Chapter Fifteen – A Lesson in Heroism
Tara had never seen anything more terrifying. Not even Ikor the Skorge was this incredible.
Flame licked between the dragon’s jaws. The grimps were already retreating as the enormous creature advanced, wings scraping the rising terrain on either side and leaving jagged furious in the dirt. Tara was too shocked to move, staring up at the dragon in open horror. It was impossible to look at anything so massive and powerful and not feel overwhelmed.
She didn’t notice the figure that slid from somewhere between the dragon’s shoulders, using a rope to safely descend from the creature’s height. Tara was still shaking when Acalon reached her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, direct and brusque. When she shook her head he turned aside. “Come with me.”
“W-where are you g-going?” Tara’s teeth chattered, her limbs trembling uncontrollably.
“Grimps should not be so close to a pilgrims' pass,” said the dragon rider. “I will make certain they remember this night.” There was an eager slant in his shoulders, already inclining towards the darkness.
“C-can’t the dragon—”
“Dragons are deadly in open, flat spaces,” interrupted Acalon. “Not in the pocked, cavernous areas that the grimps choose to hide in. Fenryx will hunt those who are too stupid to find shelter. The rest are ours.”
He didn’t even look back to see if she was following him.
Tara watched the dragon rider’s long strides carry him forward. She looked down at her bloody hands and scorched clothes. The bitter grass was wearing off fast, and the pain was impossible to ignore.
But how can it be? Tara picked up her sword and instantly dropped it again, her raw palm unable to handle the weapon. This isn’t in the game. None of this. Being in danger never hurt so much…
The sound of a grimp horn made her gasp, fearing the creatures had come back for her. But only the dragon Fenryx seemed interested in her, before gathering his wings for flight.
“Acalon,” said Tara aloud. “Is he insane?”
The last question was purely rhetorical. She knew from the game that Acalon was reckless. He was also unkillable. During combat, his health could be taken to its lowest limit so that he was incapacitated during a fight, but it wasn’t possible for him to actually die.
The horn sounded again. This time, it felt less like a threat than an accusation. Even if Acalon couldn’t be killed, was she really alright with sitting here alone, waiting for the danger to pass while others fought against it? What if the grimps came back for her now that Fenryx was gone?
Acalon had said she wasn’t a warrior. Was he right?
Tara opened the satchel on her belt. She ate some more of the bitter grass, spitting at the foul taste but forcing herself to swallow. She picked up her sword with both hands.
“This is so stupid,” she complained, forcing herself to move. But at least the bitter grass helped.
Her knees were shaking. It was difficult to walk straight. Tara couldn’t help resenting that weakness, when she didn’t feel so afraid now. Mostly she felt withdrawn, numb. Some of that had to do with the bitter grass. The rest, she knew, was probably the result of being completely stunned.
She didn’t want to think about her injured hands as she forced herself to move forward. This was the last time she was letting Wenrik and Horon ever purchase a horse for her. Next time, she was choosing the animal herself.
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I hope they got away, she thought. Somehow it made her feel stronger to imagine Elita, Wenrik, and Horon being far away from this horror. The last thing she wanted was to think of the little gnome surrounded by grimps.
The sound of steel against bone encouraged her that she was heading in the right direction. She cleared a steep, gravelly incline and was surprised by the glare of red light inside a cave sheltered by another rocky outcrop. When she went inside, Acalon wasn't using his bow but his knives for close-range combat. It must have been an added enchantment that ignited the blade of the knives he carried with fire.
There was no denying that Acalon was a born fighter. The Skor was brutal and swift, handling himself with an almost effortless, jaggedly direct purpose. All the Skor, even though their goal was to eventually ride a dragon and control its fire, were taught how to fight with their hands from an early age. Tara knew that their methods of teaching their young were often cruel. Those who never befriended a dragon were considered “wingless worms.”
The grimps were closing in. As skilled as Acalon was, their numbers were too many. With a rising sense of horror, Tara saw one of the monsters taking advantage of the dragon rider’s distraction to approach him from behind, four long arms outstretched.
“Behind you!” Tara shouted as she moved forward. Hearing her, several grimps turned their attention to her.
Oh my God, thought Tara. Please, please don’t let me die.
Acalon whirled, slipping under the grimp’s arms to cut off its head. The flames from his dagger leaped instantly to the monster’s dry bones. The monster flailed wildly, its arms and legs on fire, falling back into the darkness.
“They are weakest at the joints,” said Acalon, and Tara was surprised by how suddenly he stood beside her. “Remember to keep moving until you see your chance. Hold your blade sideways, like this. You aren’t thrusting. You’re cutting. Thrusts will never harm a grimp.”
Tara nodded, moistening numb lips. “I—I’m not supposed to do this yet. I’m not strong enough.”
“What are you talking about?” Acalon’s voice was harsh. “Any fool can kill a grimp if he knows how to strike.”
“But I’m only level—”
He wasn’t listening. One of the grimps had already engaged him in another fight to the death. Tara wished he had given her one of his burning knives.
At Acalon's back, she knew she was meant to defend him where he was blind. Tara tried not to think as several of the creatures feinted towards her. Man, they were ugly. They weren’t this disgusting in the game. They were disturbing, yes, but this was a whole new level when she was forced to see them up close. Every detail just made the horror of their appearance worse.
One of the grimps darted for her and Tara ducked its flailing claw. She tried to move under its arms as Acalon had done, but one of the monster’s talons caught her shoulder.
Tara slashed wildly with her sword. She was still holding the weapon at a slant, and the blade struck the grimp at the elbow, severing the arm that held her.
The monster's health bar appeared, a luminous red bar. Could Acalon see it? Tara wasn't sure. She was just impressed that her attack had already brought the grimp down to 5/7 of its full health.
Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as Ikor the Skorge after all.
The grimp swung back, balancing on its multiple arms to propel itself forward, its bony feet latching onto Tara. She didn’t quite feel the pain, but was grateful for her armor that protected her from the worst damage. The grimp’s impact knocked her down. From her position she slashed upwards, severing the grimp’s neck as it lowered its head to bite.
Eagerly, Tara climbed to her feet.
But the grimp wasn’t finished. It was still flailing for her, all those arms and legs. Impossibly, it was still alive.
Tara was so preoccupied that she didn’t notice the other grimps were dead. She didn’t hear the dragon’s distant scream, possibly as it unleashed another fury of flame against the rest of the fleeing monsters. And she didn’t realize that Acalon was watching her, standing over the ash remains of the grimp corpses with his knives lowered.
“Without its teeth, the grimp has lost its most damaging attack,” said Acalon, circling around. “But it can still kill you."
Tara didn’t quite dodge a swipe from the grimp’s talon. This time, she was aware of the sting and the trickle of blood on her cheek.
“Help me!”
“Fight.” The dragon rider remained where he was. “You have everything you need to survive.”
Tara didn’t know what he was talking about. The grimp had dragged her off her feet again and she protected her face from its raking claws with her arm. Her armor offered some protection, but she still screamed when the monster’s claw dug into her shoulder, trying to pin her into submission.
Blinded with pain, she swung her knife wildly. She didn’t know if she was slashing or thrusting. She didn’t care. She was sure she tasted her own blood.
She didn’t realize at once that the grimp was no longer moving. It took her a moment of simply breathing before she understood she wasn’t being torn apart, that she was still alive.
“You did it,” said Acalon, standing with his arms now folded, knives sheathed. “Well done.”