by Craig Askham
“With me. Now.”
Ben offered enough resistance to force the shorter man to stop, and then tugged hard to break free of his grip. He pointed at Lee, lying on the ground next to the ballista.
“Going back for Lee,” he gasped. “Then I’m right behind you, I promise. Meet you at the portal.”
Without waiting for a reply, he surged onward. Vantalon and Caspillo were busy with their swords, trying to get to the same ballista that he was, but struggling to get past the remaining, diehard mercenaries. Ben carried on, unnoticed by any of them. Looking up and to the right, where two minutes ago the tops of trees would have blocked his view, he saw the approaching dragon through the flames. She was coming at a different angle this time, having cleared enough of a path to be able to see her prey better. She flew parallel to the tree line, unaware that she was making herself the perfect target for Vykron’s huge crossbow. It was impossible to tell from here whether she was going to be within range of them first, or whether they were going to be in range of her.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Lee stand up. It was a good thing. At least Ben wasn’t going to have to waste precious time hauling him to his feet. Lee turned, and looked up at his precious dragon.
“No!” he screamed, and launched his shoulder into the ballista. It jerked wildly to the left, just as Vykron pulled the trigger. The mechanics went to work with a loud twang, and Ben followed the flight of the bolt as it soared into the sky. He couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t just because the trees around him were on fire. Despite Lee’s intervention, the bolt still looked like it was on course to hit its target. It disappeared from view and Ben’s heart sank. They’d failed.
No. Wait. The dragon was still coming. Ben shifted his stare behind her tail, and realised the angles had played a trick on him. There was the bolt, losing momentum now, dropping away and no longer a threat. Vykron had missed!
“Yes!” Ben punched the air, and then used the same hand to point at Vykron. “I SHIT ON YOUR MOTHER!”
Vykron didn’t hear him. He emerged from behind his ballista and advanced on Lee, who was still watching the approaching dragon. There was a knife in the gangster’s hand. Ben broke into a sprint, gasping for breath in the heat, but it was too late. He screamed as loud as his painful lungs would let him, but all he could do was watch as the blade disappeared into Lee’s back, and then watch as Lee sank to his knees. Then Ben was there, finally, and launching himself at Vykron. His shoulder connected heavily with the older man’s hip, and the force of his momentum lifted the gangster completely off his feet. They flew through the air, and Ben landed on top of him with enough force to squeeze the last drop of air out of both their sets of lungs.
“No,” Vykron whispered in Ben’s ear, and the defeat in that one word sounded divine. He couldn’t breathe, but lifted his right fist and sent it crashing into the other man’s jaw just because the sound it made was also divine. Then he rolled away, onto his back, and fought for his next breath even though he knew he didn’t have time to. But it came, sooner than he thought it would, as if maybe the gods of this beautiful planet had finally taken notice of him and were rewarding him for a job well done. The air he breathed in was searing hot and tasted of ash, but it was still good. He forced himself onto his knees, and leaned over Vykron. Something in the back of his mind told him they should both have been incinerated by now, and he was pushing his luck further than he ever had before, but he couldn’t leave without knowing why. He grabbed hold of Vykron’s leather armour, and lifted him just enough to give him a good shake.
“You lose, dude,” he snarled, spitting precious saliva onto the other man’s cheek. To his surprise, Vykron was laughing.
“But you will tell this story to your grandchildren, Akelius.” He coughed in Ben’s face, and then got himself under control. “I will be remembered as a villain on two worlds. Rather this ending than one in a hospital, attached to wires and machines.” He looked past Ben, and as his eyes widened Ben saw an ominous shadow reflected in each of them. “I have never felt so alive!”
Ben rolled away, then rolled again and again before coming to his knees. He looked up, straight into the amber eyes of the dragon.
