by Anders, Lou
She cleared them, leaving battered Svartálfar in her wake. Then a mounted Uskirian turned his spear on her. Thianna grabbed the shaft and shoved backward, pushing the warrior right off his hog. She knocked Uskiri aside right and left, until she broke the shaft on the tusk of another boar. She scooped up the Horn of Osius from the ground where it had fallen. Then it was time to draw her sword.
—
“There’s your companion,” said Ynarr, elsewhere on the battlefield.
“Where?” said Karn, his face a mixture of excitement and relief.
“Right in the heart of the action,” replied the man.
Karn looked and saw Thianna towering above dark elves, city militia, fishing pole–wielding dactyls, and dismounted Uskiri. She seemed to be enjoying herself.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said.
Karn fought his way toward his larger-than-life best friend.
“Norrønboy!” She beamed with excitement when she saw him. “I’ve got the horn!” she said. “So that’s good. But I don’t think this city is having its best day.”
Karn looked around at the chaos. He knew the scene here was being repeated in quarters all over Gordasha.
“I know this isn’t our fight…,” said the frost giant.
“But can we do something, you mean?” said Karn.
Thianna nodded.
“I don’t know what,” she said. “But a lot of people are going to die here today. It all seems so pointless.”
Karn noticed a small bag, flopping strangely by the banks of the river. It took a minute to realize he was seeing the cockatrice. It was struggling to climb out of a dark elf’s satchel.
“I think I know how to stop this,” he said. “At least I think I do. It’s a bit of a gamble, but…”
“Tell me what we have to do,” Thianna replied.
“First, we need that,” he said, pointing at the cockatrice. “And then we need to get back to the Hippodrome.”
—
Tanthal had lost the horn and the cockatrice. He was mired in a battle that had nothing to do with him. Who cared who won, Uskirian or Gordashan? Both powers would fall beneath dragon fire if only he could get the Horn of Osius to the caverns of Deep Shadow. His small squad of dark elves fought anyone who came near them as they strove to get to the boy and the giantess. Then he noticed another elf in their number. His face tightened with suspicion.
“Karn isn’t dead. Thianna isn’t dead. So why are you still breathing?”
“I’d say it isn’t what it looks like,” Desstra said, drawing two darts from her leg sheath, “but I’m afraid it is.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “You would throw away your place in the greatest society in the world for two enemies who aren’t even your species?”
“You’d stab any one of us in the back if it served your purpose,” said Desstra.
“For the good of Deep Shadow.”
“For the good of yourself.”
“It’s the same thing,” Tanthal spat. “When we make ourselves strong, we strengthen the whole of the Svartálfar.”
“That’s a lonely kind of strength. There are better kinds.”
“Then show me how strong you are.” Tanthal swung his mace.
Desstra was prepared but still the blow missed her only by inches. “Outcast!” Tanthal yelled, and swung again, driving her back. “Weakling! Freak! Traitor!”
Tanthal rained blow after blow down on her. Desstra leapt and dodged like she had never moved before. Her former superior officer and classmate’s fury fueled his rage. She hurled a dart at him, but he swept it aside. She flung her remaining egg sacs, but he ducked and kicked her savagely in the stomach. For all his willingness to exploit his teammates, he knew how to fight when he had to. He pressed her hard, wearing her down.
She was running out of ammunition, out of breath, and out of time.
—
“You’re sure about this?”
Karn and Thianna were back in the Hippodrome, having fought their way through the streets. Ynarr had covered their retreat, as had several of Acmon’s makeshift dactyl army, though the dwarves weren’t clear whom they were helping or why.
“Reasonably,” replied Karn.
“Okay,” said Thianna. “Sure, why not? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“We get roasted alive five seconds from now by an angry monster,” replied Karn.
“There is that. Okay, here goes nothing.”
She held up the cockatrice and pulled her sock off the serpent head.
Oh thank goodness, said the snake voice in her mind. Fresh air. You know, it isn’t really necessary to put a sock over both our heads. Just the cock’s. I don’t turn anyone to stone.
