He ran harder, desperate to reach the top before Sarya did. He had to find a way to save Patrina. She'd once promised he could still have a life without his hands; perhaps he had to return the promise to her. It wouldn't make him love her any less.
Alto emerged into the blustery wind but didn't stop. He ran along the now familiar path until he was at Patrina's side again. She stared up at him, tears running down her cheeks. "Run and hide!" she begged him. "Get away from her! I heard her. I know what she needs. I was a fool. I love you. Do this for me, please!"
"I'll die first," Alto told her.
Patrina struggled to her feet and stared at him. "Kiss me again."
Alto stepped up to her and pressed his lips against her. She wrapped her arms over his head and pulled him to her, crushing him against her. Alto could taste her tears and her blood through the kiss.
"Now run, damn you!" Patrina sobbed.
"I'll never run," Alto said. He smiled at her and turned towards the crater. He dropped his shield at his side and took a two-handed grip on his sword. "But I will jump."
"Alto!" Patrina shouted as he leapt into the open air.
* * * *
Alto held his sword out as he dove straight down. He could see Sarya climbing the wall, a dark shape with glinting eyes silhouetted by the burning flames below. It was just like his dream: he was flying and there she was.
Alto focused; he had one chance. One strike as he passed and it would be over. He had to drive the blade in perfectly or nothing else mattered. He would die. Patrina would die. Everyone he knew and cared for plus thousands of others would die.
His sword lit up the way ahead of him, flaring with a greenish light that reminded him of Thork's spear. He used the light to guide him as he twisted and thrust his sword into Sarya's back between the ribs of her spine. It slammed home to the hilt and by all rights, she should have fallen. Somehow he held on and slammed into her back. The shock knocked the wind from him but his plate kept him from breaking any bones. What came next was far worse.
Sarya fell back away from the wall. Was she trying to crush him beneath her? Alto clung to his sword but it would not pull free, even as they both fell through the air together. She kept spinning, her tail slamming into the wall behind her and slowing her rotation.
The world righted itself in time for Sarya to slam into the ground underneath him. Alto had no time for thought; he was crushed against the hard hide of her back. Great chunks of her brittle hide broke off, some of them piercing his armor. She lay still, quivering beneath him while he somehow still held on to the grip of the spiritblade.
Alto couldn't breathe. Everything hurt and every little breath was agony. He knew his ribs were broken, but he couldn't be sure how many. Probably all of them. His left leg felt odd, like it wasn't really there but he could still move it. It tingled a little as he gasped in shallow breaths. His right leg felt nothing. He couldn't move it or if he could, he couldn't tell. He wondered if it had been torn off along the way.
Alto was dying. He knew it. He deserved it. Nobody falls that far and lives to tell about it. Nobody rides a dragon either. He smiled and felt blood run between his lips and onto the dragon's back.
Speaking of the dragon, the bitch was still alive. He felt her cough, a shallow movement that caused her to spit out flames from her mouth. She was trying to move too, even though he could see she was done for. Her legs were broken and she had ribs that had shattered and split her hide. He wondered if she felt worse than he did.
"I killed you." Alto's breath was so shallow that he couldn't hear himself talk. "I killed a dragon! This is a good death."
The dragon rumbled a little and tried to move again. Maybe she wasn't as doomed as he'd thought. Did dragons heal? Was she like Thork, nearly impossible to kill? He still had his sword and had done this to her with one strike; if he could manage a second, that would surely be enough. Then he could rest at last.
He struggled, pulling himself up on bones that grated and muscles that refused to work the way he expected them to. Blood ran from his mouth and the many holes in his armor. Just a little more, that's all he needed. He'd take a break in a minute. Just as soon as he finished.
Alto pulled himself up and saw that his right leg was still attached; it just didn't want to act like it. That was okay, he'd let it do whatever it wanted in a minute. "Leander, Preth, Jarook." Alto panted out the names of the saints, each one spraying blood on the dragon's back. "I need help. Just a little more."
