Damsel Knight

by Sam Austin

  Boone clutches the bundle closer to her chest. If it had taken her longer to join the dots, it would’ve disappeared along with everything else in that palace.

  In the chaos she hears shouting in the distance. The men on the wall must be preparing another shot. Taking in a lungful of air, she turns away from the disaster and toward the wall. As she runs, she tries to pretend she didn’t see a large red form still lying prone behind where the palace had stood.

  The golden road is dulled in places, the illusion not standing up to dragon fire. Her boots slap, loud against it, all thought of grace thrown away for speed. The back of her neck prickles. The men are huddled on or by the wall. The women and children have scurried to hide. She’s the only one out in the open. One blast of that blinding white fire and she’ll be gone. The bundle with her.

  Behind her the dragon takes a step. It rocks the ground, making her stumble before she finds her feet. Another forty meters. That’s all. Then she’ll be at the wall.

  Another step. Something final about this one. Like it’s planting itself, readying for an attack.

  When she’s thirty-five meters away she spots the tiny figure running toward her. His little legs don’t quite meet the ground. Timon reaches her, wide eyed and scared. He leans over, panting, despite not needing the air. “Ness says you’re crazy.”

  Boone doesn’t stop, passing him. He struggles to keep up.

  A curious sensation stops her forward motion, pulling at her. Her boots slip backward a few feet. Her heart drops. She’s experienced this before, with Gelert taking a deep breath right before breathing fire. Only that was tiny compared to this. A gale storm compared to a sharp breeze.

  A pinging sound, and three dark objects fly overhead. The explosion is louder this time. Closer. The heat of it stings the back of her head. But that wind stops for only a second before it starts again.

  They were wrong. They thought the bombs were hurting it, but if they are, it’s only enough to make it angry.

  Timon stands at her side, unaffected by the wind. His coal black eyes are set with determination. He’s eight years old, older than he’s been since his mother died. “What you said about me to the King. That I’m the best of you. Say it again.”

  Without hesitation she does.

  “And I have friends.” There’s something tentative in his voice. “You’re my friend?”

  What was the word she had described him as when she met him? Monster? It seems so ludicrous now. “Of course.”

  He grows, not quite to fifteen, but to a heavy set boy of thirteen or fourteen. Taller than her. His dark eyes keep their impossibly long lashes, and his lips seem to hold a permanent soft smile. His dark brown skin seems to glow with warmth. It might not be a handsome face in the circle or the north, but it’s a friendly one, and she decides she likes that better.

  The force tugging her backward stops. She stumbles forward, but knows from the blast of heat behind her that it’s too late for that. If only she had insisted on getting a shield before leaving with her mother. That would’ve given her at least some protection.

  She turns to look, heart shuddering. The white light builds in its giant throat too quickly to think of a plan. Not that there could be one out here in the open, nothing but a sword to hand, a bundle that would burn with her, and burnt grass on either side of a fake golden road.

  “Get down!” The larger Timon shouts.

  She does. There’s nothing else to do. No Gelert to come roaring out of the sky. She crouches in the middle of the golden road, curling up as tight as she can. Timon curls around her, not quite touching, but close enough to make her whole body cold. She clutches the bundle and dress to her stomach.

  The light blinds her, even through her closed eyelids and with Timon’s shirt blocking most of her view. The air around her battles between searing heat and freezing cold. The hair near the nape of her neck seems to shrivel and burn, but the breaths she takes in stuttered gasps feel like blocks of ice in her throat.

  Around her, the air screams.

  The force of the exhale tries to push her backwards, away from Timon’s protective embrace. Gritting her teeth, she ducks as close to the smooth gold stones as she can, hiding from the wind. The fingernails of her good hand dig into the small crack between one gold stone and the next. She can tell from the swirling winds of cold and hot that to slip backward even a few feet would kill her.

