The Dragon Knight and the Light

by D. C. Clemens

  I may have heard a conversation if they raised their voices, but the two men, if they spoke at all, mostly whispered. Somewhat louder voices originated from the large chamber beyond them, but they too proved too incoherent to understand. Thus I lingered by the wall, with everything below my neck doing its best impression of a rock wall for the next couple of minutes.

  A break in the monotony came when I perceived the bowmen shift from a blithe stance to one that aimed their weapons downward, feet firmly planted on the ground. The Fadraeesa must have arrived to pick up the slavers’ bounty. Once the savages took the abducted too far into the hills, then no amount of patrols would be able to find them through the web of bandit-filled tunnels. I needed to act now if there was any chance of saving anyone.

  It was self-evident that the slavers did not trust the Fadraeesa. Perhaps I could incite that mistrust to my benefit. At the very least I wanted to create enough disorder to accomplish something worthwhile. So applying a sly sprint, I pried my back off the wall and pulled out an explosive dragon stone. I tossed the stone over the heads of the bowmen and triggered its potential. The blast had not yet died away when the point of my short sword burst out of the crossbow wielder’s chest. Acting as a middleman, my short sword mixed the crossbowman’s blood with that of the longbowman’s when its freed tip stabbed his right side.

  I kicked the hollering longbowman toward the dirt incline leading down to the next chamber. As I did that, I yelled out, “The Fadraeesa are attacking!” For some dumb reason I changed my accent at the last second to match the speakers in this part of the world. However, since I was terrible at mimicking people, I sounded more like a mocking parrot trying to sound like a panicked human.

  Whatever I sounded like, I withdrew back into the shadows so that no one could see I was not one of the human-sacrificing savages. I therefore only got a cursory glance at the chamber. From what I could tell, the room widened out at about forty yards, sprouted two or three more tunnels, and contained anywhere from five to ninety armed individuals. There may have been a few cages to the far right, but a row of stone columns and their shadows obscured a good view.

  A number of voices and scrambling feet erupted from the deadly provocation my sword and spell caused. I threw in another explosive stone to keep the chaotic uproar going. People cursed, spells spurt, and weapons slashed and clashed. Good thing I was not contending with the discipline of well-trained soldiers. I summoned more dragon stones, appreciating the fact that I still had one connection to Aranath and his power.

  As I picked up the stones, I heard someone behind me running toward the commotion. My spontaneous idea was to lie on my stomach and pretend to be dead. I craned my neck to see a slim figure brandishing a large axe dashing into view. He saw the dead bowmen, but it seemed the darkness was sufficient to hide me. I used my expedient position to take a big swing at his leg as he passed by. Not even protected by a boot, I severed the slaver’s right foot with ease. The rest of him fell screaming to the ground. That screaming ended with a stab to his neck.

  Getting back on both feet, I saw a head pop up from the incline. A torso holding a nocked arrow came up next. He recognized me as a threat, or guessed it, for he released the arrow. He had good aim. I dodged in time for it to miss my nose, but I still felt my earlobe get nicked. In my rush, I ignited two dragon stones on the ground. I tossed one of the fireballs at the bowman’s head to interrupt his next attack. He ducked my spasm of flame. I wanted to drop the fire on top of him, but another fireball coming from somewhere behind him collided and erased my spell.

  The second stone still burned, so I seized that flame and fostered its strength with a meaningful surge of prana. The bolide brightened to that of a small sun, straining my eyes. I advanced a few feet when another fireball endeavored to wipe away this flame as well, but my dragon spell absorbed this blow. Thus my blistering comet flew unimpeded to the bowman, who fully reappeared with a half-drawn bow. Not expecting my flame to still be holding together, the bowman freed his arrow too early.

  As the projectile fell harmlessly by my feet, the upper limb of his bow caught fire. I clenched my hand into a fist, spinning my elemental fury inward until it became overly dense and exploded outward. The bowman yelp, which turned into a prolonged scream. My guess is that the embers scorched his face, hands, or both. Hopefully both.

