by Craig Askham
It wasn’t there. He heard the clash of steel on steel, and looked over to see that Rima had turned just in time to parry the thrust that their final mercenary had been aiming at her back. It only took half a moment to realise that Rima was using his sword. How the hell did that happen? She must have been reaching for it just before he rolled away. Damn, she was good.
There was nothing Ben could do now but watch. Two mercenaries down, and the third engaged in combat. Rima was on Caspillo’s team for a reason, despite what he’d thought was her apparent wild-eyed panic. Perhaps that was just how she dealt with the adrenaline; letting it take her over rather than trying to control it. He had no idea, really; he wasn’t a fighter.
Thirty seconds into his ringside view of Rima versus mercenary, Ben realised all was not well. Rima was on the back foot, unable to finish off her man. She looked sluggish, and sometimes only managed to parry the mercenary’s blows just in time. He watched her face closely; it was a mask of sweaty concentration and, underneath that, pain. She was incredibly pale, and it was only then that Ben remembered she had a crossbow bolt in her shoulder. No wonder she was struggling. As he watched, she parried a blow that was aimed at her stomach, but her lack of energy meant her parry didn’t send the mercenary’s blade as wide as she needed. The blade took her in the side and, although her leather armour saved the sword from penetrating too deep, she called out in pain. Her words of only a few minutes ago flashed through his head:- You see an opportunity to stab one of those bastards in the back, you take it. Before he knew it, he was on the run. Well, perhaps run was too strong a word, but he was at least shuffling along the grass in a half-crouch, fingers almost touching the grass. He didn’t have access to his own sword, and Rima’s was still buried in the dead mercenary’s stomach, but he still had a plan; the dead mercenary’s sword that had nearly taken his own head off, which was still clasped in the unfortunate attacker’s hand where he lay, a dozen or so feet from where Rima’s current fight had meandered.
Ben reached the dead mercenary by the water’s edge, and crouched down at his side to prise the sword from his pale hand. He tried not looking at the man’s face, but curiosity got the better of him. It was as pale as his hand, with bright blood staining enough of his black beard to make it look like he was wearing a messy red goatee on top of it. His eyes were pale blue and, Ben belatedly realised, rapidly blinking. A wheezy breath escaped the man’s lips, and more blood bubbled from his mouth. Shit.
Ben grabbed the hilt of the sword and desperately tried to pry it from the dying, not dead, man’s hand. The man, perhaps not realising his fight was over, was having none of it. With a strength he really shouldn’t have had, his fingers clamped down around the hilt. Ben was aware of movement as he fought to prise the fingers open, and looked over his shoulder just in time to see a knife heading, not particularly quickly, in the direction of his back. He gave up on the fingers and grabbed the hand with the knife instead, using all of his bodyweight to change the direction of the blade’s travel. To be fair, it was easy. Ben was a decent size, and the desperate mercenary was moments away from death. Without even thinking about it, Ben leaned on the man and directed the hand, complete with the knife, towards the mercenary’s throat. The blade sank through the skin with no resistance whatsoever, and the pale man spat a fine mist of blood into Ben’s face with a gurgle. Ben ignored it, caught up in the moment, desperate not to make any more mistakes. He kept his weight on the knife until the life faded from the mercenary’s eyes, and then he retreated from the body with a cry. He felt vomit rising, but knew he didn’t have any time to waste being sick. He’d killed a man. Later, if he survived this debacle, he’d deal with that. Now, though, the only thing he could afford to focus on was, well, surviving this debacle. Exerting every ounce of control he had over his stomach, he forced the vomit back down with a vague promise that it could revisit him later, if necessary. Shuffling on his knees back to the body, he grasped the hand clutching the sword he needed, and broke the fingers one by one until it was free. Grabbing it in his right hand, he forced himself to his feet and hoped to all the gods that his delay hadn’t already cost Rima her life. It hadn’t. She’d picked up a couple more wounds and was only moments away from defeat, but she was refusing to give up. The mercenary also looked like he was tiring, which bolstered Ben’s confidence a little. For a moment he considered creeping up on the man and sliding the sword between his ribs, but knew the fighters were changing position all the time and he was more than likely to be spotted that way. Throwing all caution to the wind, he surged forwards instead, whilst the man’s back was still to him, and felt the adrenaline surge again. It was all he could do to stop himself screaming swear words of pure rage, but he managed it somehow. He ran quickly to cover the distance between them, and plunged the sword into his back. The mercenary screamed, but it was cut short as Rima’s own blade entered his neck. One second Ben was looking at the back of the man’s bald head, and the next it had been replaced with Rima’s exhausted face. Both opponents sank to their knees at the same time; the mercenary’s headless body then toppled forward into Rima, and she had no strength left to stop it. Collapsing underneath the weight of it, she was covered in blood in seconds.
