Stone Dragon (The First Realm)

by Testamark, Klay

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Assault a fortress full of heavily-armed and magically-accomplished assassins?” Heronimo said. “You know it’s a suicide mission, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You also realize that anyone who goes with you is almost certainly doomed as well?” Mina said.

  “Right,” I said. “I go alone.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t be a proper last stand without your true companions,” he said

  “I ordered adventure,” Mina said. “I eat what I order and chew what I bite off.”

  “That’s… probably more poetic in Dwarvish,” I said.

  Heronimo sheathed his sword. “Dinendal is mine. Any problems with that?”

  “None. None at all.”

  We returned to the castle to prepare. Mina checked her panoply, making sure the various enchantments were in order. She filled her quiver and fastened her helmet.

  Heronimo went bare-chested. He cut strips from the red velvet couches and tied them around his wrists, elbows, and shoulders.

  “Tassels of power?” I asked.

  “Tourniquets,” he said.

  Then he cut his palms, letting the blood pool in his hands. Slap. He marked his left breast with the imprint. Slap. The right breast. Then he brought bloody fingers to his face and painted there a bird of war.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  We gathered in the courtyard. It was a beautiful day.

  “How are we getting to the citadel?” Mina asked. “Every approach will be watched.”

  “Not every approach,” I said. “They forget, I grew up in Corinthe. I know it well.”

  “What’s that got to do with—” Mina said, but Uncle Erumaren ran up. He wore armor and carried a spear and sword.

  “Wait for me, young master!” he gasped. “I will fight by your side!”

  I nearly cried. My old retainer’s suit of mail was three sizes too large—it hung from his limbs and rustled mightily.

  “I’m touched, uncle, but it’s been a long time since you carried a sword. Let us young idiots handle the fighting.”

  Uncle Erumaren wept. “I have served your family all my life. Do you think I’d let it die out on my watch?”

  I clapped his arm. “Very well, you shall lead the reinforcements. Contact Drystone, then rally the citizenry and attack the Citadel once the gates are down.”

  He nodded. “I won’t fail you. But milord, you are not fully armed.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve got my mace and my stick.”

  He snorted. “That stick? A training weapon!”

  “I get that a lot.”

  He shook his head. “It’s dangerous to go unarmed—take this.” He pressed the sword into my hands. “Your uncle’s. He made me keep it safe until the day a Veneanar would need it again.”

  I drew it from its scabbard. Dark blue steel glittered. The blade was wavy like a flame.

  “Wicked!” Heronimo said.

  I sheathed it and hung it from my belt. The stick I tossed into hammerspace. “Okay,” I said. “Now I’m ready.”

  “So, how are we breaking into the fortress?” Heronimo asked.

  “We’re not going to break into the fortress,” I said, grabbing his wrist.

  “What then?” Mina said, as I grabbed her wrist.

  “I’d hold hands if I were you two,” I said. I tightened my grip on both of them. “You’re going to love this—we’ll simply drop in on them.”

  I closed my eyes, leaped into the air, and we disappeared.

  * * *

  We teleported into the sky over Corinthe. Mina screamed.

  “We’re FALLING, fools!”

  Gravity took over. There was a sensation of dropping until air friction kicked in and caught us like a net. I grinned at my friends. Relax.

  We spread out and became a flower in freefall. The wind rushed past our ears and buffeted our faces. It was impossible to talk. Maybe I should’ve given more warning. I shrugged and looked down.

  Corinthe stretched under me. I knew every road and building. I knew them so well, in fact, that I’d been able to visualize them from two miles up. It was day, but I switched to my Sight to get a better feel for the city at night. It glowed. The Citadel, with its elevated position over Corinthe, was easy to spot. I began casting Featherfall to slow our descent.

  They’ll never see us coming, I thought.

  * * *

  Dinendal stood on the battlements and looked down at the main approach. The spy scanned the road for his childhood friend, but saw nothing.

  “Is the prisoner secure?” he asked his aide.

