The Dark Throne (25 page)

Luca launched his spear into the open maw of the dragon.

Calliea leapt from her winged
faehal
, axe held in one hand, her body a graceful deadly arc.

Luca’s spear punched through the back of the dragon’s neck as Calliea landed squarely between the dragon’s eyes. She ran lightly up the dragon’s head, keeping her balance even as the great head jerked, her free hand uncoiling her golden whip. The whip flashed as she wrapped it about one of the great spines crowning the dragon’s head.

Fire erupted from the dragon’s throat. As if from a distance I heard myself scream wordlessly as the fire engulfed Luca. Calliea dove between the long, vicious spikes, swinging herself by her whip onto the back of the dragon’s head, Luca’s axe flashing as she landed and drove the axe into the base of the dragon’s skull.

The dragon shuddered, throwing back its head, the flames abruptly smothered. Calliea caught herself by one arm, her whip wrapped about her wrist, and her feet found unlikely purchase on the spearhead that had punched through the dragon’s neck. She jerked the great axe free in a spray of gore and screamed a battle cry as she drove the blade home again, and once more.

Luca lay unmoving before the dragon. He would be crushed when the beast fell. I took a step forward, but the Caedbranr suddenly flared, freezing my limbs with a rush of power. I fought it uselessly.

Do not break your protection. Not until the beast is dead.

A stream of the vilest curses I knew flowed through my head as I fought against the Sword’s relentless grip on my body. I could barely breathe, its hold on me was so tight; but then I stopped struggling as I suddenly caught sight of a familiar
faehal
galloping toward Luca. The dragon convulsed beneath another blow of Calliea’s axe, and now there were other Valkyrie landing lightly on the dragon’s body, driving their blades beneath its scales. The beast swayed, smoke and blood gushing from its maw. Finnead leapt down from his
faehal
and lifted Luca bodily, sliding the big Northman over his shoulders, still holding his shield on his left arm. He turned to his
faehal,
looking as though he was going to throw Luca over his mount; but then the shadow of the dragon fell over him. As one he and the
faehal
broke into a run.

The dragon’s death rattle sounded like a thousand trees snapping under the force of a gale. Calliea leapt back onto the back of her winged steed, holding the gory axe aloft. The great head crashed down, and I lost sight of Finnead and Luca in the cloud of dust and debris. Vell shuddered and collapsed, releasing her grip on the ivory staff. Chael was immediately at her side, lifting her limp form onto his knees. I held my breath as he held his hand before Vell’s lips.

“She lives,” he said tersely. “Go.”

“It’s dead,” I said, looking at the fading scarlet eye of the great dragon; the Sword released me. I broke the protection around the High Queen with a swipe of my hand, peeling back the layers of my
taebramh
ferociously, and started running down the hill, toward the dust and carnage of the choosing of the
vyldgard
.

Chapter 14

A
t the base of the hill, Nehalim drew up beside me, the whites of his eyes showing and his nostrils flaring at the scent of the dragon. I unceremoniously threw myself onto his back, coughing in the dust, my lungs burning as I belatedly pulled at the scarf around my neck.

“Luca and Finnead,” I wheezed, hoping that the white
faehal
understood. Nehalim flicked an ear back toward me and tossed his head, surging forward through the whirling cloud of dust. I wrapped one hand in his mane and crouched low over his neck, pressing my scarf to my face with my other hand. The air I breathed through the scarf tasted cool and sweet. The Sword hummed on my back. I thought briefly that I should stop—I was a healer, I should be aiding the half-dozen healers already working with focused intent over broken bodies. But if Finnead and Luca needed help, I had to get to them quickly, and there would be time enough to help the other healers later. I was going to race to the sides of the men I loved.

I started in shock at my own thought—
the men I loved.
A thrill mixed with the terrible fear pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Nehalim wove through the ghostly figures of the surviving warriors. I nearly choked as a triumphant shout rose from the throats of the
vyldgard
. I wanted to yell at them, to remind them that dozens of warriors struggled for their lives, or had already died. But the rush of victory flooded through the scores of Sidhe, even as healers worked to save the lives of their fallen brothers and sisters.

