by H. A. Harvey
Get up! Blind side! Finish her!
Nian tossed the blade into the dust in front of him as the dragon shambled forward. The beast clawed her way to stand in front of Nian. She craned her neck down to stare sideways at Nian. The beast rumbled threateningly.
“I’m done.” Nian gave an empty reply. “Send me after her.”
The dragon drew her head back a few feet and opened her maw. Nian closed his eyes and waited. A sudden, familiar roar preceded a muffled croak of outrage from the dragon. Nian opened his eyes to see the dragon thrashing her head about, slamming it against the ground as Tombo lay over the top of the creature’s head, his legs and one arm wrapped tightly around her jaw. The hampan held on tightly despite the dragon’s best efforts to be rid of him, all the while using his free arm to bash at the side of the creature’s face and her one remaining good eye.
Rowan and Riona both darted into view. The Desaid rushed toward the dragon while Riona dashed to Nian’s side. The dragon reared and bent its head low, swiping Tombo from her face at last with a rake of her claw. She bent her eye to focus her blurred vision on the unfortunate hampan’s landing place as she dropped back to earth. The beast’s limited sight caused her to miss the sight of Rowan’s verdant form beneath her chest, and he drove up with all of his might as she descended. The triangle point of his fighting lance vanished beneath the exposed rib in the dragon’s left breast, taking most of the haft along with it, driving through lung and heart alike until stopping at last upon the interior of the dragon’s back. The creature half-reared, half-tumbled sideways, giving a startled, gurgling cry that sent a wash of hot blood from her mouth before she crashed onto her back.
“Of course,” Nian laughed mirthlessly as Riona knelt beside him to check him over for wounds, “They wouldn’t let me follow. Well, I quit. See how They like that.”
. . .
Morning’s light was starting to break over the horizon when Kaesa’s axe made short work of the last of the briar hedge barring their way onto the desolate plain that was undoubtedly the domain of the dragon. David was grateful to finally see some measure of light to guide himself by. When the dragon’s first cry echoed through the valley less than an hour before nightfall, David had agreed without debate that they should press on through the night. Despite the bog’s best efforts, he’d remained determined not to regret his ready agreement. The terrible racket that heralded the dusk had been a shadow to the horrific silence that fell with and endured throughout the night. Not a cricket or so much of a tree sighing in the wind stirred. The only noises to be heard were their own legs slogging through the muck and the labored breathing they took turns echoing from each other.
Near midnight, the trio caught sight of a light ahead of them through the trees. It was too distant and obscured by trees to see the source, but it filled enough of the wood to be a massive bonfire or entire tree set ablaze. However, the light did not flicker like flame, nor twinkle or pulse like fairy lights. It shone steady and clear of color as Phoenix’ plumage at noon. Had the mood surrounding them all not been so dire, David might have half-joked that a patch of daylight might have lost track of time and been left behind in the night. When they had closed within a hundred paces of the light, it had suddenly vanished, leaving them again alone in the dark swamp. They had seen no light again the rest of the night, which somehow made the darkness more oppressive.
In the back of his mind, David lamented the timing of dawn’s arrival. It seemed to him that again, the promise of cheer was snatched away even as they approached it. Stepping onto the desolation of the dragon’s domain removed David’s desire to see his surroundings clearly. Not far from their exit from the brambles, he spied the thin spiral of a dying campfire’s plume as it drifted over a hill of jagged rocks. David nudged the others and nodded towards the smoke. The others looked at him oddly then silently moved out with him toward the hill. As distance diminished and light grew, David’s eyes made out the motive of the odd looks from those with Dwarven sight. The hill revealed itself to be the contorted corpse of the dragon, unless such creatures had sleeping postures unlike any creature he’d ever known. The breezes of the barren region had piled drifts of ash over much of the beast, and had mixed with blood in its upturned mouth to form a cake of dried muck that could have been there for years.