  While pulling some of the dragon fire back toward me, something smashed between my shoulders. My armor dulled the impact, but the force staggered me forward. Training turned my stumble into a roll. I had to let go of my flame, however. My roll ended with me on one knee, looking southward at a hefty figure armed with a short war hammer running down the tunnel. His left hand cast a spike of ice. He flung it. My slashing sword shattered it. Not wishing to continue fighting at the tunnel’s precipice, I pushed off my foot and charged the large foe.

  I switched my short sword to my left hand. In that new position it blocked a swing from the hammer. The impact vibrated my arm, but did not stop my right one from unsheathing the scimitar. In one prana enhanced motion I sliced through some of the slaver’s chainmail and cut open part of his gut. That wasn’t enough to drop him. He instead dropped his forehead on to mine. I smelled my blood in my daze. Then his war hammer swung into my left side. Again my scales did their job, but I heard a couple of them crack. Still in a steadfast stance, I thrusted my short sword through the chainmail, piercing right over the first wound.

  Time being precious, I merely left the sword in the big guy. With my latest target crumpling to the ground, someone shouted, “Hyo!” I turned back to the chamber. At that second something wet encased my left leg and pulled me down. The tentacle of water dragged me on my back. I knew I still had another dragon stone on the ground somewhere, so I squandered prana blindly “reaching” for it. The spark of light came from my right. I “grasped” it and lobbed it at the liquefied vine. A boiled mist burst out from the arguing elements.

  Though unfettered, I could not move away from the downswing of a war hammer that appeared above me. The big fucker was still alive. Despite that, he could not have been very coherent, which explained why he missed my head and hit my left shoulder. It was still a hard blow that made me grunt out my first sound since entering this blasted netherworld. I rolled on my less pained shoulder to get back on my feet.

  The man I assumed to be Hyo unwillingly let go of his hammer and was on one knee looking at the ground. My short sword remained stuck in his gut. He was never getting back up again whether I did anything more or not, but out of spite for the thwack he dealt, I swung my scimitar downward, splitting the back and top of his skull open.

  This time I expected the tendril of water. I tried jumping beyond its range, but the prana in my legs balked and did not take me far. The water-limb twisted around the hand gripping my sword’s hilt. With great dexterity and force it yanked my weapon and arm toward the caster. I freely let go of my sword to keep myself from careening to the ground. I extracted a dragon stone. Arousing this stone drained my prana to a level that knocked the wind out of one of my lungs. Retreating promised to be as wasteful as attacking, so I stepped toward the chamber.

  Like I wanted, the water renewed its assault. My flame smashed through much of the water, creating a fuller mist than before. For my part, the light from the chamber persisted in outlining the caster, but I trusted that shadow and fog enveloped me in whole. However, the caster eventually saw a human-shaped blur running toward him. The water that had not been steamed sped toward this target. The water struck the figure, only to keep flowing past it. My illusion vanished, but the short sword I pulled out of Hyo and hurled at the water caster managed to stay in the realm of reality, impaling his chest.

  Someone cried, “Shit! Over here, Rin! Hurry! The last one is up here!”

  I focused on my breathing, as it was now the only way to settle what was left of my prana by any degree. That prana would not be able to spur an exceptional flame, but I felt I could ignite an explosive stone or two, so I snatch
ed two from my pocket. Unable to see where my sword went, I picked up the war hammer in its place.

  The mist thinned out pretty quickly, giving me a better look at three figures coming up the ramp to join the bowless bowman with an overcooked hand. A middle-aged, scar-faced woman held a bloodied, double-edged sword and a small round shield overlaid with steel. To her right was a man almost as big as Hyo, though younger, holding a flanged mace, and donning a leather suit of red lamellar armor splattered with marginally redder blood.

  Defending them all was a green ward cast by an older woman in a blue robe patterned with gold flowers. I didn’t rule out that she wore something defensive underneath, but it seemed more likely that the sixty-something elder was simply not expecting for violence to befall. Nevertheless, she must have been involved in the fight below, for her panting was shallow and rapid. The ward gave off a tepid glow that the subsiding vapor reflected back at me half as softly.

