Twice Drowned Dragon (The Gryphonpike Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

Drake ducked in, slashing at the dragon’s front leg and taking a rotting chunk from its flesh as Makha stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the dragon’s swipe. My first arrow sank deep into the dragon’s ribs, but the creature didn’t even react.

“Makha! Sword!” Azyrin yelled, thrusting his falchion out toward his wife. Gold light swarmed down the blade and gathered on the tip. Makha backpedaled toward him and thrust out her sword. Their blades touched and the gold light limned hers.

A hissing blue bolt slammed into the dragon as Drake ducked and dodged the dragon’s attacks. The air filled with burning meat smoke and I fought the urge to gag. The dragon extended his neck and breathed another cloud of gas at Rahiel and Bill. Rahiel’s wand came up, but I lost sight of her as the freezing cloud enveloped her and the unicorn.

I sent another shot into the dragon’s exposed throat. Again it ignored my arrow, though the broadhead pierced deep into its softened, rotting flesh. Frustrated at my inability to harm it, I nocked another arrow and aimed for its left eye.
Ignore this, bonehead
.

The arrow slammed into the blazing red socket with a terrible crunch. The dragon screamed and lunged for me, its tail whipping around and catching Drake in the chest. The rogue went flying, tucking and rolling. I barely saw him hit the grass before the dragon was upon me.

I dodged backward, catching one swipe with Thorn and turning the claws away before the dragon could rip my head from my shoulders. Fetid air wooshed past me and I suppressed a shudder. My kind are resilient against unnatural fear, but I felt then a little of what Nabbe had described: all color, all will to live draining from the world around me. I stabbed at it with an arrow, desperate to make it back off or turn aside. Makha smashed her blade down on its whipping tail but though the dragon let forth another foul-breathed scream of pain, it continued its pursuit of me, its remaining eye blazing bright.

Was this my end? My limbs turned heavy and I fought to raise my bow and turn aside the next doomful slash of the dragon’s wicked claws.

A silver-and-black shadow streaked past my shoulder. Fade’s mighty leap carried him over the dragon’s snapping jaws and onto its back. The mist-lynx dug his scythe-like claws into the dragon’s decaying flesh. He tore more strips of scale and sinew from the monster.

The mist-lynx was too much for the dragon to ignore. Its head whipped around and its teeth snapped, but Fade was too quick. He reared up on his hind legs and smashed both paws into the dragon’s head, crushing bone.

Fade’s assault woke me from my bitter languor and life and warmth flowed back into my veins as I shook off the dragon’s creeping terror. I dashed to the side, putting as much distance between myself and the distracted dragon as I could manage.

Makha lunged in with her glowing blade. The heavy sword crunched into one of the dragon’s back legs before she had to leap backward, narrowly avoiding its slashing tail.

“Rahiel?” Drake called out as Azyrin helped him stand.

“We’re all right,” the pixie-goblin yelled. She and Bill were stained with black grease but flew with ease down toward the dragon. “Spells just seem to irritate it.”

Fade yowled as the dragon managed to twist around and grab hold of a foreleg. The mist-lynx went incorporeal, drifting in a white cloud away from the dragon’s snapping jaws.

The dragon thrashed blindly about, critically injured but nowhere near destroyed. Its head was crushed in, both eyes put out and black ichor leaking from the damaged sockets. Unable to move much due to the leg that Makha had mostly destroyed, the dragon twisted and snapped with broken jaws, the weight of his huge head and his wickedly sharp teeth and claws still dangerous.

Rahiel cast a fireball down, the tiny red bead zipping onto the dragon’s head and engulfing it in a blast of fire. The dragon made a horrible noise somewhere deep in its undead throat and chunks of burning flesh flew from its head as it swung back and forth, clawing at itself in a feeble attempt to quash the immolation.

“Oh goodie. Now it stinks like burning rotten flesh instead of just rot. Thanks, dipwing,” Makha grunted as she hacked off a section of the dragon’s whipping tail, her large sword smashing through bone and stringy black sinew.

Oh, to be able to speak. I could have dispatched the hideous creature with a few choice words. Instead, I slung my bow over my shoulder and ran toward the keep. Loose stones littered the ground and I snatched up a handful as I ran, turning to pelt the dragon again and again.

