The wyvern murmured wordlessly to herself. Her head came around and she nudged the egg she had just laid. It would be a big one, she knew.
Chapter 23: Angrod
“How’s he doing?” I asked. I stood outside Conrad’s room.
“He’s stable,” Arawn said. “Our doctors have been attending to him.”
“Aye,” Magnus said. “Finest medical care in two worlds.”
“I kyan verify that,” Crystal said. “There really isn’t anything I kyan add to his treatment.”
“Nothing that elven magic can do?” I asked. Crystal was a half-elf healer in addition to being ship’s surgeon.
She shook her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s other people I could be helping.”
I lowered my head in thought. The capran king and dwarven chieftain were silent as well.
“Will he be all right?” I finally asked.
“We can rebuild him,” Magnus said. “I’ve already ordered the prosthetics.”
“Yes, but what about his mind?” I asked. “He lost his family all over again.”
They shrugged. “Either he gets better or he doesn’t,” Magnus said.
“I’d have put it a nicer way,” Arawn said. “Do you think we can rely on him, Angrod?”
I crossed my arms. “If all the stories we’ve been hearing about him are true...”
“He’s a man,” Magnus said. “He’ll find a way. Better go in there.”
Conrad’s room was as fine as mine. The maids kept it very clean. Still, there is a smell that lingers when a man is confined to his bed, unable even to use the chamberpot.
I’ve been there. It’s not a pleasant experience.
Conrad was sitting up in bed. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. He didn’t look up. The blanket was flat where his legs should have been. His left arm was over the sheet. His right arm was a stump.
“You missed the funerals,” I said.
The bodies had been packed in ships and sent drifting into the harbour. Fire-arrows had turned them into pyres. The entire city gathered on the shore. It was night. The fires burned brightly on the black stretch of water.
Ardel’s ship was the grandest. It was Garvel’s own flagship.
The king had shrunk inside his skin. He stood as straight as he ever did but his aura was clouded and his eyes distracted. He stood in the surf as Orvar, Byrnjar, Eadric, and Rangvald pushed the ship into the water. Tears ran down the cheeks of Ardel’s three companions. As for Orvar, his face was made of stone.
I stood on the beach with my friends. Meerwen had her right arm in a sling. Cruix was with us, and not a few people were giving him angry looks. I’d asked him where he’d been.
“I messed up,” he had said. “You know how the transformation is the most painful thing in the world?”
I’d experienced it before. I’d chewed off my own arm once, so I had some basis for comparison.
“Well, I wasn’t strong enough that night,” he said. “The pain knocked me out halfway through the transformation. I spent the rest of the night unconscious in the woods.”
Which made sense. I made sure to pass the word that he hadn’t run out of cowardice.
Ardel’s ship had almost left the Harbour. It was nearly out of bowshot but Orvar had waited until this moment. He drew back his massive bow and aimed high. His back trembled. The ship was at extreme range. He loosed the arrow with a scream.
The flaming arrow went high into the air. It seemed to hang for a minute, and then it plunged down at Ardel’s ship. The ship caught fire.
I took up my lute.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Heronimo asked. He’d supplied the translation.
“It’s what he wanted,” I said. I began to sing. The words were new to me, but I’d been practising all day. Now the words carried over the sand:
“Father
You taught your son not to walk away
Taught your son not to turn from duty
Not to run
But to fight
Father
“Father
Couldn’t keep me in the house for life
Couldn’t hide me from the waiting war
Oh Father
“Father
Gonna need to close my eyes tonight
Gonna build up my pyre
Oh Father
“I go now into the night
But if you want to fight hell with me
I could use you at my side
See you later
“Father
You taught your son not to walk away
Taught your son not to turn from duty
Oh Father
“Father
Do you want to fight hell with me
Do you want to see Ragnarok
Oh Father
“I go now into the night
But if you want to fight hell with me
I could use you at my side
See you later
Garvel broke down weeping. He leaned on Orvar, and the two of them steadied themselves against the wind.
“It was quite a ceremony,” I told Conrad. “Sorry you couldn’t be there to see it.”
He was still staring at some point in space.
“We talked about what we were going to do with the prize. I killed the second monster, too, but we all had a part in that.” I tried not look at his wounds. “Some of us gave up more than others did.”
Silence.
“Only one of us can take the prize,” I said. “I struck the killing blow, but I don’t know if Garvel would be quite so accepting of me now. Are you just going to lie there and say nothing?”
He fixed me with a look. “The hell do you want with me?”
“I’m saying you win the prize!” I said. “We all decided to give up our claims. Me, Arawn,
Magnus. Even Orvar. He said it didn’t feel right!”
I put my hands on my hips. “You are now one of the biggest landowners in the Northlands.”
Silence.
Then: “Heh,” he said. “Heh. Heh heh heh.”
It was an insane noise, the kind of laughing that’s close to weeping. It almost got there, but
Conrad scowled and got it under control.
“I’ll leave you to think about that,” I said. I was at the door when I turned:
“I’m sorry for your losses, Conrad, but we’ve achieved something here. You have the chance to give your people a homeland.”
He cackled. “In the middle of the Northlands, where halflings are slaves?”
“They needn’t be slaves forever.”
It was after the funeral. Everyone had gone back to their homes. Out of respect for their dead prince, there were no public celebrations. Still the people gathered in their homes and congratulated each other on their survival.
The monster’s body had been left where it had fallen. Eventually people would come for the carcass, but for now it was just too big and tough to be easily moved. It lay between the city and the royal fort, far from the lights of either place. It was raining again.
No one saw the elf walk up to it. It was Cruix. He reached out a hand and patted one giant head. He was in his elf body because dragons could not weep.
“My son,” he said. “Oh, my son!”
About the Author
KLAY TESTAMARK is a man with many interests. He’s sold luxury cars, created mobile apps, and exported designer clothing. Before that he was a bouncer, bodyguard, and bartender. Nowadays he’s proud to be a husband and father—he and his family divide their time between Las Vegas and the Caribbean. Klay has recently returned to his first love, fantasy fiction, and Dragon Sacrifice is the third of a twelve-part series. Connect with him through @klaytestamark on Twitter.
Would you like to know when the next book is out? You can contact him through twitter.com/klaytestamark and facebook.com/klaytestamark
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