by Hooke, Isaac
“What—” the creature rumbled.
He squeezed harder.
The weakened dragon thrashed its mind beneath his grip. Its head began to sway as it struggled against his influence.
But Malem couldn’t keep hold, and the dragon slipped free.
“I will devour you!” the dragon said.
It opened its mouth to make good on its promise.
Malem wound his will around the injured bundle of energy again, and compressed the vise. Once more the dragon froze. Its head was only inches above his own. Malem switched to his own viewpoint so that he could stare the beast down—there was no chance of it using its paralyzing magic, not while he had its mind so firmly vised. Its eyes defocused as it fought his will, and a large stream of spittle oozed down onto the floor in front of Malem. The floor sizzled, and smoke rose where the spittle struck.
The dragon’s mind continued thrashing beneath him, and Malem knew he was going to lose the creature once again. It was just too strong.
He sought out Graftly, and promptly destroyed the mage to consume its stamina. He’d need the free slots if he wanted to take the dragon anyway. The boost helped, but it still wasn’t enough.
He destroyed Harold in a similar manner.
That final boost in strength gave him an edge, but he wasn’t sure it was enough. He constricted his will tighter, refusing to let the dragon free. The creature’s thrashings began to slow; the pain emanating from the bundle of energy increased, and Malem realized the sword was draining the dragon of stamina with each passing moment. Bleeding the creature’s life force.
He contracted the vise and felt his will seeping into the dragon’s mind at last, the beast helpless to fend him off. It continued to fight him in weak spurts, but Malem was relentless in his tightening.
As he began to take control, he felt the sheer weight of the dragon’s will as he tried to find a place for it in his mind, his own mental capacity stretching well beyond the available slots. He was so close to achieving mastery, but the dragon just wouldn’t fit.
He had nine slots free by then. He decided he would simply have to release another. Spirit. If this succeeded, he wouldn’t need the falcon’s eyes anymore. And if it failed, they were all dead anyway.
Before releasing the faithful bird, he ordered it to return home.
“Fly high, Spirit,” he said. “And true.”
Spirit took off, diving through a small hole in the ceiling past one of the rafters before vanishing.
That did it. Malem was able to neatly fit the dragon’s will within his mind, using up a full ten slots. He could still keep Felipe and Bounder, but it was going to be wearying hanging onto them all, he knew.
The little monkey peeked out from underneath his collar, and when it saw the dragon’s head looming there motionless above, it issued a terrified squeak and promptly vanished inside his jacket.
“What is your name, dragon?” Malem asked.
“I am Hastor, of the Braelok Mountains,” the dragon thundered in reply.
Malem flinched at the noise levels. “Speak softer, when you’re so close to me!”
“I’m sorry,” the dragon said. The voice was much softer, but still loud to Malem—that must have been considered a whisper for the creature.
Malem had no eyes outside, so he had to rely on his beast sense to get an idea of where the other monsters were. He realized one of the dragons was approaching the entrance to the keep.
“One of your friends is coming,” he told Hastor. “Hold it off.”
The black dragon promptly swung toward the main entrance, and lumbered that way.
“Hastor, are you all right?” a booming voice came from outside.
A black head peered inside.
Hastor promptly swatted that head back out with the taloned paw of a forelimb. “Everything is under control. Guard the grounds as you were told.”
“The fireworker betrayed us,” the other dragon complained.
“I don’t care,” Hastor said. He turned around and squatted at the entrance, blocking the view of the other.
Malem sensed the second dragon retreating.
“Well done,” he told Hastor. He mounted Bounder, and directed the iguanid back toward the stairwell. When he got there, he discovered Abigail, Gwen, and Xaxia were watching at a crouch just beyond floor level.
“I can’t believe you just took control of a dragon,” Xaxia said.
“It was all thanks to them.” He nodded at Abigail and Gwen, who smiled wearily. He had taken more from them then he probably should have. But he couldn’t return any of that stamina, not yet. There were two other dragons, and a small army of oraks outside.