  After too long, the light dies to normal daylight. The wind stops screaming. She blinks her eyes open cautiously, Timon already pulling away. Everywhere but a few inches around her the golden road has turned to dull stone. The grass is not so much burnt grass, as no grass at all. Nothing but misshapen clods of blackened earth.

  They don’t have long. She needs to act now.

  She turns to Timon, the boy still hovering in his early teens. He’s looking at his hands fascinated. Somehow he looks more solid than before, more solid than the world around him, as if everything else was the ghost and he were flesh and blood. “Timon. You need to tell them to hold their fire.”

  He looks up startled, dropping a year, and filling out his cheeks with baby fat. “I can’t leave you here.”

  “There’s something I need to do.” Gods, she hopes this works. It has to. There has to be a solution to this other than fighting. “And I can’t do it if they’re going to keep shooting at her. Trust me please. Go and tell them, and hurry.”

  For a moment he looks like he might refuse, then he runs off in the direction of the wall. Good faithful Timon. He really is the best of them.

  Boone settles the bundle on the small patch of gold road with the dress. She draws her sword. The dragon twitches, a low disgruntled sound escaping her throat that might not be heard if she were much smaller. Swords may be of little danger to the dragon now, but sometime long ago someone taught the animal they were things to fear.

  That’s not what Boone wants.

  She lays the sword slowly on the ground, fixing the dress onto the tip. It’s hard to do without ripping the fabric enough to make it fall off. She doesn’t have Neven’s skill, but she manages a weak hold that will last at least a few minutes.

  A step from the dragon topples her from a crouch to sitting on the ground. The bundle wobbles and makes to roll away. She stops it with her boot.

  Another step and a giant golden foot lands close enough for her to reach out and tap a curved bronze claw with the tip of her sword. It lands with a ground shaking force that rattles all the teeth in her head. Craning her head up she can’t see the dragon’s face, but it seems it’s forgotten her for the moment. Neven with his catapults is a slightly less significant target.

  Holding the bundle between her feet, she stands, stretching out her arm to wave the sword as high as she can. “Hey! Down here!”

  Gods, Neven better not fire now. The last thing she needs is to make the dragon angry.

  The dragon twitches. The voice might not reach her, but the smell would. The ground shakes again as the dragon backs up, gentler this time. A giant mountain drops to hover in the air in front of her, tilted so it can better look at her with its snake-like eye that’s easily as big as she is.

  The ground shakes. Boone’s teeth clatter. It’s purring, just as Gelert had.

  Boone tries not to shiver. There’s an intensity to that amber eye that speaks of desperation. This has to go right. If it doesn’t, she knows by now that desperate people can do terrible things.

  Moving slowly, she puts down the sword and the dress the barbarians had used to lure the dragon here, and to all those villages along the way. Her good hand unwraps the bundle of silk the object had been seated on when it belonged to the King’s display. Taking several steps back she gestures to it. “It’s what you were looking for. I’m sorry they took it.”

  That giant eye widens as it takes in the object. The dragon egg is small compared to its mother. It’s about the size of Boone’s head, and the animal inside would be only the size of a kitten. Its pebbled surface is the s
ame polished bronze as its mother’s claws.

  That eye flicks over to her, and Boone freezes. It’s one thing to be reunited with your child, it’s another to forgive the creatures that took it. Then the eye settles down to a content half-mast, and the ground rumbles with purring.

  ‘Thank you,’ that look says. ‘Thank you.’

  Boone nods feeling flustered. Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been gratitude. Acceptance perhaps, or a grudging look and quick exit with what she came for. But there's not a trace of the anger that led the dragon to burn all those villages and kill thousands.

  She takes several more steps backward, away from the dragon and her egg. Those adoring looks are not deserved by someone like her.

  Thankfully the dragon turns her attention back to the egg, lowering her vast head to scoop it up with surprising gentleness for someone her size. A large chunk of the road goes with it.

  Someone runs past her from behind, knocking her dead shoulder.

