Twilight of the Dragons (8 page)

“I can't just
make it hard,”
snapped Geraldo, anger suddenly getting the better of him. Five years of hardcore manoeuvres on mock battlefields, beaten by swords, skewered by capped spears, punched in the ribs during unarmed combat – to end up
here.
“I'm not a fucking machine!”

Emilia gasped. “Oh my. Oh by the gods! By the Seven Sisters! I cannot believe you feel no sexual attraction towards me,
your little princess,
for I am perfect in every way! I've had a hundred lovers, each one desperate to lick and suckle my perfect pert breasts, each one eager to kiss my sweet mouth, each one desperate to thrust his manhood inside me and bring me squealing to a pinnacle of perfect writhing pleasure…
how dare you not get a hard cock and pleasure me
…”

Geraldo coughed, looking down again. Now he was really fucked. Or not.

Emilia climbed onto her hands and knees, the dreamy drug state evaporating as righteous anger took hold. Her face changed, from sweet, pampered and powdered pooch, to a mask of anger which turned her into something ugly and horrific. Rage swam through her face like piranhas through blood-infested waters. Her eyes narrowed and an accusing finger lifted, pointing at Geraldo.

“You… you are going to fucking
hang
…” she said.

“But… Your Highness!”

“Guards! Guards!” she squealed.

There came a
whump.
Emilia's hair streamed behind her and she blinked, ten times in rapid succession, simply not understanding what she was seeing, or indeed, what had happened. She could see the pool, shimmering with crimson sunlight. Her entourage of sycophants were running around, apparently, in circles, screaming and knocking over goblets of fine wine. But, but,
but
she suddenly realised the
tent
had gone. And so had Geraldo.

“Geraldo?” she said, voice tiny.

There came a distant crack, a pause, a sound like rainfall, and then the upper half of Geraldo's torso slammed onto the white flags before Emilia. From the broken waist trailed streamers of tendon and tattered muscle, and from the layers of meat and fat poked a broken hip, sheared away, jagged, stark white, and twitching.

Emilia took a rapid succession of panting breaths, then screamed, screamed for help, screamed for guards, but everybody was running around in a panic like chickens in a hutch when a fox digs his way in.

Emilia lifted her hand to her head, touching her fingers to her forehead, and swooned, toppling back on the silk sheets, now speckled with Geraldo's blood. She waited for some attendance. When none came, she opened her eyes to see a dark shadow flit across the sky, wheel, and dive. It approached so fast Emilia let out a gasp, and when it landed, the whole tower shook as claws gouged long grooves through the white stone flags, cracking some, breaking others, ripping up more so they exploded in a shower of shattered stone, which whirred across the tower top causing several bludgeoned injuries.

The
dragon
came to a halt, and its tail whipped out, connecting with ten of Emilia's wailing entourage and sending them spinning away like skittles, where they bounced from the roof of the Tower of the Moon, and wailed a long way down into tumbling oblivion.

The dragon turned, lazily, with utter contempt, and dark eyes fixed on Emilia. Slowly, the head lowered. Lips curled back. And the dragon
grinned.

“I am a princess!” squeaked Emilia, shuffling backwards, face a rictus of terror. “Princess Emilia. I have royal blood! I am the niece of King Yoon, you know. I have rights, you know.”

Flames curled around Volak's lips, and her grin widened. Those dark eyes bore through Emilia's soul.

“You are a princess, you say?” came Volak's powerful, musical rumble. “I am impressed!”

“You are?” came the tiny squeak, as Emilia's bladder suddenly weakened and urine stained the silk sheets.

“Yes! However.”

“However?”

“You are a princess. But I am the queen,” said Volak, eyes narrowing, “and this is my world now. Do you know what happens to enemy royalty when a royal throne is usurped?”

Emilia was shaking too much to reply.

Volak smiled, showing far too many fangs. “They burn,” she said, and gave a tiny exhalation of fire which ignited Emilia and the bed on which she trembled. For a moment there was no response as her hair went up in flames and her skin started to blacken, then she leapt off the bed, hands flapping, a wail erupting from flame-charred lips, and in a blind panic ran, slamming into the low barrier which surrounded the roof of the Tower of the Moon, to flip neatly over the side.

The slap of imploding flesh and compacting bones came much, much later.

Volak turned, to see possibly ten remaining sycophants, frozen in various naked poses, in what could possibly have been considered a comedy tableaux, if they hadn't been about to burn.

Volak smiled at them.

A young man screamed.

Fire howled across the platform, as Volak
sang…

“
I
t's getting closer
.”

Beetrax halted, and looked at Talon, then Lillith, and finally, Dake.

“It's following us, ain't it?”

Talon gave a single nod, and aimed down the tunnel. A cool breeze blew, chilling the group, and making Talon's long hair drift gently in the airflow.