He spotted the three steeds secured next to the broken doors to the basement below.
“Mount your horses,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
He took Bounder down the stairs four at a time, and proceeded into the passageway beyond. He allowed Bounder to take a few bites from the dead earth mage, enough to satisfy the iguanid’s hunger. Felipe peered out from his jacket at the sound of Bounder eating, as if the monkey feared what it would see. It seemed relieved when it saw it was only the iguanid feasting on a dead monster.
Malem turned around and darted back up the stairs. The horses waited at the top, with the women in their respective saddles. Abigail and Gwen sat slumped, he noticed.
I have taken too much.
But he couldn’t give them back any stamina right now. He was too worried about losing his hold on the dragon.
When he reached the top, and the dragon at the entrance came in view, Felipe promptly ducked underneath his collar once more.
“Where’s my sword?” Xaxia asked as they rode to Hastor.
Malem gestured to the dragon’s belly, where the hilt protruded.
“Great,” she commented sarcastically. “You expect me to get it?”
He shrugged.
She shot him a look of ire, then went, fuming, to the dragon. Her steed wouldn’t get close to the dragon, so she was forced to dismount and proceed the rest of the way on foot. She jumped up, reaching for the hilt, but missed. She tried again, and grabbed it; she swung her legs up and pressed them against the belly for leverage, and then ripped the sword free, drawing with it a stream of blood that sprayed her face and clothes as she landed on her back, flat on the floor.
The dragon issued a grunt of relief. Malem felt the distress emanating from the bundle of energy lessen.
Xaxia wiped the blood away in disgust as she stood up. “Thanks for that.”
The dragon shifted, bringing its long neck around to peer underneath its body. Its head was almost right in front of her.
“My, my, what big eyes you have,” it said in that deep, terrible voice.
Xaxia quickly dashed out from underneath its belly, running back to her steed, mounting it, and then spurring the animal back to where Malem and the others waited. She squeezed in behind him, effectively hiding herself from the dragon’s view.
“Last time I lend you my sword,” she muttered.
He ignored her and instead asked Hastor: “Do you need healing?”
The dragon straightened. “No.” It was taking care to control the volume of its voice, Malem noticed. Good. “Now that the sword has been removed, the wound will heal naturally. Give me an hour.”
“Dragons have amazing regenerative powers,” Abigail commented.
Malem nodded.
“All right,” he told the three women. “We have only a few more enemies to evade, and then we can be on our way. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
28
Malem and the others lurked by the tall exit to the main hall as Hastor plodded outside. He accessed the dragon’s vision and shared it with Gwen and Abigail as Hastor passed the oraks with a stride that could best be considered scornful. The dragon’s vision was just as detailed as Spirit’s had been, with crisp colors and detailed shades.
“I didn’t know you could do this,” Abigail said in awe. �
��Sharing the vision of a dragon like that?”
“One of the many benefits of our link,” he said.
“You almost make me want to link with you,” Xaxia said.
“Too bad you can’t,” Gwen said. “You have to be a monster like me, or have magic in you.”
Xaxia shrugged. “It’s okay. I like using my own eyes, anyway.” She peered past a crack near the doorway and into the courtyard beyond.
Hastor left behind the oraks to approach the other two dragons, who squatted apart from the lesser monsters. These two dragons were bigger than Hastor, Malem noted. Hastor had shared their names: Dathamus and Saathar. Though Malem had no idea which was which.
“So, what news?” one of the dragons asked in a voice so loud it carried all the way to the keep.
Malem wondered vaguely why he hadn’t heard the other dragons conversing all this time; probably they had been keeping to themselves. Either that, or talking in the softer voice he knew they were capable.
“I killed them all,” Hastor replied.
“Good,” the other dragon said. He turned toward an orak soldier that was obviously a commanding officer. “Send in a team to collect the corpses as proof for the Black One.”
The orak nodded hastily and picked out five members that made for the keep at a run.