  Halting at the tunnel’s end, the scarred woman glanced at the bodies in front of her, then glared at me. She let out a grunting sigh and said, “A fuckin’ northerner? You’re going to die for people not your own?”

  “I’ve never had a people of my own. Not the kind you’re thinking of, anyway. But as your men and Tomo have come to know, I do have people I’ll kill for, such as those you’ve made off with.”

  Cracking with fury, the old woman said, “Don’t you dare say his name! I’ll pull out your fucking tongue and guts myself!”

  I didn’t want to rile them up, but if I gave them any moment to think rationally, then one of them could get the idea to take the captives hostage or form a plan to overwhelm me. They needed to keep their minds irrational minds. “Now then, since you’re probably as intelligent as the corpses, I’m just going to go ahead and assume none of you will mind joining them. So, who wants to meet Tomo in his new home first?”

  The ward shined brighter and the slavers gritted their teeth, but everyone knew making the first move would open them up to a counterattack. So be it. Someone had to instigate their deaths, and despite all the energy I’ve spent—or because of it—I was in the right frame of mind to do so. It was a peaceful place where planning and thinking gave way to ingrained instinct that hailed from all those vein-throbbing training sessions. That reflexive mindset was the reason why my self-awareness tarried behind my actual actions. For instance, I didn’t realize I shattered the ward with the war hammer until after it happened.

  I did recognize that I needed to absorb as many hits through my armor as possible. Or to ignore the pain when it came, for what could deliver as much agony as corruption itself? It’s how I barely noticed when the mace smashed into my neck and the back of my jaw. Since the attack did not bring me down, I merely kept on swinging my hammer upward, connecting with the big guy’s chin. He staggered and spit out blood and at least one tooth. Too dazed to do more than half-heartedly put a hand up, he could not block my swing to his temple.

  He had yet to topple over when the straight sword tried piercing the middle of my back, but it slid on the scales rather than puncturing them. My cloak suffered more than I did. When I saw the tip under my armpit, I pressed my left arm onto my side and trapped the blade between limb and torso. The off-balanced slaver could not hold on to the sword when I spun around. I let it drop.

  Left with only a shield, the slaver rushed at me to bash my face in. I jerked my head back to dodge the first swipe, but then the former bowman grabbed me from behind to hold me in place. My left fist unclenched to drop one of the stones. Its outburst made everyone wince, giving me a chance to push myself backward until the slaver hanging on to me fell off the ramp. He almost pulled me down with him by grabbing the war hammer, but I had the presence of mind to let the weapon go.

  A green ward rose in front of me. I knew the old woman intended to knock me off the edge with it, but she cast it too slowly. I punched the unfinished barrier, disrupting the spell’s purpose. With that out of the way, I threw the final explosive stone at the slaver scrambling to reclaim her blade. She saw it and lifted her shield. I tried to ignite it, only for its rune to barely simmer and fall harmlessly to the ground. It didn’t matter, she hesitated. I charged at her. The old woman cried out a warning, but the younger slaver had no time to do anything but lower her shield a tad to see the sight herself and brace for impact.

  I tackled her. She could not do much of anything to impede my weight and momentum. This time I was far too weak and unawares to stop myself from falling over the ramp’s brink. The slaver broke my fall at the same time she broke her body, not that the shock didn’t rattle my spine and skull. My left wrist and knees protested longer than the rest of my bones when I rolled over to get off the slave.

  The older slaver above shrieked out in miserable rage. I could not be caught defenseless against a raving hag, so while it was the last godsdamn thing I wanted to do, I forced myself to get up. It took a long time, and I did not have the strength to get my back straight, but I ultimately found my feet.

  I pulled out a dagger and turned to look at the old slaver now standing a few blurry yards away. She now held the straight sword, but it looked like it weighed more than an anvil in her hands. Save for the flickering firelight and our heaving chests, nothing moved for one of those hour long moments that so often transpired between warring warriors.

