Students of the Order

by Edward W. Robertson

  Tull slipped on a bed of loose pine needles, yelling out as he went down. He landed hard. The dragon reared over him. Joti nocked an arrow and fired it at the monster's plated neck. With a plink, the iron point broke against the dragon's skin.

  The beast arched its neck, nostrils flaring wide enough to suck in a small bird. Tull kicked backwards, lifting his hand over his head. The dragon dug its claws into the frozen ground and lowered its head. Joti unleashed a third arrow at its left eye. The shot was perfect, as true as a first kiss, yet some protection—its lowered brow, a transparent scale over the eye itself—sent the arrow spinning away.

  Flame spouted from the dragon's mouth. The air shimmered. Birch trunks burst apart, steam boiling from vaporized snow. The column of white fire enveloped Tull whole, snuffing out his scream.

  Joti turned his back and ran as hard as he could.

  Shain's whistle sounded again. Joti veered toward it, glancing over his shoulder. Fire hung from the pines in smoking drapes. The dragon was gone and so was Tull. Joti crunched on through the snow. He wanted to call out to Shain, but was afraid he'd bring the dragon down on himself.

  And then there she was ahead, surrounded by the others, all of whom bore swords and bows.

  Shain ran toward him. Seeing the look in his eye, she grabbed his shoulder. "You saw it."

  "It…" Something broke in his chest. "It breathed fire. Tull's dead."

  "Which way?"

  He pointed. "But it flew off. I don't know where it is now."

  "Gods' shit." Shain glanced at Nod. "What do you think?"

  "We're in its home territory." Nod's voice was enragingly calm. "As long as we remain here, it will hunt us. You know what they say. 'Dragons don't leave witnesses.'"

  "Then we head for civilization. Hongold is closest." Shain took off at a ground-eating jog, glancing up from under her cap and into the canopy. "If it comes back, aim for the wings."

  Faddak craned back his head. "Will that kill it?"

  "No more than you'd die if I jabbed your ass with a pin. But if we're lucky, it'll sting bad enough to drive it away."

  "So how do you kill a dragon?"

  "Hire a bigger dragon? You don't kill them. You run, and you hope it gets full of slower people before it finds you."

  "The hunters of my tribe killed a dragon once," Joti said. "My parents were there."

  Shain swiveled her head toward him. "How?"

  "I don't know. But I saw them bring home the body. It didn't look like it was hurt at all."

  "That is unutterably useless."

  "Along with their wings, when they stretch their necks, it can expose gaps in the plates," Nod said. "Won't kill it. But it might discourage it."

  A minute later, Shain swore and dropped beside a tree. The dragon circled high overhead, making leisurely circles of the forest. They waited in silence. The charge in Joti's nerves was still there, making everything heightened and sharpened. Five hundred feet away and three hundred feet high, the dragon slowed, losing altitude until it was thirty feet over the canopy. Fire poured down into the trees, boughs lighting with painful flashes, trunks exploding in plumes of steam. Burning debris rained to the floor and sizzled in the snow.

  "Knows we're here." Nod's voice was just loud enough to be heard over the crackle of the fire. "Will burn us out."

  "If here is the problem, then the wise maneuver would be to remove ourselves from it." Shain gritted her teeth. "Hongold's way too far. Not enough cover along the way, either. You know this forest better than I know my own pants. Where else can we go?"

  Nod gazed into the forest. "Cail's Ravine. Too narrow for it to fit inside. Too deep for it to burn us out."

  "How far?"

  "Less than half a mile."

  Shain rubbed her mouth. "Too many of us to hide here until nightfall. And every second we spend here is another second for it to find us. Take us to Cail's Ravine."

  Nod stole through the trees, angling southeast. The air stank of smoke and sulfur. The dragon shrank behind them until the windy flap of its wings faded to nothing. Nod had a sickened look on her face, glancing sidelong at Shain as if urging her to run faster.

  The boys and girls ran in a daze, barely holding back their terror; without the adults, they might have simply frozen in place and waited for the beast to go away—or to find them and burn them to vapor. Joti felt the same terror as they did fluttering in his heart, but his mind remained his own, steeled by the vision of his father and mother striding before a wain loaded with a dead dragon.

