Chapter 23

The night was quiet between the pine trees. It was also cold. Peony sat where he could see what he was doing by moonlight. He was glad he’d practiced this several times. His hands were shaking and this was making it harder.

Peony held up the plank and inspected his work. The lines were all where they should be. He nodded and closed his eyes, drawing it in his mind one more time to make sure. He opened his eyes. The lines matched.

Peony stood, one hand on a tree for balance. He looked up and caught the glint of moonlight on the dragon. He had followed it. The dragon had stopped circling and flown away from the valley.

When the dragon had flown overhead, Peony got up to follow and then fell down. His whole body was sore in a way he never knew was possible, and his legs shook so bad it took two tires to stand. Once he started moving, he stopped shaking as much, but pain had replaced unsteadiness. Once he reached the top of the hill, he rested, sure the dragon would be long gone, but he searched the sky for it anyway.

Then he spotted it. It was circling again, this time somewhere away from the valley. He began moving in that direction, wary of getting too close while the dragon was in the air. He got as close as he dared, then sat down and began drawing. He’d been glad he was carrying the plank when he was climbing the hill. He’d used it as a crutch. It had kept him from falling several times.

Peony watched for another glint of moonlight. He spotted it. The dragon was lower. He was sure of it. If it was landing, it would be safe to get close.

‘Safe to get close?’ Peony thought. ‘Only if getting eaten is safer than being blown to smithereens.’

Peony chuckled, which brought the stabbing in his chest back, and his smile turned into a grimace.

“Ow,” he muttered. “Why does it feel so sharp?”

He felt at his chest, and it didn’t have anything stabbing into it that he could find. It was tender and sore, like the whole thing was a black eye. He didn’t take his shirt off and look. It was cold and dark. Besides, he had a dragon to kill.

He looked up again, standing still between two of the tall pines. The smell of the trees beside him was like the freshest day at market he’d ever experienced. They had a green, sharp smell that filled his head. He didn’t know if it was the pain, the night, or the danger that sharpened his senses like this, but he was reveling in it. He took as deep a breath as he dared, stopping before the stabbing got too bad. He took a step to the side, feeling worried. He hadn’t seen a glint. Where was the dragon?

He heard a distant crash. He listened. Was that a tree falling? Someone screamed. He heard men yelling. It was happening ahead of him, through the trees. The dragon uttered its unmistakable guttural growl. Peony nodded.

“Found it,” he said.

He began moving forward again, following the sounds of mayhem.

***

Sigrun tasted blood. There was movement in front of her…

The soldiers hadn’t given her time to think. She’d said the first thing that came to mind. She had to say something. She needed Tythos. So she’d struck a bargain with the dark figure, but hadn’t been prepared for the pain. It felt like she was being torn in half. It had reached inside of her…

Sigrun cried out and went to one knee. Bright lights popped in her vision as she was eviscerated. It took everything she had to stay upright. If she went all the way down, she was dead. The soldiers would be on her before she could rise. As the pain scaled back from world ending to merely feeling like she’d been gutted, her vision began to clear.

One of the soldiers had closed on her and was driving his sword at her face. She raised her arm, swatting the blade up. The tip missed her eye by a finger and skidded off the side of her helmet. The man followed through and hit her with his shoulder, trying to knock her over. Sigrun rolled her shoulder forward, getting her center of gravity lower than his. He bounced off her, falling flat as she lunged to her feet.

The other soldiers were closing, two in front with a hand on their blades, half-swording to try and get past her plate, and two going wide to swing at her flanks. Sigrun heard a sharp snap, and something pulled at her leg. She’d been shot. Sigrun tried to pivot to meet the man moving to flank, but her leg only moved halfway and she stumbled. The man in front drove for her armpit before she caught her balance. His sword came up and bit into her chain as she stopped the stroke with an arm over the blade. She got her balance and pushed back as the man behind swung for her exposed flank. She couldn’t disengage, he was going to open up her groin.

The man behind her fell out of sight with a scream. This seemed to take everyone off guard as they all paused to look.

A dark figure rose from the place where the man had fallen.

“What are you waiting for?” Said the creature. “Kill them.”

