by Jessi Gage
Riggs and the other men who had gathered around him looked to the sky. “They’re going to have to wait,” Riggs said. “Because so are we.”
An unholy roar cut through the winter air.
Magnus followed Riggs’s gaze. The dragon from his vision flew toward them. It flapped its enormous, bat-like wings, once twice, three times as it came to a floating stop over the gorge. With a great bellow, it unleashed a plume of fire from its mouth.
“To arms!” he called, and he heard the command carried through the centuries. Sword drawn, he led the charge toward the beast.
* * * *
“Somat is happening.” Seona’s voice brought Duff out of deep thought. He had been trying not to worry about Danu, and failing miserably.
“What is it, love?” He sat up straight within the shadow of his boulder.
She rubbed her chest. “I feel queer, as if somat is pushing at me.”
He frowned, not knowing what could cause such a sensation. He searched his memory for any conversation with Danu that might shed light on Seona’s discomfort. With a start, he remembered something.
They had been making love once long ago, and during the carnal dance, she had exhaled sharply and shed a single tear. He’d thought he’d hurt her somehow, though he couldn’t imagine what a Fae could do to harm a goddess. It was more likely she’d hurt herself, since she’d been riding him like a glorious cavalrywoman, all flowing blond locks and bouncing tits.
He’d paused in his thrusting. “All right, love?”
She waved away his concern, though her mood had shifted. Her pace had been fast, as if she’d been sprinting in a race. But she slowed. Lowering herself into his arms, she breathed into his neck. “I’ve lost one,” she whispered. “When my people die, their moonsouls return to me.”
He knew how much she loved her people.
Stroking her hair back from her face, he kissed her. “I’m sorry, love.”
“I’m used to it,” she said, but their lovemaking continued more tenderly than before. Perhaps she was used to it, but it still affected her.
Returning to the present, he watched through the bars as Seona clutched her robes over her chest. Her brow furrowed with pain. Could it be she was feeling a moonsoul as it sought eternal rest? He wished he’d paid closer attention when Danu had mentioned the phenomenon. But then again, he’d had other things on his mind.
“I think you’re feeling a wolfkind death. You’re their goddess, now.”
Wide eyes blinked at his shadow. Her brows lowered. “I doona like it. How do I make it cease?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. Perhaps, try letting it in?”
She grimaced. “Och, I doona want a dead soul inside me!”
“I doubt they remain there, love. Danu would have provided her mortals with a path to heaven. Perhaps she, herself—or rather now you—serve as the gateway.”
She wrinkled her nose, the thought obviously distasteful to her. With a sigh, she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Well.” She tapped her foot. “How do I let the bloody thing in?”
Duff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dearest. This is not a mosquito we are talking about. It is a soul. A soul you have charge over. Tell me you feel the weight of that. Tell me you have an ounce of compassion somewhere in that bruised heart of yours.” He did not blame this woman for the wounds she’d suffered, but he’d be damned if he didn’t challenge her when she let bitterness and selfishness rule her emotions.
“Compassion? You speak to me of compassion when I’ve been lied to and used by every man whose path I’ve crossed? How dare you scold me? You’re no different from the rest!”
He shot to his feet within his shadow. Anger pulsed through him. “How dare I? How dare I? I dare because I’m not every man whose path you’ve crossed. I dare because I’m in love with you, you stubborn woman.”
He snapped his mouth shut, surprised he’d admitted his feelings to her.
She stilled and stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a groan. She staggered, clutching at her chest. “Och! ’Tis growing worse. Do somat! Help me!” She fell to her knees on the jagged stone floor, and the scent of blood rose to meet him. She must have cut her knees on the rocks.
His fists clenched and unclenched. He almost grabbed the bars, but stopped himself at the last second. He still nursed wounds from his earlier encounter with the cold-iron and was in no rush to add more. All he could do was pace within his shadow and watch as his woman became increasingly more distressed.