  The path ahead sloped downhill as the land rose on either side. With the ravine nearly in sight, Shain stopped and looked up. Her green skin went gray. And then Joti felt it: the stillness of the forest.

  "Run!"

  Shain dashed back the way they'd come. The others followed in her wake. A waterfall of flames washed down from above. Heat seared the back of Joti's neck. Shadows danced on the snow.

  "Knows where we are," Nod said.

  "I know," Shain said.

  "Ideas?"

  "No good ones."

  "The bad one?"

  "Take the kids around to the ravine," Shain said. "I'll draw it away."

  The light in Nod's eyes shrank until it was gone. "I'll get them home."

  They clapped each other on the shoulder. Shain veered to the north, running hard. "Hey, ugly!" She fired an arrow toward the whoosh of the wings. "Why don't you come down here and find out if you like the taste of cold steel?"

  "This way." Nod broke back toward the ravine. The trainees followed.

  Shain ran on through the trees and smoke and steam. Provoked by nothing, Joti glimpsed himself being beaten in the dusty street by the city watch while the beggars cheered. It would take a while, as such things did when it was in no sense a fight, and the attackers were in no real danger. At first, Joti would be able to defend himself to a degree, bracing his arms over his head as their clubs fell, but then one of their blows would crunch his forearm so it bent the wrong way, or one of their kicks would burst his testicles, and he'd let down his guard.

  Even then, the first blow to his head wouldn't kill him. It would only knock him down, and when he stood, he'd have enough presence of mind left to shield his head against the next blow, which would knock him down again. This process would go on for a while—maybe a minute, maybe five—until he stood once more and found himself too tired, wounded, or rattled to cover his head.

  The blow after that would crack his skull. That time, when he fell, he wouldn't be able to stand, just crawl away through the bloody dirt. He'd be groaning. Possibly screaming. He wouldn't even know he was doing it. Seeing how pathetic he was would only inflame the guards' cruelty. They would come at him harder then, striking the bleeding crack in his head until he stopped crawling.

  And then he would sit there, hunched forward and drooling blood between his legs, and he would already be gone, except his body wouldn't quite know that yet. Any thoughts he had at that time would be as broken as his body. When at last they did kill him, it would be an act of mercy.

  Heart galloping, Joti dropped to the back of the column. As soon as there was no one behind him, he peeled from the group and ran after Shain.

  Through the forest, Shain unleashed a string of taunts that would have burned a spicemonger's tongue. Joti swung around a row of brambles. Shain kneeled on an icy slab of rock, bow twanging as she sent an arrow at the dragon, which was banking toward a gap in the trees, its wings spread impossibly wide.

  Shain glanced toward the ravine to check Nod's progress, then jogged to her left, her metallic cloak flapping behind her. The dragon landed with a stony crack. It advanced toward her, smashing through saplings like they weren't even there. Shain was smiling with ragged relief: she'd bought the others time to escape.

  She drew her sword, waggling it at the dragon. "Not very sporting, burning down the whole gods damn forest. I say you put a blade in your paw and fight me like a man and we'll see who walks out of here alive."

&nbs
p; If dragons could look smug, it did. It flicked out its foot-long claws. Shain skipped backwards, backhanding the monster's fingers, but the blade scraped off with a low clang. The dragon was already swinging its other forelimb. Shain dropped flat, rolling under the attack, and jabbed upwards, bracing the pommel of her sword with the palm of her left hand. Her steel banged into its scales and skittered away without penetrating. She screamed in frustration.

  Joti released his arrow. He'd been aiming for the eye again, but the dragon lunged forward, snapping at Shain, the arrow zipping over its head. She flung herself to the side, slashing at the creature's cheek. Its teeth smacked together like rock striking rock. Too focused on keeping herself alive to have noticed the arrow, Shain jabbed at the dragon's mouth, gashing open its gums.

  The dragon drew back, roaring so loudly Joti's ears rang. Its chest swelled, nostrils going wide.

