by J. A. Pitts
He just looked at me.
“Yeah, right,” I said. “Oh, and I’ll be needing a new rigging for this pigsticker.”
“Always treating your gear like crap,” he said with a shake of his head.
I patted him on the shoulder and turned to the house. “I’m gonna go check on Katie. That dragon ain’t done with us, and I want to make sure she’s safe.”
I’d made it three steps, before turning back. “Stuart? Did you see what happened to Rolph?”
He shook his head. “Last time I saw him, you were tussling with him over the sword, then all hell broke loose.”
I’d look for him after. There were more questions than answers.
I jogged toward the house, pondering. Why the dragon hadn’t attacked again confused me, but I wasn’t arguing about having a breather. I slowed as I passed several other warriors, each bloodied and grim.
“Good work, folks,” I said. “Shocked the hell out of ’em.”
One of them wept openly somewhere down the line. I turned aside, not wanting to intrude on their grief.
I crossed the yard toward the barn and was startled when Jimmy came riding out with Deidre draped across his saddle. Susan and Maggie came riding behind him, their armor covered in gore, but they appeared unwounded.
“They’ll think twice before carting off anyone else,” Susan said, scanning around.
Jimmy didn’t say anything—just walked the horse forward. Smoke had already begun to collect inside the barn, but obviously they needed to clear it out first.
“Wounded are up at the house,” Maggie said.
“Let me get Dee over to Melanie,” Jimmy said, his voice thin.
I stood at the barn entrance, and he passed me without a word or even a glance.
Maggie nodded at me and cantered her horse back toward the battle line. Susan stopped in the practice yard, her horse skittish and dancing.
“Where’s that damn dragon?” she asked, scanning the sky.
Without thinking I closed my eyes and held the sword out, turning slowly, letting the pull of the sword guide me. When I could feel the dragon the strongest, I stopped, and opened my eyes. The blade pointed straight up.
Fifty-seven
ON THE ROOF OF THE BURNING BARN PERCHED THE DRAGON.
“Scatter!” Susan yelled, pulling her gelding, Nightingale, around. I dove to the side as the huge lizard dropped on us like a hawk. He spread his wings as he neared the ground, and swooped across the yard, snatching Susan and Nightingale in his massive claws before climbing into the sky.
I rushed forward, swinging the sword, and nicked the long tail, scoring several scales off and cutting into the meat.
The dragon roared and faltered in his rise, veering around the burning barn with Susan pounding madly on the claw that gripped her. Nightingale screamed like only a horse can scream, the horrifying sound that warriors had learned to hate for centuries. One claw had pierced its side, and blood rained down as the dragon gained enough altitude to clear the skirmish line and head toward the rallying giants and trolls.
The snap of crossbows echoed down the line, and bolts soared after the beastie.
“He’s got Susan!” I screamed, running back toward the battlefield.
Maggie twisted on her saddle, caught sight of the dragon, and roared in fury. She turned her mare, Dusk, spurred it back into the burning barn, and emerged again on the other side, a lance in one hand and the long plume on her helmet burnt to a nub.
The dragon landed in the no-man’s-land between the defender’s line and the rallying trolls, smashing the horse to the ground with the audible crunch of mail and bones.
I faltered, my heart breaking at the sight of Dusk’s life being snuffed out. I’d worked with these animals for several years and loved them as if they were my own.
Susan bounced once as the dragon landed, escaping his claws for the briefest of moments. Those on the line yelled and screamed, more crossbow bolts flying across the field to bounce off the dragon’s armor. She scrambled away from him, but he lunged forward with a wing, clipping Susan in the back, sending her sprawling onto the ground.
The giants and trolls roared with laughter, shaking their weapons in the air. Several of our folks scrambled over the wall only to be called back by Stuart.
“Keep your heads,” he bellowed. “No suicide runs.”
Susan was back on her feet and scrambling as best she could in the armor. Jean-Paul swung around, herding her with his other wing. She fell hard, clattering to the ground, and rolled over, panting.
I gripped Gram in my left fist and sprinted to the line, clambered over a few strategically placed steps, and jumped to the ground on the opposite side. My knees would be angry for a long time coming, I reckoned.
I was getting damn sick of chasing after this guy.
Susan screamed when he snatched her up in his claw again. This time, she had her dirk out, and stabbed his claw, the blade skittering off the thick hide. He cackled a deep-throated rasp that raised the hackles on the back of my neck.
Faster, damn it. There was no way I was reaching him in time.
He fell back onto his tail, flipping her into the air. She arced upward, screaming and flailing.
With hideous clarity, I watched him lunge forward with his long neck and smash his iron jaws together. Only her armor kept him from cutting her in two.
The dragon shook her in his teeth, like a dog who’d captured a rat.
The emotion of it should have overwhelmed me, should have taken me to my knees, but the rage kept all else at bay.
From the right, the sound of thundering hooves caught everyone’s attention. Maggie rode at the dragon, shrieking. She leaned forward over her lance, driving her horse with reckless abandon.
When Nightingale saw the dragon, she shied, rearing and whinnying in fear. Maggie pulled the reins around, leaning into her long neck, calling to her. In a moment, she had her back on all fours. Nightingale tossed her head and surged forward again, reassured by her master.
