Spine of the Dragon

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Set loose, the entity swelled and swirled, a storm of water, shadows, and anger incarnate. Its features shifted, then resolved into the suggestion of a snarling human face with an unkempt beard, wild hair, and blazing eyes, attached to a complex body that charged through the water.

  The villagers screamed in dismay, and Utho heard a clatter of dropped weapons. Though many defenders steeled themselves and remained in formation, he doubted they could stand against this. He motioned to Onder. “We will need our ramers.”

  The young Brava gave a grim nod. “I guessed as much.”

  Each man removed the hinged golden cuff clipped to his belt, a band adorned with ancient wreth symbols. In the unnaturally warm metal, Utho could feel the power in the weapon that only a Brava could use. With his left hand, he folded the golden band around his right wrist and squeezed, clicking it tightly into place. Sharp metal prongs at the edges of the ramer bit into his flesh. The barbs pierced his veins and drank deeply, activating the power of the ancient weapon, which was triggered by the wreth magic in his Brava bloodline. Crimson trickles ran down his forearm as he raised his hand high, then used magic to ignite a corona of flame on the band of the ramer.

  With a roar, Utho pushed, and the flame brightened. His magic fed the fire, expanding it into a blazing ball that engulfed his hand. Straightening his fingers, he extended the flame into a bladelike whip as long as his arm. He held the fire high, shining against the oncoming enemy. From the end of the pier, he defied the warship and the unleashed godling.

  Onder also clamped his gold wristband in place, drawing blood and igniting his own torch. The Bravas stood with fiery hands raised, ready to defend Mirrabay with their incandescent fury.

  Undeterred, the godling boiled toward them, sending up geysers of water. Rough waves capsized fishing boats and rolled toward the docks, smashing the larger ships tied to the piers. The unleashed deity rose from the water and lunged toward the dock and the two burning ramers.

  Utho realized how vulnerable they were. “We can’t fight it here!” He and Onder raced back to shore as the godling crashed into the pier, scattering planks and pilings in all directions. The vicious entity plowed ahead, sank every boat, and smashed supply sheds and boathouses into splinters.

  Reaching solid ground, Utho held up his ignited ramer and faced the oncoming creature. He drove back a twist of atavistic fear. Beside him, Onder looked terrified, but his hand blazed bright, curling the flames into a burning lash.

  This thing was not natural. The godling was a being beyond their comprehension, a force that didn’t bleed. Utho wasn’t even sure if it could die. Nevertheless, he was a Brava, and he drew upon his magic, intensifying the fiery lash. Calling to Onder, he ran directly toward the half-corporeal entity as it struck smokehouses and dock shacks, sending fragments of wood high into the air, setting the village ablaze.

  Out on the water, the Isharan warship was close enough that the invading soldiers disembarked in landing boats and rowed toward shore. They raised their curved swords, shouting insults and threats as they attacked the harbor village, but the monstrous godling did most of their work for them.

  The shifting creature drew upon wild emotions and ripped the air with howling winds. A rowboat spun into the air and smashed down as Utho leaped out of the way. He regained his feet and stood his ground, lashing with his ramer. “Stop!”

  He flung a crack of magical fire at the roiling entity. It extended arms that writhed with tentacles of liquid steam, but the blazing ramer sizzled into them. The godling flinched. Utho yelled, “I don’t believe in you, abomination.”

  Isharans possessed a corrupted form of power in their new world, an ability to create their own godlings as constructs of blind faith manifested by their imaginations. But not here in the Commonwealth, not in Mirrabay. A godling did not belong here on these shores.

  Utho thrust the ignited ramer at the entity. The fire whip extended from his hand to slash the thing’s components into steam and spray. The godling lunged closer.

  “Onder!” he shouted. “Help me!”

  But the other Brava stood like a statue, hand upraised, ramer sputtering as he stared.

  The godling battered Utho with its shifting body and knocked him aside like chaff in a wind. He struck out with his fiery hand, but the hot lash did no mortal damage. The wild entity smashed him again and hurled him to tumble end over end in the air.