“A little help here, Ben?” she called, and he did as he was told. Not really wanting to touch the corpse with his hands, he pushed at it with his feet until it rolled off her. Then he reached down and offered her his hand. She took it, and he hauled her to her feet. As soon as she had her balance, she hauled him into a fierce embrace.
“Thanks,” she whispered into his ear, and he couldn’t think of a reply. “Even if we don’t survive this, we’re definitely going out and getting very drunk.”
They held the embrace for ten more seconds, then Rima pushed Ben away as abruptly as she’d pulled him in, all business again in the blink of an eye.
“Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m needed elsewhere, and this is probably now the safest place for you.” She tossed him his sword, then bent down over the mercenary Ben had killed and wrenched her own sword free from his stomach. Casually she wiped the blade clean on the dead man’s leather-clad legs, as they were the only part of his attire not completely drenched in blood. Without another look at Ben, she loped off in the direction of the closest fight. Halfway there, as if she could feel his eyes boring into her back, she paused and turned. “Get down!” she shouted, holding her swordless hand out in front of her and pushing down to emphasize her point. Without waiting to see if he obliged, she turned and was off again.
Ben dropped to his knees, and rested his sword across both thighs. He wanted to keep busy so that he didn’t have to think about what he’d done, but accepted the keeping busy part might entail doing more things he wouldn’t want to then have to think about. So he waited, pointing his knees in Rima’s direction but making sure he could still see Vykron, Farkas and the mage at the same time. The last thing he needed was to have them creep up on him.
Vykron was jumping up and down in fury next to his calmer companions, and it only took Ben a few moments to realise why. He studied the battles taking place around the edge of the rock pool, and his heart skipped a beat when he realised Caspillo and his men were more than holding their own. Rima had reached the fight taking place closest to them, but wasn’t needed. Meryt had already despatched all three of his opponents and, from where Ben was knelt, hardly looked out of breath. He was talking to Rima, taking in her wounds, and pointing back at Ben. Rima was shaking her head. Further down the line were three more dead mercenaries and one Lee Casey, still laying on his stomach. Ben almost missed him. There was no sign of Caspillo, until Ben looked further down the line and saw that he was already helping out one of the male soldiers whose name Ben didn’t know. Sorin danced around like an idiot, desperately trying to stay out of the way and unsurprisingly doing the exact opposite. As Ben watched, Caspillo ran another mercenary through and then turned to shove Sorin to the ground.
There was no time to look any further do
wn the line to see how the rest of them were getting on; Ben suddenly became aware that a terrified Talia was sprinting his way, sent on to safety by Meryt who, by the look both his and Rima’s retreating backs, had given up trying to order his fellow soldier away from the fighting. Ben surged to his feet and ran to meet Talia, sensing movement in the corner of his eye as he did so. Not pausing his mad dash, he looked to the side to see the mage had thrown his hood back and was holding out his hands like a freeze frame of a conductor standing in front of his orchestra. Shit. He doubled his efforts, unable to think past getting Talia to safety. He’d nearly reached her.