  “We’ve got her under guard in the dungeons, sir.”

  “Good. If I know Angrod, he’ll try something. And even if he doesn’t, there’s still that dragon to think about.”

  “We’ve turned some of the ballistae toward the courtyard.”

  “Very good. Now if only the guest of honor could show up.”

  The breeze ruffled his hair. He frowned. That wasn’t right. He looked around the fortress and saw every flag and banner flapping inward. Where was the wind going…?

  He glanced upward and screamed. “To arms! To arms!”

  * * *

  We broke away from each other. We were still falling too fast so I called upon earth magic to harden our bodies. We smashed into the ground, shattering the flagstones. The last of the featherfall spell gusted in all directions, kicking up dust.

  Nobody moved. Our heads snapped up to look at the assassins. They stepped back. We rose and drew weapons.

  “Mina, look for Meerwen in the dungeons. Heronimo? Avenge your family.”

  The Elendil Order unfroze. They shot arrows but I raised a shield of turbulent air and they missed by inches. Fireballs exploded at our feet.

  I raised my flamberge blade and blasted back. Mina loosed bolt after bolt, drawing the crossbow one-armed with enhanced dwarven strength. She never paused to aim, but her shots flew straight and true.

  A harpoon went past my knee and I looked to the walls. “The ballista crews! Take them out!”

  I raised my mace and called down the lightning. BOOM. The world went white. A tower crumbled. More assassins rushed across the courtyard.

  With a roar, Heronimo charged. He cut left and cut right and two elves fell in four pieces. He recovered, turned, and bisected an assassin from collarbone to crotch. The main group of assassins paused in shock. Mina drew axe and buckler. Her arms shook as the enchantments kicked in. “All right you fools! Fools and sons of fools! Come and get it!”

  We ran and met our enemies. The world was a symphony of breaking bones and dying screams. Heronimo was covered in more blood now, none of it his own. He raised his sword and howled.

  An assassin came at me with a warhammer. It was like a giant meat tenderizer and wondrously agile in his hands. I skipped back and it missed my ribs by an inch. I menaced him with the sword and checked his next swing with my mace. I deflected it to the ground and vomited fire in his face.

  Mina fought without pattern, without rhythm. Her gear gave her greater strength, speed, and toughness. Her reflexes and fighting instinct were also enhanced. The buckler in her other hand was a flash of light. Her axe bit deep into armor and flesh.

  “The keep!” I said. “Get to the keep!”

  We fought through our enemies. Heronimo took an arrow in the shoulder but kept going. Another lodged in his thigh and he powered on. We’d landed close to the keep so Mina was soon pounding up the ramp. I called up my fighting stick and hurled it as hard as I could.

  It tumbled end over end, reshaping itself in mid-flight. It glowed with power and struck like a thunderbolt. BOOM. The keep was open.

  “Go! Go!” Heronimo said. We turned to our pursuers and kept them in the courtyard. Arrows, fireballs, and ballista bolts whistled over our heads.

  “Getting hot,” Heronimo said. “Too many mages sp
oiling the broth.”

  “I can do something about that,” I said. “Goodbye, my friend. Be sure to get well clear.”

  “What are you—”

  I threw my weapons aside and called upon the beast.

  The transformation still hurt. A lot. Not as much as before, though, and it went faster. Whether I was getting better at it or whether Cruix had nearly won, I chose not to wonder. I just let my bones stretch and my muscles swell. My features contorted and my jaws grew toothy. Organs expanded while others disappeared. New structures appeared out of formless tissue. Arrows and fireballs pattered on my hide.

  I grew massive. I grew huge. I drained all the magic for miles. The lights went out across the city. A fountain exploded, spattering bystanders in icy water.

  In Corinthe Citadel, all the combat mages gestured uselessly, their mana pools exhausted. On the other hand, I was now a full-grown dragon.

  “Party!”

  I charged the Elendil. My tail lashed out, flicking one into a wall and impaling another on its spikes. I backhanded an assassin over the battlements, then grabbed another and squeezed him to pulp. I slapped one so hard his legs fell off.

