Dragon Soul

by Danielle Bennett

  “Not sentiment,” I told him, leaning in real close to keep the sand out of my fucking face for two seconds. “I just really don’t like you.”

  Fan’s answer was something I recognized a split-hair second too late, just after his knife stuck me right between the ribs. I hadn’t even known he’d had the damn thing, but that was my own fault and no one else’s, and I deserved what I got for it. Punishment: the only way a Mollyrat knew how to learn.

  Back before Adamo’d put a ban on fighting in the Airman, he’d given me all kinds of lessons on what he liked to call my shit-stupid mistakes. Now that was back when I’d been more anger than brains, more muscle than menace, and I guessed after everything I still kinda was, but I liked to tell myself I’d learned a few things. Number one was supposed to be never letting your enemy out of your sight. Somewhere a little lower on the list was never letting your enemy’s hands out of your sight, since you always had to assume anyone you were tussling with was fighting dirtier than you were, but I was willing to bet even Adamo’d never expected me to be brawling out in the middle of the desert, right in the center of a bastion-damned sandstorm, over something so precious we were all prepared to kill for it at the drop of a ha’penny.

  I could hear my girl rumbling somewhere in the sandstorm, like a newborn kitten searching blindly for its mama. Hearing her like that made me sick, but I couldn’t think about it now.

  Still, didn’t really make much difference. I squeezed down hard on Fan’s throat with both hands and he twisted the knife, the pain coursing sharp like a poison through my body, throbbing in back of my molars and right low in my gut like I was about to be sick. When he twisted my arms got weak, and then Fan threw me off and scuffled around like he was stumbling to his feet. I cracked my eyes open—I had to risk it now since I’d lost the advantage of being faster. He’d done me the favor of leaving his knife in me, at least, so I didn’t have to worry about bleeding out. What I did have to worry about was how the hell I was going to get to my feet since I was having a little trouble keeping my head on straight.

  At least I could see him now, the barest outline of him, that mangy little fuck. I hauled myself up into a sitting position, light-headed but thinking as hard as I’d ever done. Get it fucking together, Rook, and all the usual shit. Have’d be laughing at me if she could’ve seen this spectacle, me sitting on my ass in the desert when the one who’d caused us both so much suffering was still standing upright. Not to mention there was still my brother, fucking Hilary, who could probably talk a man to death, but that was about it. He was waiting for me, back in that quiet place inside all the sand, probably sweating like somebody’s grandmammy and muttering about the heat, and bastion damn me if I was about to leave him alone to take care of business when everyone knew he couldn’t.

  He wouldn’t even know where to fucking start.

  Slowly—painfully slowly—I dragged myself to my feet. Fan’s outline didn’t change, but I saw him take a blurry step forward. At least I’d winded him, but that was about all I could claim.

  “Come now,” he hollered, his back against the wind. “Don’t embarrass us both. Have you forgotten what I have in my possession?”

  The soul, I thought, but didn’t say. Let him wear himself out on taunting me. That was how I’d gotten the drop on him the first time.

  “I suppose it would be a quicker end than bleeding to death, wouldn’t it?” Fan yelled, clearly not at all put out by having a conversation with himself. “I had intended on saving the actual soul until my brother arrived, but he seems to be taking his time. Not something you’d know anything about, I’m sure.”

  There was more than one person in the group I’d rode out with that I could imagine being shit stubborn enough to take down a person in a sandstorm. I had my money on Madoka.

  “Does it console you to know you may well have wasted all our planning?” Fan shouted, but I could tell the bastard was just taunting me. “I’ve no idea what the soul will do on its own, without a vessel to control it. That was never my specialty, but you’ve pushed me into a corner. You or me, I’m afraid, and I’m very attached to myself.”

  He was starting to move away from me. I could tell by the sound of his voice, even over the raging wind. If I was going to get him, it’d have to be soon.

  I couldn’t waste my chance. Didn’t really think I was gonna get more than one.