  She's just processing the fact that the figure is Ness, when he bends to grab the sword she left in the road and drives it up through the bottom of the animal's jaw.

  The dragon snorts with annoyance and shakes her head in the same rapid fashion you might use to get rid of a fly. Then egg safely in her mouth, she launches herself into the air with her muscled legs and creating a gale with her wings, flies away.

  Boone gasps for air, shielding her eyes from the wind. It buffets her madly, pinning her to the ground like one of the bugs the twins had played with in their crueller moments. As soon as she's free she pushes herself to her watery legs, looking for Ness.

  He's several dozen meters away on the edge of the courtyard where grass becomes cobblestone, and he's not moving.

  Chapter 43

  Yelling comes from behind her. One word over and over again. She's been hearing it for a while, she realises, she just hadn't noticed before.

  Her legs feel as numb as her dead arm as she walks over the burnt grass toward the crumpled figure. Neven reaches him before she does, still shouting the boy's name over and over as if hoping he might answer. Alice trails behind him with Timon.

  Boone stops a few meters from them, a choking fear rising in her throat at the thought of going any closer. Her father's sword lies in the grass by her feet. The last two inches of the blade glisten with blood. An insignificant amount for a dragon that size.

  What was he thinking? How could he be so stupid?

  On the edge of her vision, she watches as Neven falls to his knees beside the boy. He's broken. That's the best word to describe him. Every limb is twisted at an odd angle. His neck is crooked too far to the left, and his eyes are open. They stare unseeing, their dark brown surfaces glassy.

  He reminds her of a broken toy, thrown away when its owner finally admits there's no fixing it.

  "No," Neven moans low in his throat. Clasping his hands tightly together in his lap, he rocks, his tanned skin as unnaturally pale as it had been when his father died. "No."

  Boone doesn't know what to say. Alice doesn't seem to know either, standing stock still behind him, a hand over her mouth. Beside her Timon shrinks to five years old and curls his chubby fingers around the princess's free hand.

  "Someone do something!" Neven turns to look at them, catching each of their gazes in turn. His piercing brown eyes force her to glance away. There's something cold in those familiar eyes she's never seen before. Looking at them makes her feel like she's been tossed down a well, nothing but darkness and monsters below. Not even Angus can meet that gaze when he walks hesitantly toward them with a group of soldiers, both male and female.

  He doesn't say it, but she knows what help he needs. "All the magic in the sword is gone. The crystals too. There's nothing left."

  He looks at her, and the level of hatred in his expression makes her flinch. "There has to be a way. There's always a way."

  "There is one," says a voice behind her.

  Boone turns, and her mother stands there, her face grim. She walks past Boone to stand next to the broken boy, as if she hadn't caused this whole thing to happen. The anger dies as soon as it grows hot in her chest. Revenge is what caused this. Ness sought revenge against the dragon for killing his family, who sought revenge against those who stole hers, who sought revenge against King Robin's murderous acts, who sought revenge against magic for destroying his mother, who sought revenge against a man who forced her to kill her own child.

  Boone half expects Angus to grab her mother, but he doesn't move. It seems that for the moment everyone has had their fill of revenge too.

  "You need to give something up as payment." Her mother crouches across from Neven. Her breath sounds a little uneven, as if she'd run here. "Someone you love, something you love, or a memory. But it has to be important to you. Something you feel you can't live without."

  Neven's voice shakes. "What kind of memory?"

  Boone can see her mother's mind working. The King had time to build all the magic he would need with a knife, children, and an obedient servant who would weep as he murdered every one. They don't have the time, or the stomach to trade Ness's life for another.

  "Have you ever loved anyone?" Her mother asks. "Truly loved someone so much your heart aches to be without them."

  Neven nods. "Yes."

  Her mother frowns. "It has to be true love or it won't be enough payment."

  To Boone's surprise Neven nods again. "It's true love. Has been for years."