  Yes! Yes! KILL.

  Cruix shouted encouragement. I could feel him trying to take over, so we compromised. I leaped into the air and he loosed a fiery blast. He kicked out with our legs and I pounded an elf flat with a front paw.

  Two minds. Six limbs. Of course we were a killing machine.

  We were having an indecent amount of fun when the ballistae started shooting.

  Picture a crossbow. Make it so large that no single man can lift it. Mount it on wheels, replace every wooden part with steel, and make it so powerful it takes a winch to draw back. What you have now is a siege weapon more than capable of punching through dragon hide.

  They hit us in the neck, the flank, and the wing. Cruel barbs caught in our flesh and we roared. More harpoons came and we found ourselves trapped. We tried breathing fire, but had run out of mana.

  * * *

  They put harpoons into its limbs. They pulled the chains taut and staked them down. They reloaded the ballistae. As they had done a thousand times before, they subdued a dragon with numbers and steel.

  “Nice work, men,” Dinendal said. “We’ve nailed it down like a circus tent.”

  The beast still lived though. Pierced in a dozen places, bleeding and spurting onto the stones, it refused to die. The assassins had thrown nets and chains over its head so it could hardly move. Its legs, wings, and tail were stretched as though upon a rack. It was helpless.

  The Elendil kept their distance all the same.

  “How much longer?” asked Dinendal.

  His aide snapped his fingers and produced a flame. “Soon. The magic is returning. It will power our death spells before long.”

  “That was rather anticlimactic. Somehow I was expecting more of a fight.”

  “I—I seem to be impaled.”

  A huge sword was sticking out of his belly. As Dinendal watched, his aide was lifted off his feet and carelessly dumped over the swordsman’s back.

  “Hello, Dinny,” said Heronimo.

  * * *

  Mina was in the keep when the lights flickered. She was dragging her axe through someone’s guts when her senses dulled and her limbs grew heavy.

  “Oh, no,” she said. An assassin jabbed at her with a spear. It caught her in the chest. The chain mail held but she backpedaled, shocked. “I felt that!”

  She struck wildly and severed the man’s fingers. He shrieked and she followed with a cut to the neck. He died, but her gear wasn’t working anymore. “Damn it to hell!” she said. She could hear more enemies running down the stairs. She could flee to the dungeon, but she’d be trapped.

  Or would she?

  She ran deeper underground and smashed the gas lanterns. Soon it was completely black. She got out her crossbow and waited at the foot of the stairs.

  The dungeon door was kicked open. “It’s dark! Get a lamp!”

  She fired. At that range, she couldn’t miss.

  Smashing glass. “She’s shooting the lamps!”

  “No shit, really?”

  “Get down there! She’s as blind as we are!”

  Pounding feet. They shut the door behind them, making the darkness complete. So of course she tripped them.

  “Ouch!”

  “Get your bearings! Remember, we trained for this. Fighting blind is nothing new for the Elendil Order.”

  Mina triangulated and struck.

  “Aaargh!”

  “You forget, boys, you’re fighting a dwarf. I grew up underground.”

  Chapter 24

  “I am Heronimo, son of Hrascar and Grimalda. Prepare to die!”

  The elves moved toward him, but Dinendal held out his hand. “No one interfere. This one’s mine.”

  He drew his twin blades. The serrated edges caught the light. He let his arms fall to his sides, then crossed them over his chest in a salute.

  With both hands, Heronimo raised his longsword so he could almost kiss the blade. He looked over the crossguard, then lifted the weapon over his head.

  Dinendal smiled. “So you think you’re the man to kill me? You think you’re good enough?”

  “I ought to be, after twenty years.”

  Every assassin burst out laughing. Dinendal smirked. “Heh. I’m sure that’s a long time for a human, but among elves, twenty years is nothing.”

  “If that’s true, how did I kill so many of you?”

  Silence. Dinendal scowled. “Okay, you have some skill. But now you’re facing me.”