Alto lifted himself up into a sitting position. He felt the bones in his lower back grate, sending a fresh jolt of agony through him. It was gone an instant later and with it went the feeling in his left leg. He used his right arm, also broken, to hold himself up while he shifted the grip his left hand had on his sword. "I am afraid," he admitted. "Just not of dying."
Alto jerked the sword free of the dragon's back and was sent tumbling by the burst of flames and the rainbow of swirling colors that followed. He crashed to the ground, tingling all over from the touch of the energy. The flames burst through the mouth of the volcano and into the sky above. At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the last of the vaporous colors strike the statue of the silver dragon and disappear.
Alto lay there and breathed, waiting for the world to grow dark around him. When it didn't, he realized he was breathing, and he was breathing without pain. He rose up slowly and stared at his hands and his legs. His armor was rent in places and missing in others. Yet somehow he was alive and unharmed.
Alto turned to Sarya and saw that she was truly dead. More than dead—there was a gaping hole where the energy had burst out of her back. He turned and looked at the statue again. She was dead, wasn't she? The statue sat still, the fires reflecting in the facets of the ruby eyes. Alto stared at it for a long moment. He thought he felt something but he couldn’t be sure. He shrugged it away after a few minutes had passed. He'd been through a lot; it was okay to be suspicious.
Alto looked at his sword and grinned when he saw the notch in the blade was gone. It was impossible, but so was killing a dragon. Alto shook his head and sheathed his blade. His work wasn't done entirely; he still had to get Patrina down and then help his friends.
Alto stiffened when he heard something metallic clatter when it hit the floor. He turned just as a person slammed into him and knocked him back into Sarya's body. Alto groaned and fought back, pushing his attacker up and away until he could finally figure out what was going on.
"Alto, stop it!" Patrina cried out and pushed his hands away. She threw herself on him and squeezed him until he swore he could hear his battered armor creaking.
"How can you be alive?" Patrina gushed with tears streaming down her face. "You jumped! I saw you. You turned and you jumped. Then flames burst out and the silver chains and pole melted away into the ground."
"I rode her," Alto said with a grin.
"Rode her?"
"To the ground," he said, grinning.
Patrina shook her head and then leaned in and kissed him again. "You're covered in blood. Is it yours or hers?"
"Both, I think."
She rose up and reached a hand down to help him, which he accepted. "It's four days by horse to get back. I'm going to need some different clothes." Patrina stopped and shook her head. "You really did it, you know?"
Alto grinned again.
She laughed. "That's three times you've saved me now. When are you going to accept a proper reward?"
"Your father wants me to be Thane of Rockwood, the city near the old entrance to the dwarven mines. He says the dwarves are coming back and—"
Patrina silenced him with her lips on his. "That's not the reward I'm talking about."
"Oh, um..."
"You know we could have avoided this whole mess if you'd have taken me up on my offer in Holgasford. Sarya needed a maiden."
Alto felt the blood in his cheeks. He cleared his throat and glanced around. "Next to a dead dragon? Is that what you had in
mind for your first time?"
Patrina laughed and kissed him again. "No! But when we get back, you've got a lot of making up to do."
"I thought I was to be rewarded?"
Patrina shrugged. "Maybe some of each."
* * * *
Garrick slashed the ogre across the belly with his sword and continued to pivot. He knew about the dying ogre's partner trying to flank him. The thing about a northman was that they didn't let anyone behind them. He'd learned at an early age to keep moving and twisting. Wolves loved to circle their prey and leap on their backs or take meat down from the side. It was one of the first lessons a boy was taught once he could pick up a knife.
His sword was twisted wrong, though; he couldn't get the cut he needed. The barbarian twisted back the other way, dodging the club and bringing his sword around for a backhanded slash that left the ogre howling as blood poured down its arm.
Garrick took a step back and parried a blow from another of the massive beasts, surprising the ogre with the barbarian's strength. He kicked the ogre in the knee and jumped back to the one he'd wounded in the arm, slicing his hip and making the ogre stagger.
