finding my target at last. “Hey, douche bag,” I cried, pulling my second hammer. “Catch!”

  To kill them and save the children, I would have to be in two places at once. Instead, I decided to even the odds.

  Okay, there comes a point where you realize your life is way beyond anything you’d ever imagined. When things go beyond surreal and enter the sublime. The runes on my scalp pulsed, and I could see the trajectory for the hammer like a heads-up display on a Blackhawk helicopter.

  I let the hammer fly.

  Justin turned his head toward me as the hammer arced over the plateau. His rage was instant and terrifying. For a moment I saw something deeper in him, a glimpse of his true self, the horror he’d become.