  Utho’s heavy cloak and his finemail armor barely protected him when he crashed down onto a wood-shingled rooftop. Stunned, he slid down the roof, fighting to control his body, to wake up. He felt the pain of countless injuries, rolling, sliding, and just as he dropped off the edge, he managed to grab a gutter.

  As he held on and tried to recover his bearings, he saw Onder in the streets below, not far from the furious half-corporeal creature. The younger Brava turned and fled in the opposite direction from where the villagers were rallying.

  Utho was astonished by what he was seeing, and his heart tightened with black disappointment.

  The godling rammed into another warehouse, flattening the walls, sending long planks flying, uprooting support timbers. Fishing nets strung out on repair racks flailed about like giant spiderwebs and landed in tangles. With a burst of energy, the entity pushed into the town, knocked down walls, smashed windows, ignited rooftops. Fire leaped from home to home as it raged onward.

  Repulsed by his cowardly companion but unwilling to surrender for himself, Utho let go of the gutter and dropped to the street, keeping his knees bent as his armored cloak draped around him. Pain flared from broken ribs and bruised skull, yet he drove back his dismay with a ruthless disregard for his own safety. The fight was not over yet. His ramer remained clamped around his wrist, although the magical flame had guttered out when he briefly lost consciousness. Blood still streamed from the ramer’s golden teeth, and he clutched the metal band, calling fire from his wreth heritage. His hand burst into purifying flame again.

  In the streets, the people of Mirrabay fought Isharan soldiers who surged to shore from their landing boats in the wake of the godling’s wrath. Carrying torches, the raiders set more buildings aflame, running from house to house. They clashed with fishermen, dockworkers, boatwrights, and shopkeepers. They killed many, but clubbed and captured others with nets, dragging them back to their landing boats. Utho was sickened by the prospect of what those vile people would do to the poor captives.

  His vision clouded with a red haze as he thought of his wife, who had faced a situation much like this. He knew Mareka would have fought back and killed many while trying to save their daughters. At least they had died, rather than being dragged away to be raped and enslaved—or worse, sacrificed to the godling.

  There was a reason the Bravas had declared a vengewar against the Isharans centuries ago.…

  The wild deity continued its rampage, toppling the town’s bell tower and silencing the call to arms with a roar and a clang. Charging through the streets, the godling leveled Mirrabay’s remembrance shrine, which preserved the names of all the past lives from the town—including Mareka and the girls.

  Fighting by himself now that his cowardly companion had fled, Utho ran after the creature, flaring his ramer bright. The raiders were dispersed through the town, caught up in their own battles. Isharan soldiers lay dead in the streets, along with many more murdered villagers, and although a lone Brava could have slain dozens of the enemy, he knew the godling was the greater threat.

  He fell upon the thing again, slashing ramer fire through its barely tangible body. The godling’s expenditure of wrath had already weakened it, and Utho’s renewed fury damaged it further. The abomination was smaller now, less concentrated. Once a godling left the shores of its own continent, it had none of the land’s native magic to draw on, and he knew the Isharans could not revitalize the entity’s power with prayers and sacrifices alone.

  Apparently satisfied with the swath of destruction it had caused, the wild entity circled back to the edge of the
water, needing to return to the sanctuary of the Isharan warship. Stretching itself, the monstrosity toppled one of the watchtowers, dumping the bonfire beacon into the bay. The thing was fading, as if it knew it did not belong here in the Commonwealth.

  The retreating godling slipped away, but Utho needed blood to satisfy his own personal vengewar. Turning his violence toward the remaining enemy soldiers, he pulled a fighting knife from the many weapons at his side and intensified the lash of his ramer. While Mirrabay burned around him, he waded into the fray of battle, ignoring the pain of his injuries. He struck down five Isharan soldiers, but he took no joy in the victory.

  Utho made his way to the smoking, splintered piers where destroyed boats drifted in the water around the invaders’ ship. Now that the magical wind had died away, the warship’s striped sails hung limp. At the bow stood a stocky, bald priestlord in a midnight-blue caftan, watching the turmoil from a safe distance.

