by Hooke, Isaac
“I don’t think she’s in any condition for a fight…” Gwen said.
“You might be surprised,” Abigail told her. “We have one of the best healers among all dragon kind.”
“I have to drop off her reward anyway.” Malem tossed her coin pouch into the air and caught it. “Where is she?”
Abigail gave him directions to the healer, as well as the armory.
He reattached the scabbard containing his ordinary sword to his back, and left Biter hanging from his belt. He didn’t bother to don the monk robes he’d thrown into the corner of the room earlier.
“The Metals won’t give me trouble if they catch me wandering the halls alone, will they?” he asked. “Considering I’m armed...”
Abigail shook her head. “Just keep your gaze on the floor and you should be fine. They’ll think you’re a servant.”
“But I don’t have a livery...”
“Some of the nobles like to play dress up with their servants,” Abigail said. “So you won’t be out of place.”
“Great,” he said. “I’ll be confused for some dragon’s toy. What if they decide they want to steal me away and use me as their own toy for the evening?”
Abigail shrugged and said, rather coldly: “I’m sure you’d welcome that, given your previous talk.”
Gwen was all smiles, meanwhile. “That would be kind of funny, actually. They’d certainly be in for a surprise. The dragons would think they were taking a boy toy to their beds, instead they’d discover they’d invited a lion!”
“Sounds about right,” Malem said with a hungry smile.
“Quit encouraging him!” Abigail told her.
On that note, Malem made for the door.
He paused at the entrance.
“Did you clear the fire trap your brother left at the opening?” he asked.
Abigail nodded. “It’s gone.”
He stepped through the door nervously, but nothing happened.
He kept his eyes down as Abigail instructed and no dragons accosted him along the way to the healer.
He reached the chamber Abigail had described. A collared woman in white robes sat in a chair in the common room at the front. She was crocheting a tunic.
The seamstress looked up and seemed to know immediately who he was looking for, because the woman pointed at the first door on the right and said: “She’s in there.”
“Thank you.” Malem entered the room in question.
Xaxia was standing next to the bed, dressing. He arrived in time to watch her tightening the corset, via the straps on the front. Her long legs were bare, her hips covered only by the flimsiest of panties, as she hadn’t yet applied her leggings.
She glanced his way. “Can you help me tighten this?”
“Sure.” He grabbed a pair of straps and pulled. Her breasts nearly leaped out of her bosom from the pressure.
“Gah!” she said painfully.
“Too much?” he asked, loosening his hold slightly.
“No, no, that’s the way I like it.” She took the two cords from him and finished securing the corset.
“You know, if you wear that too tight, you displace your guts,” he told her. “Pushing them down into your reproductive organs, and up into your lungs.”
“Uh huh.” She grabbed her leggings from the nightstand and bent over to slide them on. Her ease of motion while wearing such a constricting thing seemed unnatural. He knew a fair bit about corsets, having untied more than a few from the chests of women in his day: they stiffened the back from the hip bones to the shoulder blades, and reduced lung capacity a great deal. Not to mention they made bending over nearly impossible. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but she’d been wearing the thing in combat, too, with no hits to her agility or stamina.
There was no way a woman could move the way she did, not while wearing an ordinary corset. So he concluded it had to be magical. He supposed it probably conferred some armor bonus, too.
But those thoughts were forgotten as she bent deeper: he had a hard time looking away, especially considering she was leaning forward right in front of him, her bulging breasts in full view.
Ever the tease.
“Feeling better, I take it?” he asked.
“Somewhat.” She finished sliding on the leggings, and then sat down on the chair next to the bed to catch her breath. That only confirmed to him that the corset was magical, because sitting would have only made it harder to breath, thanks to the pressure applied to her already constricted lungs. “Still a bit winded, I admit. The dragon’s dark threads dug deep. The healer says it’s a miracle I survived.”
“Not a miracle,” he told. “I broke one of the blacks. Had it reverse as much of the damage as possible.”
She chuckled softly. “Just like you to take credit.”
“You know where you are?”
“I woke up when they were carrying me through the halls,” she said. “I passed by all these muscular, collared men. I thought I was dreaming, but if it was a dream, why wasn’t I bedding these men rather than merely looking at them? And why did I have so much trouble keeping my eyes open? When I arrived here, Melody worked her magic and strength flowed back into my veins. She explained everything. We’re in the kingdom of the Metal Dragons.”
“Melody… the seamstress watching the entrance?”
“Seamstress?” Xaxia said. “No, she’s the healer. As she likes to put it: when she’s not mending patients, she’s mending clothes.”
“Nice,” he said. “Did she mention Abigail is a dragon? And a princess to boot?”
“She did, in fact,” Xaxia told him. “Melody was impressed that I rode in on her back.”
“I’ll bet a lot of those collared men you spoke of were similarly impressed…”
She smiled, but then her features saddened, and she couldn’t meet his eyes when she spoke again. “Balius?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Your steed took the brunt of the magic. I think, I think he may have been trying to save you.”
