Flight of the Dragon (The Chronicles of Dragon, Series 2, Book 5 of 10) (Tail of the Dragon) (5 page)

The battle with Rybek was the longest sword fight Nath had ever been in. Regardless of the outcome, the unrelenting warrior had gained his respect. Rybek’s mighty blows would have burst the elbows of a lesser man. The jarring impact felt as if it could shatter bone.

Where does he get his strength?

Nath deflected another devastating blow
.

Clang!

And yet another.

Bang!

No one of any race but dragonkind had ever before matched Nath’s speed and strength, not even when he was young. He was a dragon, with a dragon heart the size of four men’s. Nath suspected Rybek possessed supernatural powers like his brother Kryzak had, probably from the sword but possibly from that helmet. He already knew Rybek’s sword had magic within. He’d seen its power level the trees in the forest when they’d first clashed.

He’s got to have a weakness. Find it before his sword finds your neck!

Rybek cocked back to uncoil another bone-shattering swing.

Nath rolled backward, pushed off the ground with his powerful legs, sprang high in the air, and did a back flip. He landed on his feet a dozen yards away.

“Buying time, Nath Dragon?” Rybek scraped the edge of his sword over the bridge. “I can’t blame you. Your death is inevitable, for I am invincible.”

“You sound too sure of yourself, Rybek.” Nath gulped down some air. “You should know nothing in Nalzambor is certain. Not even death.” He glanced at his missing hand. The bleeding had stopped. His hand was a stump of ebony scales, but his thumb remained. He wiped the gash on his forehead. The wound Rybek had cut open had healed up.

Thank Guzan!

Pointing his sword at Nath, Rybek said, “Stand your ground! No more dancing! It’s time to finish this!” He stormed forward, feet splashing in the puddles on the bridge. “Now it ends!”

Fang pulsated in the palm of Nath’s good hand. He pulled his shoulders back. His blood churned. He’d bought enough time. Saved his energy. The bleeding had stopped. The loss of his hand had frightened him. Shaken his confidence. Now the fighter within was coming back. Confident. Certain.

I am Nath Dragon. I am the Dragon Prince. I could beat this man without any hands. Well, maybe I do need one.

He set his sight on Rybek. Locked his jaw. Narrowed his golden eyes. “Dragon! Dragon!” He charged.

Rybek laughed. He lowered his sword and shoulders and rushed at Nath in giant strides. “You’re a dead dragon!”

The great blades collided. Thunder clapped.

Boom!

Rybek poured it on. His eyes behind the helmet were ever intent to kill. Metal scraped against metal. The men battled back and forth with lightning-fast strokes that were the stuff of legends.

Nath parried.

Rybek counterattacked. The warrior’s magical blade came dangerously close to Nath’s vitals.

Nath fought back. The strength in his arm renewed. His power seemed everlasting. The weakness from the loss of blood was gone. One handed, stroke after stroke, he pressed back against Rybek’s fierce attacks.

“You might have a second wind, but it will still be your last.”

“Will it?” Nath brought Fang down on Rybek’s awaiting blade. In an impossible move, he shifted his swing. Fang slipped by Rybek’s guard and slapped the man upside his iron helmet.

Krang!

Rybek staggered backward. His head wobbled on his shoulders. He shook off the blow.

Nath hit him in the head again.

Rybek fought to parry Nath’s striking edge. His parries were too slow.

Nath weaved around Rybek’s defense, Fang striking like a metal snake. He skewered the man in the meat of his shoulder. He jabbed him in the thigh. He punched Rybek in the helmet again, knocking him backward.

Rybek fought back more slowly.

Nath attacked faster. “Give it up, Rybek.”

Hobbled, Rybek said, “Never!” He swung.

Nath sidestepped with ease, and with the tip of his sword, he flicked Rybek’s helmet off his head. The helmet sailed over the bridge and into the canyon.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Rybek screamed. He bull rushed Nath, sword arching high. It came down like a bolt shot from the sky.

Nath’s instincts saved him. He twisted out of harm’s way at the last moment.

The blow would have split him in half. Instead, it dug into the bridge. The sword’s magic powers were unleashed. The rock of the bridge exploded. A gaping hole formed, and the heavy stones of the bridge fell through.

Nath backpedaled away.

More of the bridge collapsed. The distance between him and Rybek expanded. The bridge cracked and buckled.

Nath yelled to Rybek, “Get away from there!”

