Dragon with a Deadly Weapon

by Michael Angel

  “Is something the matter?” I asked. “Other than the obvious, I mean.”

  She snapped her beak as if annoyed.

  “I have led lances of my fellow griffins into battle,” she said. “I have slain many a wyvern in cold, green blood. Know that I do not frighten easily, Dayna.”

  “And now?”

  “Now? I do not know.” Holly looked down, flexing her lion’s paws. “I feel a shadow growing in my mind. Like something terrible is coming, and I am powerless to stop it.”

  “Me too,” Perrin said, in a near whisper. “I wake up every day, each time more scared. I keep having this dream.”

  My throat felt suddenly dry as I asked, “What dream?”

  “I dream about this place. This island. That it dissolves into pure white sand, like the kind you see in an hourglass. And then, it tips everyone and everything on it back into the darkness.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I declared. “This island is the top of a huge mountain that goes down deep into the ocean out there. It’d take an awful lot of magic to even scratch it.”

  Even as I spoke, I felt the hollowness of my words. I’d attempted to put on a brave face for Perrin. Yet his last words shook me.

  And then. it tips everyone and everything on it back into the darkness.

  Why ‘back’ into the darkness?

  I hadn’t had any bad dreams lately. But like Holly, something pressed into my mind. An unseen but inexorable pressure. Like something horrible would happen if I didn’t hurry up and act. If I didn’t do something.

  But what?

  There was only one answer I had for that.

  The gray of dawn was all I needed. I slipped into a pair of shorts and a fitted tee before tiptoeing to the door. I risked one glance back.

  Perrin was still asleep on his perch. Holly lay on her rug. She didn’t move, but her eyes were wide open and watched my every movement. Her expression was inscrutable, but under her stern eagle features I sensed a deep sadness.

  Without a word, she shifted position to face away from me.

  Heavy hearted, I left the château and made my way uphill.

  Destry’s tower loomed out of the morning mists as I walked up to his door. It took five heavy knocks before he answered. But the door finally opened.

  My mentor’s bristly hair looked even more unkempt than usual. Almost as if he’d been tossing and turning in his sleep. He’d answered the door dressed in nothing more than a pair of powder-white beach slacks.

  “I don’t need to ask why you’re here, ma chére,” he said, with an air of resignation. “I know what plays upon your mind.”

  “If you know that,” I said, “then you can tell me what I need to do.”

  “What you need to do is come inside.”

  He held the door open as I stepped into his inner sanctum for the first time.

  Destry’s place was part art gallery and part junk shop. The smell of Gauloise cigarettes mixed incongruously with fresh pineapple, which made my nose twitch. Mobiles made of driftwood marked with white paint hung from the high ceiling, slowly twirling in the air currents from below.

  Tapestries covered white-painted walls. They depicted strange creatures like an elfin girl with butterfly wings, blue-hued pegasi, even a bizarrely equine creature wreathed in flame. The modern pieces of bric-a-brac including a vintage brass gramophone and a pair of globe-shaped gas pumps right out of the 1940’s.

  A gray stone stairway wound along the curved wall of the tower. It curved upward until it reached a wide landing on the second floor. The landing itself was stuffed with strange items. I made out a potted palm, a stand filled with wood-handled umbrellas, and a gigantic china cabinet that displayed a collection of what had to be more than two hundred souvenir spoons.

  Yet that wasn’t what grabbed my attention. That was reserved for the heavy wooden door on the far side of the landing. Iron bars wrapped around the wood, reinforcing it. Below the handle lay a large medieval-style keyhole, one large enough for a key three fingers wide.

  A pulse of ruby-red light came from that hole.

  “What is that?” I whispered, as I felt my knees tremble.

  Destry didn’t have to ask what I was referring to.

  “That? That is your reward for passing your examen final. And if you pass…”

  “Yes? What happens if I pass?”

  “Then everything will change,” he said miserably. “Permanently. Irrevocably.”