Around the far side of the beast’s corpse, two of their missing comrades huddled. Nian lay prostrate, wrapped in his cloak and with his head resting on Riona’s lap. A short distance away, Rowan and a gossamer-winged fairy seemed to be busying themselves around the disturbingly still and bloody Tombo. Autumn was nowhere to be seen. Riona looked up at the new arrivals as they entered camp, though no one else seemed to mark their presence.
“Autumn?” Xain asked quietly.
Riona shook her head, “Chime, that’s what I’ve started calling the Pixie that tagged along, couldn’t find her . . . but we saw the end of it. There wasn’t hope for more than a burial.
David walked over and sat at Nian’s side. “How badly was he hurt?”
“A pretty bad burn on the shoulder, Rowan said some broken ribs.” Riona smiled with a mixture of pride and sorrow as she petted Nian’s brow, “He could have finished the drake, but when Autumn fell . . . he just stopped. He’d have let the thing eat him if we had been a heartbeat later. After it was over, he said he quit. Hasn’t moved or made a sound since. He didn’t even flinch when Rowan bound his ribs.”
David wasn’t sure if there was a safe spot to give Nian a reassuring pat, so just rested his hand on his forehead for a moment. Then, giving Riona a reassuring squeeze of the hand, he rose to check on Rowan and Tombo. The hampan was in sorry shape. Two long, deep gashes ran down his side and back where the dragon’s claws had caught him. Rowan had bound them in salved leaves, packed over with mud. Hardly a limb on his body lacked at least one splint, and his breathing came in shallow, weak gurglings that probably meant more damage lay beyond what could be seen. The pixie sat on the beast’s heavy eyebrow facing his ear. She gave off a soft, soothing melody of light crystal chimes. Rowan sat rubbing the beast’s neck and staring into his half-opened eyes.
“I’ve done everything I can for him.” Rowan muttered softly as David approached, “I think the fairy was helping as well. She brought some armfuls of berries and leaves I didn’t know, and I think either did some fairy magic or at least said some kind of prayer. I think now she’s just singing to him.”
“He’s tough as a stone, Ro.” David tried to reassure his friend, “I’m sure he’ll pull through.”
Rowan shook his head, “If it weren’t for the fairy’s help, I don’t think he’d have lasted the night. As it is, he needs a healer, a real one.”
“Can I do anything?” David asked.
Rowan started to shake his head and paused, “Do you remember the blood thistle you gathered for me?”
David nodded, “Of course I do, should I go get some?”
“Yes, the little islands in the bog should be thick with it.” Rowan answered as he pulled the strap of his satchel from over his shoulder, emptied its contents onto the ground and passed it to David, “And one other thing. It might be harder to find. Look anywhere that there are small holes in the canopy, where noon rays and starlight are the only lights to touch the forest floor. If you’re lucky, you should find flowers with long, thin stems like a cat-tail weed, but their petals are long and golden. People say they look like a dancing girl, but I never quite saw it. If you can find five, or even ten of them, it should do. The petals glisten because of an oil in them. It shouldn’t do you any harm unless it gets in a cut, but try to keep it off of you anyway.”
David frowned at Rowan as his mind drifted back to the scout’s first encounter with Wobbly. “Gold blossoms that look like a dancing girl? Those wouldn’t be fairy-flowers would they? The ones you said are poison?”
Rowan stood and stepped away from Tombo, dragging David a few steps wit
h him, “Think about it, David. We can’t carry him out of here, even if all of us were healthy. And even if we could find a sympathetic healer in the middle of Baeden, what are the chances we could convince them to come into this valley, and all in the day or two he can manage to linger with the fairy’s help? Fairy-flowers are among the gentlest of poisons . . . they’ll give an end in dreams without pain or suffering.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Of course not, that’s why I’m going to mix it with blood thistle. That at least will ensure he sleeps.”