The warrior stared down into the abyss between them then held his sword up to his head in a salute. “Remember this, Nath Dragon. You did not beat me.” The bridge floor gave way right underneath the huge warrior. He plummeted through the gap into the abyss.

“Nooooooo!” Nath screamed.

The bridged trembled a few moments longer before it finally stopped crumbling. Numb and one handed, Nath stood empty in the midst of the storm’s pouring rain, gazing down into the gaping hole.

Scar woke up with an aching head and a burning shoulder. He was sitting on the ground with his feet bound up together at the ankles, leaning against a tree. His sword arm—not on the broken side—was tied down to his waist. The last thing he remembered was talking to Rerry, then blinding pain, followed by blackness.

“Oh ho ho, look who has awakened.” It was the sprightful voice of Rerry. The part-elven swordsman stood between the shallow stream and the fallen giant. He had Scar’s rapier in one hand and the giant’s ring in the other. He was tossing the ring in the air and stabbing the sword in and out of the hole. Rerry looked at Scar. “This is the finest steel I’ve ever held. Enchanted, isn’t it?”

Scar let out a muffled groan. A strip of cloth sealed his mouth shut. The cloth tasted awful. He wanted to spit but couldn’t.

“Oh, you can’t speak just yet,” Rerry said, twirling the giant’s ring on the blade of the sword with acrobatic ease. “But we’ll get to that when you’re ready to cooperate.”

Scar’s eyes beheld the other two elven soldiers from his unit. Both of them were bound up tight and sitting on the ground on the other side of the stream. It was clear they weren’t going anywhere. A rustle caught his ear. Samaz emerged from the woodland bank of the stream with a dead soldier in his arms. The husky part-elf gently lowered the corpse to the ground, setting the soldier beside the others. All of the fallen elves were there. All seven of them. Scar’s throat tightened. Those were his soldiers. He was responsible for their lives. Though he wasn’t close to any of them and he never showed it, he cared.

Rerry squatted before him, sword over his shoulder. “It seems the giant had one last effort in it. Squished you like a fly, it did. A last-ditch effort from the grave.” He glanced at the massive humanoid. “It died after that. We overtook your soldiers. Now this is where we stand, Scar. We bury the dead. Then we talk. But we’ll need the help of your two remaining soldiers to get it done quickly. My brother and I will need to move on. Without pursuit.”

Rerry might have been young, but Scar knew that at the moment, Rerry had the upper hand on him. He nodded.

Removing the gag from his mouth, Rerry said, “Give me your word in Elven.”

“On the leaves from the limbs of Elome, I swear it,” Scar said. He spat the foul taste from his mouth. “Where did you get this cloth from?”

“It was something I found on the giant.”

“Blech!” Scar spat again. “You’re no swordsman. You’re a trickster.” He surveyed their surroundings. “How do you propose we bury them? We did not pursue you with shovels.”

“No, but soldiers should always bring a spade, now shouldn’t they?”

Scar frowned. Rerry was right about that, but Scar liked to move quick and light, unencumbered. “What do you know about an elven burial? You’re barely an elf. Neither is your father. A family of abominations.”

“I am what I was intended to be and proud of it. The human blood in me makes me all the person your elven blood makes you. And it doesn’t come with all the snobbery. I like the strength and passion it lends.” Rerry stood. “Besides, my father Bayzog—the most powerful mage in the world who was gifted the Elderwood Staff from Elome’s council of full-blooded elves—has taught us all about the claims and customs of elven kind. The stones of these waters will make for honorable graves.”

Rerry had made a good point about his father Bayzog. Still, Scar’s orders came from a higher authority, and, being a good soldier, he did not question them. But for the time being, he caved in. “Agreed.”

Rerry cut him loose. “Let’s get to work then.”

***

Seven graves made from thousands of stones, large and small, were stacked neatly over the fallen elven bodies. The graves lay several yards up from the stream, nestled at the top of the bank where it leveled off in a small, flat spot of wildflowers. Helmets off, the three elven soldiers stood with their heads down, eyes closed. Rerry did the same.

Samaz sang. It was an elven hymn—sad, dreary, and long, but not without hope in it.

They say the winds can speak.

They say the waters play

And trifle in the hearts who love the fallen.

Oh lands of Nalzambor, take them home from whence they came.

Oh, Rivlenray of Escalay, lead the fallen down the path of the next rising sun, and beyond.