  "Run!" Joti shouted. "It's going to breathe!"

  The dragon exhaled a spume of fire. Shain yelled in defiance, swirling her cloak around herself. The flames swallowed her whole. Joti watched, stunned, eyes stung with tears.

  The dragon pulled back, smoke wafting from its nostrils. The flames dimmed. After a long moment, the steam cleared. Shain remained crouched before the dragon, her leaden cloak glowing orange. She flung it from her shoulders to land hissing in the snow.

  "Make you a deal," she said. "I'll quit using my breath if you'll quit using yours." She dodged another claw, stabbing at the webbing between its fingers. "Joti! Get the hell out of here!"

  "And leave you to die?"

  She dodged another pair of strikes, staggering to the side. "I'm already dead, you jackass! The only question is whether you're going to join me in its stomach."

  He sent an arrow at a seam in the dragon's neck, but it bounced off just as the others had. How had his parents done it? What if they hadn't killed the dragon at all? What if their party had simply found it dead, dragged back its corpse, and tried not to laugh as the tribe declared them valiant heroes?

  Shain danced and countered, drawing blood from between its claws. Joti peppered it with arrows, but he might as well have been trying to puncture a boulder. His quiver was getting empty. Another minute, and he'd have no choice but to leave her.

  One after another, he spent his remaining arrows. He had four left when the dragon stood on its hind legs, puffing its chest. Shain had spent the last couple minutes trying to maneuver back to her now-cooled cloak, but the dragon had pushed her back every time. When it breathed again, she'd have no protection at all.

  "Last chance, Joti." Her voice was tired but still defiant. "Run. Before it's picking its teeth with your ribs."

  The dragon inhaled with a cavernous rush, its nostrils flaring so wide Joti could see the redness of its sinuses. As if it wasn't about to breathe fire, but to sneeze it.

  Goosebumps swept over Joti's body. He drew back his arrow, sighting down its shaft toward the circle of red. And let fly.

  For a split second, as the arrow reached the dragon's head and vanished, Joti thought he'd missed completely. Then the dragon's head snapped back. It pawed at its own face, gouging its cheek, and tilted to its left. Its ankles buckled. It crashed down, blood streaming from its nostrils and melting the snow into clouds of steam.

  Shain stood across from it, sword held out to her side, body frozen. The dragon's left claws twitched. Spurred from her shock, Shain jumped forward, turning her blade point-down and driving it into the dragon's right eye. Blood sprayed her to the elbows. The beast lay still.

  Shain jerked her sword free, backing off. She whirled to face Joti, who'd edged closer to her. "Do you know what you've done?"

  "What are you talking about? Wasn't I supposed to kill it?"

  "Don't you understand? People don't kill dragons. Dragons kill people. And humans. And dwarves. And dragar. And armies of people, humans, dwarves, and dragar. And griffins and wyverns and probably a hungover god or two while they're at it. I've never known anyone who's killed a dragon. I've only met two people who even survived one."

  "In that case, it sounds like I should be made a Marshal." He gazed down at the dead monster. Horns curved from its massive head. Its body was as long as the trees were tall. Its scales sheathed it in the hardest armor he'd ever seen, yet were flexible enough that it could bend its neck like a snake. The black stripes on its white body made it look like a part of the winter forest come to life. "It was so…majestic. I almost feel sad."

  Shain snorted. "Console yourself with the fact that the alternative was to become a majestic pile of its shit. Let's go fetch the others."

  She donned her cloak and backtracked toward the ravine. She'd suffered a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious enough to slow her down—either that, or she hid it well. They descended a path into a crevice, the walls of which grew higher and tighter as they went along.

  "Hello?" Shain's voice echoed down the ravine. "Any shivering cowards in here?"

  Nod popped up from behind a rock. "Shain?" Nod did something Joti had never seen before: she laughed. "How did you get away? Where's the dragon?"

  "The dragon," Shain said, "is dead."

  "No. No!"

  "Don't get too broken up about it. I'm sure there are plenty of others who would be happy to meet you."

  "But how did you kill it?"

  "By rescuing a young boy from slavery."