My companions took a moment to catch on. But then they waded in, Rahiel with bolts of blue fire that stripped more of its remaining flesh, Makha crushing bones with sword and shield, Azyrin chanting softly and hacking with his falchion, and Drake darting in and out, his rapier dancing like a silvered needle as he slashed chunks from the dragon’s sides.

My arms ached from hurling stones, and my eyes watered from the foul smoke billowing around the battle from Rahiel’s fires, but eventually there was less dragon on the dragon than littered the ground in pieces around it, and the creature barely twitched, still alive, or, really, undead, but no longer much of a threat. Within the dragon’s shattered ribcage burned a dim red light, finally revealed through our hacking and slashing.

“Back. Enough,” Azyrin called us off. He clutched his lightning bolt amulet and sent a prayer to Saar. A giant ball of golden light coalesced above the shaman’s head and then flew as he gestured toward the dragon, engulfing the red glow within its ribs. The mangled undead dragon jerked and spasmed once, then went still.

“Please tell me it is dead,” Rahiel said, descending toward us.

“Yes. I destroyed the power animating it,” Azyrin said.

Makha clapped a hand on his shoulder and unslung her water skin, offering it to the shaman. We all stood around for a little while, breathing in the clearing air and taking careful sips from our water skins. Fade rematerialized beside me and flopped down, licking his paws and making cranky faces in between licks as he cleaned undead dragon from his fur.

“Everyone all right?” Azyrin asked.

“Just bruises and scrapes here,” Drake said.

“I’m good.” Makha finished checking over her sword for nicks and clucked as she found a couple new dents in her shield.

“I need a bath. Maybe five.” Rahiel futilely brushed at her ruined gown, smearing more of the black greasy residue around.

“What the hell was that thing? That was no natural dragon like any I’ve heard of.” Drake ran a hand through his black curls and then rubbed his sweating forehead on his sleeve.

“Undead dragon. Re-animated by a necromancer,” Rahiel answered him.

“Wanna take a bet it was that asshole with the cart we met yesterday? He seemed off to me, and there’s ample evidence of fresh stonework here.” Drake motioned to the fresh work on the keep walls and the door, which was so new that sap still beaded on the rough wooden planking.

“Oh, aye. Let’s go to Coldragon and kick his ass until he confesses.” Makha grinned.

“Ashes, both of you are impulsive man-children. He gave his name as
Master
Ziarnys, remember? He is probably on the town council or at least an elder. We cannot go into town and start beating up someone important. You idiots want a repeat of Northwick?”

Makha turned bright red at the reminder and stared down at her boots. Drake shrugged and sighed. Azyrin turned a chuckle into a cough at the sudden glare from his wife. I pretended interest in my bow, smiling slightly at the memory of that disaster. We had encountered a crooked merchant selling fake magical weapons. The man turned out to be a beloved nephew of the local lord, who took extreme offense to our “method” of confrontation and our subsequent explanations. It had ended with a rapid departure after we’d freed Makha and Drake from the stocks and found them some clothing.

“I have proposal,” Azyrin said, holding out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We go into keep, see what is there. Dragon guarding something, I think.”

“It’s likely,” Drake said. “This would be a lot of work to do for no reason, eh?”

“I don’t know how much fire I have left in me,” Rahiel warned us. “But I have a scroll or three that might come in handy. Hope there are no more dragons.”

“Its head is completely destroyed,” Makha muttered. “No trophy. The guild will never believe this one.”

“Let’s get out of this in one piece before we worry about guild prestige, eh?”

Makha shook her head at Drake’s words. “You’re losing yourself, rogue. Thought it was all about the glory.”

“Glory is for the dead,” Drake told her. “I’ll take the gold, thanks.”

“Speaking of gold, do you think that dragon’s hoard is around?” Rahiel’s eyes lit up at the thought.

“If it is, it’s probably wherever the necromancer raised it. That thing wasn’t buried here. No telling where the barrow is, now.” Drake shrugged and walked over to the door. “Is this thing trapped with magic or anything, Rahiel?”

“Maybe the necromancer looted the barrow and its stuff is inside,” Rahiel said hopefully as she pulled out a pinch of iridescent powder from one of the many pockets in her gown. She flew Bill up close to the door and blew the powder over the lock. It shimmered for a moment, then turned black and drifted down.

