Bladedancer (The Sword Saint Series Book 4)

by Michael Wallace

There was a tremendous hissing sound, and a blast of what looked like steam from the wound in the dragon’s side. It struck Narina in the face and turned to ice, burning her skin with the intensity of its chill. She seemed to have driven the point of her sister’s sword so deep that it had punctured the monster’s lung.

  The Great Drake threw back its head and blasted the swallowed storm toward the heavens in a bellow of pain. The wind that emerged howled like something possessed. The dragon gave a massive spasm, roared again, so loud that Narina’s head felt struck with a hammer, and batted its wings.

  She was already falling, having lost her grip on her father’s sword the moment the icy wind hissed out of the hole in the dragon’s chest, but now something struck her across the chest before she hit the ground. Whether it was a wing or claw or even the monster’s tail, she didn’t know. She went flying, her vision blackening from the force of it. Her entire body felt numb, and she was barely aware that she’d come to rest. Her body felt twisted and wrong, and her vision had narrowed to a pair of pinpricks of light. Snow and ice slammed down on her, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move at all.

  Her last thought was that she was going to die, and then everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Still at the remnants of the forge, Katalinka struggled to dig herself clear of the snow. The dragon roared from the direction of the shrine, and there was a crashing, splintering sound that could only be the timbers of the building itself being torn apart.

  Narina was there, fighting; Katalinka had heard Kozmer’s voice telling her sister to run, and Narina had retreated to the shrine for what could only be a last stand. Somehow Katalinka had to arrive before her sister was killed.

  One of her ankles was badly twisted, possibly broken, and she’d lost one of her swords when she’d stabbed the dragon and been knocked aside. But she could feel its aura nearby, buried in the snow; the creature must have wrenched it out.

  She sent the majority of her sowen into her injured ankle to fight off the pain and nausea, and a smaller portion to hunt for the missing weapon. Its tightly folded auras should be easily distinguished against the background chaos.

  In a moment, she found it, or thought she had. It was several feet away, near a young warbrand crawling away from the wreckage of the blacksmith shed, coughing against the smoke and steam still roiling up from the nearly extinguished fires of the forge. But there was something wrong with the sword’s auras. They were torn and losing their strength.

  She dug at the snow until she’d uncovered it. Or what was left of it. The final several inches of the sword had snapped off. It must still be embedded in the dragon’s hide. No earthly strength could break a bladedancer sohn’s master sword. It had taken a demigod.

  Another roar came from the direction of the shrine, followed by a wind that howled down the hillside with such force that it made the surrounding trees buckle and groan. Snow whipped in Katalinka’s face. When she’d weathered it, she cast about desperately for someone to join her in an assault on the monster destroying the shrine. People were still digging themselves out and coming to the aid of those who’d suffered more serious injuries.

  Among them were Kozmer and Drazul, with the two elders hunched over what turned out to be Miklos, who lay on the ground, groaning while they fought to keep him from dying. The dragon had thrown him into the trees, and even the legendary resistance of a warbrand didn’t seem sufficient to keep the pain of multiple wounds at bay.

  There was nobody else to help, so Katalinka would have to find her sister alone. She staggered off, wading through the snow, feeling lightheaded against the pain that made her gasp with every step. She gripped her remaining weapon. It was a lesser blade to the one she’d lost, but it would have to do.

  The pathway up the hillside had been scoured by wind in some stretches, while in others that same gale had piled huge drifts where the trees grew close together. She fought her way through these obstacles, drawing closer. She mastered her pain at last, and her ankle finally supported some of her weight. At last she limped around the final turn, teeth gritted in determination.

  And yet the sight that greeted her left her stunned. The main building of the shrine had been reduced to a rubble of broken stone and shattered beams. The graceful roof had collapsed, and so much snow had fallen that even the ruins were nearly buried. The dragon stood in the midst of this destruction, roughly where the training ground should have been, beating its wings and roaring into the heavens. There was no sign of Narina.

