Soul of Dragons (32 page)

“Mortal!” shrieked the dragon, spinning to face her. “You will burn for this! I will boil the blood in your veins and feast on your flesh!”  

The dragon raced at her, moving faster than a galloping horse, far faster than any human could run. 

###

Mazael sprinted towards the dragon, watching as Romaria lured the great creature to crash against the hillside. She loosed volley after volley of arrows into the dragon, pinning its right wing in place.

Trapping it on the ground.

“Kjalmir!” shouted Mazael. Those massive Arminiar crossbows and their barbed quarrels had been built to kill Ogrags. At close enough range, he suspected they could punch through steel plate...or a dragon's scales. 

And a concentrated volley of those quarrels might be enough to bring down the dragon.

Kjalmir and his red-cloaked Arminiars hastened to Mazael's side, and as they did, the dragon charged at Romaria, bellowing.

###

The dragon thundered towards Romaria.

No fire. Her arrows had taught it better. The beast would simply trample her, or rip her to shreds with its talons. And no human could outrun a dragon on foot.

But Romaria was only half-human. 

She flowed into the shape of the great black wolf and raced to the dragon’s right.

The dragon stopped in shock, head rotating to follow her. Ancient the creature might have been, but it must not have ever encountered an Elderborn before, or else it would know of her power to change shape. 

The dragon pursued her. It was just as fast as Romaria, even in her wolf form, but she was far nimbler. She dodged and spun around the trees and the dragon ran after her, loosing blast after blast of fire. Romaria sped in circles around the dragon, avoiding the flames, dodging the long talons and the whip-like sweeps of the beast's tail. The dragon's smell, like hot iron and serpent's scales and burning meat, made her fur bristle. But she also smelled the blood and sweat of men, and glimpsed the Arminiars running at the dragon, massive crossbows in hand. 

Those huge crossbows. If they got close enough, the crossbows' barbed quarrels might penetrate the dragon's scales. 

If the dragon stayed in one place. If Romaria held its attention. 

She dodged another blast of flame, and Romaria threw back her head, howling in derision. The dragon came after her, flames erupting from its mouth. Romaria ran left, bracing herself to avoid another burst. 

The Arminiars and Mazael drew closer.

The dragon stopped and spun, its tail smashing into one of the steles. The black stone shattered, chunks flying through the air.

At Romaria. 

She ducked under the rubble, and the dragon unleashed its fire. Not at Romaria, but at a patch of bushes and trees in front of her. The bushes went up in a wall of billowing flame, the trees disappearing in curtains of fire. Romaria staggered a stop, the sheer heat of the inferno singing her fur. The fire would burn out in short order, but not quickly enough for Romaria to run around it before the dragon caught her. 

She was pinned.

The beast bellowed in glee and charged, mouth yawning wide.

###

Mazael watched Romaria blur into the form of the great black wolf, watched her dance around the dragon's enraged attacks. But even she could not keep that up forever. The dragon was too strong, too fast, and even a glancing hit from its fire would kill her. 

Then the dragon set a patch of trees in front of Romaria ablaze. She skidded to a halt, trapped between the flames and the charging dragon. The creature's mouth yawned wide, ready to devour her. 

But it was the best chance Mazael and the Arminiars would get.

“Now!” said Mazael, pointing Lion.

Kjalmir bellowed an order, and his knights raised their massive crossbows. 

The dragon realized the threat at the last instant. It stopped, its head swinging, its jaws opening wide. Mazael saw the fire glimmering in the dragon's maw, the white light preparing to erupt in a beam of hellish flame.

Then the crossbows thumped in the Arminiars' hands.

A volley of barbed bolts slammed into the dragon's neck and flank. At this range, the bolts tore through the golden scales and sank into the dragon's flesh. White blood, the color of molten iron, sizzled over the scales. The dragon reared up on its hind legs, screaming in agony, the hot blood dripping down its gold-scaled side.

Yet none of the dragon's wounds looked fatal. 

“Now, lads!” said Kjalmir. The Arminiars dropped their crossbows, drawing the steel war hammers strapped to their backs. A blade would be useless against the dragon's scales, but the blow of a heavy hammer could dent the scale and pulp the flesh beneath it. 