David shook Rowan’s hand from his arm angrily. He looked over at Nian. Riona sat stroking his hair while Kaesa and Xain rested listlessly nearby. Everyone was quitting. He could see it in their faces, in their slouching forms. It was like Nian had been bearing their Hopes like a lit torch, and when he threw it down, the light had been stolen from the lot of them. David walked quickly over to Gatefyre, leaping into the saddle and turning the horse toward the break in the hills.
“Get your own poisons, Rowan, but I warn you not to do something you’ll regret. You’d sooner poison me than that ape of yours.” David looked back at the scout over his shoulder, “I’m going to at least try to find a healer. If I can’t in two days, do whatever you want, I’ll be going on to find Karen, my sister, and the others.”
David still more than half-expected some form of argument, but only Rowan even looked at him. He gave the stallion a sharp kick and they bolted out across the wasteland. It seemed the stupid horse, at least, wasn’t ready to give up yet either.
18
The Raven’s Cage
Raven smiled. She feigned being more out of breath than she really was. She was tired, to be sure. However, she had been growing stronger in the last few days, and was learning to make the weight of the long training blade carry itself. Her ruse worked, and the man to her left grew overconfident, stepping in before making his intentions clear to his partners.
As the man rushed in, Raven dropped towards him and onto a knee, adding some of her own weight to that of the blade as she drove the pommel into his groin. The man folded like a damp rag, and as the other two closed around her, Raven planted a hand on the fallen man’s back and vaulted forward over him, hauling the flat of her blade along his back as she went. She felt the wind from one of her pursuer’s attacks narrowly missing.
Without pausing, Raven slapped her empty hand back to the handle of her blade. She used the last of her momentum to tug the blade into the air behind her, then planted a foot forward, transforming herself into a fulcrum point. She turned to face the two remaining opponents. The man who’d narrowly missed her was just recovering his balance, well within the reach of her blade. Raven tensed her shoulders and stomach, giving the sword’s spin added speed and force as she steered its path toward the center of the man’s torso. He saw the blow coming and, unable to get out of the way, brought his sword up to block. Wielding a lighter blade and without a solid stance, he stood little chance against the momentum of Raven’s strike. The block was easily knocked aside and Raven’s attack was only slightly deflected upward, catching the soldier across the chest and sprawling him onto his back.
Two down, Raven hopped forward. She reached out to catch the flat of her blade with her left hand before it dropped to the ground and drove the point at the third and final soldier in a vicious stab. He parried the thrust, but was forced to give ground as he staggered back several steps. As Raven adjusted her stance and advanced toward her target, a sudden blow across the back of her knees made her cry out and fall backward. The man behind her laid his sword across her throat with a grin.
“I got you already.” Raven glowered angrily.
“A sword-pommel to tha groin is painful,” Gerizim replied from the sideline, “But not fatal, Raven. You cannot discount an enemy because he is wounded. While he draws breath, you cannot afford to expose your back to him. Get cleaned up and come to dinner.”
The captain uncrossed his arms and stalked off the training ground. Sergeant Jonas, Raven’s third and unmarked opponent came over and offered a hand to help her up. She glared at him a moment while the other two soldiers dusted themselves off and headed for the barracks. Finally, she took his hand and hauled herself to her feet.
“Still, you did quite well.” The grizzled soldier seemed obliged to finish his captain’s critique on a brighter note. “Fighting multiple opponents is difficult. It is always too easy to lose track of one in tha chaos. You were smart to escape tha circle as you did, and it’s more than a little surprising that you were able to fend off three faster weapons with that giant’s dagger.”
“Thanks,” Raven grumbled, reaching down to rub the welt on the back of one knee sorely. “But I’ve got a long way to go. I’ve watched the captain train against a half-dozen at a time.”
“You’re comparing yourself to a Dracis commander who has spent more than thirty years on tha battlefield, Miss Raven.” Jonas replied dismissively, “You are already as good, or better, than half tha men in my troop. Though, if you want to make faster progress, you might want to work with a lighter weapon. A girl like yourself will probably do better with a pair of short swords, or a dagger and longblade.”