“What is it, love? Tell me what’s happening.” Her pain filled him with a sense of urgency, yet he was helpless to give her aid. This was intolerable!
“I doona ken!” she gasped. “’Tis like before but stronger. So much stronger. Make it cease!”
Was that one soul becoming more insistent, or were more souls seeking the peace of the afterlife? Could it be that Magnus’s army was battling Hyrk this very moment? He longed to go to the ream of wolfkind so he could know for sure, but he would not leave Seona. Not for anything.
“Hang on, love,” he said uselessly. “Just hang on.”
Chapter 30
Fire rained down on Magnus and his army.
The dragon—a living, breathing dragon like he’d read about as a pup in the legends—flapped its massive wings to hover over the gorge. Weak winter light gleamed off its scales, making it appear red one moment and gold the next. Its eyes glowed with blood-red light, and Magnus had the impression those eyes searched for him.
This was Hyrk. Somehow, Alexander’s words had called him forth in this form.
Now great fountains of flame shot from the dragon’s jaws and blanketed his army in sweeping arcs. His men lined up along the northern slope of the gorge, but the boiling hot air prevented them from descending to the river. The snow at their feet turned to slush. They could not cross, could not get to the children.
Magnus’s arm tensed as he held his shield high against the fiery onslaught. His feet scuffed at the gorge’s slope, sending mud and rock tumbling down the incline to the dark waters beneath. Every time he began side-stepping down toward the river to make a crossing, plumes of fire pushed him back up to the edge again.
All around him, his men were doing the same—advancing a foot, then retreating two feet. Despite their raised shields, some had been burned. At least a dozen fine soldiers lay in the melted snow with charred limbs. Groans of pain surrounded him. Worse, some of the men lay still. Too still.
Danu, help us.
Prayer came naturally to him, but he must remember that Danu could not help them, not at the moment. She was as mortal as the rest of them and even more fragile than most in her human body. There was no one to answer his prayer. He must be the one to provide victory for his men. For the children. For all wolfkind.
Still, he wasn’t completely without his goddess. Against his chest, her moonstone lay cool and smooth. Feeling it there gave him strength. It had warned him of the dragon and showed him that the children needed him. It would not allow him to fail.
“We must reach the fortress!” he called out. “The children are in danger!”
He must end Hyrk as quickly as possible, but this was no ordinary foe. The airborne beast had the freedom to swiftly counteract every last man as they tried pushing into the gorge.
“Spread out along the edge and advance when you can!” But it seemed no matter how far his army stretched along the river’s high bank, the dragon was able to fly to meet them and force them back.
He took in the battle and the landscape. His men crowded the northern edge of the gorge, fending off flames with their shields, and launching arrows when the flames subsided. The dragon’s wings swept the air, keeping itself elevated. Most of his archers’ projectiles bounced harmlessly off the beast, but a single arrow protruded from the milky scales covering its chest.
The dragon was beyond the reach of their swords, and their arrows were ineffective. As long as it breathed fire, th
ey could not reach the fortress. How were they to defeat this enemy? Where was its vulnerability? It must have one.
Frustration made his heart pound. This stalemate was intolerable!
If they were defending Chroina against this foe, the city walls would have given them protection from the fire. They could have launched a net to capture or at least hinder the dragon enough to take the upper hand. But out here in Larna’s wintery wilderness, the dragon had the clear advantage.
“The only ways to defeat a demigod are to take away his mortal worshippers or to destroy his relic.” Duff’s words echoed in his mind.
Taking away Hyrk’s followers was impossible. He could not reach the children, and even if he could reach them and quickly convince them to abandon their ill-founded loyalty, there were likely more followers hiding in Marann.
That left the red gemstone, Hyrk’s relic. If he could destroy it, the dragon would be no more. But last Magnus had seen the stone, it had been in Alexander’s hands. He could not reach it while the dragon barred their path to the fortress. Wait. It had not been in Alexander’s hand. It had flown out the window into the sky.