Mazael sprinted with Kjalmir's men to face the dragon, Lion in his right hand, a war hammer taken from a slain Arminiar in his left. The dragon dropped back to all fours, the ground shaking with the impact, fire blossoming in its mouth.

###

Romaria shifted back into her human form as the quarrels tore into the dragon's side. The beast screamed its fury, and Mazael and the Arminiars charged it, hammers in hand. The dragon's head swung to face them, their fire glimmering in its mouth. 

She raised her bow and fired, the arrow sinking into the side of the dragon's tongue. 

The dragon's head snapped to the side, its blast of fire shooting over the charging men, and its hateful glare fell on Romaria. 

###

The blast of flame erupted over Mazael's head, his face reddening from the heat.

But it missed, and the Arminiars closed with the dragon. Steel hammers rose and fell, white blood bursting forth. It was far hotter than human blood, and Mazael felt a stab of pain when some splashed on his jaw. 

The dragon shrieked in pain. Its tail smashed into the Arminiars, sent two of them tumbling through the air. Its talons closed about another man, ripping him in half like a bloody doll. Kjalmir raised his massive hammer in both hands and brought the weapon crashing into the joint of the dragon's left foreleg. Mazael heard a snap, and the dragon's leg wobbled, its belly scraping against the earth. 

And Mazael saw his chance.

He flung aside his hammer, seized the wounded foreleg, and scrambled onto the dragon's back. The scales felt hot beneath his gauntlets, like metal left in the summer sun. The dragon, distracted by the pain of its wounds, did not notice him. Mazael half-ran, half-climbed up the dragon's back, Lion in one hand, his other gripping the bony spines of the dragon's back. The beast's neck rose up, fire blasting from its jaws and incinerating three of the Arminiars.

Mazael caught the spines behind the dragon's head, Lion braced in one hand. 

The dragon felt his weight against its neck and howled, snapping its head back and forth. Mazael clung to the neck, one leg wrapping around a bony spine for support. The dragon drove its head forward, trying to dislodge him, and Mazael threw all his weight into the motion, thrusting Lion before him. 

The sword sank to the hilt in the dragon's neck, at the base of its horned skull.

The dragon's scream filled Mazael's ears, and ever muscle in its body went rigid at once. The whiplash of its neck catapulted Mazael into the air, Lion's hilt ripping from his hand. He smashed hard into the ground, his armor clattering, his bones snapping. Agony erupted through him, and he rolled onto his back, expecting to see the dragon attack. 

Instead the creature trembled for a moment longer, and then collapsed to the earth in a limp heap.

Mazael blacked out a moment later.

###

Romaria lowered her bow, breathing hard. 

Kjalmir and the other Arminiars stood staring at the dragon's carcass, stunned. Veterans though they were, the dragon's defeat had still shocked them. Romaria cast a quick glance at Arylkrad. If Corvad was in the castle, he couldn't possibly have missed the battle against the dragon.

He would be preparing.

“Gods save us,” said Kjalmir. “I was certain were finished. But Lord Mazael...gods, I never saw such boldness.” His blue eyes, bloodshot from heat and smoke, fixed on her. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady. Lord Mazael died valiantly.”

“Oh, he's not dead yet,” said Romaria as Gerald approached. “It will take more than a fall to kill Lord Mazael. See to your wounded, Sir Commander. If Corvad watched the fight from Arylkrad's walls, he might try to fall upon us while we are confused.”

That shook Kjalmir out of his shock. “Aye. I've not chased Corvad across the realm and seen a dragon slain only to fail at the end.” 

“How many dead?” said Romaria as Gerald approached.

“Seven more of mine, and nine of Mazael's,” said Gerald, voice grim, “and another five who wish they were dead. Gods, but fire is a bad way to die.” He shook his head. “And Mazael...”

“He's not dead yet,” said Romaria, crossing to the dragon's immense carcass. Lion's hilt jutted from the creature's head, smoke rising from the wound. Romaria gripped the hilt and yanked the weapon free. White blood, glowing with an inner heat, dripped from blade. The sword had taken no damage from the dragon's blood. 

Lion was older than the dragon, older than Dracaryl itself.

Gerald frowned. “But...”

“Make ready,” said Romaria, shaking the final drops from Lion's blade. “If Corvad saw the fight, he might attack at any moment.” 