Samaz sang verse after verse, and several minutes later, it was over.

“Well done, Samaz.” Rerry thumbed a tear from the corner of his eye. “Well done.” He faced Scar. “I think it’s high time you told us what’s going on. You imprisoned us, and we hadn’t even committed a crime. What’s going on, Scar?”

“I don’t answer to you,” Scar replied. His shoulders drooped. He shifted his wounded arm in his sling and grimaced. “I answer to my superiors. I follow orders.”

Standing taller than Scar, Rerry said, “Even when they have broken away from protocol? No justice. No representatives. Surely in your heart you had to question that.”

“Don’t pretend to bluff me, child.”

“I’m no child. And what do you mean by bluff? What do I have to bluff about?”

Fingering the white scar on his chin, Scar replied, “You can’t be that stupid.”

Rerry looked at Samaz and found Samaz looking at him with an expression just as perplexed as he must have been making. He opened his hands up and said, “What in Nalzambor are you talking about?”

“Laedorn of the High Council is dead. Assassinated, months ago. Nath Dragon is the killer! All who have ever been connected with him are to be captured and detained.”

“Are you mad?” Rerry said, rising up on his toes. His cheeks warmed.

Even Samaz’s jaw dropped. “Nath Dragon didn’t kill anybody! Least of all Laedorn. Only a madman would accuse him of something as ridiculous as that!”

“There were witnesses,” Scar fired back, neck straining. “Dozens. He shot him with the bow the elves gave him, Akron. And that’s not all. He’s accused of killing Uurluuk Mountainstone of the Dwarves as well. Two entire races are hunting for him. You should consider yourselves lucky the elves found you before the dwarves did. They’d put you in the belly of a mountain so deep the world would forget about you.”

Rerry shrank away. Scar seemed convinced whatever he was told truly had happened. Holding his head, he said, “What is going on? This truly is madness. Samaz?”

Expressionless, his brother shrugged.

“We have not seen Nath Dragon since the end of the war, Scar.” Rerry poked the soldier in the chest. “You need to leave us be.”

“Then what are you running from?” Scar said.

“Running? We’re not running from anything. We seek a cure for our mother, Sasha. She has fallen under the power of the wizard’s dementia. It’s our quest to find a cure.”

Scar’s taciturn face softened. “I’ve heard that’s a terrible thing. The elven council will have her brought in too. The same goes for your father. Any allies of Nath Dragon are considered with suspicion.”

“Nath has hundreds of allies, if not thousands,” Rerry argued. “Are they going to bring them all in?”

“Just those closest to him. You’d be wise to surrender and wait until this all clears up, or…”

“Or what?”

“Or until Nath Dragon is dead.”

“That was some fight,” Ben said, hours later. The storm had passed and the entire party had moved on from the Temple of Spires. They were all back on the woodland path that had brought them there to begin with. Boots covered in mud, they trudged on.

Chin up, Nath said, “It was, wasn’t it?”

Brenwar glanced at his hand and said, “Costly. Mmmm, I’ve never seen a man fight like that. Not on his own merit. Rybek cheated.” He scratched his beard with his skeleton hand. “Evil’s never truthful. I think he would have lied to you anyway if you beat him.”

“I did beat him,” Nath said to Brenwar. “You don’t think I won?”

“He was more intact than you when I last saw him,” the dwarf said.

“Don’t listen to him, Nath,” Ben said. The older warrior hobbled along, using a stick for a cane. “You had him. I saw it with my own eyes. I’ve never seen a sword move so fast. I just wish when you flicked his helmet off, his head was with it.”

“Well, he’s gone now.” Nath shook his head. “And the whereabouts of my father with him.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find your father, Nath,” Sasha said to him. Her pretty, bright eyes had a sparkle in them.

Bayzog walked with the aid of his staff in one hand and the fingers of the other locked with hers. With most of his black hair now gray from the battle with the phantom, he looked as old as her. “There’s always more than one way to accomplish anything. You’ll find him.”

“With friends like you, no doubt I will,” he said. Sasha’s face became sympathetic and distant. “What?”

In a raspy voice, Bayzog said, “Our sons, Nath. They search for a cure for Sasha. We need to find them. Given the nature of what I’ve seen and heard, these times are perilous. We must go to them.”

“Aye,” Brenwar agreed. “You aren’t getting any younger. The dirt you tread on has more youth to it than you do.”