A wail spun out again, a long and lonely ululation, a sound of pain, and terror, and ultimately, despair.

“It sounds hurt,” said Lillith, slowly.

“I wish it'd hurry up and die, then,” snapped Beetrax.

“That's beneath you, Trax.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

The wail went up again, closer. They heard several crunching sounds, and more thumps.

“We're going to have to fight,” said Talon.

“Not here,” snapped Beetrax. “We need somewhere better to defend.”

“Come on.”

They started to jog, and the corridor sloped down, the rough, rocky floor spiralled with rainbow colours of spilled oil. The tunnel opened into a chamber filled with a myriad of engineering objects. There was a row of perhaps twenty mining carts, several on rails which then led off into adjoining tunnels, before disappearing in the darkness. There were two carts on their sides, with missing wheels and sections of undercarriage cut free. This was obviously some kind of repair shop.

A collection of oil-filled barrels stood next to one shed, together with piles of ropes and chains. There were racks of mining tools along one far wall, and a large well, its circular wall fashioned from stones cut from the chamber. Next to where they entered were various wooden scaffolds, which towered up to their right, perhaps twenty to thirty feet in height.

“A good place to fight?” said Talon.

Beetrax nodded. “You get up there on that scaffold, lad. I'll stand here with Dake, and lure it into the open, and whatever it is emerges from that tunnel, you shower it with arrows, all right? And, er, you girls better go hide behind the shed. And take Jael with you, the spineless little fucker.”

“I can fight,” said Jael, quietly, but Beetrax ignored him.

“Hide behind the shed?” Sakora snarled at Beetrax. “What are you, some kind of idiot?” She pulled free two knives, and scowled at him. “I could kick your arse any time, fat man. Just name the place and time.”

Beetrax grinned. “That's more like it,” he said, and moved to a space before the tunnel opening. He rolled his neck and shoulders, and readied his axe, then watched Talon climb the scaffold, taking precise care with each hand and foot hold.

“You climb that scaffold like old people fuck,” he said.

Talon stopped, turned, and frowned. “Feel free to climb up it yourself, you sarcastic old goat. I don't like heights, all right?”

“Now, now, don't be like that. I was simply observing that if you moved any fucking slower, the fight might be over before you even get the chance to loose off a single arrow.”

“If you didn't keep
interrupting my concentration
, then maybe I'd actually get to the top of this pile of shit.”

Beetrax swore in several different languages, including mud-orc, and faced the tunnel, and waited. Sakora stood to his left, loosening up, and Lillith moved back, her face filled with apprehension.

Something bad is coming
,
she realised.
Something
…
old. Something changed by the magick of the Elders; the magick of Equiem
. She shuddered, and delved down deep inside herself, searching her repertoire, her internal library of white spells, magick used for healing and cures. There were hundreds. But deep down, past the layers of civility, through clouds of spiritual fog which
protected
her, there were dark spells, tangled tails of Equiem magick. She had once taken an oath to never, ever use them… for to use dark Equiem was to give away a part of one's soul, a little bit at a time. Every time you used the dark arts, they infected you, ate away at you, gradually transforming a person from good to evil – until you stood in a place where you no longer had any control, and were completely lost. Eventually, Equiem took away your humanity. Even casting a single spell would send Lillith on a dark road towards the Chaos Halls.

“Beetrax?”

“Yes, Lil?” He was eyeing Talon as he reached the top of the scaffold, and peered over the edge, tentatively, as if frightened he might fall. Beetrax tutted, shaking his head.

“Whatever comes through that tunnel opening, kill it.”

Beetrax frowned. “You've changed your tune.”

“Just do it!”

“All right, all right!” He twirled his axe in a figure of eight, a blur of steel, blades hissing. “Kill it. I got it.” He stood, shoulders braced, and waited, eyes narrowing. Dake stood slightly to one side, out of range of Beetrax's blades; he didn't want them in the back of the head by accident.

A cool breeze drifted from the tunnel opening. Behind, from some far section of the chamber, water dripped. There came a creaking sound from one of the shacks, and Beetrax turned around once more, the hackles rising on the back of his neck. Something felt wrong. Out of place.

“It's the dark arts,” whispered Lillith.

Beetrax shrugged, and faced the gloomy hole of the tunnel.

The sounds had stopped. Silence oozed from the dark hole like black honey, and Beetrax shivered.

“You ready up there, archer?”

“I am, axeman.”

“You'll watch my back, right?”

“Have I ever let you down?”

“When you do, I'll be dead, that's for sure.”

“Trust me, Trax.”

Beetrax nodded, and his humour had gone, as he prepared to fight. Something was coming, he could feel it, as unstoppable as the seasons, as terrifying as nature. And then it was there. It halted within the depths of the tunnel, its breathing slow-paced and husky. Then there came a flowering of flame, just for an instant, which blossomed like the opening petals of a dark rose, before it withered and died, the rose crumbling to ash.