  While everything else faded under a besmeared gloom, those stark, wet, beaming eyes of hers stuck out like two big blots of ink on a white dress lying on fresh snow. Everything from her eyes down wanted desperately to mangle my flesh with her teeth, nails, and sword, but her last shred of self-preservation made her look toward the tunnel that continued northward. I didn’t care which path she walked, I only cared that she chose quickly.

  Whatever she did, I readied myself by raising my hunched back a little more and bringing the dagger in front of my chest. That did it. She united a slaver’s scorned screech and a mother’s whimper. The sword clattered on the ground. Selfish fear won out. Her conflicted eyes vanished as her steps bolted away from me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The old slaver’s retreat should have given me permission to sit down for a gods-fucking minute, but I needed to guard against the malefactor returning with reinforcements. Anguished groans coming from somewhere in the chamber likewise reminded me that not every potential enemy may be dead yet.

  It hurt my knee just to lift my foot. I was about to mumble my annoyance, but holy motherfucking shit did moving the right side of my jaw viciously usurp the playful ache in my knee. No doubt the mace had left more than a mere mark. Doing my best to steady my jaw, I obligated myself to walk to get my aching knees to be my sole hardship again. It sort of worked, though my cooling blood had me sensing the pulsing bruise under the battered jaw more and more, and it was impossible to not move my neck when I needed to examine the chamber with some speed.

  Whoever was moaning did not move enough to get my attention, so I headed for the cages first. While thankfully not as severe as the shitty-ass jaw thing, I discovered a new sore spot on or in my body after almost every stride. The culmination of various discomforts peaked after sidestepping one of the dead tribesman. I envied the dead whenever a muscle contracted, stretched, relaxed, or insisted on existing.

  My pain mattered less when one of the few uninjured parts of my fleshly form spotted the line of half-rusted cages. They stood tall enough to fit a large dog, but the beings they held were taller than any Orda mutt. I counted six captives, one of them a young boy missing a shoe. Four captives were men either approaching adulthood or in it. The last one was a fat, older woman. Banging the metal bars got no reaction from them. The child and the others were breathing, so they appeared to be under the influence of a sleeping spell or potion.

  I had no desire to look for the key to unbolt the metal padlock and did not possess the prana to dissolve it in dragon fire. Getting it open without the energy to carry them out the cave or the skill to wake them up also sounded pointless to me. I thus had no choice
but to cease all movement for what would hopefully and unrealistically be several beautiful hours in tranquility. I leaned on one of the empty cages and watched the passageways.

  The bellyaching bounced off the angular chamber walls, sometimes making it seem as though multiple people were griping. However, I traced the origin to a single tribesman lying on his back near the northern tunnel entrance. Over the next five or ten minutes his moans diminished in strength and frequency. They stopped altogether in due course. Strangely, I missed the company of the dying savage. Without his moans to distract me, I woefully flinched from more innocuous sounds like falling pebbles or water droplets dripping from the ceiling.

  While I waited for something meaningful to happen, I practiced opening and closing my jaw. An acute pain accompanied every direction I moved it. I could open my mouth about halfway before it became impossible. Chewing was going to be unbearable for anything harder than a half-melted stick of butter. I was going to have to eat torn morsels of food fastidiously and whole. Talking at length promised to be a bitch as well. The swift healing capacity of corruption lured me ever closer to its heinous sway.

  As for the ordinary mortal prana in my nigh empty reserve, my lost mystical energy was gradually being replaced by the refortifying aura of my soul. Sleep and food would hasten the recovering process, but neither were an option. Of course, I trained myself to use dragon fire with my energy reserves low, so once I sensed that minimum amount of prana return to me, I ignited a dragon stone and torched the padlock off from the child’s cage.

  I was on my way to burn off the second padlock when I heard my name being called in a loud whisper. Its origin was difficult to trace with my ears, but my sweeping eyes perceived the outline of a woman and her nocked bow on the ramp. I waved at Mae to come down. The hunter joined me by the time I was burning the third padlock.