The Author's Blood (20 page)

Batwing struggled and panted. He had never carried such a heavy thing in all his life, and with the enemy amassed below, he knew he had little chance of survival. One fiery blast from the Dragon would send him swirling to the ground.

Batwing tried to stay out of the Dragon's line of vision, but he finally swooped past the giant beast toward the Wormling. A blast set him afire and he began dropping, still holding on to the object.

“Drop it!” the Wormling yelled, then called for his sword as it sailed through the air and Batwing barreled into the ground. As Owen caught the weapon, Batwing's friends fell on him and put out the flames. Rogers cradled him and hid behind the Wormling.

* * *

Owen couldn't wait to find out how Batwing had ended up with his sword. The last time he had seen it was in the Dragon's lair, proudly displayed on the wall. It felt good in his hands, like an old friend.

With the vaxors upon them, the Dragon standing at the edge of his box as if ready to fly into the conflict, and the coliseum's thousands on their feet, Owen hollered, “Now!”

His friends tossed sand at the stampeding vaxors, and many of them shrieked and grabbed their eyes. Owen flew at them with his sword, and several fell before the king of the west, Rogers, Talea, and Tusin, who quickly gathered up the fallen swords and passed them to others.

“Now, fight!” Owen shouted.

And fight they did. With the next wave of vaxors holding up their shields, Owen and the others moved in low, attacking legs, ankles, anything they could reach.

The vaxors, though seasoned warriors, panicked, backing up and running into each other.

Owen made it to the tigren cages and released one, speaking to it as if to a friend. The beast bounded out, sending vaxors running.

Those in the stands laughed at first, especially when several of the vaxors fell over each other in an attempt to escape. But when they saw the blood on the jaws of the beast, heard the Dragon's bellow, and saw yet another blast of fire, they fell silent.

Owen faced the Dragon, sticking his blood-soaked sword into the arena floor. “Your soldiers flee a tiny band of civilians?”

The Dragon sneered. “Just wait till you face one from my council.”

“Why don't you come out here yourself?” Owen said. “Afraid to face us?”

“I would gladly engage and incinerate you, but I prefer you suffer a slower death. And as I promised the so-called king and queen of the west, I still must anoint my throne with their daughter's blood.”

“Coward!” the king of the west yelled. “Liar! Thief!”

The crowd gasped.

“The thief among us is that flying rat,” the Dragon hissed, “who stole the sword.”

“I trusted you to protect our daughter, though everyone here should know that trusting you means death!” The king of the west turned his back to the Dragon and addressed the crowd. “Give your lives to the true King and his Son! Fight the Dragon!”

The Dragon's eyes reddened, and he belched a ball of flame at the king of the west.

Owen dived in front of it and blocked it with the sword. He turned to the king. “Stop wasting your breath and your words on brutes who do not understand their value.”

The king nodded. “As you wish.”

It was clear the crowd couldn't believe their eyes. For the second time in two days, and the only times anyone had ever seen it, someone had survived the Dragon's fire.

A hideous being appeared from behind the Dragon.

“Slugspike, kill all except the Wormling,” the Dragon said. “Spare him until he tells me what I want to know.”

“
Then
I can kill him?”

“No. Leave him near death so I can finish him off. Be careful. Like his father, he is crafty.”

“I won't let you down, sire.”

Owen knew his friends had not likely ever seen such a horrible beast. It crawled onto the arena floor, its spiny body oozing.

Vaxors in the stands chanted, “Slugspike! Slugspike!” and soon the entire coliseum rocked with the sound of the name.

Meanwhile, a vaxor had wounded one tigren, which now cowered, licking a spear wound. The vaxors were regrouping when Owen released another tigren. It emerged with a roar, and the approaching vaxors quickly retreated, giving Owen time to release two more.

However, when the snarling, roaring beasts had chased the vaxors back to the entrances, Slugspike advanced on the tigren, and the mere sight of him turned them into frightened cats.

Owen stood between his friends and Slugspike, staring him down. He turned and said, “Those spines shoot venom. Don't anyone try to run.”

“It's useless trying to protect them, Wormling,” Slugspike said. “Now step aside, and I'll make this as painless as possible.”

“If you harm even one of them,” Owen said, “your master's offspring will die.”

Slugspike drew close and whispered with a hideous smile, “And what do I care about my master's offspring?”

A stream of liquid shot from him, and Owen repelled it with his sword. It bore holes in the sand, sizzling and smoking.

Slugspike faced the tigren, calling, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

They scampered away.

“Don't harm them,” Owen said.

“Like to give orders, do we?” Slugspike shot venom across the arena that hit the wall and ate through it. Adjusting his aim, he caught a tigren in the back, and the animal gave a piercing cry.

Owen set his jaw, adjusting his grip on the sword.

The second and third tigren went down with equally haunting howls, and then Slugspike waved the vaxors back out.

They approached at a gallop, backing the citizens toward a wall where they endured a crescendo of taunts from the crowd.

“Kill them! Kill them!”

Rotten food and stones and fermented drinks rained down, and the crowd celebrated as the vaxor force pushed forward, leaving space for Slugspike to get through.

“Trapped, Wormling,” Slugspike said. “Outnumbered. Surrounded. Give me the sword and I will dispatch your friends quickly.”

Owen closed his eyes. “‘. . . for it is not by strength or cunning or a man's power but by my spirit that you will overcome the evil one.'”

“Take the sword,” Slugspike said, and several vaxors advanced with spears and pitchforklike weapons with three points.

As quickly as Owen subdued one vaxor, two more moved in, swinging their weapons. Owen knocked them away, and soon seven vaxors lay in their own blood.