  “Not everything,” I said firmly, as I put my olive-tanned hand atop his darker one. “It doesn’t matter if I’m an ordinary person or if I’m a sorceress. Destry, I’m never going to lose what I feel for my friends. I’d never lose the loyalty and respect I feel for you right now.”

  A look of pain crossed his face as he absorbed my words. Then he staggered away from me as if I’d punched him in the gut.

  I blinked in amazement as Destry groped his way across the room to lean against the wall. I moved to help him, but he waved me off. Drawing in what seemed a tortured breath, he ascended the stairs to stand about two-thirds of the way up.

  He turned and spoke to me once more.

  “Your final test is to defeat me in a duel.” He straightened up and flexed his wrists. “If you can get by me and open that door, you will have passed.”

  “Are you serious?” I gaped.

  “En garde, Dayna,” came the reply.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Destry didn’t launch an attack, so I approached the base of the staircase, considering. I’d picked up some muscle, thanks to Holly’s sparring and fitness regimen. I felt that muscle flex as I pulled in my Will and felt a tingle as energy rushed into my body.

  Energy that was ready for me to throw like a lightning bolt, to construct a shield. The air here was magically charged, but that would fuel Destry as well. I’d have to think differently if I was going to get an edge on him.

  “Okay, I’m up for this” Suddenly, I jabbed a finger towards the landing behind him as I screamed. “What the hell is that behind you?”

  To my amazement, he fell for it.

  “What?” he asked, as he whirled in alarm.

  I charged up the stairs, loosing the bolt of energy I’d stored inside at my target. A flash, and it hit my mentor square in the chest. He staggered a step back and let out a grunt as I took the stairs two, three at a time, trying to close the gap between us.

  Yes, I’d played a dirty card there. In my defense, I was trying to pass an exam in sorcery, not ethics. A whiff of smoke rose from the thumbnail-sized scorch mark I’d created just below his collarbone.

  “Merde!” he cursed, as he flung two bolts in my direction.

  I managed to block one with a hastily raised shield. The second stunned me and almost knocked me down, but I’d closed half the gap between us. I bounced back up and swung my arm down. This time, Destry was ready. He merely gestured, and my spell glanced off him.

  Grimacing, I redoubled my efforts.

  Bolts of energy sizzled as I sent them singing through the air. Destry moved the palms of his hands as if spreading out a piece of cloth, and then held the gesture. A barely-visible shimmer hung in the air before him like a liquid pane of glass, blocking my magic.

  I tried to hammer my way through it. That didn’t get me anywhere. Then, I tried making a couple bolts ricochet off the wall to get around Destry’s shield. I even tried the kindle-lighting trick to set his hair on fire.

  Nothing got through.

  I paused and fell to one knee, gasping for breath. Destry didn’t remove the ripple that hung in the air between us, but he did lower his hands. His voice sounded critical, disapproving.

  “You are quickly burning through all your stored power. Remember, sorcery relies on what energy you can absorb before a duel begins. You are spending yours unwisely. Are you ready to yield?”

  I looked down, pounding my fist against the step in apparent frustration. Actually, I was just buying time. Time to catch my breath, time to pull i
n more power, time to figure out what I was going to do. Because the ‘forward smash’ thing wasn’t working at all.

  Not for the first time, I dearly wished that I could do the ‘shooting into orbit’ thing again. But that wasn’t happening. First off, I didn’t want to hurt my mentor. Second, it had been made clear to me that I couldn’t do that trick again. Destry had told me how he’d altered things so I had a chance to pass my midterm.

  Wait a minute, my brain pointed out. What exactly did he say about that?

  My breath caught as I remembered something Destry had said.

  I have cleared away much of the ‘clutter’ around the objects in my demesnes so that you or I can easily manipulate them.

  This tower was his inner sanctum. That made it part of his demesnes, didn’t it?

  I squinted, looking at the lignes about me. Specifically, the one gray-black line indicating the stone step Destry stood upon. No, I couldn’t snap it, but I could reach out with my mind and give it a twang.