The massive bulk of the fallen dragon loomed before us, emerging like a sudden steep escarpment from the dust-wreathed battlefield. Smoke and dust curled around the corpse, dulling the black gleam of its scales. I shuddered as I glimpsed its great open eye, now the color of dried blood, staring sightlessly into the dirt. Nehalim tossed his head and shied away from the great dead beast. I slid from his back and patted his neck, scanning the ground frantically. In the distance, I heard a wolf howl. My heart squeezed in fear.

The dragon smelled metallic, like the tang of blood and the hot iron scent of a forge; beneath the blood and smoke I tasted the foul stench of rotten flesh, even through the silky cloth of my scarf. I coughed and tried not to retch, forcing myself to focus on finding Finnead and Luca. I couldn’t get enough breath to call out, but then I saw a faint plume of dust rise from behind one of the dragon’s great curving head-spikes. I ran toward the movement, losing my footing in dirt suddenly muddy with the black viscous blood of the dragon. I put down a hand to regain my balance, thanked whatever deity would listen for my thick leather gauntlets, and scrambled across the remaining distance, stumbling a few more times. I heard a cough and a curse from behind the massive curve of the spike. My heart leapt but then sank—the horn was thicker than I was tall, impossible for me to climb even if I jumped. Briefly I thought of leading Nehalim to the side of the horn and then standing on his back to climb it, but I glanced back at the loyal
faehal
and saw the terror in his eyes. Bringing him closer might break him in spirit, even if he made it through the viscous mud. I hit my fists once against the curve of the massive spike in frustration, and then I used it for balance as I ran down its length until it tapered to a manageable height.

I threw myself over the dragon’s horn with all my usual grace, nearly getting stuck with one leg on either side, but I pushed hard with my hands and landed in an undignified tangle on the other side, cursing as gore soaked into my breeches. There was another cough and another curse, accompanied by the sound of movement. I looked up and saw Finnead and Luca, gore-stained and streaked with dust, their hair matted with mud. Finnead was the one moving, and Luca sprawled face-down. Finnead didn’t see me yet; they were a good distance away, but close enough for me to see the pain and determination on Finnead’s face as he reached Luca and dragged the
ulfdrengr
onto his back. I clambered toward them, every step a challenge, the blood-soaked ground churned to mud.

I didn’t have the breath to speak. My lungs burned as I plunged through the muck, watching helplessly as Finnead leaned over Luca for a long moment, listening. The dark-haired Knight suddenly drew back his hand and slapped Luca hard across the face; for an instant nothing happened, but then, faintly, Luca gasped. My knees softened with relief—not helpful when climbing through ankle-deep mud. But, I thought to myself, it was far, far better than the alternative.

Finnead sat back on his heels, coughed and then seemed to remember the scarf about his neck. He pulled it up over his nose, heedless of the mud and gore staining the cloth; and then he gripped the front of Luca’s jerkin and hauled the semi-conscious
ulfdrengr
up out of the mud, steadying him against his own knees. Luca coughed and I saw Finnead’s hands tremble as he pulled the scarf up over Luca’s mouth and nose. He patted Luca’s chest twice, firmly, and I heard him say wearily, “Well met, brother.”

I finally reached them as Finnead leaned his head back against the dragon’s neck. He barely opened his eyes at my approach.

“Why is it,” I rasped, “that you two are always nearly getting killed?”

A faint smile touched Finnead’s mouth and he opened his eyes fully, gazing hazily up at me. “Perhaps because we know it will get your attention.”

I gave half an exasperated laugh and impulsively slid an arm around Finnead, steadying Luca with my other hand. I pressed my forehead into Finnead’s shoulder and something between a strangled gasp and sob escaped my mouth. Then I took a deep, lung-searing breath, tugged at the scarf over my mouth and nose and blinked fiercely at the tears suddenly gathering at the corners of my eyes. At this point, though, we were all so soaked with sweat and gore that a few tears would probably go unnoticed. Then I turned my half-embrace into a thorough inspection. Finnead didn’t protest, which worried me. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.

“Hey.” I tugged off one gore-encrusted gauntlet and touched Finnead’s cheek. “Stay awake for me.”

“I’m perfectly awake,” said Finnead without opening his eyes. “But slaying a dragon is tiresome work.”

I shook my head. He bit back a groan when I slid my hands behind his back, feeling lightly for injuries where I couldn’t see.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked quickly.