A stream of flame singed the air directly over him. He ducked behind his shield. Around him, his men did the same, but some of them bellowed with pain. Magnus’s helm heated with the onslaught. Pain bit at his ears as the metal caused burns, but his shield protected him from the worst of the blast.
The jet of fire swept away, and he straightened. Danu’s moonstone slipped free from his armor. Was it his imagination or did it gleam with inner light? Yes! It was glowing. Sparks like distant stars shone within the amethyst’s depths, like a night sky alight with beauty.
Lowering his shield, he touched a finger to the stone, finding it warm. Not from the dragon’s fire and not from his body. It was the heat of a rock that had baked in the sun all afternoon, and it filled him with hope.
Danu’s power was alive within the stone. He sensed not only its presence but its intent. It beckoned him. It had a plan.
Focusing on the stone, he tilted it between finger and thumb. Show me what must be done.
As if the stone heard him, its inner light cast a shimmering beam out and away from him. He followed its path and watched it come to rest on the dragon’s chest, directly where the single arrow protruded. Midway between the beating wings, where logic said the dragon’s heart should be, the spot wavered with the moonstone’s soft, lavender light. It was the only place an arrow had been able to lodge. With most of its shaft visible, however, the arrow hadn’t penetrated deeply enough to cause harm. Still, the highlighted spot was vulnerable.
The moment he had the thought, the beam of light from Danu’s moonstone faded. A faint red glow remained behind that thin milky skin. That glow was about the size of the red gemstone.
Hyrk’s relic is the dragon’s heart.
“A relic is not an easy thing to destroy. It is said no mortal weapon can harm one.” Danu’s words from Assaph’s study came back to him. They cast doubt on what the moonstone had shown him. “Only an act of pure faith can destroy a relic.”
Have faith.
How many times had his father given him that advice? How many times had he encouraged himself thus? But could he have faith when it mattered most?
He must. There was no other option.
He must believe that Danu’s moonstone had shown him the answer.
Steeling himself, he moved through his men, shouting encouragements as he sought out his second. Riggs was not hard to spot, being one of the largest in his army. He stood over a pair of wounded men, shield up, ready to defend them from more fire.
“Riggs! Lead twenty men around to the east. See that jutting rock? I need you to draw the dragon’s attention beyond it.” Far down the gorge’s bank a slanting boulder leaned out over the slope.
Riggs nodded and used hand motions to get the attention of the healthy men around him. “Follow me! We’re luring the beast that way!” He pointed east and threaded through to the back of the army to avoid the dragon’s notice. A group of men followed.
Magnus made his way along the front line, dodging flame and ducking beneath archers’ bows until he reached the boulder ahead of Riggs’s party. The drop-off was steep here. It was not a suitable place for crossing, but crossing was not what he intended.
Crouching in the boulder’s shadow, he watched Riggs lead his party at a run, as if they were attempting the crossing despite the unforgiving slope.
The dragon shrieked and flapped their way.
Magnus removed his helm so he would not be spotted. He kept his head down and used his ears to gauge the beast’s nearness. When the telltale roar of flames sounded close by, he leapt upon the boulder.
The dragon hovered within leaping distance!
Magnus wasted no time assessing the health of Riggs’s party. Knowing he had only this one chance, he threw his shield down and backed up to the very edge of the boulder.
As he ran toward the dragon, sword drawn, the thing shifted. It fixed its gaze to the west, as if spotting a new group of men trying to advance.
He no longer had a clear path to the creature’s chest. No!
He had no time to abort the jump. The angle was wrong, but he made the leap anyway, pushing against the boulder with all his might. He launched into the air, sword drawn.
Danu, give me strength!
Just missing the tip of a flapping wing, he reached out and grabbed hold of a thick, scaled leg. With his sword in one hand, he scrambled for purchase, but could not get a secure hold. His sword fell and splashed into the river below.