Violet eyes still filled with endless strength, Bayzog replied, “Well, at least it’s not smarter.”

“What? Why you rigid little elven trickster. I’m as smart as any elf, particularly in all things dwarven.”

“That hardly matters in the grand scheme of things,” Bayzog replied.

As everyone bickered back and forth, Nath’s thoughts went elsewhere. To his father’s whereabouts, and to Selene. It seemed like forever since he’d seen her, and he had no idea about her condition. She’d fallen into a slumber, and there was no telling when she might awaken. And if could happen to her, then it could happen to him. Again.

Nath thumbed the stump of his missing hand.

I want my hand back, but I can’t let it happen at such a critical time. I have to find … I have to help Father.

He turned his attention back to his friends. “I don’t think the two of you are equipped to go it alone. With all the wurmers and giants scouring the countryside, it’s too big a risk. We should stay together.”

Sasha walked over to him, rested her forearms on his shoulders, looked deep into his eyes, and said, “When you have children one day, you’ll understand. My sons lost me once, but now they need to know I’m back again.” She kissed his cheek. “I have faith in you, Nath. I always have. And I’m oh so grateful to your father for lifting the curse from me. I think I’m doing right by him in going after my sons. Family. It’s the most important thing of all.”

“I know.” He clasped her hands and watched her and Bayzog go. All the wizard did was wave.

“Dragon.” Ben the durable warrior stood beside him now. “I’ll go with them.”

“Ben, you can hardly walk.”

Ben opened up his hands, revealing several clear but colorful potion vials. With a devilish grin, he said, “I’ll make it.” He squeezed Nath’s shoulder. “Margo, Tristin, and Justine will kill me if I don’t.”

Brenwar pushed the chest over to Ben with his boot. “Take this.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“You’ll need it,” Brenwar argued.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Ben’s eyes were wide on the chest full of magic. “I’m certain you’ll need it as much as we will.”

“Nath?” Brenwar said with a perched brow. “Help him make a decision.”

Rubbing his chin, Nath gave it more thought. His father had given the chest to Brenwar to help them. But it was to give aid to anyone, not just them. He opened it up and removed several items. He gathered them up into a small sack hidden within his clothes. “There, we have something, that’s better than nothing.” He closed the lid and handed the chest to Ben. “You and those sorcerers need to make the most of it. And take the horses too.”

Ben smiled, then burped a puff of smoke. “Sultans of Sulfur! Did you see that?”

“Yeah, I did. Don’t overdo it on the fire-breath potions,” Nath said. “They stick with you.”

“Will do, Dragon,” Ben moved on, horses in tow, after Bayzog and Sasha, who had veered down a steep split in the path. It left Nath, Brenwar, and Laylana with only one another’s company.

The dark-haired, green-eyed elven woman dressed in the leather garb of an elven warrior said to him, “If you like, I’ll go with them, too.”

“You would?”

“Yes. As much as I’ve enjoyed your company, I find my questions have been answered. You’re a good man—dragon—Nath. It’s been nothing short of an honor to fight by your side.” She gave him a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. “I know you were a true friend of my grandfather Laedorn, and that like your eyes, you have a heart of gold. But now my instincts beckon me to return home. And it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if the elves were still in pursuit of you, Nath. They won’t rest until Laedorn’s slayer is found. It’s best I get some sense of what’s going on. There must be clues to who did this. You don’t need any other distractions while you look for your father. The world’s dangerous enough as it is.”

Nath wrapped her up in his arms and lifted her off her feet. He liked Laylana very much and found it difficult to let go. “I’ll miss you. Be well.” He let her slip out of his arms.

Arms still draped around his neck, her eyes held his with a deeper passion. Slowly, she looked away. “Farewell, Nath.” She waved. “Farewell, Brenwar.”

With a grunt, Brenwar said, “Uh, goodbye, elf lady.”

Moving with the grace of a swan and the strength of a lion in her strides, Laylana vanished down the path the others had taken.

“I guess it’s just the two of us versus the world again,” Brenwar said.

Nath looked at his missing hand. “What’s left of us, anyway.”

“Har!” Brenwar showed a fierce smile. “By the time it’s over, nothing will be left of us but my beard and those flaming locks of yours.”

Nath lowered his satchel over his shoulder. “True, but you know what?”

“What?”

“We’re still going to win.”

“Now you’re talking like a dwarf.”