Chapter 24

Tythos woke to a demon leering at him, eyes too big, mouth too wide, full of jagged, sharp teeth. He sat up, reaching for the demon’s throat, ready for a fight. It was the nightmare. It laughed, leaning back from his reach.

“That never gets old,” the nightmare said, its smile growing into a grin. “I think you died for a little bit there. Did you see the other side?”

Tythos ignored the creature and its chatter. He’d been woken up this way every day for the last ten years. Longer than that. He’d been having a dream. It had already slipped into vagueness. He wanted to remember it. He’d been doing something important in the dream. He couldn’t remember what. It had felt good to be doing something like that again. He sighed and focused on where he was. It was time to go spend another day with the pigs and the dirt.

A breeze stabbed an icy chill into his back, biting at his skin. His clothes were wet, intensifying the chill. Had he slept outside? It was dark and his mind was fuzzy with sleep.

He scented something familiar on the wind. It tugged at his mind, bringing up the past. The cold smell of hot ash, blown out and chilled. Like a forge two days without a smith, all the fires gone dark. There was something else, a sickly-sweet musk of death, the smell of a predator. Tythos had a vivid flash of hunting dragons in the mountains, setting traps. People dying.

Tythos looked around, and cried out, leaping to his feet. A White lay mere feet away from him, its scales glittering in the starlight. It lay unmoving, and Tythos held his breath. If it was sleeping, he didn’t dare wake it.

Something was wrong. Things were out of place. Tythos looked up at the bright stars overhead. He’d never heard of a dragon sleeping outdoors.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Said the nightmare.

Tythos looked over, he would have tried to shush it, but most things couldn’t hear it, which was good, because he couldn’t make the nightmare shut up. Things began to come back to him, and he realized where he was. His plan must have worked if the camp was gone, and the dragon asleep. He had no idea why he was alive.

“They really did it,” the nightmare continued. “A boy with one sigil, and a single warrior.”

The nightmare spoke with a serious reverence Tythos had never heard from it before. He looked at the still form of the dragon, then back at the nightmare. He had no idea what would actually wake a sleeping dragon. He decided to risk sub-vocal speech. The nightmare could hear him no matter how quiet his words.

“What are you talking about?” Tythos said.

The nightmare’s eyebrows raised off its head. It gaped at him like he’d asked what direction up was. It gestured expansively at the dragon laying nearby. Tythos glared at the nightmare. It raised its eyebrows higher, exaggerating the expression it wore by elongating its face. It pointed at the dragon.

“Yes, I see the dragon. Pretend I’ve been unconscious and stop gesturing like an idiot, and use your words. Why is the dragon sleeping here? How long was I out? Who really did what?”

“Sleepiiiing?” The nightmare began to laugh. “After all this time, it finally happened. It’s right under your nose and you don’t believe it. You really have made a religion out of your mule headed stubbornness. You sweet summer barbarian child.”

Tythos took a closer look at the dragon. The moon had set and he had to study it by starlight. Between the snow and the white scales of the dragon, he could make out the shape of it. He was still getting used to having to use his human senses in the dark. It felt very limiting not to be able to see at night. He’d overhead men talking about feeling small, alone at night, far from a city. Approaching the still form of the beast, he now knew what they meant.

He walked right up to the dragon, close enough to touch it. The wrongness of this action screamed at him from his hindbrain. He pushed down the primal urge to run and studied the creature before him. Something was off. It pulled at his awareness. Below the level of conscious thought, he knew something was wrong. He studied the still form until it clicked. It wasn’t breathing. Unbelieving, Tythos reached out and placed a hand on the dragon’s side.

“It isn’t breathing,” Tythos whispered, his mind screaming, thoughts crashing together. He didn’t even dare think what he was hoping. Wide eyed, he looked back at the nightmare. It grinned at him and nodded.

“It’s dead,” the nightmare said.

Tythos looked back at the still form of the dragon.

“How?” He whispered.

He had read the legends, the old texts. The scrolls passed down from generation to generation, from an age forgotten. His father had told him it was the old way, belonging only to the past now. That it was foolish to wish for the past to return. Some things could not be changed, to try would only make him old and bitter. Tythos had tried, and when he failed, his father’s words had come back to haunt him. He was now old and bitter.

The nightmare was speaking, but the words were far away, insubstantial. Tythos had one hand on the dragon, somehow he had fallen to his knees. He didn’t remember kneeling. Something was wrong with his eyes. He reached up and found moisture. He was crying. This was a strange day. Tythos could remember the last time he had shed tears, a long time ago. He looked up at the stars overhead,

“There is a way,” he spoke the words reverently. “The gates to the hall may yet be opened to you—“

“You’re not listening,” sang the creature, shattering the moment.