“Nope,” she said, “nothing there.”

Drake made short work of the simple lock with his picks. The necromancer probably hadn’t expected anyone to get past the dragon and he had skimped on lock quality. The door opened inward on well-greased hinges and cool air flowed out over us, smelling of fresh mortar, dust, and the faint taint of old blood. Azyrin called light into his sword again and I took point.

The first room had probably been an entry way once upon a time, but the inner walls were little more than ruined columns now. Fresh scaffolding supported the ceiling of the wide, round room beyond and the hearth held the remains of a recent fire. A pair of crates were pulled up near the hearth like makeshift chairs, and someone had made a half-hearted effort to sweep the floor clear of the dust that tickled my nose. Masonry tools were stacked neatly against the far wall, near a set of spiral steps leading up to the second level. The wall beyond the hearth squared off, incongruous with the rest of the tower’s roundness. A door, as new as the one on the keep itself, stood in that wall.

I walked to the door and then glanced back at Rahiel. She caught my look and sighed, pulling another pinch of powder from her pockets as Bill trotted up to me, carrying her with him. It was odd to see her on the ground, but I could have touched the ceiling in this place with Thorn if I’d stretched my bow up, which didn’t leave much room for Rahiel and the mini-unicorn to maneuver the way they did outdoors. Her purple hair barely topped my hip, even seated on Bill.

The powder once again turned black. This door was not trapped magically at least, but it was locked, barred from the other side.

“Break it down?” Makha asked, hefting her shield.

“Nah, leave it. We can check around the back of the keep for another door if we don’t find a way in.” Drake shrugged and pointed at the steps. “Ladies first,” he said to me with a half-bow.

I set one boot on the steps, testing for strength. The stone seemed solid enough, but this place reeked of age and I wasn’t sure how far the masons had gotten in their repairs. There were tracks in the dust going up the steps, and portions were worn smooth through constant traffic over many years. I took that as a good sign and moved upward, listening for any sign of danger.

Wights, it turns out, don’t make much noise when they attack.

A creeping chill oozed from the stone walls around me. I raised my bow as two wights appeared around the bend of the stairs above. They had once been human men from the look of them, but their flesh was dried out and grey-green with death, and the scales on their once-armored coats little more than rust marks. Their eyes burned with red fire much like the dragon’s had, and their hands had thick, yellowed claws where fingernails had once grown.

Unlike the dragon, when I shot the left wight through the throat, it reacted. My arrow pierced its decaying leather gorget as if it were a corn husk and crunched into the wight’s spine, half-severing its head. It flailed and fell back onto the steps, crumbling to dust. The spent arrow clinked onto the stone, out of reach but apparently undamaged.
Good, they can be killed easily enough and I’ll get my arrows back
. A large improvement over that tree-damned dragon.

Behind me I heard Drake ordering everyone back down the steps. I moved back down blindly, sending another arrow at the remaining wight. It twisted out of the way and my shot tore through its arm instead. The undead creature hissed, showing me a mouthful of jagged, blackened teeth inside a mouth mostly covered by his stringy beard. He leapt forward and swiped at me with its uninjured arm. I sprang backward, clearing the last few steps and slamming into Makha.

She jammed her shield into the wall and kept upright as I dropped to one knee. The wight descended and behind him in an eerily silent procession came at least four others. I scrabbled sideways, reaching for another arrow.

The first wight, my arrow still sticking out of his arm, jumped from the last step straight at Makha. She turned aside his body with her sword, severing his slashing arm. The wight hissed again, this time breathing out a thick white mist. It coated Makha’s breastplate like hoarfrost but she threw her head back and this time her sword severed its head.

Two more wights left the steps and headed for Makha. Moving backward still, aiming to put the hearth at my back, I shot one underneath its arm as it clawed at the champion. My arrow found its heart as black dust exploded from it in a puff and then the wight disintegrated.

Drake and Azyrin closed on my right, encircling the entrance to the steps as more of the wights streamed down. The steps were clogged with them.

“Fireball?” Drake called to Rahiel.

“Don’t think I can manage another, working on something,” Rahiel gasped out. I spared a quick glance at her and saw that she had a scroll in one hand and a blue crystal wand in the other. Sweat beaded her brow and her tiny green face was scrunched in concentration.