“What the fuck is that?” said Sakora, breathing deeply, calming herself.

“Not quite sure,” said Beetrax. “But it'll die just like any other bastard.”

“It's studying us,” said Lillith, carefully. “It is a monster, but it's intelligent.”

“Why doesn't it attack?”

“I don't know,” said Lillith. “But it
has
been tracking us. It has our scent in its nostrils.”

They waited, watching the beast in the darkness.

And then it stepped forward, slowly, into the light.

“By the Seven Sisters,” said Lillith, taking another step back.

Flames flickered around the strange, twisted dragon snout. Black eyes glittered, watching them, as its tail whipped backwards and forwards like an angry cat, the speared tip glinting, razor sharp, whining through the air.

Beetrax acknowledged this, and was about to charge, when flames rumbled around the creature's grinning maw.

“Er, it has fire,” said Beetrax, through clenched teeth, out the side of his mouth.

Sakora nodded, dumbly. She had never seen anything quite like it. Well,
she had,
but Orlana's splice had been a completely different proposition. This was… this was horrific beyond anything she'd ever witnessed.

“You are one ugly motherfucker,” snapped Beetrax, and his words snapped the spell. The beast let out a sudden, high-pitched wail and charged, thundering forward, black and green scales glinting, legs stomping, tail whipping about.

Beetrax watched, carefully, then his eyes flickered to Talon.

A shaft hissed through the gloom, smashing into the creature's back, making it rear its head, screaming, as Beetrax stepped to one side and his axe slashed out. A blade was
deflected
by scales in a shower of sparks, and the creature slammed passed, as Sakora danced backwards and the tail came around, slashing in a horizontal arc that crashed into Beetrax at midriff height, doubling him over and sending him flying across the rocky floor, face purple, gasping for breath, axe clattering off to one side. Dake ran in, sword raised, eyes hard, but a second swipe of the beast's tail lashed out, cracking him around the head and sending him rolling, to slam against a stack of old wooden crates. He rose for a moment, but then slumped to the ground, stunned, clutching his head where blood trickled from a savage wound in his cheek, and from his nose.

Sakora leapt at the beast, and a blast of flames sent her skipping away, knives glinting, eyes wide, attack forgotten as the heat scorched her eyebrows and hands.

The beast turned, panting, and glittering eyes fixed on Lillith.

Lillith took a step back, her voice a gasp, spells suddenly forgotten under that Equiem-born gaze.

Beetrax had got to his knees, then his feet, but he was too far away…

An arrow flashed, hitting the creature behind one ear before deflecting, and whining off across the chamber. A second arrow followed, punching into the creature's back, just below the shoulder blade. The point went between scales and bit deep, with a solid
thunk
of steel in flesh. The beast grunted, and turned away from Lillith, and looked up at Talon on the scaffold.

Sakora leapt onto its back, a dagger flashing down, but it grated against dragon scales. A thick-fingered hand sporting long, dangerous claws reached back, plucked Sakora from its back – holding her suspended and dangling for a moment – and then launched her across the chamber, where she hit an upturned mine cart, folded around it with a grunt of pain, and lay still, a broken doll.

Talon fired another arrow, but the creature side-stepped, and it skimmed from its twisted dragon head.

The beast grinned, took a deep breath, and a stream of fire blasted across the chamber, hitting the scaffolding, and igniting the wood.

Talon squawked.

Beetrax charged, axe slashing out, but a back-handed swipe sent him rolling across the floor, to hit the wall of the shack. Dust and pieces of wood rained down on him, making him sneeze violently, and sag, as several huge chunks of wood thundered down onto his skull, and unconsciousness threatened him with a dark dropping veil.

The beast charged at the scaffold, and Talon fired two, three, four arrows which glanced away. A fifth shaft hit the creature in the eye, but it didn't even slow, smashing into the lower struts of scaffold which groaned, and twisted, and sagged. Talon slipped, and grabbed a support, as the whole structure groaned again, moving to one side in its entirety, flailing like a dying dancer on ice.

“Fuck!” screamed Talon, as flames roared around him and he dropped his bow. “Trax! Sakora!”

But he could see Sakora. She was out of the game.

Dake was unconscious, blood under his face.

And Beetrax sat, like a drunkard in the gutter, shaking his head, wondering what had hit him.

Talon's eyes, reflecting the glow of roaring fire, met with Lillith's. The heat was rising fast now, and his boots were burning.

Help me,
said his eyes.

Lillith sighed, her face filled with sorrow.

I cannot,
said her eyes.
I cannot access the dark arts
…
or my soul will surely be gone
…

And so Talon waited to burn, as the creature smashed and broke and slashed at the scaffold, the only narrow, collapsing barrier between Talon and fire and death.

We're all going to die,
he realised, and desolation filled his soul.

We're never going home again.