Nineteen
Ben couldn’t move. The dragon crouched over Vykron with her back curled, like a cat with a mouse. But she was looking at Ben, those magnificent eyes separated from him by her long, red-scaled head. Was she curious? Could she tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys? There certainly didn’t seem to be any malice in her stare, it was almost as if she was giving him a chance to leave. But he couldn’t leave. That was the problem. He was under her spell, and rooted to the spot. She snorted, and smoke billowed from her nostrils. Vykron, her little mouse, temporarily disappeared from view. Those same nostrils flared as she had a good sniff of her surroundings, in particular Ben. If she could smell his fear, he was as good as dead.
With a speed that made Ben jump, the dragon dipped her head and scooped up Vykron with her jaws. He screamed, and his limbs flailed, but then she bit down and Ben heard him crunch. He recoiled in horror, but in the next breath allowed a thought to creep in that shamed him a little. How alive are you feeling now, bitch?
The dragon hunkered down a little more than it already was, and Ben saw every sinewy muscle in her body tense. Was he next? If so, there was nothing he could do; there was ample room in her mouth for two. But instead of swooping down and making him her second aperitif of the day, she unfurled her wings and leapt into the air. When she reached the peak of her jump, both wings swept down to power her higher. The wind generated by this would have been enough to knock Ben from his feet, but the tip of her right wing brushing his forehead got there first. He collapsed to the ground, felled by mistake, and watched her fly back to her children. What a treat they were in for; Russian gangster for dinner.
Hands snaked under his armpits, and the next thing he knew he was on his feet. He spun around to find himself looking at Vantalon’s sweaty, blood-streaked face. It was almost as terrifying a visage as the dragon’s.
“Time to go.”
“What about…”
“Caspillo’s got Lee. Put your hand on my back and follow me.”
Ben looked to confirm this news, and saw that the bleeding Stillwater man was already over Caspillo’s shoulder. There was fire everywhere now, way too much for them to outrun, and a new fear crept in to replace the void left by the departed dragon. He reached out with his right hand until he felt Vantalon’s back, and grabbed hold of a handful of clothing. The older man set off immediately, almost yanking Ben off his feet. He buried his mouth in the crook of his elbow, and allowed himself to be pulled towards what was equally likely to be safety or certain death.
One foot in front of the other, in front of the other, in front of the other. Do not trip over. Further into the woods they went, stumbling over roots and the occasional log. Somehow, they both managed to stay on their feet. Ben couldn’t work out if he was imagining it or not, but it seemed like the intense heat might have actually been lessening. No time to check, though. One foot in front of the other, in front of the other, in front of the other.
Suddenly, Vantalon stopped. Ben walked into him, and the older man was forced to take a step forward to steady himself. Ben thought he might have heard him swear. Tentatively, he removed his mouth from his arm and took a breath in that was a little deeper than the shallow gasps he’d come to rely on. The air still tasted of smoke, but his lungs didn’t burn and more air made it through than he could have hoped for. He got greedy, went for another one, and ended up spluttering all over Vantalon’s back. More swearing, by the sound of it.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Why are we stopping?”
Vantalon didn’t answer, so Ben stepped from behind his back to see for himself. They were at the far edge of a clearing, a rough circle with a diameter of fifty feet or so. Caspillo was there as well, leaning over Lee Casey, who was lying on his stomach in the dirt. The former
had cut away some of the clothing from the latter’s now-exposed top half, and was trying to apply pressure to the back wound with the clothing he’d removed. Lee was deathly pale where he wasn’t bloody, and there was some kind of smudge on his shoulder that Ben couldn’t really make out properly. A tattoo, maybe? Caspillo looked up, and beckoned him over.
“Do what I’m doing. Put pressure on the wound, but do it as we walk. The portal’s only a few minutes away, but if we don’t staunch the blood flow, he’ll be dead before we get there.”
Ben could only nod, although he felt even more out of his depth now than he had with a sword in his hand. He reached down and took over from Caspillo, who stood up.
“For the love of…,” he said, looking up.
Ben didn’t want to look up. They were in a clearing, which meant there were no trees. If there were no trees, then there was a clear view of the sky. If looking at the sky had caused Caspillo to say what he’d just said, it could only really mean one thing. He couldn’t help himself, though, and looked up.