“I’m fine,” he said, one eye opening under a raised eyebrow. “Though I’ll be sore for a while. Tend to Luca.”

As though he’d heard his name, Luca coughed and stirred. Finnead gripped his shoulder and steadied him wordlessly. I slid through the muck on my knees.

“Luca, open your eyes for me,” I said firmly, loosening the laces of his stiff leather vest. Luca grimaced and coughed again, his eyes stirring beneath his eyelids; then he blinked rapidly, his ice-blue gaze unfocused. I laid my bare hand against the side of his muddy face and he winced at my touch. I frowned but said soothingly, “That’s it, come and rejoin us now.”

The howl of a wolf split the air, and Luca’s eyes sharpened. He swallowed thickly and looked up at me, then turned his head and looked at Finnead. With a grunt, he levered himself into a sitting position. I sat on my heels beside him, ready to steady him if necessary. Luca tried to speak, but failed, coughing instead; and he settled for giving a slow nod of thanks to Finnead.

“Don’t mention it,” Finnead murmured.

I found with relief that the waterskin tucked into a pocket on the side of my satchel had survived my headlong gallop across the dusty field. I pressed the skin into Luca’s hand and he managed to lift it to his lips, gulping down three long swallows without pause. He held out the water to Finnead, who took it and pulled a draught, then handed it back. Luca poured some of the remaining water over his head, and as some of the mud and gore washed away, I saw with concern that Luca’s skin shone a bright, angry red. Luca took another swig, then glared at the dead bulk of the dragon and spat to the side.

“
Hylfitt,”
he swore, “that fire was hot.”

Finnead chuckled. Luca looked at him and then grinned as well. He seemed to notice me fully for the first time since awakening, and toasted me with the waterskin.

“A drink to the death of the dragon!” Luca said, tipping it back again.

I couldn’t help but grin at his bedraggled triumph. I wiped a small patch of his skin clean with his scarf. “For being blasted full-on by dragon-flame, I suppose you’re lucky to get away with mild burns.”

Luca made a dismissive motion with his free hand, but then stopped me as I began my healer’s inspection, gripping my arm as I went to press against his ribs with my palms. He took another swig from the water-skin.

“A few cracked ribs, I think,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows but then remembered the force of the flames hitting the invisible wall of the protective diamond. “Is that all?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Not bleeding, so I’ll be fine.”

“You know as well as I do that bleeding is only one thing that can kill you.” I sighed. “Can you both walk?” I eyed the steaming dragon blood pooling in the muck about us. Thankfully they’d fallen in dirt that had turned to mud, but I didn’t know if the cooling dragon blood still had caustic effects, and I didn’t want to find out. “Nehalim is just over there.”

“Lovely, just over there,” said Finnead without moving.

“Are
you
hiding something from me?” I asked, fixing him with a severe look that had absolutely no effect, since Finnead had closed his eyes again.

“Being fallen upon by a dragon is no small thing,” he said. “Give me another moment.”

“Wait, the dragon
fell on you
?” I repeated, my voice curving up an octave in alarm.

“No need to panic, Tess,” Finnead said, opening his eyes and looking at me calmly. He smiled. “Remember, I’m very hard to kill.”

I stared at the carcass behind him. “Yes, but that’s….
massive.
”

“I agree, but it was just the neck of the dragon, and it was just for a moment.”

“Just for a moment,” I said wonderingly, shaking my head. I leaned forward. “Let me examine you properly.”

“Tess,” said Finnead firmly, “I’m sure there are those injured far worse than I who could benefit from your skills—” He jerked and grimaced at his own reaction when I touched his left forearm.

“Broken,” I pronounced, feeling the displacement of the bone, ignoring the curdling in my stomach. “But if that’s all that happened from being fallen upon by a dragon, then I’d say you’re in good shape.”

“It was less of being fallen upon and more of a deflection,” Finnead said musingly. He grinned as Luca looked at him. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun…and the Queen would have been very angry with me if I’d let the dragon crush you.” His eyes gleamed as he glanced at me. “The Queen, and others.”

“Yes, I’m very fond of you both, let’s discuss it over tea and crumpets,” I snapped, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “Come on then. If you’re well enough to crack jokes, you’re well enough to walk. Let’s go. Up.”