Damnation!
At least he had two hands with which to grab hold. The pliable skin at the juncture of the dragon’s leg and flank provided a handhold, but with his other arm, all he could do was squeeze the beast’s thigh. He put his legs to work, wrapping them around the ankle.
Then they were soaring along the gorge.
The dragon shrieked, no doubt furious to have been taken off guard. Under Magnus’s weight it listed toward the edge of the gorge. For a moment, he thought it would crash into his army, but it swiftly recovered.
Wings beating the air, the dragon angled upward. With Magnus clinging on, it climbed into the sky.
You are too late, said a voice in his head. He recognized the voice. It belonged to Hyrk. Your children are no match for mine. You are no match for me. I will destroy you and your people and I will rule my Remnant while your goddess rots in a cell of her own making.
“The only one who will rot is you, Hyrk!” He would end this abomination. He only needed to work out how.
Below, archers took aim, but no one fired. They would not endanger their king. No matter. Arrows were of little use here. It was up to him now and only him.
The dragon swooped and spun, trying to dislodge him.
Magnus would not be shaken. During hunts, he had clung to cliff sides with less to hold onto than he had at his disposal here. But he must do more than hold on. He must destroy an indestructible relic.
With all his might, he inched upward, testing how far he could reach while still maintaining hold of the dragon’s leg. Not terribly far was the disappointing answer. With his sword, he might have had a chance at reaching the heart. But he no longer had his sword. All he had was a sheathed dagger and determination. While he would be able to slit the dragon’s belly from where he clung, instinct told him only a direct hit to the heart would bring victory.
Hyrk’s laughter rang in his head. The beast leveled off and angled toward the ground. Take care, oh king! You do not want to slip and fall!
Wind whipped Magnus’s hair. His face burned with cold. A floating sensation took hold as the dragon dove toward the ground.
Weightlessness was replaced with a stomach-dropping surge that nearly had him losing consciousness. He bit his tongue to fight it. As they spun downward at dizzying speed, he realized something. If he were to release the dragon’s leg in the moment before a dive, his momentum would carry him tow
ard the beast’s chest.
Near the ground, the dragon changed direction so suddenly Magnus’s legs came loose. For a moment he flailed, but he regained his hold as they climbed again.
Almost threw you, Hyrk taunted. Now I know where you are weakest. Say your prayers, Magnus. Hyrk sneered his name while the ground grew more and more distant. You are about to meet your maker.
“You first!” he yelled. Lungs heaving, heart pounding, wind screaming in his ears, he drew his dagger and waited for the weightless feeling.
They were so high, he could easily see Mammoth in the distance. The trail they’d taken through the forest lay far beneath, appearing no wider than a hair even though they’d traversed it four-men wide. Midway between the forest and the gorge, a smudge on the snow appeared to be a herd of boar or wolves. But no. It was too large. With dread, he made sense of what he saw: the century he’d left with Danu and Anya.
No. Go back. Protect the women!
But he could shout no commands from here. He could do nothing but cling to the dragon with hands turning to ice.
His fist tightened on the hilt of his dagger. He gripped it so hard it felt fused to him.
Just when he thought his lungs would burst from the icy air, the dragon leveled out. It would begin its race toward the ground now.
He readied himself. There would be only one chance at this.
The dragon pointed its nose toward the ground, and that floating sensation billowed Magnus’s shirt.
He fixed his eyes on the spot Danu’s moonstone had shown him, dead center in the dragon’s chest. The lone arrow still protruded, providing him a target.
I love you, My Goddess.
He let go of the dragon’s leg.
The beast began its race toward the ground.
Magnus kicked off and willed himself toward that lone arrow.
Wind buffeted him. He hit the dragon’s side and bounced away. A front leg came into view, and he grabbed it just before spinning out of reach. The dragon’s heart was directly in front of him! And it glowed red beneath sallow skin.