Xaxia teared up. She couldn’t talk for a long moment. She merely shook her head, her chin quivering.
When she finally was able to speak, she told him: “I raised that horse from a foal. He was wild. I broke him. You would have been proud.”
He nodded.
“He was there, when you and I first met,” she continued. “Your Darkness chased him away, but he didn’t run far. He was there in the forest, waiting for me, and he carried me to safety. As he has done throughout his life. Loyal to the core. Always putting my needs above his own.”
Malem remained absolutely quiet. He had no words that would heal the pain she felt. Nothing could.
“Why is life like this?” Xaxia said. “Why is it only pain and suffering?”
Again, he had no words for her. It isn’t always pain and suffering, he wanted to say, but such a phrase would only ring hollow right now, sounding more like a clichéd platitude than anything else. So he stepped forward, knelt, and simply held her in his arms, letting her shed her tears on his shoulder.
Finally, after a long time, she pushed him away. He was grateful: his shoulder was quite damp by then, and in truth he’d wanted to release her minutes ago.
So he let go and sat on the bed, while she remained in the chair. They stayed there together in silence for at least thirty seconds.
“I believe this is yours,” he detached the scabbard from his hip, and handed it, along with the magic sword it contained, back to her.
She immediately unsheathed the weapon and examined the blade. There was strange writing inscribed on the metal that he hadn’t noticed before. Probably elvish or dwarvish.
“Thank you,” she said absently, her eyes lost in the blade.
“I don’t suppose I can have it?” he asked.
A hint of a smile played across her lips. “I don’t think so.”
“But the vitality boost—”
She gave him a cross look. “It’s my sword.”
He ra
ised his palms in surrender. “It’s your sword.”
She returned her attention to the blade and her gaze became distant. “You have to be careful with Biter. It has a mind of its own. Sometimes it will grant you vitality, sometimes it won’t. Sometimes you only need to kill two or three foes and you’ll be filled to the brim with energy. Sometimes you’ll kill a hundred and Biter gives you nothing. So just because I gave the blade to you wouldn’t mean you’d suddenly become invincible.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “Everything has a weakness.”
She nodded and sheathed the weapon. “Or a price.”
As she strapped the scabbard to her waist, he studied her uncertainly. “What’s yours?”
She finished securing the sheath and looked up. “What do you mean? For Biter?”
“No,” he said, gazing intently into her eyes. “What will it take for you to stay? At least a little longer.”
“Ah.” She met his gaze unflinching for several moments, and then averted her eyes. “One of those male dragons as a sex slave would be nice.”
She smiled, but it seemed false, and ended too quickly. The pain of losing her precious steed was still too fresh for any real cheer on her part.
“What about some coin?” Malem tossed her the pouch. “You also have your pick of the horses in the royal stable.”
“But I don’t want any other steed,” she murmured.
“None of them will ever replace Balius,” he agreed, “but at least you’ll have transportation again.”
She opened the pouch and her eyes widened. “Five gold drachmae?”
“The reward for escorting the king’s daughter safely to the keep,” Malem said.
She nodded, and secured the pouch inside her waistband, hiding it from view beneath the skirt of metal plates that girded her hips.
“A small group of us are going to Fallow Gate,” he said. “Will you come? We could use your sword arm.”
She seemed confused. “Why would you need me? There are an army of dragons here, much more powerful than I am. They put Biter to shame.”
“Yeah, except for the small fact that only a few of them are coming,” he explained. “The king doesn’t know we’re doing this.”
“Ah.” She looked away. “I’ve had my fill of fighting with the underdog, I think. Losing Balius…” But she couldn’t finish.
“Losing a close friend, or animal, changes you in ways that most can’t fathom until it happens to them,” he told her. “So I understand completely. But I am curious where you’ll ride then, when you leave.”
Xaxia rubbed her forehead, and sighed. “I always hated it in the tales I used to read as a child when the heroes and heroines asked each other at the end: ‘where will you go?’ It seems like such a clichéd question. But I realize, it’s a realistic one. People grow attached to one another, and feel they have an interest, or a stake, in each other. I suppose I should tell you. Give you a chance to follow me.” She winked as her old self momentarily broke through the steel bastion of her grief.
“There you go,” Malem said.
“All right, well, I’m taking the money and riding to the east. If war is coming, I want to get as far away from it as possible. My monster fighting days are behind me. I can’t promise I won’t accept the odd banditry job, though.” She paused. “I’m not really sure what city I’ll end up in. All I know is I’ll find my fortune eastward.”
He grinned. “Eastward it is.”
“You say it like you’re certain to pursue,” Xaxia said. She paused, then added: “Will you?”
He thought he sensed a hint of yearning in her voice when she asked the question.
He let his smile fade. “Xaxia, I—” But he couldn’t finish.
She looked away. “Too bad. We would have made a good team, you and I.”
“The best,” he agreed.
She swiveled toward him and leaned in close to kiss him full on the lips. It was an urgent kiss, full of promise, and yet somehow possessive.
She pulled away just as he was getting into it.