  “It’s quite a shame,” Fan said. He just couldn’t shut up, and that was going to be his final fucking downfall. I risked a look—I had to—and caught sight of something glimmering in the sand. That was what he was heading for. I was just gonna have to stop him before he got there. “I don’t at all fancy being the one to break the news to your brother. I actually rather like him—more at least than some—but the irony of killing you with your own precious beast is all too—”

  Things happened real quickly all at once—the way they always fucking did when shit got down to the wire. Fan went for the soul, I went for Fan, and something came crashing through the impenetrable wall of sand from Fan’s right. It hit him before I could, tackling him like one of Provost’s champion wolves and holding him to the ground. They knocked into the dragonsoul and sent it flying, bright silver disappearing into the sand.

  I lunged for it, and a horrible sound ripped through the air, like a dragon roaring, only her mouth hadn’t been put on quite right. The earth shuddered again—she was moving—and it sprayed dune dust everywhere. Probably would’ve blinded me if I hadn’t managed to shut my eyes in time.

  “Rook?” someone called, a little choked and a little reedy, but un-fucking-mistakable all the same.

  I’d better be fucking dreaming, I thought, and risked opening an eye again.

  There was sand everywhere, nearly impossible to see through it, because whatever wind’d been holding it out in pockets was completely fucked by the dragon thrashing around. Sand came sniping in at us from every direction, and I didn’t know much about the way this shit worked—or the way anything worked, really—but I had to wonder what in bastion’s name was keeping the sand from pouring down on us like a landslide in the mountains. The ground was still trembling, or maybe it was just me; either way I could barely keep myself on my feet. The only thing that had me going still was Thom, who was staring right at me. And if I lost it, he would too.

  “Bastion fuck,” he said, eyes going wide. He was gonna get sand in them and go blind, just for me. I could tell. “Is that a knife in you?”

  No time for stating the obvious, I thought dizzily, and wasn’t that just the plain old truth, because Fan took that moment to kick Thom in the gut and scramble away—looking for the dragonsoul again, I could only guess.

  Well, now he’d gone and done it. He’d hurt my baby brother, and I was going to waste him.

  Fan reached out in the direction the soul had gone flying and I had my own knife out, faster than anything. I couldn’t even trust my own fucking body to get there in time so I threw it, sharp and clean, and at least my aim was good. It pierced clean through his outstretched hand and he screamed—that I heard.

  Fan was scuffling in the direction Thom’d gone—I couldn’t look at him, because it’d fuck everything up—and I started toward Fan, aiming to get my knife back. Shadows passed over my vision and I figured I was close to blacking out, so I’d have to get this done quick. No more wasting time. I’d put too much in danger shitting around and fighting like a ’Versity boy, and now I was serious.

  I knocked Fan down and grabbed the special hilt of my knife, ripping it out of his hand. He screamed again and I grabbed him by the back of his neck, the knife against his throat.

  He laughed, that little snake, but it didn’t go all the way up to his eyes.

  “Funny what one’s willing to do for family, isn’t it?” Fan said, pulse pounding like a jackrabbit’s. “I take no pleasure in saying this, but we aren’t as different as I thought.”

  “Don’t be so fucking sentimental,” I told him, and the blood was already flowing
when Thom shouted.

  “Stop!” he said.

  Fan’s eyes jerked up and I heaved, wondering why he hadn’t just run, wondering if I was always going to be afflicted with him until the end of my days—which, fuck, might be pretty soon depending on what happened when it came time to take this knife out of my body. Fan didn’t know all the special places to slide a knife between the ribs, which he would’ve if he’d grown up in Molly, so I didn’t think he’d gotten me so good that I couldn’t pull through if I clung to my usual good fucking luck, but there was always room for complications. And we were in the middle of the fucking desert, not to mention, which meant we were far away from good Volstovic doctoring that I could—sometimes, sorta—trust. No healing Talent around here, and I was willing to bet good money that the magician Fan was working with—his own brother, apparently—wasn’t exactly the type for that, either.

  I heaved, blood coming out my mouth, blood covering Fan’s hand and Fan’s knife and my knife, blood soaking through my shirt, and sand getting everywhere the blood wasn’t.