  A swirling column of ice, snow, and hail blasted skyward from its breath, and the clouds were reforming overhead. Almost immediately, snow sifted back down to the ground, cutting visibility to near zero. Katalinka fought her way through this, searching desperately for her sister with her sowen.

  “Narina!” There was no answer.

  The dragon beat its wings, and Katalinka was reduced to cowering against the resulting whirlwind. By the time it finally diminished and she could raise her head, the monster was lifting off the ground. She gripped her remaining sword in desperation, thinking it had spotted her or heard her cry and was coming to crush her. Instead, it kept flying higher.

  She caught a glimpse of its underside. A bladedancer sword was impaled in its chest, right where Katalinka had stabbed it earlier. If she hadn’t seen her own broken weapon, she’d have thought it was hers, driven deeper than she remembered. But it could only be one of her sister’s.

  Narina must have spotted the earlier wound, still festering where the Great Drake had snapped Katalinka’s weapon in two. She’d gone for the same spot and driven in her own demon blade after it.

  However it had happened, the gambit seemed to have worked. White, steam-like air hissed out from around the weapon, as if it had punctured the monster’s lung. The creature clawed at the weapon as it flapped its wings, trying to pull out or break off the sword, but seemed helpless to rid itself of its torment. It let out another roar, and this time Katalinka recognized the sound as pain, rather than anger.

  She ducked her head, braced herself against a fresh battering of wind and ice, and waited, hardly daring to hope, as the dragon lifted higher and higher. It let out a final roar before turning and flying slowly, listlessly toward the highest peaks of the mountains. It left a trail of black clouds in its wake, and they continued to drop snow.

  “Narina!” Katalinka called again.

  There had to be six feet of snow covering the wreckage of the shrine and burying the courtyard, and she couldn’t see or feel her sister anywhere. A terror in her heart said the monster had torn Narina apart, swallowing her whole after the affront of stabbing it in the chest, but she didn’t want to believe that, couldn’t believe it. And there was too much of the dragon’s presence still lingering over the wreckage—that strange, void-like hole in the auras—to be sure of anything. Narina was strong, with powers beyond what they could have imagined earlier in the year; if anyone could survive an attack from the demigod, it was her.

  Katalinka tugged at a jutting piece of wood, using her sowen and brute strength to pull up what turned out to be an eight-foot-long beam, still attached with wooden pins to stretches of the ribbing. There was nothing below it but a hole into which snow slumped now that the beam had been removed. She pushed the wreckage aside and cast her eyes about again.

  Narina was down there somewhere, Katalinka knew, grievously wounded. Slowly suffocating. Every passing moment made the situation more dire. She tried to send out her sowen in a cry for help, but it remained in tatters from the battle, from healing her broken ankle, from bracing herself against that final icy attack as the dragon flew away.

  “Somebody help me!” she cried, even knowing her voice had no hope of reaching anyone.

  A bark answered her plea. Three dogs came bounding over the snow from the path leading to the cottages and baths. Skinny Lad and Stretch were in the lead, their long legs lifting the lurchers clear of the snow. Notch followed, barking furiously. The terrier dove
in and out of the snow, emerging like a bouncing, rolling snowball. Andras trailed his dogs at a distance.

  Katalinka greeted the dogs as they arrived whining, tails wagging, nuzzling her either to give her comfort or needing comfort in turn. She grabbed Skinny Lad around the neck and pulled his face in close until his cold, wet nose pressed against hers.

  “You know Narina,” she pleaded. “You know my sister’s auras. No, forget the auras. Use your nose. Sniff her out. Please help me.”

  The dogs only whined and barked some more. Andras arrived and gave two short whistles, followed by a longer, more powerful blast. Then he shouted, “Find her. Go!”

  The three dogs seemed to understand his command instantly, whereas Katalinka’s plea had only left them confused and upset. They set off as one, sniffing and nosing the snow. Andras plunged after them, breaking the three off from each other to make their search more efficient. He gave another whistle and pointed, which had Notch digging near the largest wreckage emerging from the snow, while the two longer-legged lurchers bounded off in different directions.