  "Very well. If it isn't we'll soon know. Then start thinking of your happiest memories, and those of ones you love. Keep going until it stops taking whatever it decides to correct the balance with." Discreetly her mother glances back at Boone.

  Boone imagines being sucked into that endless pool of darkness Julius described with its whispering spirits, as warped by hate and revenge as her father had become. She shivers.

  "I have to give up every memory of the one I love?"

  "Every one. You won't remember her. But if it is true love, it'll be enough to restore someone from the dead."

  Neven looks down at Ness's broken body and winces. Then he nods. "Tell me what to do."

  "Put your hands on him and hold your true love's memories in your mind. A range of them so the magic will know it can take them all. Picture what you want the magic to do. Don't skip a step. Mend his body in your mind, then find his spirit and put it back in him. There are words to help focus your mind. I'll talk you through them. We'll take it slowly. There must be no mistakes."

  They take it slowly. So slowly that most of the crowd grows restless. After a sharp glance from her mother, Angus sends them all away.

  She walks him through calling the attention of the magic, tense minute after minute of visualising, and offering payment. They draw invisible symbols on Ness's broken skin over his heart and head. Over an hour passes with nothing Boone had pictured as magic to show for it.

  Boone waits in tense anticipation, and when Gelert wanders over, makes him quiet and lie down so as not to disturb them. His side is raked with claw marks, all the way up to the side of his face. It looks painful, but not anything he might die from.

  Finally Neven says the last words and something begins to happen.

  Ness's limbs and neck jerk back into place with audible cracks. His eyes gain clarity like a light has been lit inside. He gasps, chest heaving as if air had never tasted so good.

  Neven snatches his hands away, sitting back with a frown on his face.

  Her mother glances across at him, then puts a hand on Ness's shoulder, helping him sit up. A heartbeat later Alice is at his other shoulder. Timon hovers curiously.

  "Take it easy," her mother says. She rubs his back, the way she had done to her when she was very small. "It might take a while for you to get orientated."

  "What-" his voice cracks. He wets his lips and tries again. "What happened?"

  Neven still makes no move to response. Boone walks toward the huddle, standing where Ness can see her. She crosses her arms ov
er her chest, trying for intimidating. "You died. Don't do that again."

  Ness gapes at her.

  Alice nods rapidly, black ringlets bouncing. There's a smile on her pale face that looks like it might never go away. "Neven brought you back. He was ever so brilliant."

  "A quick learner," her mother says. "I was expecting something to go wrong, but he impressed me."

  Ness leans forward, bracing himself on his knees and shrugging the women off not ungratefully. A hint of a smile toys with one side of his mouth, and his eyes are wide with wonder. "Neven?"

  Neven shakes his head, gaze fixed on the grass by his knees. "I don't understand."

  They freeze. Alice is the first to break the silence. "What don't you understand?"

  Neven lifts his eyes to meet Ness's. His expression is close to blank. As if a poor painter had tried to capture the nerves and excitement that often make his face their home, and ended up with stoicism instead. "Why would I bring you back? I don't even know you."

  Chapter 44

  The crown fits perfectly on Alice's head. The northerners made sure of that. ‘We are masters of gold in the north,' Captain Airell had said after the golden soldiers had sheepishly reappeared. ‘Not your illusions, but real solid gold. A little resizing is no challenge to us.'

  It's as close to an apology as they were likely to get.

  Alice chose to have the ceremony take place in front of the rubble that had once been the slums, not the meeting hall where her father had held so many of his gatherings and executions. Something about these being the ruins on which they'll build a new and fairer society.

  It's a nice speech from what little of it Boone takes in. With her father's crown on her head, all its crystals transparent and empty, and many of his words coming from her lips, many of the people seem moved. Not all of them. A lifetime of habits are hard to break, and when Alice mentions men and women working together as equals several faces from both genders contort in anger.