But one slipped behind Owen and knocked the sword free. A vaxor landed on it and Owen fell back, now holding only a vaxor weapon. He called for his sword, but the vaxor's enormous body held it fast.

At that very moment, the ground began to soften and swirl. Slugspike's grimy feet swayed and tipped, and he thrust out his arms for balance. His face contorted as he began to sink.

The vaxors scrambled to get away, and the one with Owen's sword rolled away with it.

Owen, still whispering, pushed his friends back just as Slugspike was pulled under and then thrust on top of a mound of earth. With a sudden burst of rock and loamy soil, two sets of teeth sprang forth, engulfing Slugspike.

The crowd recoiled, aghast at such a monster.

Venom shot from his every inch and spine as Slugspike fought for his life. Vaxors in the stands were hit with his venom and fell onto the arena floor, writhing and squirming before lying motionless.

With a final effort, Slugspike clawed his way to the top, but the teeth of the great beast caught him. Slugspike screamed, and venom oozed through the teeth of the gigantic worm. Slugspike's hands rolled from the mouth of the beast and onto the ground near Owen, clenching and unclenching, sizzling with venom.

Tears streamed down Owen's cheeks; he knew Mucker had swallowed the poison to protect him and the others. Owen rushed to him as he plopped onto the arena floor. Stretched out here, Mucker looked regal though weary. The venom was already taking effect.

“I'm sorry,” Owen said, putting a hand on his old friend's head. “I put you through so much.”

Mucker's teeth were already gone, eaten away by Slugspike's venom. He nodded weakly and turned his head. “I would give my life many times over for you, Son of the King.”

Owen looked on in wonder. “You speak? All this time . . .”

“I was told not to speak to you. Your father wanted you to read his words, and now they are part of you. You have almost fulfilled them all, and I have completed my task.”

Owen knelt beside his friend. “I knew you would come to help. I didn't know it would cost your life.”

Owen turned to the approaching vaxors and started running at the one who held his sword. He picked up several weapons as he passed vaxor bodies, hacking and lunging as wide-eyed vaxors moved back. Clanging swords, vaxors screaming in pain, Owen's face marked with blood and sweat and grime, he finally thrust a spear into the leg of the one who had his sword. The vaxor let go momentarily and Owen yelled, “Sword!”

It flew to him, and he raced back to Mucker, hoping he could use it to heal him. But he felt a gush of flame and turned to see the Dragon standing over the charred and crackling remains of his friend.

Rage filled Owen, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing his sword at the Dragon right then. He knew that would do no good, as it would not reach the beast's heart through his mass of scales.

“Overcome with grief?” the Dragon said. “Imagine how you'll feel when
they
are engulfed.” He gurgled and snorted.

Owen ran, shouting, “Now!”

The Dragon's chest puffed, he threw his head back, and Owen slid to a stop in front of his band of followers. Rogers was in front, trying to protect those behind him. Brave Rogers. Owen had known the moment he saw him that he was a warrior.

Before the fire erupted from the Dragon's throat, brown wings flapped behind the beast and a sharp beak sank into the scales on his neck. The Dragon roared, and the fire flew off course high into the stands, roasting a whole section of vaxors who screamed and died in agony.

Machree flew to Owen, who told the others to climb onto his back.

“Machree, you traitor!” the Dragon roared, blowing another blast of fire.

But Owen blocked it with the sword, then hurled the weapon at the Dragon's throat. It stuck there, giving his friends time to escape.

“Your kingdom is built on the sand of this city,” Machree said as he flew up and over the booing crowd. “Only fools follow a defeated leader.”

“Sword!” Owen called, and it slid from the Dragon's neck and back to him.

The Dragon clutched his bleeding throat and rasped, “Your bride and your detestable Mucker are dead, and your followers have abandoned you. And you cannot kill me, not with that puny sword.”

“Your kingdom falls without a successor,” Owen said. “You are nothing without your offspring.”

The two turned round and round in the center of the arena, the crowd hooting in a frenzy.

Finally the Dragon spoke. “I will make you one final offer. Return the egg and
she
will live.”

Velvel pushed a brown-haired girl forward.

“Clara!” Owen said.

Her hands were tied in back, and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Owen, I'm so sorry! I tried to protect Connie.”

“You did well,” he said, keeping an eye on the Dragon and his vaxors. “Don't give up hope.”

“How sweet,” the Dragon said. “Siblings conversing. No, dear, don't give up. I might even let you live long enough to see him barbecued.”

The crowd cheered, but Owen's response quieted them. “Are you sure you haven't made a mistake? How do you know this isn't my bride and that you killed the wrong girl?”

The Dragon smirked, hesitating. Then, “What does it matter? One is dead and the other soon will be.”

Someone in the box jumped up and hurtled toward Velvel, knocking him down and, with one slice of her bonds, freeing Clara.
Mr. Reeder!

He hauled Clara toward an exit, but several vaxors intercepted them.

“A valiant attempt, you sniveling turncoat,” the Dragon said. “I believed you when you said you could draw out the Wormling, but I didn't think you planned to defend him.”

“You lied to me from the beginning,” Mr. Reeder said. “To me
and
my wife.”

“My, my,” the Dragon said. “Such bravado in the face of death.”

As the Dragon gurgled, preparing to release his fire, Owen put his sword down. “Release them and I'll take you to the egg.”

The Dragon turned, his tail slithering in the sand. “Take me?”

“Just you and me,” Owen said. “No invisible flyers. No vaxor guards. Just the two of us.”

“And if there is no egg?” the Dragon said.

“Then you can kill me. I assure you, upon my word and the memory of my father, it is there.”

The Dragon thought a moment. “Give me your word that you will not attack me with that sword as we fly.”