The dragon swept into the clearing, spreading her wings as she dropped to the dirt, landing softly, and immediately tucking them in again so she could squeeze in better. Vykron was no longer in her mouth. A scream now would shatter their eardrums and probably render them all insane. A small breath of fire would barbecue them all. She did neither. Instead, she took a step forward.
Vantalon, possessing reserves of bravery that Ben couldn’t even being to imagine, stepped in front of her. He held no weapon, just stood there in a fighting stance, between the dragon and his team. Once a soldier, always a soldier. The dragon sniffed him, took a step closer, and nudged him with her nose. He didn’t budge.
And then he was airborne, tossed to the side with the smallest of flicks. He landed on the ground with a thud, and writhed around a little as he tried to remember how to breathe. He was alive, though, and not on fire. Which was a surprise.
The dragon walked closer, eyes locked on Ben and Lee. Caspillo looked unsure as to what to do. His first instinct was to do exactly what Vantalon had just done, but he also knew what would happen if he did. He watched the dragon approach, looked her in the eye, and held up a hand. The dragon walked into it and, surprisingly, stopped.
“Caspillo,” Ben warned, voice low. The soldier ignored him, staring down the dragon. No, not staring her down. Wait. Were they…communicating? Caspillo looked calm, serene even. Eventually, he simply stepped aside.
The dragon moved closer. Every part of Ben screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t leave Lee to bleed out. She watched him, intently. He watched her right back, committing every single detail of her beautiful features to memory. Her long, slender neck. Those magnificent red scales in tight little diamond patterns, from her nose all the way back to the ridges around her eyes. The horns that she wore on top of her head like a crown, chipped and battle-worn. Those eyes. Oh, those amber eyes. Black pupils like slits in the light from the sun that was sneaking its way into the clearing, looking at him with…compassion? Pity? He hoped it was the former, suspected it was the latter. This was what he’d paid his money for, and he hadn’t even known it. All he’d hoped for was to be able to glimpse a dragon from afar, and here he was nose-to-nose with one. However much extra Stillwater wanted for that, it was theirs. No question. This was the best day of his life. As long as he didn’t take into account all the dead people, of course.
The dragon looked away first, dropping her eyes down to Lee. Oh, Lee. You poor bastard. If only you knew what you were missing out on. She prodded him with her nose, but he didn’t move. She sniffed him, and then shifted him slightly to get a better look. She focused on the smudge that darkened his shoulder. Ben got a better view of it, and saw that it was indeed a tattoo. He almost laughed. A dragon, of course! How could it be anything else? And it was moving, which the real dragon found absolutely mesmerising. A little turn of the head, and a breath of fire that reached all the way down to his bicep before fading away. Another turn of the head, and another breath of fire down to the bicep. A moving tattoo. It had seen better days, was faded around the edges and there was a slight blip that marred the otherwise smooth movement of its head, but the dragon clearly loved it. The first lick of fire caused her to shift her head back slightly in surprise, but then she stooped closer and licked it. She looked up at Ben again, perhaps for an explanation, and he found himself grinning goofily at her. At the terrifying dragon that had, for all he knew, set fire to the entire valley. He didn’t care. She was amused! She looked back down at the tattoo, and then at the wound on Lee’s back. A puff of green smoke leaked from each nostril, almost as if the poor thing had lost control of an embarrassing bodily function. The two little jets merged and covered the Stillwater man, and to Ben the colour of it brought to mind old cartoons from his youth; green was always used to let the viewer know that something smelled bad.
This wasn’t a cartoon, though, and nothing smelled bad. The green smoke settled over Lee’s back, but didn’t dissipate straight away. It hovered there, over the wound, for what could have been ten seconds or a week. Time had stopped. The trees weren’t on fire. There wasn’t a valley full of dead soldiers and mercenaries. And when, finally, the smoke disappeared, it had taken Lee Casey’s knife wound with it. Ben’s eyes widened. What the hell?