  “It’s ratting action,” Andras explained. “The terrier has better instincts. She’ll dig the best spots without needing to be told. The lurchers cover more ground, have better noses, and can sometimes find a rat nest by scent when it’s otherwise hidden.”

  Katalinka chewed on her lip while she watched them work, thinking it best to gather her sowen for the effort of digging Narina out rather than spending what little she’d recovered in a poor attempt to match the dogs’ effort.

  Andras looked her over. “Don’t be afraid. If she’s here, we’ll find her.”

  “How did you know to come?” she asked. “You didn’t hear me surely.”

  “Kozmer called me.” The ratter tapped his temple. “Here, in my head.”

  “Just now?”

  “No, earlier. I came and talked to Narina, told her what the old man said. She sent me away, but somehow. . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I had a feeling there was still a role for a ratter and his pack. I’d have brought them all, but the dogs were agitated. Terrified by the wind and the storm, and I wanted them staying by Ruven anyway.”

  “He’s in the baths?”

  “Aye.” Deeper lines of worry creased Andras’s forehead. “He’s chilled, moaning, but no worse, at least. Maybe with the dragon gone, the ice in his arm will melt. Do you think?”

  “I hope so, yes.” To be honest, Katalinka was still deeply worried for the boy, but she had more immediate concerns. Dammit, where was Narina?

  “But still you came,” she said, unable to take her eyes off the dogs. “You weren’t worried about the dragon?”

  “I was terrified,” he said. “For myself, my dogs, and especially my boy. But I didn’t think it would notice us. We’re invisible to most people—we’d be invisible to a god.”

  “A demi-god,” she corrected. “It wasn’t invincible. My sister wounded it. It’s flown off now, hopefully for good.”

  All of that mattered little if it had cost her sister’s life in turn. Too much time had passed already. She was close to giving up when Skinny Lad—of course it would be him—let off a string of frantic barks. The other two dogs leaped over and plowed through the snow, and all three dogs were digging at a frantic pace by the time the humans made it over.

  Andras joined the dogs in pawing at the snow, but instead of flailing about with her hands, Katalinka forced her sowen into the snow to verify that they’d found something. What if the dogs were wrong? They only had precious moments left to spare and couldn’t waste it in a futile dig. She felt something stirring below the broken pieces of the building and the chaotic tumble of auras. A heartbeat. Hope sprang into her chest.

  She joined in the scramble to move snow and wreckage. When the dogs exposed a huge block of masonry that must have weighed thirty stone, they whined and looked back anxiously to their master.

  Andras cursed. “How are we going to get that out?”

  “Move aside.”

  Katalinka poured sowen into her hands, arms, shoulders, and back and gripped the edge of the broken masonry. She gave a terrific heave and tossed it aside. Andras stared at her, gaping, but Katalinka scarcely noticed. A bloody leg appeared in the snow beneath, the knee twisted awkwardly.

  From there, they pulled off boards, scraped away snow and ice, and soon had Narina’s face exposed. She was pale, and a shard of ice had peeled up part of her scalp with a mass of frozen blood clumping to her hair. Her nostrils twitched and she drew in a deep, ragged breath. Alive, thank God.

  “Get her out of there,” she ordered.

  “No!” Andras said sharply. “Not yet. If her spine is broken you might kill her. Grab that board. No, the flat one—we’ll get it under her.”

  Narina coughed. “It’s not broken. I feel my legs. My knee, though. . .” She tried to turn her head and one of her eyes opened. “The dragon. . .?”

  “It’s gone,” Katalinka said. “You put your sword through its chest. It flew off with it sticking out. Badly wounded. You did it.”

  “Not me, you. It was your broken sword. I only pushed it deeper.” Another cough, but when Narina spoke again, her voice was stronger. “If you hadn’t struck it first, I’d have never managed to pierce its lung.”