Hastor curled its lip in a snarl and turned toward the running oraks. “You will do no such thing!”
The oraks stopped immediately, cowering before the mighty dragon.
“What deceit is this?” the other dragon asked.
“No deceit, Dathamus,” Hastor said. “There are no bodies! I dissolved them all!”
The larger dragon, the one named Dathamus, narrowed its eyes and brought its head level with Hastor’s. “We must still send a team inside to confirm their deaths. You know this.”
“Oh yes, I know,” Hastor said. The dragon moved in a blur, and bit down on the neck of Dathamus. At the same time, dark mists materialized around Hastor’s body, and darted toward the surrounding oraks. The smaller creatures screamed as the mist struck them, causing black veins to spread across their bodies; as the veins expanded, they left dissolved flesh in their wake. Some of the pale horses were also struck, and they suffered similar fates. Malem felt pity for the animals, but he reminded himself that they were more monster than horse at this point.
The other dragon, Saathar, reared its head and released a stream of acid.
Hastor pulled free, tearing a big chunk of flesh away from the neck of Dathamus, and ducked behind the bigger dragon as the acid came in. Dathamus staggered, and was only further injured when Hastor released his own acid breath into the wound he had caused. The bigger dragon toppled drunkenly and hit the ground with a resounding thud. Malem could feel the vibrations from within the keep.
The ears on the horses pinned straight back with fright, and they chomped down on their bits, fidgeting nervously; it took an obvious effort on the part of their riders to keep the steeds from bolting or rearing. Even Bounder fidgeted underneath Malem, perturbed by the deadly dance of the two titans outside.
Malem sent a tranquil vibe to the animals. Even though the horses weren’t under his direct control, three factors helped the vibe penetrate: he had broken these particular animals multiple times before; the vibe was soothing rather than controlling; and finally his bond with Gwen and Abigail boosted his beast powers. Thus, when the serene sensations reached them, the horses calmed completely. It was slightly draining to issue that vibe while still maintaining his hold on the dragon, but all too necessary under the current circumstances.
Meanwhile, outside on the estate grounds, Hastor had dropped, shielding itself behind the dying form of the larger dragon. Saathar was circling the body of its fallen companion at a crouch as if to come in from the side. The oraks were staying well clear of the fight; those that had survived the dark mists had hidden among the various outbuildings and shrubs. They left their steeds standing confused in the open; some of the horses had torn free of their hitches and bolted.
Hastor had told Malem that the acid and dark magic wouldn’t work on its fellow dragons unless their scales were torn away. Hence the need to grievously injure the creatures first. That meant the fight would soon devolve into a wrestling match.
Sure enough, as soon as Saathar rounded the dying body of the fallen dragon, Hastor leaped upon him, and the pair rolled about in a blur of sharp talons and rending teeth. They issued terrible screams and growls as they traded blows, and sent up clouds of dust throughout the courtyard.
Snapping and clawing at one another, the keep rumbled as they grappled across the estate grounds. The pair hit an outbuilding, and caved in its side. They struck the keep itself next, and one of the towers toppled. Part of the main hall collapsed.
Malem was forced to mentally calm the horses once more; at the same time he reached experimentally into Saathar’s mind. The beast was definitely injured—Malem could readily wrap his will around its energy. Still, Saathar struggled in his grasp. Though Malem had no hope of fully Breaking the dragon—he didn’t have the slots for it—he strove only to distract it. He had to be careful though, lest he weaken himself so severely that he lost his grip on Hastor.
The huge forms rolled partway into the collapsed section of the keep; it was Saathar, with Hastor on top. Saathar seemed to be fighting back less aggressively, perhaps because of Malem’s interference.
“Which one is on top?” Abigail asked.
“That would be Hastor,” Malem said. He knew only because of his link to the animal. Otherwise, he couldn’t quite tell which was the bigger dragon, not in their current entangled state.