  The step heaved upwards and then shattered into gravel on the way back down. Destry’s eyes went wide as he fell forward, his hands scrabbling on the smooth edge of the stairway as he tried not to fall off. I leaped up the steps, calves burning as I charged past him. I skidded on the landing, knocking over his umbrella stand, as I turned to grab the red-tinged door handle.

  A zap, and I landed on my back, dazed for a moment.

  A grunt, some heavy footsteps, and Destry appeared in my field of vision. He stood over me, gazing down sternly. His hand glowed with magical energy as he pointed at my throat, pinning me in place.

  “You should have anticipated that I would set a stunning trap upon the door,” he gritted. “Yield. Or else I might harm you.”

  My fingers closed around something hard and hook-shaped at my side. The handle of one of the umbrellas that had fallen in my mad scramble to reach the door. I shifted my grip so that I had a firm hold, the way Holly had taught me.

  “Well,” I sighed, “I suppose I gave it my best shot.”

  Then I swung the umbrella across my body as hard as I could.

  I caught Destry across the back of one leg. He let out a startled cry as he fell backwards. In a flash, I was up on my knees and had the umbrella’s sharp metal point at his throat.

  “I yield,” Destry said, wincing. “You have passed. I am defeated.”

  I set my makeshift weapon aside, got to my feet, and helped him up. He winced as he rubbed one knee. I wasn’t sure who was more troubled by the result: Destry, or me.

  “Did I really pass?” I asked. “I mean, I didn’t best you in magic. I never got past your shield.”

  “Besting me in magic? N'est rien d'important! This was never about magic!”

  I frowned. “It wasn’t? But all my training…”

  He shook his head. “You did just the right thing. The thing I had both feared and hoped for.”

  “What was that?”

  “You kept fighting,” he said, and his voice grew heavier with each word. “Even when you were clearly defeated and in my power, you kept on fighting. And who knows? You may turn defeat into victory yet.”

  Destry paused for a moment. He leaned against the wall and looked up, eyes closed and hands clenched into fists.

  “Mon Dieu,” he muttered, “I thought I was stronger than this. Dayna, I have removed the barrier from the door so that we may enter together. You are ready to go through…and I fear that I am not.”

  “Destry, you’re not making any sense!”

  “It shall be clear in a few moments, chére.” He gathered himself up and limped over to where he could grasp the door handle. “Are you ready to write the end of this story? Or, perhaps, a new ending altogether?”

  I simply nodded. I didn’t know what would come next. But I did know one thing. Despite my mentor’s grave-sounding words, my story wasn’t going to end here. I wouldn’t let it.

  He swung the door open with a creak. Lighting that could have graced Hell’s antechamber streamed through the opening. I swallowed, hard.

  And then I stepped through, with Destry at my side.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  A darkened cathedral of a place existed on the other side of the door. One that was drenched in bloody red pulses of light from a gigantic ruby crystal that lay across the room. Piles of stone rubble lay scattered across the cavernous space.

  The air was heavy with what I first thought was mist. A couple lungfuls convinced me otherwise. The ‘mist’ was suspended rock dust. The sour-tasting dust and out-of-place scents of peppermint made me cough.

  To one side, someone had carved a mural-sized image of a dragon onto the stone wall. The image was startlingly realistic. In fact, it would have made a museum-worthy piece of art had the upper third not been marred by a charred hole several feet across.

  The realism was confirmed by comparing the sketch with the actual subject. The creature was a thing of sinister beauty, with armor plates that matched the scarlet pulses of light and spinal scales like a stegosaurus. A spiky skull and razor-sharp teeth jutted out from a blocky, hook-snouted face.

  Most interesting of all was the fact that the dragon wasn’t moving. Neither was anything else. Either I was looking at the world’s most detailed diorama, or some potent form of spellcraft was at work.

  Destry remained where he stood, his eyes downcast. I saw more shapes clustered about the monster’s front, so I went to get a better look. A large black horse with a bristling mane and flaming yellow eyes stood before the dragon. My pulse quickened as I came across streaks of blood. I made out the shape of a stag by the far wall. It wasn’t moving either.

  But that wasn’t all.