She left the knights to their task and hurried away.

Romaria found Mazael forty yards away, in a tangle of bushes that had evaded the dragon's fire. He looked terrible, his face bruised, his arms and legs jutting at odd angles. A bolt of fear passed through Romaria. Suppose he had hit the ground too hard? Suppose the impact had shattered his skull, damaged his heart, wounded him beyond even the ability of his Demonsouled nature to heal?

Then he took a deep, rattling breath, and Romaria heard the crackling noise as his bones forced themselves back together. The bruising on his face faded, the gashes from the fall closing. He shuddered, and his eyes fluttered open, full of pain.

Romaria knelt besides him, helped him to sit.

“Gods,” muttered Mazael, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “that hurt.”

“What madness possessed you,” said Romaria, “to climb on the dragon's back?” 

“Osric said there was a weak point behind its head,” said Mazael. “And it worked, didn't it? The dragon's dead.” He blinked. “It is dead?”

Romaria handed him Lion. “It is.” On impulse she seized him in her arms. “Don't frighten me like that.”

He coughed out a laugh. “I'll avoid fighting any more dragons. If at all possible.” He got to his feet, leaning on her. “The others must think I'm dead.”

“They do,” said Romaria. “This will be hard to explain.” 

“Aye,” said Mazael, taking a deep breath. Already he seemed stronger. “Well, we haven't time to discuss it now. Corvad awaits.”

He walked towards the others, Romaria at his side.

###

Gerald, Kjalmir, Osric, Timothy, and Circan stood at the head of the surviving knights and armsmen. Far fewer remained than Mazael would have liked. Osric had not overstated the ferocity and power of a dragon. 

Both Lord Richard and Toraine Mandragon had slain dragons. Little wonder men feared them. 

Osric saw Mazael, and his eyes grew wide over his black beard. 

“Gods and devils,” said Osric. “How are you still alive?”

“I landed well,” said Mazael. “The trick is to bounce properly, you see.” 

“This is a great triumph, Mazael,” said Gerald. “They'll name you Dragonslayer now, along with Lord Richard.” 

“And you'll have armor wrought of dragon scales for your trophy,” said Osric. 

“No,” said Mazael, looking at the charred corpses scattered near the dragon. “No. The scales will go to the widows and orphans of the men slain here today.”

Osric gave a nasty laugh. “My lord, there are enough scales that those widows and orphans will live in comfort to the end of their days, and you'll still have enough left over to make yourself three suits of armor. A dead dragon is valuable. The scales make armor. The teeth can be made into daggers, sharp as obsidian and hard as steel. And a skilled smith can fashion the talons into swords beyond compare.” 

“Every man here,” said Mazael, “will get a share of whatever wealth the dragon's carcass brings. But we are not victorious yet. No one will get to enjoy the wealth if Corvad kills us first, and only a blind man could have missed that battle.” 

“We go to Arylkrad?” said Gerald.

“Aye,” said Mazael. “We've come all this way. Let us finish it.”

The surviving men formed up. Mazael left a small guard to watch over the wounded, and led the remainder across the valley to Arylkrad itself.

To Corvad and Molly.

Chapter 26 – Guardians

Green lightning screamed out of the sky and smashed against the doors of Arylkrad's central keep, a massive tower topped with a vast black dome.

Or, at least, the lightning would have, had it not vanished into a spray of sparks a foot from the iron-banded doors.

“Again!” shouted Corvad.

Molly sighed and stretched her neck.

They stood in the courtyard of Arylkrad, between the black walls and the mass of the central keep. They had passed through the gates in the outer wall unmolested, the Malrags ripping down the doors. Then they encountered the ward sheathing the castle. Or, at least, a few of the Malrags had, and now lay in charred heaps at the foot of the stairs. The High Lords of Arylkrad had been dead for centuries, but their potent wards still guarded their fortress from intruders. 

“I could walk the shadows into the castle,” Molly had said. “That ward cannot stop me.”

“True,” answered Corvad, “but you don't have the power to disable.”

Molly shrugged, indifferent. 

“Dispel the ward,” Corvad told his Malrag warlocks.

-We cannot, great one. We have no spells capable of dispelling it-