Sigrun swung her elbow forward and flattened the man who was driving for her armpit. Disentangled, she got her sword up to meet a second charge. Putting a hand on the blade, she drove the point through the eye of the man running at her. She spun, reversing her grip on the sword and smashed the man flanking her with the hilt. His stroke bit into her leg as he went down. He tried to roll away and she drove her sword into his chest.

The two men she had knocked down were up and trying to get on opposite sides of her. Sigrun freed her sword and raised her guard.

“It’s heeere,” said the dark figure.

Sigrun and both soldiers looked at the dark figure.

“Oh. You can all see me now, fascinating,” said the figure. “It’s a shame you’re all about to die. I would adore the chance to mess with your little minds.”

Something massive crashed into the camp, shaking the ground with the impact. The three combatants and the dark figure turned to look as a gleaming white form rose to tower above the tents. Leathery wings, large as sails on a ship, were spread wide to either side of it. It let out a growl so loud it rattled the plates of Sigrun’s armor. Someone screamed. Men all across the camp started shouting.

The dark figure stepped up beside Sigrun. The soldiers seemed to have forgotten about her.

“Looks like the sigil worked,” said the dark figure.

“That’s a dragon,” Sigrun breathed.

The dragon folded its wings, looking around at the chaos it had caused with reptilian disdain. Sigrun had read about dragons, had seen them depicted in tapestry, but hadn’t thought they were real. No one she knew had ever seen one. Talk in the palace held that commons were full of stupid superstitions. Such as dragons.

“You dare!” The dragon spoke, its voice like thunder.

The dragon’s tail lashed, crashing through several tents.

“Breach the compact!” it roared, the sound making Sigrun’s head hurt.

The dragon lashed out and came up with a man in its jaws.

“We are your gods,” said the dragon. “You have forgotten your place.”

Sigrun realized it wasn’t using its mouth to talk. It lashed out with its tail again and pounced forward. Men screamed.

“Awfully full of himself,” said the dark figure. “Don’t you think? They aren’t gods you know. I know the gods. I’ve met them. Actually, it has the wrathful arrogance part right, but they’re really not gods.”

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“What do we do?” Sigrun asked.

“Stop standing around staring, and try to get far away,” said the dark figure. “It might let one or two live, so they can spread the news. If you’re far away with Tythos, you can be the two by default. Easier not to chase you down. As long as you don’t make a game of it. Dragons are a lot like cats. Just don’t run.”

Sigrun mentally shook herself and headed for Tythos. Her leg wasn’t working right. She limped to where she’d left him. He lay unconscious. She knelt and felt for the beat of his heart. She found it, but had no idea if it was a good beat or not. She looked at the dark figure.

“How is he? Will he live?”

“How is he? Boorish and pig headed. Will he live? That depends of if you let the dragon get him. If you meant, ‘did what we did work?’ That’s yet to be seen. Magic doesn’t always do what you want.”

People screamed in the camp behind her. She could do this. She just had to get Tythos to safety.

Sigrun got his arm over her shoulders and lifted him into a carry. She grunted as she stood. He was heavier than he looked. She settled him across her shoulders. She took a step.

Her leg buckled, going completely limp and spilling them both to the ground. She was hurt worse than she thought.

“Well that didn’t work,” said the dark figure. “Are you even trying? Why are you so big if you can’t carry a short man?”

It was standing nearby, watching her efforts with an amused look on its face. Sigrun glared up at it.

“I don’t see you helping.”

“I can’t touch him without his permission, and he didn’t give it.” It stuck its tongue out at her.

Sigrun glanced at the camp. Some of the soldiers had organized and were marching towards the dragon in a line. They had armed with pikes and crossbows. The dragon was ignoring this, instead chasing individuals around, or through the tents, and pouncing on them.

With the way its toothy mouth curved into a permanent reptile grin, and its eyes lit with joy, it seemed to be taking malicious glee in the deaths of the men it caught. Pouncing and slapping like a cat at play, just as the dark figure had said.

The dragon caught a man in its jaws and threw him up into the air, only to sit underneath, its jaw cracked in that toothy grin, waiting until he came down and then catching him in its claws. It slammed him to the ground with enough force that Sigrun felt it shake. It then looked up and pounced on someone else.