  Nod cocked her head, puzzled, then gawked at Joti. "Him? How?"

  "Arrow up the nose. Just as it was trying to torch me. Brilliant little trick—and an even luckier shot."

  "Never heard of such a thing." Nod shook her head slowly, then locked eyes with Shain. "Have to get the body back to the Peak. Before it corrodes."

  "I'm taking Joti to Hongold. We'll hire a wagon."

  "Go. Run. Run with all the strength of your legs."

  Shain grinned at Nod's excitement, tipped her cap—which had somehow survived the battle, although it was singed on its peak and brim—and jogged out of the ravine. She headed downhill to the east.

  "Why are you worried about the body rotting?" Joti said. "It's the middle of winter."

  "If you don't treat the scales fast enough, they get brittle. If we hurry, I think we'll have time to save some of them. It's the flame ore I'm really worried about."

  "Flame ore? Marshal, have you forgotten I can still barely read my own name?"

  "Flame ore comes from way down in a dragon's guts. It's said it's what they use to make their fire. Use the ore in the forging of a weapon, and you'll have the hardest, sharpest edge you've ever seen. Can't wait to see what our smith can do with it."

  "Can I see it when it's done?"

  She gave him a funny smile. "I don't think you understand. As the one who killed the dragon, you'll get a share of its wealth—assuming we can get them back to the Peak before they break down."

  He found he didn't know enough to ask any more. "What about its hoard? Even I know dragons have hoards."

  "That one was a little young to have much of a hoard. Anyway, it must have moved in this winter or else we would have known about it already. Doubt it brought much with it. But we'll send a search party once we're home just in case."

  The battle and his nerves had left Joti sluggish, but he pressed onward, tapping into the stamina he'd built over those long-ago morning runs with the other Half Soldiers. After a while, he remembered that Tull had died, yet the meaning of this seemed unable to take root in his heart.

  By dusk, the settlement of Hongold spread below them in the snowy hills, a few dozen rough-looking wooden structures arranged around a road heading north toward the border.

  "Your next assignment is to keep your mouth shut." Shain slowed to a walk. "And most definitely don't say anything about dragons."

  Rowdy laughter filtered into the hills. As they entered the main road, Joti donned his toughest expression. The air smelled like wood smoke and roasting meat. With the sun down, it had gotten bitterly cold, talk and laughter muffled by closed shutters.


  Shain made her way to a livery that seemed large for such a middling town. The front room was quiet, helmed by a lone man sitting at a table in the company of a heavy mug that smelled of spiced rum.

  "I need a cart and a team," Shain said. "The strongest you got."

  The man looked up owlishly. "Got a strike, do you?"

  "A strike?"

  He chuckled and quaffed his drink. "I seen too much for you to play dumb. You hit a vein. Mithril."

  A calculating look flashed over Shain's face, replaced with a smirk. "I wouldn't be the first, would I?"

  "Last few months, been more strikes than I got toes to count 'em. I ain't seen so many strangers around since the Battle of the Bloody Hills pushed the border onto our doorstep."

  "Been any trouble from it?"

  "A few bodies and more than a few fights. Bad blood's brewing between the Toggons and the Criks. If you don't got any guards out at your site, might want to hire some." He sniffed. "That is, if you can find any left to hire."

  Joti could tell Shain wanted to ask more—there was a whiff of trouble in the air, which drew Marshals like dogs to the scent of boiled chicken—but she directed the drunkenly talkative stablemaster back to the matter of the horse team. The amount he asked for made Joti's eyes bulge, yet Shain counted out the gold after a minimum of haggling. The man rousted a pair of grooms to help ready the team. Within an hour, they were plodding through the frigid night on the way back to Cail's Ravine.

  They reunited with the others just after dawn. They'd already cut the dragon up into liftable pieces. As they loaded the wagon with butchered monster, Joti promptly fell asleep on the driver's bench.

  Hours later, he woke to the sound of urgent whispers and weapons being readied. His peers were walking beside the wagon and peering into the forest, bows in hand.

  He hopped down and found Kata. "What's going on?"