They'd been pressed from both sides at first and then their defenses started to fall. Garrick had switched to his sword and launched himself forward into the ogres that ran up the ramp from the outside. In moments, he was surrounded but that didn't bother him: it was an environment filled with opportunities!
"Garrick!"
Garrick sliced out the throat of an ogre and twisted around to see Namitus defending the scrawny old man who used magic. It was a cowardly way to live but the old man's magic was holding the trolls at bay and those that got past him, the rogue cut apart with the odd curved sword he wielded. It wasn't the rogue or wizard that had called him, though.
Garrick continued his dance, swinging at an ogre and having his sword blocked, and then grabbing the club of another ogre in his off hand and smacking it back in the surprised creature's face. He saw Karthor behind the ogres, fighting amongst trolls and ogres himself. The priest's mace dripped blood from the creatures he fought, a testimony to his warrior spirit. Garrick's grin widened until he saw what it was the priest was fighting towards.
Mordrim was picking himself up from where he'd been tripped by a troll. Another troll was lumbering towards the dwarf with its mouth open. It wasn't the troll that alarmed the priest; it was the giant coming up the tunnel.
His distraction cost him as an ogre-swung club smashed his sword down. Garrick's reflexes kicked in and kept him from letting go of the weapon but when it hit the stone with the club still bearing down on it, the blade twisted and broke.
The barbarian jumped at the ogre and buried the remaining length of his once mighty sword into the creature's chest. He stabbed him three times and used the momentum of the ogre to force his way through their ranks. The ogre fell while Garrick pulled his axe free. He looked at the axe and kissed it, and then hurled it towards the rising dwarf.
Mordrim looked up and his eyes widened as the axe narrowly passed over his head. He stared at Garrick and snarled, and then saw that Garrick's eyes were behind him. The dwarf twisted and saw the troll staggering and reaching up to remove the dwarf-forged weapon from where it had sunk deeply into the flesh that joined his shoulder and neck. Mordrim slammed the troll in the head with his hammer to finish the job, and then turned back toward Garrick.
Mordrim threw his hammer at the barbarian, and then turned back around and wrenched the hand axe free. Garrick caught the awkward weapon and used it as a club, and then paid the price as the ogres were able to press against his unfamiliar weapon. He learned quickly but as more ogres pressed against him, he found himself driven backwards.
"Giant," Mordrim called out.
"I know, I want it," Garrick growled.
"You look kind of busy right now," Karthor reminded him while dodging the gangly arms of two trolls that were anxious to tear him in half.
The ground rumbled underneath them, drawing everyone to a halt. Man, dwarf, ogre, troll, and giant alike—they all looked around and wondered why rocks and dust were falling from the ceiling. Garrick raised the dwarf's hammer to take advantage of the confusion when a flash of reddish light burst out of the side tunnel that Alto had gone up. An answered flash was visible at the other tunnels.
"What was that?" Karthor jumped closer to the two warriors and asked. "Alto?"
"Aye, had to be the boy," Mordrim said. "Probably got himself roasted."
The ogres and trolls stayed still, not advancing. They looked about and then at the exhausted men before them. Namitus and Kar ran around them and rejoined them, breathing hard and both showing themselves harried and bleeding from wounds.
"Giant," Garrick said.
"He's all yours," Mordrim offered.
Garrick and the dwarf switched places, turning about each other. Garrick raised the hammer high and charged the massive man before him. The giant shook his head as though confused and then looked down at the man running at him. He raised the sword he held in his hand, striking it against the roof of the passage and sending chips of rock flying.
Garrick slammed the hammer into the side of the giant’s ankle, which was at his own knees. The giant howled and teetered, and then had to put his hand out to catch himself on the side of the cavern. The barbarian kept at it, running around and striking the joints of the giant until it crashed to its knees. The giant dropped his sword and reached for Garrick, only to find the barbarian slipping under his grasp and then striking the giant in the wrist.