“What?”

“Oh nothing… I was only telling you how the dragon was slain. Not anything important. Go back to whatever emotional fantasy you were just lost in. Ignore me, I’m sure nothing I have to say matters. ”

Tythos stood. He could speak with the dead later. A new path had opened before him and he needed to set his foot upon it before it was taken from him.

“Who did this?” Tythos asked the creature, gesturing at the dragon. “Who exactly? Was it one of the tower trained?”

The nightmare smirked at him, “Yes and no. You know who they are. Well, soon it will be: knew who they were.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you’re listening to me now?”

“Yes, goddamnit! Spit it out!”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“It’s just that I already told you once, and you couldn’t be bothered to listen.”

“So help me god, if you don’t tell me now, I’m going to make sure you only have squirrels to eat for the rest of your existence.”

“Well that’s just rude. Fine— as if you care— the pair that saved your life and then slew the dragon are lying nearby in the snow, freezing to death.”

“Bloody hell,” Tythos cursed. “Weak blooded southerners. I don’t understand how anyone could freeze to death in this— it’s not even cold! What are you waiting for? Lead me to them!”

“Not everyone has bear’s blood in their veins. Most humans are actually bothered by the cold.”

Tythos was about to start cursing at the nightmare, when it began trudging away, across the top of the snow. He followed. He could probably take the mystery pair of people to farmer Sagget’s before they froze, if they weren’t too weak-blooded. He needed to talk to Mr Sagget about the slow doom he’d set on the valley anyway.

***

Dawn had begun to lighten the horizon, putting the stars to bed in the soft blue of the coming day. The smell of pines and fresh snow made Tythos feel he was twenty again, carrying his message of hope to the northern tribes. He breathed deeply, imagining he was back in the northern mountains. That he’d been given a second chance and could do things better, armed with the knowledge of how to slay a dragon. This thought made the burden seem light, as he pulled the makeshift sledge, winding around the twisted scrub-oak.

He had found Sigrun and Peony in the snow. They were both unconscious, and both stood a good chance of dying from their wounds before the cold got them. Tythos had taken Sigrun’s dagger, he couldn’t find her sword, and cut a large enough section of dragon-wing to make a sledge he could drag the pair on. The nightmare recounted what had taken place while he worked. Sigrun’s sacrifice, the skinny kid managing to put a sigil on the dragon and activate it.

As Tythos dragged the unconscious pair, the nightmare led the way. He’d done what he could for their wounds, and was now determined to get them to farmer Sagget’s place before they froze.

“Using charcoal to transfer the sigil,” Tythos said. “Goddamn genius. Risky as all hell, but goddamn genius.”

“I told you we needed to do more experimentation with sigils on people,” said the nightmare.

“Human experimentation wouldn’t have led us to this, you just like watching people die.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“You remember we tried to get a sigil on a White.”

“Yes, how could I forget? Oh wait, the brain has a way of repressing trauma.”

“You don’t have a brain, you’re made of smoke.”

“Rude.”

He’d chosen the sigil for balefire. Using ropes and knots, he’d tied the pattern into the center of a net. This task by itself proved more difficult than he imagined. To ensure he could activate it, he’d ridden the net down onto the dragon. That had been how he’d found out being struck by lightning didn’t kill a dragon. It didn’t even seem to phase it. He’d blacked out and become tangled in the net, which was still attached to the dragon.

Tythos listened to the sounds the snow made under his feet with a smile on his face. The memory of his failure and near death seemed humorous in this moment. Everything seemed better, with a piece of one of the indestructible creatures in his hands. The knife had cut the wing. It was still some of the toughest hide he’d ever tried to cut, but it had cut. He’d marveled at it, even as he was aware of the need to hurry.

“I’m not made of smoke, you know,” the nightmare turned its head around backward to talk to him while it walked, its tone like a petulant child. “If you ever bothered getting to know me, you’d know this.”

“No,” Tythos said. “We’ve been over this. I’m not doing anything that will deepen our bond. No names, no details. I may be damned, but it’s my damnation. I won’t lose my soul to you.”

“You’re such a meanie. You know what it’s like, only having you for company?”

“Why don’t you take a vow of silence and let me find out?”

“Oh, ha ha. I’ve got someone else to talk to now, you know. Someone nicer than you. The sacrifice she made to save you made her part of us. She did it willingly. So you can’t take that away from me… unless you let her die.”