Sigrun struggled to her feet, testing her weight on the leg before standing. It held. She gave up on the idea of carrying Tythos and instead got behind him and prepared to drag. This gave her a view of what was going on in the camp as she moved.

“You’re not going to get very far if you keep bleeding like that.”

“Yeah,” Sigrun gritted her teeth, “I can’t fix that and save him at the same time.”

She was beginning to get lightheaded. She pushed this aside. She focused on breathing and the steps she was taking, as she dragged Tythos across the ground.

“After our exchange, I could try and… touch you.” The emphasis the creature put on the words made it sound like it was offering something lewd. “Do I have your permission, to… touch you?”

Sigrun gave the dark figure a flat look.

“You’re deranged. Are you fucking serious with this right now? Can’t you see I’m trying to save us?”

“Of course, we both have a better chance if you let me stop your bleeding.”

Sigrun blinked at the creature walking beside her. Its luminescent eyes were wide in a look of innocence. Doubt crept in around the edges.

“You can do that?” She shook her head. “Yes. Fine. Do it. I thought you meant… something else.”

“Something else? Myyy, someone had a dirty mind, and at a time like this too… you should pull that quarrel out of your leg first.”

“No time,” Sigrun glared at the dark figure. “Deal with the cut— if you can really do anything about it.”

“Have it your way. Hold still.”

Sigrun stopped. The creature’s hand flowed into smoke. It drifted into a thin tendril and began to punch holes in her leg around the gash. The smoke turned to thread and began to pull the sides of the cut shut. She clenched her teeth and watched the dragon’s progress through the camp.

As she watched, the dragon caught a man by the upper torso with its jaws. It shook him so violently he tore in half. The lower torso remained attached by strings of meat and guts. This hung from the beast’s mouth like a macabre marionette, the legs twitching and kicking, as it swallowed the man’s upper half.

The dragon noticed the line of men forming up and drew itself up to its full height. It raised a taloned foot and tore the lower half of the man off the ribbons of flesh hanging from its jaw. Instead of pouncing, it puffed out its chest looked at them. Its white scales were red with gore, dripping from its mouth and staining most of its front. Scraps of wet meat and bloody cloth hung from the exposed teeth of its crocodile grin.

“Yes,” rumbled the dragon. “Come willingly and worship me. Fall down before me and I will choose one to live.”

One of the soldiers broke the line and charged forward with his pike, aiming at the monster’s chest. The dragon didn’t move, seeming instead to invite the blow. Sigrun leaned forward, willing the man to strike true. The line of men seemed to be holding their breath, as silence fell over the field. Screaming defiance, the soldier drove the pike home at a full run, right were the beast’s heart should be. With the sound of hammer on anvil, the blade of the weapon broke against the dragon’s chest and the soldier stumbled, losing his grip on the pole. The man went to his knees, trying to control his momentum. Before he could rise, the dragon stepped on him. It was a casual movement, like placing a boot heel on a bug.

“Good,” the dragon said. “Who else will kneel before me, that one might be spared? Alive only to carry a message.”

“Alll, doooone,” sang the dark figure.

Sigrun glanced down. Her leg was sewn shut with the neatest line of stitches she’d ever seen. She tested her weight on it. It was much better. She began dragging Tythos again. She needed to get as far away from the dragon as she could. With the way it’d fallen out of the sky on the camp, she didn’t know if anywhere would be far enough.

“How can can creatures like this be real and people say they’re only superstition?” Sigrun muttered.

“Humans have a lovely ability to ignore things that are inconvenient,” said the dark figure.

“Inconvenient? This seems pretty fucking hard to ignore.”

One of the soldiers gave a command and the front line of men knelt. A man in back seemed to be singing, standing in a dramatic pose, one hand outstretched. Two men stepped up beside him and joined in. Their melody blended, harmonizing. One of the men fell out of the song and lines of blue energy rose from him and wrapped the two remaining singers. They both began to glow. The second man fell out of the song. He stepped forward and raised his hands over the line of crossbowmen.

“Fire!”