  Narina reached up and grasped Katalinka’s hand. Her grip was strengthening, and her sowen exerting itself with a speed that Katalinka found startling. Already it was starting to mend her injuries, even though she was still lying on her back, partially buried in snow and rubble. Long before Katalinka’s own broken ankle had fully healed, she guessed, her sister would be off to the remains of the blacksmith shed to help with the recovery.

  The thought was exhausting, and Katalinka sank back to the snow to ease the pressure on her throbbing ankle. Andras and the dogs continued their work, this time with help from Narina herself, who pushed aside rubble and dragged herself clear.

  Katalinka cast a final glance at the sky, where the clouds continued to disperse. What did this mean for the wars, the rise of demons, and the awakening of dragons? What about the volcanoes, the ice storms? Was this the end?

  Please, she thought, let it be the end.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  There were only six warbrands gathered at the cottages when Katalinka arrived: two elders, three younger members, and Miklos. The warbrand sohn was tightening straps on sword belts, inspecting bags to verify they’d stocked up on provisions, and prodding with his sowen to make sure his companions were fit for the long trip ahead. He lingered the longest over a pack containing books and scrolls of warbrand lore that had been rescued from their temple earlier in the year.

  The sky was blue, and Katalinka turned to absorb warmth from the sun, even though it was low to the horizon this late in the season, and would shortly be dropping behind the mountain peaks, stealing what little heat it was providing. A storm had passed through two days earlier—a week and a half since the Great Drake flew away, injured, toward the highest peaks of the range—and that had briefly raised alarm among the temple warriors struggling to deal with the mud and slush and debris left from the battle. It had snowed about an inch, then turned to rain, before passing on. A normal late fall storm, nothing more.

  Yesterday, Drazul had led the remnants of the firewalkers toward home. There were fifteen survivors in all—more than the battered warbrands—but no surviving sohn, only a handful of elders and lesser members. Katalinka wondered if Drazul had enough energy to train a new generation of warriors, eventually raising another to the level of sohn. If he didn’t, the entire order would wither away.

  In spite of their lesser numbers, the warbrands were in better shape, having Miklos in the height of his power as a warrior and sohn to guide them. He’d been quiet, closed in since the battle ended and he’d had a chance to count their losses. No doubt he was still blaming himself for setting the conflict in motion. It was misguided guilt, of course, but human emotions didn’t always follow logic.

 
When Miklos seemed satisfied that his small band of companions was ready to set out, he found his way to Katalinka’s side, where he nodded his acknowledgment.

  “So,” she said.

  “So.”

  “I don’t suppose we’ll see each other again.”

  Miklos shook his head. “Not any time soon, no. There’s too much rebuilding to waste time socializing. I need to find young boys and girls willing to join our order, for one, while I continue training the two students who survived. Besides. . .” He cast his gaze over her shoulder, up the path toward the mill and temple grounds above. “Things have always been awkward around here.”

  “I don’t blame you for my father’s death.”

  “That’s what Narina said, too. That it wasn’t my fault.”

  “And she’s right,” Katalinka started to say, but Miklos held up his hand.

  “Still. Now that all of this is over, people will remember what happened and it will eat at them. It’s already eating at me. I need to go home and settle myself. I imagine I’ll come to terms with it eventually, like Kozmer did all those years ago, when he felt called to the plains. But it won’t come easily.”

  “Well, then,” she said. “I suppose this really is goodbye. You know where to find us if this should start up again.”

  “I do know where, but I believe this is the end of it. Narina killed the demon king, and the two of you delivered a grievous injury to the demigod. All three dragons will be in their lakes a good long time recovering from their wounds. The lore says they will return to their dreams. Decades may pass before they rise again. Centuries, even, and by then, we’ll be long gone, only a memory.”

  He apparently knew more about the matter than she did, but she doubted the last part of it. None of the temples—should they survive—would forget what had happened this year. The details would be written down, remembered, shared by elders for generations to come.

  “Take care,” she said.

  A funny look came over Miklos’s face. “We’re not ready yet. Still waiting for our last traveling companions.”