  A woman lay under one of the dragon’s forelimbs. She’d been pinned in place on either side of her torso by a pair of the creature’s massive talons. Her hair was a black tangle, her face a mask of sheer terror. A rivulet of fresh blood streamed from one nostril.

  I let out a gasp as I walked further around her body to see her face from another angle.

  It was me. Dayna Chrissie, in the flesh.

  But how? Why? How could this person be me?

  This couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be. I had a dozen reasons it couldn’t, and another dozen equally valid ones after that. Maybe I was mistaken, and this was someone else. I wasn’t this frail-looking thing. I wasn’t skinny and pale and broken, being squeezed to death under a damned dragon’s…

  A sudden slam of pain racked my rib cage, breaking my trail of thought.

  I turned and ran, skidding to a stop before Destry. My voice rang off the high stone ceiling.

  “All right, I don’t know what’s going on here,” I demanded. “But if this is my reward, then you’re playing a terrible joke on me.”

  “This is no joke, Dayna,” Destry said, in a voice so soft, I could barely hear him. “And now you shall know the full truth.”

  He reached out and laid his palm against my forehead. I felt my mind perform its signature move whenever it figured out something important - one of its weird clicks.

  Only this time, I felt someone else turning the key in the lock.

  A migraine’s worth of agony exploded between my temples. It felt like someone digging claws into my forehead. I fell to my knees, lost my balance, and then toppled over as my brain turned white-hot, smoking from the assault.

  Pain, blood, feeling, memory and instinct churned together as Destry poured his energy into me. Sensory detail swamped my mind. The smell of coconut-scented sunblock. The taste of grilled mahi. The sound of Perrin’s laughter. The feel of Hollyhock’s warm fur as I embraced her. The endless string of magical tomes on energy, on strategy, on the Will and the Way, flashed before my eyes in a blur.

  A dark undertow pulled me down, choking me. It was like fighting to stay atop a tsunami. I finally went under.

  Someone pulled the plug on the universe, and the stars winked out.

  Everything came to an end.

  …and then…

&nbs
p; …and then…

  …and then…

  And then I sat up, breathing hard as memories flooded back in, like a surge tide. My finding the body at the downtown construction site. My arrival in Andeluvia. Grimshaw, Galen, and Liam joining me. Images of the Fayleene Woods, the Reykajar Aerie, the Sepulcher of the Eight Talons. My investiture. The Vale of the Seraphine, Bloodwine Holt, the ruins of Keshali, and the Everwinter Grove.

  I remembered it all, in perfect and vivid detail.

  Slowly, so slowly, I got to my feet.

  The night-black equine form of Destarius de Revasser stood before me. His eyes burned with a citrine fire as he tossed his mane. His tail twitched with anxiety or uncertainty.

  “What have you done to me?” I asked, and it hurt to hear how badly my voice shook. “Are you razing my mind? Tearing me down, so I’m a drooling idiot and a loyal acolyte to you and Sirrahon?”

  “Am I doing that?” Destry’s voice sounded inside my head as he let out an audibly horsey snort. “Let me ask you, then. How do you feel about serving our mutual friend, Monsieur Sirrahon?”

  “I’d rather die than serve him!”

  “How do you feel about me, chére?”

  “I swore to kill you the next time we met, and that hasn’t changed!”

  “Then it must be that I have done a pretty bad job of converting you, no?”

  I opened my mouth to shoot back some witty retort. But my voice died in my throat as I realized what Destry meant. I looked at the pooka again, this time in confusion.

  “Maybe you did? I feel like…I did before you entered my head. Like I’m pretty much the same person.”

  “When I studied under Master Wayfarer, I learned that there is no magic that can tear down and ‘remake’ a person. That is because we are all constructs of pattern and memory. At best, I could wipe your mind clean as a slate, leaving you amnésique et catatonique.”

  “But you told Sirrahon–”

  “I told Sirrahon exactly what he wanted to hear. I did that because I needed every scrap of magical energy I could absorb inside the Scarlet Crypt to perform the ultimate feat of spellcraft. To create a special moment in time, part dream, part something else. To bring you there, to immerse you in it.”