The line of men released their bolts. They exploded on impact. A series of bright flashes that produced booms Sigrun felt in her chest. The last man must have finished, because lightning shot from his hand, striking the dragon. The blinding light and clap of thunder knocked Sigrun’s senses from her and she stumbled. She struggled up, trying to see if it’d worked. If they’d gotten the dragon. She didn’t know there were thaumaturges here.

Her ears were ringing and the flashes and lightning had ruined her night vision. The dragon’s voice cut through the night, the deep resonance making her head hurt, it came through clearly, though she couldn’t hear anything else.

“Then you all shall die.”

She felt a vibration through the ground, like a heavy impact. She got hold of Tythos again and resumed her struggle to get away.

Her vision cleared before her hearing returned and she saw the dragon rampaging through the camp. It was no longer playing with the men, killing them one at a time, it was now using its tail and talons to great effect. It took it a matter of moments to level half the camp. It turned, facing away from her and toward the remaining tents. They lit up with a red glow like they were facing a large fire. The light disappeared and another peal of thunder rolled out from the camp. Sigrun was knocked flat.

Groaning, she sat up. A sharp smell stung her eyes and nose, reminding her of iron in a forge. A pillar of smoke rose into the sky. Sigrun stared at where the camp used to be. Nothing moved but the smoke.

Sigrun was speechless. Was everybody dead? She hadn’t even gotten across the open field. Had the dragon and the thaumaturges killed each other? The dark figure stood next to her looking back at the smoke.

“Is it… dead?“ Sigrun swallowed. Her mouth felt dry.

“Nooo,” the dark figure said, its mouth distending into a frown. “They’re not that easy to kill…”

“Easy?” Sigrun looked at the devastation as the smoke cleared.

The camp was flattened. For a moment she felt rising hope. She didn’t see the dragon. Maybe it was dead. Then the smoke moved and she saw moonlight gleaming off white scales. The dragon stood amidst the destruction. Its scales were no longer bloody, they shone a pristine white, blasted clean and unmarked.

Sigrun struggled back to her feet and began dragging Tythos again. The dragon turned its head and eyed her. It began stalking her direction. Its movements unhurried and languid.

“You rejected the offer,“ rumble the dragon.

Sigrun gritted her teeth. The words of her commanding officer echoed in her head, “by any means necessary.“

Sigrun let go of Tythos and walked forward to kneel before the approaching creature. Her stomach twisted, but she’d do whatever it took.

“I’m not part of this camp!” She shouted. “I did not attack you, let me leave and I will carry your message.“

“Don’t waste your breath,” said the dark figure. “Dragons can’t tell the difference between men. As far as it’s concerned, you’re the same one who just shot lightning at it. Besides, it doesn’t understand you. You have to speak dragon.”

The dragon’s only response was a long low growl. It came to a stop in front of her, and Sigrun stood to meet her fate. She drew her sword and stared up at the beast towering above her. She’d done everything she could. She drew back her sword, prepared to die fighting. The dragon opened its maw, the rictus grin on its reptile head making it appear amused.

Sigrun heard running footsteps. One of the dragon’s yellow eyes swiveled toward the sound. Sigrun couldn’t help but look too. A figure was running across the snow, a skinny man in loose clothes, brandishing what looked like a board. He began a falsetto chant and Sigrun recognized who it was.

“Peony?”

His chant reached a crescendo with a last high note that he held as he ran right up to the beast and slapped it with his board. The sight was so incongruous that Sigrun and the dragon both stared at him. The board left a little black mark on the dragon’s folded wing, and Peony reached up and put his hand on it, releasing the long note he’d been holding.

“Hit it!” He yelled. “Hit it now, Sigrun! Hit it now!”

The dragon twitched its wing, a motion like shooing away a bug, and Peony went flying. He landed in a heap some distance away. When the wing retuned, the mark Peony had left was glowing.

“He did it,” said the black figure, disbelief evident in its voice.

The mark flashed. The dragon screamed. Sigrun struck. She plunged her greatsword into the dragon’s chest and it sank to the hilt. She’d expected it to bounce off. The dragon flailed, catching her with a foot and sending her flying, head over heels. She landed hard, the scream of the dragon becoming her whole world before everything went black.

***