  The priestlord struck a gong, calling the Isharans back aboard. The metallic crash rang out even louder than the screams of the wounded, the clash of swords. The last of the invaders dove into their landing boats and rowed to the warship, taking at least ten captives from Mirrabay with them.

  The godling responded like a pet being called to dinner. It leaped into the water, roiling toward the Isharan warship. Though still fearsome, the thing was clearly diminished compared to when it had arrived. It flowed through the open hatch covers at the waterline and back into the ship’s hold, leaving murky, churned water behind it.

  No matter how hard the villagers fought to defend their homes, no matter how many invaders he slew with his ramer, it was not enough. Utho of the Reef extinguished the fire and looked at the devastation. Half the town was smashed and burning, countless bodies strewn through the streets, the wounded dying in pools of their own blood.

  He choked back a sob. This was what the town must have looked like decades ago … when Utho had not been here to protect his family.

  Animals!

  4

  WHEN Elliel approached a mining village called Scrabbleton in the Dragonspine Mountains, she paused to consider her options. For her, as a disgraced Brava, it was always a gamble whether to avoid people or seek their company. Would they welcome her or curse her? Even though she no longer wore the traditional black garb of a Brava, her half-breed heritage was plain on her face, in the almond shape of her green eyes. Would the townspeople know or care who she was? She didn’t even know who she was.

  Whenever she saw her reflection, Elliel could see that she was a beautiful woman, although the sight of her own face still surprised her. With her memories gone, she didn’t know what to expect. She was tall and well proportioned, with generous curves that drew the attention of men—and toned muscles and fighting reflexes that kept their unwanted attentions away. She had let her burnt-cinnamon hair grow much longer than a typical Brava would, but she was not a typical Brava. Not anymore.

  Fortunately, most people would not understand the tattoo on her face.

  Since losing her past, Elliel did not have a plan from day to day or place to place. Scrabbleton seemed as good a spot as any other. She straightened her shoulders and maintained a steady pace along the crushed-rock road.

  Around her, the rugged peaks were capped with old snow even after the long summer. The mountain range was aptly named, rising like a backbone across the Commonwealth, its jagged ridges reminiscent of the immense dragon Ossus, who was supposedly buried deep beneath the world. Prominent and conical, Mount Vada loomed over Scrabbleton, occasionally exhaling a plume of white smoke—a snort of the restless dragon, according to legend. The town was renowned for rich mines that produced gold, silver, and copper, along with dragonblood rubies and diamonds called mothertears.

  Elliel assumed the mines would need diggers or haulers, so she could find work in exchange for food and shelter. She made no decision about how long she might stay. Every day was a new question for her.

  Chuckling streams ran down the wooded mountainside, turning the wheel of a mill on the outskirts of town. Sweet blue woodsmoke wafted from the chimneys of cottages along the main street and near mine openings that burrowed into Mount Vada. The town square held now-empty booths that suggested a regular market for crafts and produce. She noted a well-maintained wooden building with carved lintels and open doors, the town’s remembrance shrine not far from the inn.

  She had spent countless nights on the road, camping in the forest, choosing her own company over the uncertain welcome of strangers. Her dusty clothes were like those of any ordinary traveler: linen trousers, sturdy leather boots, an undyed flaxen shirt, and a rough wool cloak that doubled as a blanket.

  The ramer at her side—which she could have clamped around her wrist, if she still had any magic to draw on—often attracted attention, however. The golden cuff was more of a reminder to herself than a threat to anyone else, since she could no longer use it. Scars on her wrist reminded her of failed attempts since she had awakened to her new empty life.

  Here at the western border of Osterra, many days’ journey inland from the capital city of Convera, people would know and respect Bravas, even though they were rare. Many Bravas were independent paladins, offering their services to villages or entire districts, while others were bonded to particular lords.