With that, the dragon unfurled her wings and leapt into the air. She didn’t knock him to the ground with the tip of one of them this time, but the downdraft did the job instead. He sat on his backside and watched her go. Whatever spell she’d used broke suddenly, and the heat and noise of the fire she’d caused captured his full attention once again. The fire had spread, and was almost upon them again. He took a breath, and the now familiar searing pain returned.
“Get him up!” Caspillo yelled, pointing at Lee. Ben leapt to his feet with an energy borne of his old friend adrenaline and, between them, they hauled a muttering Lee to his feet and held him up between them. Vantalon appeared at their side, and together they shuffled out of the clearing.
Twenty
By the time they reached the portal, the rest of the survivors were already there. It was in another clearing, smaller than the one in which they’d just encountered the dragon. The portal was in the centre, a swirling sphere of crackling blue energy that hissed and spat little bits of magic like fluorescent miniature lightning. It couldn’t have looked any less like the serene Stillwater portal if it had tried. Gathered around it at a safe distance were Sorin and Talia, gripping each other for dear life and staring into the sphere as if they were seconds away from deciding to take their chances with the dragonfire instead. With them were Meryt and Jas Toor, who had regained consciousness and was standing without any support. Between them they watched Vykron’s mage, who was also now awake and staring daggers back at them. He was blonde and stoutly built, and even from the edge of the clearing Ben could see the angry veins bulging in his neck. His hands and feet were bound together with manacles that glowed white, presumably preventing him from using his magic to escape. Ben had no idea where those manacles had come from, but silently thanked whoever had planned this mission for thinking ahead to include the possible outcome where they successfully captured the mage. Jas was the only person here that could have stopped him otherwise, and she looked like she might keel over at any point.
Rima ran over to them, relief making her grin. She’d tried to wipe some of the blood from her face, but had only succeeded in smearing it. Combined with the manic grin, she looked like a barbarian about to attack them.
“What took you so long?” she demanded. “We were about to head off without you.”
“And so you should have,” Caspillo told her, sternly. “There are probably a dozen more mercenaries that need dealing with on the other side of that portal, not to mention our friend Farkas.”
The grin disappeared from Rima’s face. She stood up straight, clicked her heels together, and clasped her hands behind her back.
“I’m sorry sir, we didn’t want to lea
ve y…”
“Shut up,” Caspillo told her. “I’m joking.” He raised his voice so the rest of them could hear him. “You did good. All of you. We lost good people today, let’s not lose any more.”
They all gathered into a group, as close to the centre of the clearing as they dared without risking getting zapped by the portal. Caspillo placed a hand gently on Jas Toor’s shoulder.
“You look better, Jas. How are you holding up?”
Jas regarded him coolly, as if asking such a question was an insult.
“My magic will keep me alive long enough to get to a healer. You do not need to worry about me holding you back, Caspillo.”
“Of course.” He removed his hand and pointed at her fellow magic user. “I’ll let you ask the questions, shall I?”
She nodded, and turned to face her rival.
“Rest assured the Council will hear of your treachery, Itzhak Rozen. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Rozen curled his lip into a sneer, which he directed at his questioner.
“I’ve done nothing wrong, Jas Toor. I took on a paying job, just as you have done. Don’t waste your time.”
The injured magic user strode over to him and backhanded him across the face. His whole head whipped to the side with an accompanying crack. He recovered quickly and launched himself at her, but she raised her hands and simply levitated him into the air. He stayed there, legs dangling uselessly.
“You tried to kill me.” She said it softly, almost disbelievingly. “What do you think the Council will have to say about that? We took an oath after the Kaarthik Wars, swore that a mage would never again kill another mage.” She paused, aware of the emotion creeping into her voice. “We fought together in that war, Rozen.” Deep breath. “We were in the same room when we made that vow.”
She dropped her hands, and Rozen dropped back down to the ground. He tried hard to remain on his feet, but his ankle buckled beneath him and he collapsed with a cry.