“I made my choice,” Raven shook her head, “I’d hate to have to get used to a new balance now anyway. Besides, I think he likes watching me struggle with it. I sometimes wonder if he uses all his slaves for morbid entertainment, or if it’s just me.”
“He doesn’t own many.” The sergeant answered. “When tha pox took his wife and elder two children, he placed his holdings out in tha vale under a warden and sold off most of the house slaves. Those that are left, he seems to leave to their duties and largely ignores them. He has old Ingrid tending his house, and his cook, Martin, and you of course. Though, I don’t know if he counts you as a slave.”
“He said he does.” Raven recalled. Distracted by the mention of Gerizim’s family, she gave up massaging her knees and stood to look at the captain’s balcony.
“There’s some debate among tha men,” The sergeant countered, “As to why he hasn’t had you branded yet. About half say it’s a mix of not wanting to mar your looks and avoid having to stop your training while you recover. Others think maybe he expects you ta actually beat him, and it saves the second brand to mark you as freed.”
“You brand people? Like livestock?” Raven stared at the sergeant in horror. She recalled seeing the puffy scarred images along the necks of the women who’d bathed her, but hadn’t thought of it for some time.
“Slaves are livestock, Miss Raven.” Jonas answered matter-of-factly. “But I don’t think tha captain has any plans to brand you.”
Raven decided not to argue the point. She hated the idea of slaves in general, and even more the thought that they were treated so cruelly. However, Sergeant Jonas was just about her only source of friendly conversation these days, and she didn’t want to foul that up.
“So,” Raven looked at the sergeant, “You’re part of the second group then? You think he actually expects me to get good enough to beat him?”
“I should keep my thoughts on tha captain to myself, Miss.” Jonas answered quickly, “Besides, you aught get ready to join him soon.”
“No way, Jonas.” Raven pressed, “You don’t have to worry about me telling the captain, or anyone, but I want to know what you think.”
The sergeant stared up at the darkened balcony, finally sighing, “I’ve known tha captain since he returned from tha empire. He knows there’s little chance for you to beat him unless he lets you.”
“So why bother?”
“The captain is hard to read.” Jonas reflected, “More than half tha time, I think he isn’t even sure why he does some things, but his instincts never seem to fail him, so he trusts them. I don’t know if he plans on letting you win, consciously or not. I think keeping you around has something to do with Brenna.”
Raven fidgeted with the hem of her tunic of soft, orange silk. The Dracis style garb, draping swaths of luxurious fabric mingled with small bits of armor that varied in decorative or functional purpose, had grown upon her quickly. The outfits made her feel alluring and powerful. The cool air on her skin had taken getting used to, but they felt absolutely normal now, like she’d always worn them.
“What happened to Brenna?” Raven asked softly, “The pox?”
Jonas shook his head, “No. Despite tha fact that tha captain is a Baedite, through and through, his family has many traditions they hold to from Frosthold. Each family is expected to have three children, at least. Tha two eldest represent their parents, and take their place when they die. Tha third, and any that follow are to spread tha family name. As each child comes of age, they set out to prove themselves in tha world and seek their fortune. Tha third child waits for tha others to come home. If both do, then they set out as well, but don’t return save to collect their inheritance when their parents pass.”
“Brenna was the youngest?” Raven asked, “Why didn’t she come home when the others died?”
“I don’t think she knows.” The sergeant sighed, “To my knowledge, tha captain never sent word, though he had me commission Sattal messengers to seek her out on his passing. Perhaps he doesn’t wish to distract her, but I think it’s more for him. Brenna was always his favorite, and with tha rest of his legacy gone, I’m not sure he dares seek her out, lest he find that she found an early end as well. I think he prefers tha Hope that she thrives abroad to knowing something that might leave him broken.”