The line of Black Briar survivors began to cheer; hell, they were doing the wave, rising up to match her progress.
I had a very bad feeling about this.
The dragon spun, flinging Susan’s broken body to skid past me, her armor punctured and twisted. I glanced away as it tumbled into a mangled pile.
I think that was the moment I realized I could not kill him enough.
Black Briar screamed their anger behind me, and the dragon darted his head to the side, trying to keep the enemy in sight. He was favoring his left side, being unable to see from the right. The right side was vulnerable.
I sprinted forward, hoping to stop what I knew was about to happen. “No, Maggie!” I shouted as I ran, but she only kicked harder, Nightingale running with heads-down concentration.
I assumed the dragon determined Maggie to be the greater threat, so he ignored the rest of us. He crouched down on his belly, supine, stretching his long neck out toward Maggie.
“Watch out,” I yelled as I neared him.
Maggie was within fifty paces when he flamed, engulfing her in liquid inferno.
But she did not falter. Like a comet, Maggie and her trusty steed hurtled onward, lance first.
I reached him, then. Striking forward with Gram.
The blade cut through the scales like parting silk. The three-foot-long gash in his side was not deep, but it did catch his attention.
Jean-Paul twisted, trying to swat at me with one large wing. I dove as the wing clipped me, rolling with the momentum. It hurt, but it was a glancing blow.
Too bad for him. With a horrendous crunch, Maggie slammed into him, her lance piercing his side just above the rear left leg, biting deep.
He swung his tail around, smashing into Maggie and her horse. They bounced, rolling across the yard in a fiery tumble.
Cries of horror rose from the SCAdians. How much was too much? Maggie and Susan had been leaders in our community for as long as Black Briar had existed.
I risked a look over at Maggie, who managed to crawl two paces toward Susan before she collapsed, burning. I turned away. The vision of her reaching for Susan, her hand burned to the bone, would live in my memory forever. If I survived.
There was the power of love. That was what sacrifice was worth.
Jean-Paul raised his head into the air and roared. Think lion, only about two hundred times more scary.
Trolls and giants fell to the ground cowering. If I had not been holding Gram, I would have lost all control of my bodily functions, I’m sure.
I could not imagine how the Black Briar folks took that cry.
He snapped at his leg, biting at the lance, but only succeeded in ripping off more scales.
One of the giants, brave soul that he was, ran forward, dodging and weaving. The dragon snapped at him, but his heart was not in it. The giant slid under the long neck and scrambled forward, only standing when he could grab the lance.
“Hang on, boss,” he bellowed. “I’ll get it.”
The first tug caused the dragon to scream in pain. His right leg collapsed, and he fell onto his chest.
The giant dove aside, avoiding being crushed by inches.
But he did not give up. This time he grabbed the lance and yanked it with all his strength, showering the ground in black blood. I’d be willing to bet that nothing would ever grow there again.
The dragon roared, lashed his tail around, and knocked the giant off his feet.
The giant scrambled across the ground on all fours until he was out of the dragon’s shadow then lurched to his full eighteen-foot height. He was the largest of his kind I’d seen so far. Here was a being of power who was likely used to getting his way.
“It’s okay, boss,” he shouted, holding up his hands and backing away. “That thing is out now, you’ll be okay.” He did not stop backing up, just moved slowly and carefully.
The dragon thrashed his head back and forth, howling a high-pitched cry of pain.
“Get the girl with the sword,” the giant said, pointing in my direction.
Giant, yes. Stupid, no. He had no intention of fighting his boss.
He circled to the right, and Jean-Paul weaved back and forth. The giant, apparently not the brightest of the bunch after all, turned and fled too soon.
The dragon, in the pain and confusion, attacked.
“No quick movements,” I muttered.
Before I could blink, he pounced on the giant like a cat, pinning him to the ground with his front claws and raking him with his right rear claw, gouging out great bloody chunks. The giant flailed, punching the dragon in the left side of his head. But that was his final effort. His arms fell to the ground and his legs spasmed.
A final bite severed the giant’s spine and he stopped moving altogether.
I learned two things from this.
At least my boss didn’t kill me when she fired me.
And . . .
Jean-Paul’s rage knew no friends.
I recognized his state. He’d lost control, succumbed to the fury and pain. No one was safe within reach of him. Not even his own people.
As I watched him lash out, I was horribly reminded of my own actions since forging the sword.
Trolls and giants fled his rampage. He attacked anything that moved.
I stalked forward, but stayed low. No use drawing his attention.
The final chopper started to rise, dropping trolls who had not found their way safely inside, but perhaps they were the lucky ones.
Jean-Paul whirled on them, dragging his left leg, and breathed a spear of liquid fire.
The chopper rocked on impact, flipping on its side, and fell thirty feet to the ground, where it exploded.
The dragon raised its head high into the air and roared, shooting fire into the night.
I took the chance and rose into a crouch, running along the ground as low as I could. My legs screamed in pain, but I had to get to him, had to put this to an end.