  Slowly I turned, but I kept the knife pressed firm into Fan’s throat just in case he tried anything. No matter what, he was getting his throat slit here today.

  “Don’t do it, John,” Thom said carefully, his face unrecognizable, crusted in sand. “I’ve got it—see? I’ve got it.”

  Something sparkled. He was holding the soul like a fucking newborn, cradled up against his chest like he planned to start nursing any minute. I’d’ve laughed, but it would’ve come out all bloody.

  “You don’t know how to use it,” Fan grunted. “To bring her back. He was the only one who could—he’ll be here, just you wait.”

  I nearly cut his throat then and there, just so I wouldn’t have to fucking listen to him talking anymore. The sand was what saved him in the end—or rather, the sand fucking falling was what saved him, coming down over our heads without any warning and blocking out all the light. The dragon let out another wail, heavy, awkward steps sounding along the ground. I fell forward and I felt something wet and hot against my hands, pouring over my wrists; then the knife in my side glanced off one of my ribs as I fell forward, crushed under so much sand.

  I just hoped what was left of Havemercy didn’t kill what was left of my family. That’d be a real peach, wouldn’t it?

  Hilary, I thought, and then I really conked out.

  MALAHIDE

  I wasn’t entirely certain, but I was almost positive, that Kalim had fled the scene. If I was lucky, he might have died amidst the chaos—a terrible thing to say, but I would have preferred my secret to die with him, and it would make things much easier if I did not have to kill him myself.

  In any case, he was no longer nearby. Whether or not the sand had devoured him or he had taken this as some sign of godly wrath against which he could not hope to prevail, I had no way of knowing. Simply put, I could not smell him any longer, though I could smell the others—scattered scents dancing helplessly and poignantly, carried to me by the sand and wind.

  Next to me, Badger grunted.

  He’d been very brave and had thrown himself between me and the brunt of the storm—a magical effect on the weather if ever I’d seen one, and definitely Ke-Han in origin. Scent alone was indicative of that, but I had studied these very effects and needed only common sense to determine the source.

  I was grateful for Badger’s help since I was dizzy and trying to piece together the locations of our various quarries: where Airman Rook was, nearby his companion; my own friend from the mountains; Madoka and her diseased hand; the dragonsoul itself; and a new scent, obviously belonging to the wielder of this sudden power.

  We were trapped quite nicely between walls made entirely of sand, and I pressed myself against Badger’s broad back as I attempted to make some sense of all of it, my own compass thrown for a loop.

  “Where is she?” Badger demanded.

  “Hush,” I told him. “Don’t disturb me. I am working on it.”

  Sand filled my mouth and I scowled, disgusted. Such dirtiness was loathsome in and of itself, but now it distracted me, the magician’s scent carried to me upon each grain and confusing all my senses.

  So our task was very clear, I realized. We had to find the source and take this monster out. Once the weather itself had calmed, when our most dangerous foe was eliminated, then we could turn our collective attentions toward what had brought us all here in the first place.

  The question was simply how we would kill him.

  “Have you ever killed a magician?” I asked Badger.

  He shook his head no, sensibly choosing not to waste his breath. I pressed my face against his shoulder and spoke into the fabric of his shirt in order to avoid choking to death on all this horrible sand.

  “No matter,” I told him. “I have.”

  Granted, that was under special circumstances, and I’d certainly had “the drop” on them, as the saying went. They hadn’t been fair fights, in any case—more like quiet assassinations gone uninvestigated and unexplained, negating any potential trouble the Esar felt might arise in the future. Such a circumspect man! One day I too would become rebellious—it was inevitable, given my liege’s mercurial whims—and he would have to find someone to negate me, but all that was neither here nor there.

  In this case, if anyone had the drop, it was almost certainly the man behind this frightful sandstorm.

  “Are you armed?” I asked Badger. I felt him nod. “Excellent,” I continued. “Will you help me kill a man?”

