She closed her eyes and pulled more air into her lungs. The crashing overhead as trees were snapped in half and branches and limbs tossed to the ground like dice in a game, startled a scream from her.
There in the middle of Eagnad’s secret place, with one great foot and part of its tail hidden in the pool, was the largest dragon Feenix had ever seen.
“Oh, Mac Lir,” she managed to stammer. “I hate you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The dragon was huge, at the shoulder taller than three men. Its long head was covered with spines and scales dark as the night, with a sheen of blue-green glistening in the sun, the color of death. The long neck arched, giving a clear view of its underside, which was a brownish color. The skin looked smoother than that on the upper body, with fewer scales and no spines.
Its teeth, the size of a man’s forearm, protruded from the wide mouth, and a black tongue, long and forked, constantly flicked about as the monster turned its huge head back and forth, searching for prey.
Leathery wings lay folded and tucked behind the forearms of the beast, and the claws on each foot were sharp enough to rip the guts from its prey—be it man or beast—with a single swipe. Feenix had seen it happen, a long time ago.
A fetid stench engulfed her as she crouched behind the boulder, trembling and sweating with Fear. The smell was straight from the carnage pits of a Port Marcus slaughterhouse. She choked back a scream and tried to swallow a wave of bile that threatened to overcome her.
What to do? She was chained and could not even attempt to sneak past the beast. She had a sword, but such a puny weapon was as effective as a flea bite against a dragon.
“Mac Lir, help me,” she whispered into the morning breeze.
The hair at the back of her head stood of its own accord. Had she actually asked that miserable god for help? Impossible! He was as useless as a drop of water in a firestorm.
Feenix watched the dragon as it waddled forward, its huge feet and long tail crushing trees and brush with each step. The side of the pool collapsed under the weight of the beast, and for a moment, she hoped it would fall into the water and drown. The pool was not deep enough, however.
“And besides,” she said to herself, “the blasted thing can probably swim!”
The dragon stopped in its tracks and turned its great yellow eyes in her direction. The long, black tongue flicked out, as if tasting the air. Large nostrils, each the size of a man’s head, flared as the beast picked up her scent.
Instinctively, she tried to back up, to place as much room as possible between herself and the dragon, but the chain prevented her from doing so. She gripped the pommel of her sword and swore long and loud.
“By Mac Lir’s backside! That elf-man will be the death of me! He’s chained me to my doom!”
Fear swirled through her blood. She knew what it was and tried to fight it, but the innate ability to produce the emotion in its prey gave dragons an almost insurmountable advantage in any battle.
“Mac Lir, if you even exist—”
The dragon’s head snaked towards her hiding place, and the beast roared like a thundering mountain slide. Her blood turned to ice water.
“Fine! You exist! I know you exist,” she assured herself and the god. “Just give me a fighting chance, that’s all I ask.” She moved to the other side of the boulder, and the chain dipped with the slack. “Help me get this blasted chain off so I can at least defend myself!”
The dragon came closer, and she wiped the sweat from her eyes, fighting to control the tremors of fear that shook her body.
“If I ever meant anything at all to you,” she pleaded, “release this chain so I’ll have a chance of dying as a warrior, fighting rather than fettered like a helpless sacrifice!”
Mac Lir remained silent as the monster closed in on her. With a tremendous swipe of its forelegs, the claws mowed down a number of trees that shielded her from its view.
One of them was the tree that held the chain.
She thought her arm had been ripped from its socket as she was jerked from her hiding place and flung a half meter to the side. It was a miracle that she hung on to the sword.
With a shake of her head, she cleared the dazed feeling from her brain and looked at the tree that had been her nemesis until the dragon came along and presented a more dangerous enemy. Now, it was nothing more than a splintered stump, with a length of chain lying a small distance away.
She was free! Mac Lir?
She didn’t waste time pondering the possibility of the god’s assistance. Instead, she pulled the length of chain to her as she ran for the opposite side of the ravine, keeping a wary eye on the monster. Its great yellow eyes followed her as she made her way through the rubble of ruined trees and tossed boulders.
With a quick flick of its wings, the dragon lunged and blocked Feenix’s path as effectively as a sudden avalanche. Trapped between the steep wall of the ravine and the enormous body of the dragon, she almost cried in frustration.
“Mac Lir, why do you toy with me? You release me from the tree only to be pounced on by the dragon? By the Seven Cella Worlds, what the blazes good are you?”
The monster reared up on its hind legs. The supple neck of the beast curved down and the huge maw opened, with row upon row of wickedly sharp teeth looking like a fence protecting the open throat. Gray, oily saliva dripped from the jaws and splattered on the ground. Tiny puffs of smoke curled towards the sky, as the spittle’s acid burned the vegetation on the ravine floor.
From prior experience, Feenix knew that the only way to destroy a dragon was to attack its vulnerable spot. The soft underbelly was the most effective, if a warrior could survive the acid breath and get in close enough. She had no armor. The acid from its saliva would burn the flesh from her bones before she could reach the beast.