  Elliel reached up to her cheek, touching the design there, the rune of forgetting. Though the sting of Utho’s tattoo needles had long since faded, the knowledge of her crime perpetually weighed on her. She could not remember details, but she knew what she had done, because of the tattered and often-read letter she kept tucked inside her shirt. In spite of its reminder of her shame, she couldn’t bear to throw the hated message away.…

  Elliel drew attention as she walked down the street, partly because she was a woman alone and partly because of her demeanor, the implicit strength she carried. Although the townspeople did not seem unwelcoming, she was the first to offer a smile. “Could you direct me to the mine boss? I’d like to see about work.”

  A mother sat in front of a cottage, mending an old skirt while her children ran about chasing chickens. She gestured with her chin. “Hallis is in the building by the central mine tunnel.” Elliel saw a set of dark openings dug into the rocky cliffside at the far end of town and a wood-and-stone building just outside the largest tunnel.

  Hallis, the mine boss, was a short, tough man with knotted forearms, biceps, and neck. Inside the small building, he sat recording figures in his ledger with a lead stylus. Tacked on the wooden wall were maps of the tunnels with indications of the particular metals and gems found in each one.

  When Elliel entered, Hallis rested his elbows on the desktop and looked appraisingly at her. Without introducing herself, she said, “I’d like to work in the mines.”

  He looked at her with interest, as well as surprise. “You look strong enough. Why should I hire you?”

  “Because I would do a good job,” Elliel said.

  He turned to a page in his ledger filled with names. “Good enough. Who are you? Where are you from?”

  “My name is Elliel, and that’s about all I know.” She touched the mark on her cheek. “I have no past, but I’m determined to make a future.”

  Hallis kept staring, as if he could see right through her. “You’re a Brava, then?”

  “I was. Now, I’m just Elliel. Other Bravas erased my legacy.”

  The mine boss regarded her with suspicion. “You must have done something horrible, then.”

  “I must have. I know what they told me, and I assume the story is true.”

  Hallis’s brow furrowed. “I couldn’t hire a dangerous criminal. I need to know what you did.”

  She steeled herself to give him the answer. “I’ll tell you, but only once. And if you still choose to hire me, I promise you won’t regret it.” She reached into her shirt, touched the paper folded against her heart, and recited from memory what she knew.

  * * *

  Elliel remembered vividly the da
y she had awakened in nondescript clothes with some money in a pouch at her side and the ramer clipped to her belt. It was more than two years ago, the moment her new life abruptly began. Everything before that was a blank.

  She had found herself in the back of an open wagon, cold and wet, pulling a drenched woolen blanket around her. Rain streaked down from the gray-locked sky as the wagon rattled toward an unknown village. Looking around, she saw she was huddled among sacks of dirt-encrusted potatoes, now slick with mud.

  In front of her on the buckboard, the driver wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat. Rain pattered on the leather and dripped in a fringe down onto his shoulders. He stared ahead, holding the reins.

  She leaned forward in the wagon bed. “Where are we?”

  The driver turned to look at her. His whiskers were a mixture of black and gray on his leathery face. When he gave her an uncertain smile, she saw that one of his front teeth was missing. “I was told you’d wake up before we reached town. That’s all the farther I’m supposed to bring you.” When he nodded, more rain slid off the brim of his hat. “The Brava man said you were on your own.”

  Refusing to answer more of her questions, he stopped his weary old horse at the outskirts of town and told her to climb out of the wagon bed. But she didn’t know who she was, only her name: Elliel. She felt stinging pain on her cheek. “What is this?”

  “It’s not very attractive, I can tell you that,” said the driver. “Some sort of spell rune, but I don’t know about such things.” He drove off into town with his load of potatoes.

  Ducking out of the rain, Elliel went into an inn, where the people stared at her. She just wanted to sit out of the rain, where she could think. The innkeeper told her to go find a barn and stay dry with the animals, but she found the few coins in her pocket and instead paid for a mug of broth so she could sit by herself near the fire.

  That was when she discovered the letter, in which Utho described what she had done, and that he had found her guilty.