The nightmare elongated its neck and looked over Tythos’s shoulder at the burden he was dragging.

“Shut up and just lead the way,” Tythos snapped.

The creature blew a raspberry and withdrew its head. The reminder pulled the levity out of Tythos’s mood. He didn’t fully understand what’d happened while he was unconscious.

The nightmare told him that he’d been dying, having pushed too hard to activate the counter-ward and sigil. Sigrun had been inside the sigil when it was activated, somehow giving her the ability to see and hear the nightmare. She had also traded part of herself, willingly—if the nightmare was to be believed—to save his life. Then she’d dragged him to safety, and faced a dragon. He wanted to get the story from her. He didn’t trust the creature. It couldn’t lie to him, but what it said was often intentionally misleading.

They trudged on in silence. The burden Tythos pulled feeling heavier as he thought about it. Sigrun had given up her ability to bear children. The nightmare said it had reached inside of her and pulled it out; consumed it, to heal his broken body. This was dark magic. Blood magic. An evil he wanted no part of.

When he’d first bonded the creature, it’d made him promises of long life if he completed his bond with it. Told him of how he could sacrifice people and use their life to renew his. Tythos had rejected this path. He was only using the nightmare as a means to an end.

“This is as far as I can go,” the nightmare said.

It stood at the edge of a field, looking back at him. Tythos knew where he was now. He was at the edge of farmer Sagget’s land.

“Don’t let her die, now. We have sooo much to talk about,” the nightmare ginned at him, and winked.

Tythos shouldered past it, and headed for the little farmhouse that lay across the field. He didn’t look back, but he could feel the grin it wore. He wondered if he was doing the right thing, instead of letting her die, now that the creature had its claws in her.

***

Bird groaned and sat up, snow falling from him as he did so. He’d tackled Lance into a depression, stuffing both their mouths full of Child’s-Bane, a moment before disaster. Lance lay still, not even visibly drawing breath. Child’s-Bane had that effect if you took enough of it at once, slowing the heart and giving the appearance of death. It was a risk giving that much to someone who hadn’t developed a tolerance to it. Better the risk than the certainty of the dragon. He’d stuffed his own mouth with enough of it to be a risk.

He pulled the plant from his mouth with clumsy fingers. His lips and tongue were numb. The world around him seemed to be moving quickly. It took several attempts to open his flask and rinse out his mouth with water. It spilled from his lips onto his chest. It was impossible to spit with numb lips. Fumbling at a pocket in his cloak, he got out a sprig of Cat’s-Heart and shoved it between gums and lip. With drunken movements, he rolled Lance over and did the same for him. Bird sat and stared dumbly at the place where the farm had been.

The sun was peeking over the horizon, by the time his head started to clear. It smeared the skyline a bloody red, reminding him of the dragon-fire. Lance’s chest was rising a falling with even breaths now, which was a good sign. The man must have a strong heart. Bird shook his head.

They hadn’t followed him, instead running for the stable right before it was torn apart by unnatural lightning. He’d reached the cover of the trees and masked his presence from the dragon. From there, he’d witnessed things go from bad to worse. The White had shown up and begun playing with the soldiers, killing the men one at a time. Then the fool thaumaturge had done the unthinkable, using magic on the dragon. Cities would burn for this. The dragons would come and lay waste to them.

He had to try and get to them first, warn them. He also needed one of the thaumaturges. If he was the only surviving member of the party, the shadow men would come for him. Blame him. Not only him, but his friends and family. Anyone who might be friends or family. He’d seen an opportunity when Lance had made a run for it and taken a chance.

Bird got to his feet, taking a look around. He could see other farmhouses in the valley, whole and unmolested. Tythos must have succeeded in drawing the dragon off.

“That son of a bitch did it,” Bird said.

If he’d drawn the dragon to where he was, it was almost certain Tythos was dead. Sigrun was gone too. He’d lost track of Peony when he’d grabbed Lance. He would leave Lance with a farmer and see if the kid was still alive. Then he would track down Gina. Once the few party members he thought were alive were found and dealt with, he would go see if he could find what had become of Tythos.

Ten years. The official word to the citizens had been that Tythos was executed. But he’d been here. Right here in this valley for ten years. Bird watched the sunrise, wondering what he would have done if he had known. He wasn’t sure how he felt in this moment. Tythos had not been the man he expected. He was a killer, that wasn’t a question, but he was something more. He could at least tell the story of the day he met Tythos Tyrannous Rex. It had been a long day.

Bird maneuvered Lance around and shouldered him. He started walking towards a farmhouse he could see that had smoke rising from the chimney.

***