“Really? Well, I didn’t want to play favorites. You two work out your differences?”
We’re getting there. Let us go if we do?
“We’ve got some people to free if we live through this, but yeah. But we’ve got work to do here now.” She held the snake head up before the colossal statue. “Do your stuff.”
The serpent’s eyes gazed upon the statue of the dragon on the spina. The marble seemed to warm and soften. A beautiful reddish-gold color bloomed on the leathery scales of the great beast. The dragon unfurled its enormous wings and shook out its neck, flexing muscles not used in over a thousand years.
Karn saw confusion in the huge eyes. The dragon looked left and right, taking in the Hippodrome, wondering how it got there. Like the Marble King, the dragon didn’t realize it had been stone. It roared, and they covered their ears at the sound. Then the dragon’s attention fell on Karn and Thianna.
“Where is Acmon?” The voice was thunderous, angry, and, as Karn had guessed, distinctly female.
“Acmon is fighting for the city,” said Karn. “But he’s outnumbered and people are going to die. Lots of people. We need your help.”
“Why should I help you? Why—” the dragon leaned down, her enormous snout so close they could feel the hot, stinking breath. “Why should I not devour you both now, when you carry Acmon’s horn?”
“Because we aren’t using it,” said Thianna. “We’re asking, not commanding.”
“And because your brother sent us,” said Karn.
“What do you mean, ‘brother’?” exclaimed Thianna, turning to Karn with a stunned expression. “You mean this is—that she’s—Orm’s sister?”
—
Desstra was tiring. Tanthal’s blows were getting harder to deflect. Around her, other elves battled dwarves, humans, and Uskiri. Bats swooped and dove, clawing at any unprotected heads they could find. Shards of roofing tiles still rained down upon the Uskirians, and one or two struck a Svartálfar.
Tanthal’s mace caught Desstra in the shoulder. The blow sent her spinning off balance. A second attack collided painfully with her ribs.
He was driving her away from any allies. Not that she had allies. They splashed in the shallows now. The grill to the underground river was behind her.
“There’s one body down there already,” Tanthal said. “Let’s send it some company.” He kicked at her savagely, catching her knee. The move unbalanced him as well, though, and she flung her last dart. For an instant she thought she had him. Then he brought his mace up. The dart sank into the shaft and stuck. He glanced at the dart and gave an exaggerated expression of shock, mocking her.
“No more weapons, underling.”
Tanthal advanced on her slowly. He was savoring her final moments.
“You could have had it all,” he said. “We would have been heroes. Conquerors. The greatest elves in all of Deep Shadow. In history. All you had to do was obey me and you could have been anything. But you let me down and now you’re nothing. You’re less than nothing. You’re soft, compassionate, and weak.”
Tanthal brought his mace up for a killing strike.
“Time for your final lesson, Desstra.”
In desperation, Desstra’s hand slipped into her satchel, searching for an
ything that could help her. It was empty, barren of egg sacs and weapons. All expended on this fruitless quest. Empty but for—her fingers closed on a hard, round object.
She smashed Tanthal in the side of his head as hard as she could.
He dropped to his knees.
“What?” he stammered.
“Strong as the rock of our home,” she said as his eyes turned up.
Tanthal collapsed into the water, felled by the small rock he had given her as a reminder of the values of Deep Shadow.
Desstra dropped to her knees in the river waters, exhausted. Beside her, the currents carried Tanthal’s still form away. She reached for him, but she was out of energy. His unconscious body spilled through the grates, disappearing belowground.
The stone slipped from her fingers and fell into the river. It didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t need it. She was never going back. She didn’t belong there. Or anywhere. She glanced at her orange-patterned leather armor. The mark of an outcast. All the reminder she would ever need.
—
War pigs ran squealing before the descending dragon.