  He hesitated, probably trying to understand my motives—I felt that, as well—and I patted him lightly on the back, nudging him in the proper direction. The stench was overwhelmingly pungent and I was having difficulty breathing. Pressing my face up against Badger’s back made it hard for me to smell anything over the odors of his own skin and sweat and shirt, but if I were to try to breathe without that cloth covering, too much sand would enter my nose.

  I was lucky this magician was so powerful, the magic so prevalent. What made him strongest was the very thing leading me straight to him, with Badger as my handy weapon. He didn’t seem altogether delighted to be in his position, but a soldier was nothing so much as a tool, meant to be used at an appropriate occasion—and none was so appropriate as having to confront an unknown magician with none of my usual wiles about me.

  Even if I’d thought to bring a pistol, all this sand would’ve rendered it useless in short order.

  “I believe this is the man who put Madoka in her current position,” I told him, as incentive. “Does that assuage your qualms any?”

  It seemed to. His back stiffened with resolve, and the square cut of his jaw hardened.

  We were both equally contemptuous of this man—and no one hated him more than Madoka. I felt bad that I was not trapped here with her—for truly, she was the one who deserved to force him into a corner and laugh in his face. I only wished she could have been given that chance, but fate had preordained otherwise. It was strange for me to have cause to think about anyone’s motivations other than my own, but I couldn’t allow such thoughts to distract me at such a crucial interval. It was pointless to even wonder what the Esar was thinking, though I’d done a fair bit of it on this trip. Not exactly my usual style.

  I pushed Badger onward, the sand whipping around my boots and sending my skirts in all directions—yet another reason to be glad that Kalim was not here, or for the moment, at least, I’d lost the scent of him. I pressed myself up against Badger for shelter as we moved, tugging on his left arm or his right when we needed to make a turn. We made a fine team in silence—neither of us being much for words when there was serious work to be done—and the next wall we broke through flooded my nose with the thick spice of magic. It was nearly overwhelming and I smiled grimly; we were drawing closer. Our pace was something to contend with: one step forward, two steps back, it seemed, and my legs were screaming. No doubt things were worse for Badger, taking the brunt of the wind as I supported him from the re
ar. At least he was trained in soldiering. All I had to do was allow him to shield me and to keep up my own fierce pace.

  We were at a distinct disadvantage, but it was my sole purpose now to nullify the magic’s effect. How I had come to the point of helping others to get the job done in my stead, I would never know—but after this, I swore to myself, I was done with it. I worked best on my own, as all true agents of change. Allowing myself to become engrossed in the curious, baffling lives of others—their whims and their wants—had more than distracted me from my ultimate goal.

  It had changed so much in recent days that it was difficult to keep track of it. My missions from the Esar were always straightforward—almost childishly clear, bastion bless him—so that I had never had cause to call my purpose elusive. Now, with the wind at my back, Badger at my front, and, somewhere out there, a magician I had to kill, I couldn’t quite escape the feeling that I’d somehow lost sight of the duty I’d been charged with.

  Simply defeating the magician was not enough, and neither was freeing Madoka. Those were both goals set for my own personal satisfaction, and nothing close to my true duty. No doubt the Esar would have laughed to see me now, a grown woman tramping around in the desert with his erstwhile enemies, all of whom were as good as struck blind by all this blasted sand. Meanwhile, he sat enthroned in our beloved country, enjoying the comforts and pleasures of home. At least it was clear his paranoia-inspired nightmares had been based in some real truth, but still, it seemed hardly fair at this current juncture. I could only hope that what I brought to him at the end would be more than just a handful of sand.

  A sharp gust kicked up without warning, blowing straight into our faces and bringing with it the honeyed overtones of some sweeter magic, more pleasing to my nose. It was a part of the dragonsoul; I recognized that quite easily—I was willing to stake my life on what I smelled—and I paused to note, with some curiosity, that it was not in the same place as the magician, when a terrific crack broke through the sound of the wind and sand, followed by a deep, shuddering rumble that passed beneath our feet and through the entire dune. It was followed by the scent of something spicy, and though foreign, it seemed strangely familiar. I fell into Badger, and Badger fell into the sand.