The eyes were another good spot, but with only a sword it was highly unlikely she would be able to reach them. If she had a dragon lance—a specially made iron pole, long and barb tipped, which weighed almost as much as a man—she might stand a chance of surviving. A lance wedged between its jaws was sometimes an effective way of stopping a dragon.
She looked frantically about, as if hoping to find a dragon lance lying conveniently to hand. The only things even remotely similar were the fallen and splintered trees.
Wrapping the chain around her left forearm, Feenix scrambled over to a toppled elm. It was too thin and supple to do much good, but she propped it against a boulder, pointing in the direction of the oncoming enemy.
Now what? That wouldn’t stop a child, she thought. The wood was too soft. If only there were a few oak trees lying about. That hard wood might buy her some time.
The huge head lunged at her, snapping its jaws over thin air just as Feenix ducked and rolled away. A white-hot pain ripped through her shoulder as a drop of saliva hit her. As she rolled, she gathered up a handful of leaves and scrubbed the acid from her flesh. A dab of skin came off with the acid, but at least it wouldn’t eat through to her bone.
The chain was a nuisance. She had no way to secure it around her arm, and it weighed quite a bit. She tucked the end inside a few of the coils as she wound it around her arm yet again.
“Now what, Mac Lir?”
Feenix looked behind her and saw a small cavern that had been formed when three large boulders had collided with each other. It was no more than an animal’s den, but it might provide some protection from the dragon.
If it had not already found her.
No, with one swipe of its claw, the dragon would knock the boulders aside and she’d be as vulnerable as a poached fish lying on a serving plate.
So far, the sword had done her no good, but there had to be a way to either escape or defend herself.
“Think, Feenix,” she ordered herself. However, the Fear was still with her, and it was difficult to put together two complete thoughts. “I don’t want to die now, Mac Lir.”
That was a strange thought. She had never been afraid to die bef
ore. In fact, one of the reasons she had gained such renown as a leader and warrior was because she never hesitated to face danger. She was more apt to take the battle to the enemy than wait for an attack. The best defense was a swift and decisive offense, she liked to boast.
Yet here she was, worrying over her possible death, alone in Eagnad’s secret death trap. It must be the effects of the dragon’s Fear, she surmised. That rationale did little to banish her worries, however.
Why did the thought of her own death bother her now? What had changed?
A deafening roar startled Feenix out of her reverie, and she barely had time to move as the dragon’s claw came at her with lightning speed. As she jumped to the side, she sliced with her sword, making contact with the underside of the great foot. Another roar shook the leaves, and brown blood dripped from between the middle claws of the beast.
Hardly a significant wound, she knew, but a tiny jolt of satisfaction made her smile, knowing that she had at least made her presence felt.
But she had only succeeded in making the monster angry.
The huge spiked tail whipped around the massive body, knocking more trees down and sending rocks and boulders flying. How could she possibly fight something like this by herself, and without the proper weapons? She was going to die alone and no one she cared about would ever know.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. L’Garn would know.
“Shut up,” she yelled at herself. But as usual, herself did not listen.
With death in the guise of a large black dragon staring her in the face, she had to be honest. She had come to care deeply for the half-elf prince. She’d rather stand weaponless in front of three dragons than admit it, but by the god’s left eye, she couldn’t deny the fact. Somewhere in these past days as a slave within Cragimore, she had fallen in love with a stinking elf-man!
How?
Why?
It really didn’t matter, she realized. She would never see him again. Tears fell unheeded, and a blanket of despair settled over her, making her feel tired and old.
So many years battling her inner demons, as well as those met in war, and all for nothing. Always, she had been able to keep her heart safe and unhurt. The armor she wore around that unseen organ was stronger and tougher than any protection she had ever placed on her skin.
All those years she kept her heart whole, only to have it broken by a miserable half-elf prince, a noble son of the enemy.
Was there no justice in the world at all?
“Mac Lir, is this your final jest? Is this the last entertainment I provide you? I die with the knowledge that Feenix of Port Marcus has finally fallen in love and will never be able to do anything about it?”
Again, she rolled to avoid the dragon’s attack. Fatigue threatened to pull her down, and she had to gasp for breath to fill her lungs. The tears continued to roll unheeded down her face, washing great streaks through the dirt and grime on her cheeks.
For the only time in her life that she could remember, Feenix did not try to hold the tears back. No one was here to see; there was no facade to maintain. She was just a woman mourning the loss of what might have been, and she was free to express her sorrow.
With another roar, the dragon lunged yet again, throwing Feenix to her back, the breath knocked out of her. The massive claw-studded foot descended, and she was trapped like a mouse inside a cat’s paw.
“Mac Lir,” she shuddered. “Help me.”
The weight of the beast was unbearable. If not for a large boulder beside her that had taken most of the dragon’s weight, she would be dead. Even so, her ribs would surely snap like twigs under the colossal burden of the monster.
Adrenaline pooled in her belly, cold and thick, and her limbs felt like they were made of stone. The pure knowledge that she had just witnessed her last sunrise sent her heart racing with terror.