  They had begun to circle, the human and the elf. The other assassins backed away.

  “Twenty years,” Dinendal said. He grinned. “We spend that many years just laying the foundations? We go through decades of juggling and acrobatics before we even pick up a wooden waster.”

  “What is this, clown school?”

  “Hah! Many times I considered running away. But I was patient, as an elf should be, and in time I saw the point of all that foolish training.”

  He drew his swords and twirled them. “The swords that killed your father, boy. See them fly!” He threw them up into the air, only to catch them and again.

  “This isn’t a game!” Heronimo said. “Defend yourself!”

  “Watch this.”

  As Dinendal juggled his swords he drew a dagger and passed it from hand to hand so it tumbled from left to right. His hands blurred and then there were two daggers. “I could do this all day,” he said, as he manipulated the steel cascade. He threw the blades and caught them, caught them and threw them. He plucked them from the air and let them hang in space.

  “Enough!” Heronimo said, starting to lunge. He staggered back with knives in his chest.

  Dinendal twirled his sabers. “If there’s anything a performer hates, it’s being interrupted. Prepare to die, art hater!”

  * * *

  Fighting in the dark. Blind, and trying not to breathe loudly. Everyone had stripped off their armor—even chainmail rustled too loudly. They shuffled in the dark, weapons ready.

  Mina kept her mouth open, the better to hear with. Someone coughed and she lashed out, splitting someone’s skull. She stepped away as the man fell. Someone cursed and she threw the axe, which made a meaty thunk. She drew her knife and continued to stalk her enemies.

  * * *

  I lay on the flagstones, weighted with chains, hooks digging into my flesh. I breathed, and I bled, and I slipped away from the world.

  No! This isn’t happening! I have not begun to live!

  I would have smiled, had I a face. “Tough shit, Cruix. Looks like I’m taking you with me.”

  NO!

  “It’s too bad so much magical lore has been lost. I would’ve liked to know how the old wizard planned to resurrect you.”

  There was a meaningful silence.

  “Wait, do you know? After all this time?!”

  I would have preferred to over
write your mind, but there is an alternative. It is painful, risky, and likely to lead to our death. You won’t like it at all. Nevertheless, it’s better than certain death.

  “Tell me!”

  First I need some promises from you.

  They were things I could live with—provided I survived. I agreed, and he told me.

  He was right, I didn’t like it at all.

  There was a way to turn nonliving matter into living matter. You needed a natural talent for transmutation. Dragons, who turned their stomach contents into napalm, had that talent. Then, also, you needed certain insights. Having shapeshifted beyond the dreams of any water mage, I had that insight.

  In our head Cruix droned an ancient chant. This focused our mind and I began to glimpse the great source of magic deep beneath our feet. I had the impression of a massive, all-seeing eye gazing out from the center of the world. And I knew that, if I were brave enough—if I were strong enough—I could call upon it directly.

  I could power the working. All I needed now was enough organic matter to shape into a new body.

  I raised my right arm and bit into it.

  * * *

  “Dual-wielders use each weapon independently. Novices act like they’re swinging chairs around.”

  The fight had not gone well for Heronimo. Twenty-three times they had crossed swords and twenty-three times he had been bloodied. For all his strength and reach, he was completely outmatched. The elven assassin was simply the best swordsman he’d ever met. No matter how Heronimo cut and lunged, Dinendal parried with a minimum of effort, all while lecturing.

  “A common mistake is to block with both weapons. You often see that in stage fighting because crossed swords look cool. Tell you the truth, a single weapon can deflect virtually all attacks. Using two wastes effort and opens holes in your defense. For instance, if I cut high like so, you naturally raise your guard and—hah!—leaves you open to a belly slash.”

  Heronimo retreated, holding his belly together.

  “I notice you aren’t healing. Could it have something to do with the depleted magic field?”

  “At least you can’t teleport away, coward!”

  Dinendal laughed. “I don’t need magic to finish you off!”