The dragon was swooping over the Uskirian forces. Orma, as they learned the dragon was called, bore Karn and Thianna on her back. Without any kind of saddle, they clung tightly to her ridged scales and to each other. They were passing parallel to the land wall, using the dragon’s intimidating presence to drive the Uskirian forces away.
“How did you know?” the giantess asked.
“I didn’t. I guessed,” said Karn.
“Good guess.”
“Well, I knew Orm was fleeing something when he came to Norrøngard. Something happened, but he wouldn’t talk about it. And he really hated the Gordion Empire. He must have suffered a loss that really unbalanced him. Then I saw the family resemblance.”
“So when Orm’s sister was turned to stone, Orm was so scared—”
“My little brother does not get scared,” rumbled Orma. Thianna hadn’t realized she was listening. She thought the dragon was having too much fun chasing pigs.
“Rattled? Ruffled? Disconcerted?” offered Thianna.
“Angered,” said Orma.
“Okay,” conceded Thianna. “He was so angered that he fled.”
Orma growled menacingly at this but didn’t say anything.
“All the way to Norrøngard,” Thianna finished. “He found Gordions already there in the city of Sardeth and freaked out.”
“My little brother does not ‘freak out.’ ”
“Your, um, ‘little brother’ isn’t so little anymore,” said Karn. “You do know how long you were stuck in the marble, right? He’s sort of your bigger, older brother now.”
This shut Orma up. She flew over the Somber Sea, ready to give the naval forces the same treatment as the army.
“Anyway,” said Karn. “That’s basically how things happened. But what I don’t understand is how you and Acmon got together.”
“When the Anvil first found the horn,” Orma explained, pausing to shoot a blast of fire at a ship that had wandered too close to the seawalls, “he did not know what it was for. He tried to play music on it. But his ancestry called to me.”
“He was a Thican,” said Thianna. “Must be from a family that could use the horn originally.”
“Also,” said Orma, “I liked his music.”
“Watch it,” said Karn. Cannon shot was starting to be aimed their way. The dragon banked, rose, and dove, avoiding the shells.
“When I asked Acmon how I could repay him for his song, he said, ‘Free my people,’ ” explained the dragon. “It was more than I bargained for, but I didn’t have any plans that century anyway.”
“Speaking of plans,” said Karn, “time for the next stage of ours. You see that big tent palace in the midst of their land forces?”
“Yes,” said Orma.
“Head for that.”
The dragon beat her wings and made a beeline for the grand pavilion. The Uskirians observed their trajectory. They turned their enormous boar-shaped cannon on their new adversary.
“Incoming,” yelled Thianna as a cannonball the size of a large boulder roared their way.
Orma waited until the last minute, then she soared upward. The cannonball almost grazed her belly.
“You cut that close,” said Thianna. She thought the dragon was enjoying herself.
Orma spat a glob of flame. Uskiri leapt aside of the fireball. It struck the enormous artillery weapon, the pride of their army, and left it a puddle of molten metal. There was little in the world that could stand up to dragon fire.
“Now comes the tricky bit,” said Karn.
—
Shambok Who Borders on Spectacular was on his throne, wondering if it was worth it to call himself Shambok the About to Be Spectacular Any Minute Now just for today or wait for confirmation that the city had fallen and go the whole hog. He was looking forward to being Shambok the Spectacular and considering the celebration he would throw when that was the case.
One of his commanders, Lagra Shathmir, burst into the room in a most unseemly fashion, hollering and waving his arms.
“What’s that man on about?” he asked his advisor Dargan Urgul, Speaker to Barbarians.
Dargan bowed and went to see about the commander. Shambok heard a lot of unintelligible shouting, more waving of arms, and generally more panic than a hardened Uskirian warrior should ever display. He was quite irritated when Dargan returned to him.
“ ‘What does he say?’ Shambok Who Is So Close to Spectacular He Can Taste It and Won’t Stand for Any Delays asks.”
“He said,” replied Dargan, with something less than his usual confidence, “that begging your pardon, but the invasion has run into a slight snag.”