Abigail urged Ember forward a few paces—the animal obeyed, though it was obviously afraid. No doubt Malem’s calming efforts helped.
The fire mage’s arms ignited, and she pointed both of them at the dragons at the same time. From her palms streams of flame shot forth, striking a raw wound in Saathar’s side where the scales had been cut open.
The dragon screamed as the red muscle underneath turned a charred black. The smell of burnt flesh drifted through the hall.
The injury allowed Malem to tighten his grip around its mind, but a moment later the dragon thrashed free.
It turned its partially pinned head toward the party, its eyes full of hate, and snarled.
“Don’t look!” Malem said, averting his gaze.
The black mists of dark magic abruptly streaked from Saathar, swirling toward the party. Malem saw it, because he still had access to Hastor’s vision. As did Gwen and Abigail. But not Xaxia.
“Flee, Xaxia!” he said.
He, Gwen and Abigail spurred their steeds outside, but Xaxia remained motionless. He realized she hadn’t looked away in time earlier, and had been caught by the dragon’s gaze.
He spun Bounder about, but was too late to save her. The mists hit her and her horse full on, and her body spasmed with the impacts. Some of the black streaks hit the crooked doors behind her, and the metal shriveled.
Malem went to her, and caught her as she fell out of the saddle. Her steed was no more—Balius had taken too many of the black darts, and the animal collapsed, dead.
He laid Xaxia across his saddle. Dark veins were spreading up her neck, toward her face.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Malem directed Bounder down the stairs and out of the keep, wanting to get away from the dragon. He joined Abigail and Gwen at the bottom. Meanwhile he drew his dagger from his ankle sheath and cut a line across Xaxia’s chin. It was a trick he had learned from the Darkness, when its tendrils occasionally brushed innocents in its pursuit of him. He wasn’t sure it would work in this case, but thankfully the cut seemed to halt the spread, as the veins didn’t climb her face. Instead, spilling from the fresh wounds he’d carved was blood mixed with what looked like black sludge, thick and flowing.
Below the cuts, the veins on her neck expanded slightly, and then disappeared as the dark venom mingled with the nearby tissues, cau
sing the surrounding flesh to dissolve so that black veins became runnels of raw red. He quickly retrieved the healing unguent from his saddlebags and smeared it on the wounds. Then he applied bandages on top. Her chest still moved up and down, though her breathing was ragged.
“How did you know to do that to stop the spread?” Abigail asked above the continuous booms of the dragon fight behind them.
He didn’t answer.
“She’ll be bleeding all over,” Abigail continued. “Wherever the mist struck. You’ll have to open up her corset. She’s lucky, she should be dead.”
“Her horse took the brunt of the attack,” he said. “It saved her.”
Abigail’s eyes teared up. “She loved that horse.”
He nodded. “I know. Help me bind her!”
He had Bounder kneel, and then lowered Xaxia to the dirt. Abigail and Gwen dismounted to join him.
He lifted her robe and cut open her corset, but was shocked when he saw that not all of the dark veins had corroded. Instead, they had turned into black, festering wounds.
Abigail shook her head. “Only a dark practitioner can heal this.”
“We still need to bind her,” he said. “She’s bleeding badly.”
He had only just begun to bandage her when he heard a nearby shout.
“Kill them!” came the gravelly voice.
He looked up. Oraks were flowing from the cover of nearby shrubs. Apparently they had finally mustered the courage to fight. Probably thought it would please their dragon masters.
If only they knew who the real master was…
“Damn it.” He reached underneath his lowered hood and drew his sword from the scabbard on his back. Felipe, huddling next to the scabbard inside his jacket, squeaked in fright. But Malem hardly noticed. He was already turning to face the oraks.
His mind was blank, except for one thought.
Have to kill them quickly if we want to live.
“Hold them off!” Gwen shouted from behind him. “I’ll finish binding her!”
He sent Bounder forward to begin ripping and tearing. Meanwhile, Abigail mounted her steed to launch fireballs from horseback.