A scream rent the air, and Ben’s first thought was that it was Talia. It wasn’t. They reached each other and she collapsed into his arms, causing him to drop his sword. He buried her head in his chest, looking over her to see who had screamed.
“No,” he whispered, and Talia pushed herself away from him to turn and follow where he was looking. The fight furthest away from them, and closest to the dragons, was where the scream had come from. Jas Toor. Somehow Vykron’s mage was now there, holding on to her. The three mercenaries were lying dead on the ground, but so was one of Caspillo’s soldiers. It was the other male, the one who’d ridden here with Vykron, whose name Ben also didn’t know. What was happening between Jas Toor and the mage? The scream had definitely come from her.
Suddenly, the mage flew backwards through the air and landed heavily on his back, at least ten metres away from where he’d been standing. He didn’t get back up. Ben looked back to Jas Toor, and saw what he assumed was blood staining her chest just before she toppled backwards and fell into the rock pool with a splash. Talia’s hand flew to her mouth.
“No!” she cried.
“Oh shit,” breathed Ben, lifting his eyes to look past the spot where Jas had fallen. “The dragons.”
He lifted an arm, and Talia looked where he was pointing. All she could manage was a whimper.
The dragons had stopped what they were doing. The spell was broken.
Seventeen
The red dragon screamed, and it was the loudest noise Ben had ever heard. He clamped his hands over his ears and prayed for it to stop, convinced it was going to cause a dozen avalanches.
“Wirio’s Balls!” he cried out, although he was sure he’d been wanting to say Jesus Christ! He dropped to his knees, wondering if standing in front of a jet engine could possibly be as loud as this. Next to him, having fallen to her knees a few seconds before him, Talia was in tears.
Finally, the dragon ran out of breath. Her two infants were hovering over the water, flapping their wings in panic, wondering what the hell was going on. It was only after the echoes of their mother’s scream faded to nothing that Ben realised they were also screaming, emulating her as best they could. Thankfully, the noise they were making didn’t require him to keep his hands over his ears. He let them drop to Talia’s shoulders, and looked around to see how others were reacting. There was no sign of either Jas Toor or Caspillo, although he was just in time to witness two upturned boots slide into the water near where Jas had gone in, so he assumed and hoped they belonged to Caspillo and he was on his way to find her. All fighting had stopped, and those who were still alive were frozen to the spot waiting to see what the dragon would do next. Ben had a pretty good idea, and his brain was already frantically considering escape options. Oddly enough, there was no sign of either Vykron or Farkas. Good luck getting your dragon head now, you pricks.
He directed his head back in the direction of the dragons. Mother dragon had now had time to draw breath.
“Ben,” Talia whispered, having noticed the same thing.
“She’s going to burn us,” he realised. “Quick! Into the water!”
She didn’t move quickly enough for his liking, so he reached underneath her armpits and hauled her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, he shoved her hard into the rock pool just as the first tendrils of smoke appeared from the dragon’s nostrils. Like her children, she’d launched herself into the air. Her wings moved less frantically than those of her children, and she remained there with experienced grace. Flames erupted from her mouth like from a flamethrower, a fine jet that then billowed out to cover more ground. If he’d doubted that she was close enough for her fire to reach him, then he’d have been very wrong. They weren’t heading in his direction yet, but as soon as the dragon moved her head another couple of inches in his direction, they most definitely would be. Shit. Here they come.
Ben gulped down as big a breath as he could and dived down into the pool. Within seconds his hands were brushing the rocks at the bottom, and he couldn’t help but wish the water was a lot deeper. He clamped his fingers around a rock to anchor him where he was, and looked up at the surface just in time to see everything turn orange as the flames engulfed the spot he’d been standing in a few seconds earlier. Talia floated past him, heading for the surface, so he grasped one of her boots and hauled her back down. The heat hit them like a ton of bricks, threatening to boil the water and them along with it. Talia’s eyes were wide in fear and she struggled to break free of his grip, desperate to make it back to the surface to either take another breath or just escape the hot bath they were now taking. He gripped her tighter and shook his head.