“Something for you to remember me by,” she said with one final wink, then she gathered the remainder of her belongings, slung them over her shoulder, and left without a word more. She didn’t look back.
It was probably for the best. She was safer this way. That was one less woman for him to worry about.
Neither the Darkness, nor the war, would take her.
He couldn’t say the same for himself.
Or Gwen and Abigail.
36
When he reached the armory, the collared old man at the entrance ushered him in.
“The princess is waiting for you in aisle five,” the man said.
Rows containing racks of weapons and armor spread out before him. Malem made his way along the outer edge of the aisles formed by those rows, glancing longingly at the different weapons each contained. There were swords with jeweled pommels, axes with gold-tipped blades. He had to remind himself that gaudy embellishments didn’t necessarily mean good blades.
He reached the fifth. As the old man promised, Abigail and Gwen were there, roughly halfway inside.
He walked down that particular aisle, between racks carrying armor of different shapes and sizes. All of it seemed to be made of dragon scales, the same armor equipping the soldiers outside, and worn by the king himself.
Abigail was helping Gwen secure a breastplate of bronze dragon scales to her chest. He recognized that now familiar sigil with the fiery talon carved into the center.
Abigail looked up when he approached.
“Xaxia?” she asked when she saw he was alone.
“Not coming,” Malem answered.
Abigail nodded. Her energy bundle felt oddly unemotional about the issue, not seeming to care either way if the bandit came or not. They never really liked each other, he supposed. But you didn’t need to like someone to respect them.
Abigail finished helping Gwen suit up, and the half gobling held out her arms and turned around to give him a three hundred and sixty degree view.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Like an orak in full gear,” he replied.
She laughed. “Gee, thanks.”
“It’s the bronze,” he explained.
Abigail returned Gwen’s equipment belt, which held her scabbarded sword, and she attached it above her new armor.
“Try the helm.” Abigail handed her a beak-like helmet similar to what the other dragon soldiers wore.
Gwen slid it on. “It’s a good fit, if a little constraining on the vision.” She tried closing the visor. “Even worse when it’s closed.”
“They’re all like that,” Abigail said.
She took off the helm and gave it a considering look. “I’m not sure I’ll wear it. I like my peripheral vision.”
Abigail shrugged. “Keep it secured to your belt. You might change your mind.”
Gwen nodded and tied it to her equipment belt.
Abigail proceeded further down the aisle and picked out a golden suit for him. “This should fit you.”
“How come he gets gold and I have to wear bronze?” Gwen complained.
“That was all we had in your size, I’m sorry,” Abigail told her.
He removed his belt so he could don the skirt of metal scales at his hips, and also doffed the scabbard he wore at his back.
Abigail helped him slide on the arm and leg assemblies of the suit, and then held the breastplate to his chest. Like Gwen’s, the armor had a fiery talon carved onto the scales of the front.
“It’s got the Metal Dragon sigil on it,” he commented offhandedly.
“Indeed it does.” Abigail reached around his back to find the locking strap. “It marks you as one of ours, now.”
He had to laugh at that. “I suppose I am. Though you’re mine, too.”
She pulled back slightly to give him a ravenous look.
“Um, I’m here?” Gwen said. “Quit flirting, you a-holes.”
&nbs
p; When Abigail quickly looked away it only made him chuckle anew.
“You know,” Malem said, becoming serious. “I never thought I’d find myself fighting side by side with half dragons to save a people I owe nothing to.”
“Most soldiers in war feel the same way,” Abigail said as she secured the breastplate to him. “But trust me, in this case, you’re doing the right thing.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
She stepped back, and gave him a pair of boots, and some gauntlets to put on. “Made of real dragon scales, this armor will deflect all but the most determined orak blows. It will also protect the two of you from the acid breath of the blacks. And flames, of course, in case there are any fire mages among the blacks, or the oraks.”
“And what about liquid fire?” he asked her.
“They can’t create the liquid flames of my kind,” she said. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Yeah, but I’m worried more about friendly fire,” he said. “You’re friends are going to miss sometimes. If that liquid flame gets on my armor, it’ll become an oven in here.”
She reached onto a rack, grabbed a shield and tossed it to him. He caught it easily. It was light.
“Use this,” Abigail said. “It’s made of the same dragon scales.”
He slid the shield into the provided slot on the back of his armor, and Gwen did the same with the buckler Abigail gave her a moment later.
She offered him a helm similar to Gwen’s; he tied his belt back around his waist and secured the helmet to it. The sturdy band held.
He gestured for Abigail to return his sword and scabbard, which she had set aside on a rack behind her, but when she grabbed the weapon she didn’t return it.
“Let’s find some better weapons for the two of you,” Abigail said instead. “If you’re going to fight side by side with us, then you need to be armed with weapons fit for a dragon.”
She led them down another aisle, this one containing racks stuffed to the brim with different weapon types.
Abigail paused beside a shelf filled with quivers of different shapes, sizes and colors. She grabbed one, examined it, and put it back. She grabbed another, checked the underside, and then offered it to Gwen.