“I don’t want to die, Mac Lir. Not now that I’ve found L’Garn.”
The whispered words trembled on her lips as if they, too, were afraid to attract the dragon’s attention.
Teeth bared, the dragon’s mammoth head lowered to bite her into pieces. A trickle of saliva flowed out to spill over her face. Before it could reach her, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for death.
“Please, Mac Lir.” She held her breath.
“Please help me.”
Nothing happened.
No acid; no teeth ripping her body in two; no bones snapping from the weight of the dragon’s foot.
She was still alive, and the pain had stopped, although the pressure from the dragon’s foot continued to hold her securely.
Feenix opened her eyes, and everything was as she remembered; the huge head bent with mouth open to chew her to bits. Even the spittle hung suspended from the jaw, unmoving—dangling in the air.
What was happening?
“The first time I saved thy life, thou wast too young to understand.”
A rich voice reverberated from the ground where she lay. It was as if Tylana itself spoke to her. She thought the voice was familiar, but could not put a name to the speaker, other than it was definitely male. And powerful.
Feenix trembled with a new fear.
“I watched over thee and protected thee through thy growing years. Many times thou didst tax my patience.”
“Who’s there?” She was afraid of the probable answer.
“Thou art a stubborn and proud woman. Thy prayers are full of contention.”
All thoughts of the dragon left her mind as she realized to whom the voice belonged. Mac Lir. The god of the silvan; Rendolin’s deity.
Feenix closed her eyes in dread as her mind raced with reasons why a god would deign to speak with her. None of the reasons were good. Her innards felt like mush; if she had been standing, her legs would have collapsed.
“Thy back is stiff and thy neck too proud to bend in humility. Thy tongue is tipped with the barbs of a thousand wasps, thy temper as hot as a volcano’s heart. Long I have waited for thee to call upon me in humility; to reach out and embrace the gifts I have offered unto thee.”
As the voice continued speaking, the ground trembled beneath her prone body, but she wasn’t sure if it was her own fear causing her to quake…or something else. Never had she been in such a position! How many times had she railed at the god for a circumstance or because she found herself in an unpleasant situation? How often had she demanded he show himself and answer her charges and accusation? She must have been mad! Never had she thought the actual event would be so traumatic.
“Wh…what do you want?” She was ashamed of the tentative sound of her voice, but could not control the tremor in it.
“For the first time in thy existence, thou hast called upon me for help. What dost thou want?”
She wasn’t sure if she had heard aright. After years of being ignored, Mac Lir had finally decided to answer one of her prayers? Why?
“Why would you help me?”
“Because, daughter, thou asked it of me in sincere prayer. And because I have a work for thee.”
She had to think about that for a moment. She wasn’t even sure if she was really talking to a god.
“I asked for your help before and you never raised one finger to help. Why should you help me now?” A thought entered her head. “Wait. I’m dead, right? The reason I’m talking to you is because I’m dead. Well, then why is this dragon still crushing me if I’m dead?”
“Thou hast ever railed and demanded, woman, as if thee were in a position to dictate to me. Never did thee ask with a sincere heart. Until now, thy heart was not soft enough to hear my words or to listen to my voice.”
She turned her head to try to see if there was anyone in the ravine who might be responsible for this strange conversation. She saw no one, except the huge dragon still poised to kill her with a single bite. Strange how the saliva hung in the air, unmoving.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “If you are going to answer my prayer, then why am I still trapped beneath thi
s dragon? And why is it not moving? What happened?”
“Thee are caught between heartbeats. Time, by thy measurement, seems to have stopped while we have our discussion. I cannot help thee unless thee listens closely to what I have to say. The choice to live or die lies with thee, Feenix of Port Marcus.”
“What do you mean, the choice lies with me? You’re a god! You can keep me from dying just by saying so. I’ve already chosen, and I want to live!”
The god didn’t make any sense to her. He was all powerful, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he just make the dragon disappear and let her get on with her life?
“Thou hast been walking a thin line for uncounted years. On one hand, thou hast become an evil and cruel creature. Thou hast not hesitated to kill for gain, nor to steal and plunder when given the opportunity.”
“It’s what kept me alive, Mac Lir! You sure as hell weren’t around to help out, were you? Where were you when I was starving on the streets with no place to sleep, and no bread in my belly? I remember going for days without a mouthful of food, and finally finding something only partially rotted in the gutter. I’d have to wolf it down before another beggar, worse off than me, saw it and tried to claim it. Lying for hours in the rain; slops the only thing keeping me alive.”
Why was she defending herself to him? If she hadn’t learned how to steal, she would have been dead long before this.
“And as for me killing people, well, it’s my job. I’d rather be a paid warrior than a slum whore any day! And I always stopped short of becoming a hired assassin, so you can just stop trying to make me feel guilty. It’s what I do best. War is my trade; killing is my destiny.”
“Guilt is an emotion meant to temper a person’s excesses.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’m not in the mood for riddles, Mac Lir. Are you going to help me or not?”
THE CHOOSING Page 24