Up above, the orange sky turned back to blue. Ben let Talia go and gave her a shove to help her on her way, following her back to the surface. His head broke free of the water just after hers, and they spluttered together as they drew in warm gulps of air. Steam made seeing anything next to impossible, and they trod water together whilst they figured out what was going to happen next. It was eerily silent, and the steamy mist was tinged orange in the direction that Ben assumed was land. If the dragon had set the grass on fire, any thoughts of escape had just been well and truly dashed. He suddenly heard someone else spluttering as they broke the surface, but he had no way of knowing how far away they were or in which direction. For all he could see, they might as well be floating in the middle of an ocean.
Then another noise like a flamethrower, and the mist turned orange again.
“Down!” he screamed, took a breath, and flipped at the waist. Thankfully, Talia was already half a breath ahead of him. His feet were still above water when the blast hit, and he felt them burn before a strong arm pull forced them underwater with the rest of him. They swam to the bottom of the pool together and Ben found another rock to cling to, just as Talia’s arms snaked around his neck. She was calmer this time, and they looked up to the surface again to watch it turn orange. How many times were they going to be able to do this before they got too tired?
The orange passed, and they kicked their way back to the surface once more. More spluttering ensued, more hot air was consumed, and again they couldn’t see a thing. Ben concentrated really hard, and thought he could hear the flapping of the dragon’s wings. Was she done, or was she just taking another breath? How many times could she do this? Would she eventually need time to recharge, as it were, or could she carry on doing this indefinitely? Lee Casey would know, that was for sure. If he was still alive, which seemed highly unlikely. He was probably still lying on his stomach in the grass, hands over his head, hiding from the bogeyman, fried to a crisp.
The dragon screamed again, almost as if she was daring anyone to still be alive. Ben was thankful for the steam hugging the surface of the pool that was keeping them hidden. He knew this was their only chance to make it back to land and hope the burning grass was passable enough for them to make it into the woods. He wasn’t sure how much that would help, as the dragon seemed angry enough that she might burn the entire valley to cinders, but it was all he had. They were going to have to be quick, though; the steam was starting to dissipate just enough that they’d be able to see the dragon very soon. And vice versa.
“Come on.” He grabbed Talia’s arm and pulled her in the direction he thought was dry land. As the steam cleared, he grew more confident that he’d gotten it right. There was orange and there was heat in the directi
on he was looking, and that suggested burning grass to his terrified mind. But Talia resisted him.
“Maybe we should stay here?” Her teeth were chattering, but Ben knew she wasn’t cold.
“No, Tarls,” he said, softly. “This is probably going to be our only chance to make it out of here alive. We have to go now.”
She fixed him with big, terrified eyes.
“But what about Sorin? And the others?”
Ben started pulling her gently in the direction they needed to go, and thankfully she didn’t resist.
“They’re going to be fine,” he soothed. “There’s nothing we can do for them now, but I guarantee they’ll be doing the same thing as us and heading for the trees. We need to get there as soon as we can, Tarls. It’s our only hope.”
He pulled her a little harder, and they started to move a little quicker. He hadn’t realised they’d travelled quite so far out into the pool. They could be right under the dragon’s nose, for all he knew.
But no. Half a dozen or so awkward strokes through the water, and they reached the edge of the pool. Ben dragged himself out first, and then looked out over the water for other survivors as he half pulled, half dragged Talia after him. The steam had almost completely dissipated now, and the dragon had gone eerily silent. Then Ben saw her, and thought himself so exposed that he could only assume she’d seen him, too. He froze.
“Ben?”
“Quiet, Tarls.”
It was okay. She hadn’t spotted them. She was doing the same thing he was doing, though; looking for survivors. It wouldn’t be long until she found them. She’d probably smell their fear before she spotted them with her eyes.