Only he and the fates thought otherwise. I have no idea if he even knew I was there, but intention didn’t really matter. He swung around, his tail moving counter to keep him balanced. That’s the point of a tail. I knew this, saw it coming at me. Hindsight and all that rubbish.
Regardless, he clocked me, clipping my head and shoulder. I flipped through the air, a full-body flip, and landed on my back, hard enough to see stars.
He leapt upward, his wings beating a broken cadence as he limped into the air.
I wanted to rise again, to go after him, bring him down, but I couldn’t. I just didn’t have it in me. The enormity of it all washed over me and I closed my eyes.
Fifty-eight
WHISPERED VOICES SLIPPED INTO MY MIND. SWEET VOICES OF young women. I thought of Katie right away, but the voices were wrong.
I opened one eye and saw a tall, lithesome blonde in scale mail and winged helm leaning over me. She had a short stabbing sword on her hip and wore a skirt of overlapping scales. For a moment I thought I recognized her. Not sure from where.
“What of this one, Róta?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Another woman, taller than the first and older, glanced over from where she stood, her head turned, with a golden torque nestled at the base of her exquisite throat. Stunning. “Nay, Skuld, not that one,” she said. “It is not her time.” She rocked her head past me. “See to the next.”
Skuld looked down at me, her face angelic. She bent lower, touching one long finger to my forehead, pushing back the hair above my left temple. “He has marked her, so he has,” she said, turning. “Placed his claim on her.”
Róta walked over, glancing down at my face, and shrugged. “Comely enough, but he has never been one to quibble over looks.”
“Aye,” Skuld said with a smirk. “He’s never kept you from his bed.”
A sharp smack brought Skuld upright, her hands thrust behind her.
“I am not alone in that matter,” Róta said, laughing. “Leave this one. There are plenty of others.”
They both scanned the field, evaluating, it seemed, the better part of carnage.
“So many valiant fallen,” Róta said. “It has been many a long year since we had the like to choose from.”
“Warriors there have been aplenty,” Skuld said with a sad shake of her head. “They die by the thousands every year, but so few are worthy of his table.”
“And fewer still, his bed,” Róta added with a quiet sigh. “What I wouldn’t give for another night with old one-eye.”
“The greater or the lesser,” Skuld said with a giggle.
Róta gasped, covering her mouth with that beautiful hand. “You are scandalous,” she said, straightening. “He’s been gone so long, I’m not even sure he remembers us.”
They strode away, each taking a different direction, but neither moved toward the fallen giants or trolls.
Valkyries, I realized. How bad did I have to be injured to be considered by the Valkyries?
And who knew Valkyries were so randy? Katie was not going to believe this. I prayed to whatever gods there might be in the world that I would get to tell her.
I sat up, my arms and legs stiff and aching. I still clutched Gram in my left hand, though. Some small favor there.
It took me a few minutes to rise, first to my knees, then to my feet.
The farm was a blasted wasteland. Somewhere in the east, the sun was rising, I could feel it in the air, but the light had not reached us yet. Soon.
I looked around, seeking friend or foe.
Skuld or Róta, I couldn’t tell them apart at this distance, stood over Susan’s broken body.
“Rise,” Skuld commanded. Her voice was sweeter, less husky than Róta’s. Susan’s spirit rose like mist. Her spirit was dressed in armor as she had been in death.
“Let’s have a look at him,” Róta said, waving her hand.
The visored helmet spun away in a swirl of fog.
“By the Tree,” Skuld said, taking a step back. “It’s a woman.”
“There are plenty of women warriors,” Róta said. She twirled her hand and Susan’s spirit twirled slowly before her.
“But when was the last one that fell battling one of the wyrms?” Skuld asked, turning to Róta.
“Few indeed. It will be a shock to those in the great hall, I’m sure.”
“What of this one?” Skuld said, crossing to Maggie. She drew her spirit up, correcting any unfortunate kinks or contortions with a wave of her hand. “They were lovers.”
Róta nodded. “Aye, and worthy as any I have seen.”
Skuld drew forth the spirits of their horses and directed the women onward to the great hall.
“They will put a twist in Eric’s tail, don’t you think?” Róta asked.
Skuld nodded with a smile. “Should rile the lot.”
I turned away, leaving the Valkyries to their task, not wanting to see who died a glorious death, and who just died the final death. Either way, they were lost to the rest of us.
The barn burned feverishly, pouring black smoke into the sky.
No one moved out from the final battle line. The giants and trolls had either fallen or scattered.
The SCAdians tended to the living, as best they could.
I yearned to go to them, to see who yet lived. For a brief moment, I even considered falling into a warm bed with Katie and sleeping until winter.
But, alas—something remained undone.
As I walked, the stiffness eased and Gram’s urgency began to rise. She had tasted Jean-Paul’s blood, and craved more. It was not a sentient craving, more of a base need. I didn’t argue with it. The sooner Jean-Paul died, the happier the world could be.
And the sword could find him. It pulled at me already, urging me to follow the long slope downhill to the stream, then onward to the river and eventually to the lake. That’s where I would find him.
To the north and east . . . into the mountains. There, perched along the shores of a lake he lay, nursing his wounds and his pride.