“A snag? What snag?”
“Quite a big one, I’m afraid. Lagra says it’s a dragon.”
That surprised Shambok.
“But there haven’t been any dragons seen in this part of the world for ages,” Shambok said. “What dragon is he talking about?”
At that moment, the entire tent palace was ripped away above them. It simply rose into the air, all the beautiful silks and rough canvas rising straight up, ropes snapping and tentpoles yanked right out of the ground. All eyes followed the tent as it soared across the battlefield to land with a crash in the fields beyond the army’s camp.
Several hundred palace officials, servants, and other attendants, who until a moment ago had all been in different chambers inside the huge pavilion, were suddenly standing without walls or ceiling in the middle of the field.
Hovering over them was an enormous creature, its gargantuan wings beating the air to keep it in place. Two children clung to its back. The suspected spies who had escaped.
“I believe it would be that dragon,” said Dargan.
They were in the Basilica of Mensis. It was the largest space in the city, the only one in which the dragon could fit comfortably. The Hippodrome had been suggested, but they wanted something roofed so they wouldn’t be inconvenienced by stray fire. The fighting had mostly stopped, however, except for sporadic bursts from sections of the city that still hadn’t heard the news. With the imperator fled and the Uskirian leader the guest or prisoner of an enormous fire-breathing dragon, both sides were confused as to what they should be doing. Soldiers throughout and outside the city stood around awkwardly, gaping at each other and awaiting orders.
Thianna had been the one to suggest the basilica.
“No one is living in there right now,” she had said. Then, in response to the surprised looks, she had added, “What? If the god had wanted it, he shouldn’t’a left.”
Everyone agreed that made sense, and so in the absence of any better ideas, they were gathered in the basilica’s large nave under the great dome of its roof. In this case, everyone was Karn; Thianna; Acmon the Anvil; several Gordashan city officials and ministers; Idas the Street Fisher; Desstra, whom they had rescued when they grabbed Acmon; Shambok Who Wasn’t Sure If He
Was Spectacular Yet or Not; Dargan Urgul, Speaker to Barbarians; and, of course, one very large and hard-to-miss dragon.
“Now that we’re all here,” said Karn, “make peace.”
“What?” said several voices at once.
“Make peace,” Karn said again. “We’ll wait.”
“But not very long,” boomed the dragon.
“But—” said Shambok with a nervous glance at Orma. He hadn’t enjoyed being plucked into the air by dragon claws, but he was still coming to grips with his relief that he was alive and unroasted, and he wanted to stay that way. “But my ancestors charged me with conquering the city. That isn’t something I can just sweep under the rug, as it were. It’s my hereditary duty.”
“And we can’t make any treaties in the absence of the imperator,” said one of the officials.
“Your imperator is long gone,” said Thianna. “I think he abdicated when he fled the battle.”
“One thing at a time,” said Karn. He addressed Shambok, “What exactly is your charge?”
“That I have to open up the Gordashan Strait so that the glories of the Uskiri can move into the Sparkle Sea and beyond.”
“Okay. Now, the imperator’s gone, but do we have any other royalty present?”
Acmon the Anvil grinned at this. He could see where it was going.
“I might fit that bill,” he said.
“You?” asked Shambok.
“We ruled this city centuries before the imperator was born. Orma and I together.” Acmon reached out an affectionate hand to stroke the dragon’s snout. Orma rubbed against his palm. Theirs was an odd friendship.
“And don’t forget that dactyls founded this city,” said Idas, “before any Gordions ever came and conquered it.”
“There you go,” said Karn. “The King and”—he glanced at the dragon—“er, Queen, of Gordasha. Your Majesties, would you be willing to drop the Great Chain and allow the Uskirian fleet to head south?”
“Drop the chain?” several people exclaimed at once.
“Not for war,” said Karn. “For trade. Diplomatic vessels. Merchant vessels.” He looked at Shambok and Dargan. “See? There are other ways to spread your culture.”