Garrick finally managed to swat the giant on the knuckles of his closed fist after he pounded the ground where Garrick had stood a moment before. The crunch spoke of broken fingers and caused the giant to yank his hand back from the stinging. Garrick leapt forward, following the hand and leaping up onto the giant's leg so he could leap off that and strike the giant with the hammer as hard as he could swing it between the eyes.
Garrick crashed into the giant's chest, his weight toppling the off-balance behemoth over. When he staggered back to his feet and raised the hammer, he saw the giant laying there and staring up at the ceiling with sightless eyes. There was an impression several inches deep in the giant's forehead where the hammer had struck it.
Garrick turned back to see his friends standing and watching him. They were alone; the ogres and trolls had fled out of the passage. The northman grinned and said, "I killed a giant!"
"Aye, now give me back my hammer," Mordrim grunted.
Garrick laughed and walked over to the dwarf. He handed him the hammer and took his hatchet back. "Not bad, but I prefer a sword."
"Stick with the blade, you're lousy with this," Mordrim said. "I could have taken him in half the time."
Garrick spun and looked at the dead giant. "Half the time? Just because you're half the man doesn't mean you'd have done it any quicker!"
"You be listening, tall, dark, and stupid," Mordrim rallied.
"Boys, enough," Kar said as his son finished tying a bandage high on his arm. "We'd best go and find Alto. He'll want to know we've routed the enemy army and saved him the trouble."
"Unless they've gone for reinforcements," Namitus suggested.
Garrick frowned. "I broke my sword."
"There's one over there for you." Namitus pointed at the fallen giant's sword.
"That's too big!" the barbarian scoffed.
"Bet you don't hear that often," Mordrim muttered.
* * * *
Aleena staggered under her shield. The enemy kept coming. They were relentless. She thrust into the thigh of the ogre and made the brute howl as she twisted her sword before pulling it back. He hopped back and tried to stem the pulsing flow of blood that sprayed out of his leg.
Celos had proved to be their savior when Sir Amos had fallen earlier. The young knight had cut through three men and a horde of goblins that had overwhelmed the paladin and the men who fought beside him. He got two of the wounded knights back on their feet and they pul
led the elder knight back with them while Celos stood and faced down the horde.
Aleena slammed her sword into the shield of a mercenary, driving him back and giving her a chance. "I'm going to help Celos!" she warned Durak before she climbed over the bodies in front of her and ran to his side.
Durak stayed in the fortification of flesh he and Aleena's remaining two men had made, defending the priests and wounded who were behind them.
"You're a fool. Get back with the others!" Celos demanded.
"You're the fool standing alone out here. It doesn't matter how big your sword is—there's too many of them!"
Sir Celos snorted. "Fine, let's fall back to the others, but no farther. Sir Amos declared this our line. We will not fall back."
"Even if it means our death?"
"Yes!" Celos snapped. "We're not fighting for glory or even victory."
Aleena licked her dry and split lips and nodded. "I understand. We stand."
The horde advanced, their brief respite over. A handful of knights remained along with Durak, Aleena, her two men, Celos, and the wounded. The enemy seemed endless as they emerged out of the dark mass of people in the valley ahead of them.
A brilliant red flare far to the north burst into the sky, lighting up the countryside and striking the ceiling of clouds above. The clouds recoiled, disappearing and revealing the clear night sky. A moment later, they felt as though a waterless wave washed over them. They turned to each other, mouths agape.
"Did you feel that?" Aleena asked her mentor.
Celos nodded. "Something has happened."
The enemy stared to the north as well. With the clouds gone, the stars shone down on the valley, lighting it up enough for them to see the giants turn and start to walk away. The ogres jostled one another and looked about, and then followed after the giants, walking or running into the mountains. The goblins ran even faster, ducking into holes or scampering up the sides of mountains to find escape. Only the men remained, yet they still outnumbered the knights more than ten to one.
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