Stone Dragon (The First Realm) (22 page)

Silence. Dinendal scowled. “Okay, you have some skill. But now you’re facing
me
.”

They had begun to circle, the human and the elf. The other assassins backed away.

“Twenty years,” Dinendal said. He grinned. “We spend that many years just laying the foundations? We go through
decades
of juggling and acrobatics before we even pick up a wooden waster.”

“What is this, clown school?”

“Hah! Many times I considered running away. But I was patient, as an elf should be, and in time I saw the point of all that foolish training.”

He drew his swords and twirled them. “The swords that killed your father, boy. See them fly!” He threw them up into the air, only to catch them and again.

“This isn’t a game!” Heronimo said. “Defend yourself!”

“Watch this.”

As Dinendal juggled his swords he drew a dagger and passed it from hand to hand so it tumbled from left to right. His hands blurred and then there were two daggers. “I could do this all day,” he said, as he manipulated the steel cascade. He threw the blades and caught them, caught them and threw them. He plucked them from the air and let them hang in space.

“Enough!” Heronimo said, starting to lunge. He staggered back with knives in his chest.

Dinendal twirled his sabers. “If there’s anything a performer hates, it’s being interrupted. Prepare to die, art hater!”

* * *

Fighting in the dark. Blind, and trying not to breathe loudly. Everyone had stripped off their armor—even chainmail rustled too loudly. They shuffled in the dark, weapons ready.

Mina kept her mouth open, the better to hear with. Someone coughed and she lashed out, splitting someone’s skull. She stepped away as the man fell. Someone cursed and she threw the axe, which made a meaty
thunk
. She drew her knife and continued to stalk her enemies.

* * *

I lay on the flagstones, weighted with chains, hooks digging into my flesh. I breathed, and I bled, and I slipped away from the world.

No! This isn’t happening! I have not begun to live!

I would have smiled, had I a face. “Tough shit, Cruix. Looks like I’m taking you with me.”

NO!

“It’s too bad so much magical lore has been lost. I would’ve liked to know how the old wizard planned to resurrect you.”

There was a meaningful silence.

“Wait, do you know? After all this time?!”

I would have preferred to overwrite your mind, but there is an alternative. It is painful, risky, and likely to lead to our death. You won’t like it at all. Nevertheless, it’s better than certain death.

“Tell me!”

First I need some promises from you.

They were things I could live with—provided I survived. I agreed, and he told me.

He was right, I didn’t like it at all.

There was a way to turn nonliving matter into living matter. You needed a natural talent for transmutation. Dragons, who turned their stomach contents into napalm, had that talent. Then, also, you needed certain insights. Having shapeshifted beyond the dreams of any water mage, I had that insight.

In our head Cruix droned an ancient chant. This focused our mind and I began to glimpse the great source of magic deep beneath our feet. I had the impression of a massive, all-seeing eye gazing out from the center of the world. And I knew that, if I were brave enough—if I were strong enough—I could call upon it directly.

I could power the working. All I needed now was enough organic matter to shape into a new body.

I raised my right arm and bit into it.

* * *

“Dual-wielders use each weapon independently. Novices act like they’re swinging chairs around.”

The fight had not gone well for Heronimo. Twenty-three times they had crossed swords and twenty-three times he had been bloodied. For all his strength and reach, he was completely outmatched. The elven assassin was simply the best swordsman he’d ever met. No matter how Heronimo cut and lunged, Dinendal parried with a minimum of effort, all while lecturing.

“A common mistake is to block with both weapons. You often see that in stage fighting because crossed swords look cool. Tell you the truth, a single weapon can deflect virtually all attacks. Using
two
wastes effort and opens holes in your defense. For instance, if I cut high like so, you naturally raise your guard and—hah!—leaves you open to a belly slash.”

Heronimo retreated, holding his belly together.

“I notice you aren’t healing. Could it have something to do with the depleted magic field?”

“At least you can’t teleport away,
coward!
”

Dinendal laughed. “I don’t need magic to finish you off!”

He unleashed a series of techniques that drove Heronimo against the wall and left his flesh in strips. The elf flicked the blood from his swords and smiled.

“That bit where you spin around and pretend you’re a circular saw?
Ridiculous
. Doing that on the battlefield is asking to be stabbed in the back. Tell you the truth, dual-wielding isn’t suited for war, where a good shield is better than a secondary weapon. Only in the hands of a duelist or ambush predator do twin blades really shine.”

Heronimo went on the offensive but every attack was intercepted. Worse, each one was met with an attack of its own as Dinendal’s swords wove in and out of his guard. Heronimo would block a sword, only to have the other strike from nowhere. He used the longsword’s reach but Dinendal lunged from odd angles. The elf cut low and the human hobbled away.

“Did I get you in the knee?” Dinendal said, blades twirling. “Sorry. Guess you’re only good for the city guard now.”

Heronimo felt dizzy. His skin was flayed in places and blood pulsed from deep cuts. Still he fought, drawing upon a lifetime of rage. He roared and swung, trying to overpower the elf’s skill. “Just—shut—up—!”

“Uh oh, he’s getting his second wind,” Dinendal said. “As I was saying, while it’s impractical to defend with both weapons, it’s all right to attack with both weapons from two different angles. When you trap an opponent’s limb between two weapons, that’s called a
scissor’s technique
—”

His swords came together and cut off Heronimo’s left hand.

“—can you guess why? Gentlemen, give the man a hand! He’d join in the applause, but he can’t clap worth a damn!”

The assassin laughed. Bellowing, Heronimo tried to punch Dinendal with the stump, but the elf cartwheeled away, slashing twice. Heronimo’s other hand sailed off the battlements with his longsword.

Dinendal roared with laughter. “This is so much fun! I really
must
massacre more villages.”

Heronimo snarled. He raised the stumps to his face and tightened the tourniquets with his teeth. He growled, preparing to rush Dinendal. The elf took a step toward him—and the nearest assassin exploded in blood.

* * *

Try biting your wrist. Bite down hard enough to hurt. Bite down until you leave tooth marks in the skin, until you can’t stand the pain anymore.

Now imagine not stopping. Imagine tearing into a hunk of raw meat, the flesh bloody and tough. Imagine that it’s
your
flesh, that you can feel every one of your teeth as you tear chunks from yourself.

When you eat your own arm, expect pain.

Oh, gods the pain.

I gasped. Slobbered. Forced myself to swallow another mouthful. Fought to keep it down.

Come on, elf!

“I… can’t…”

Come on, ELF.

I fainted several times, but always woke up. Cruix brought me back. Inside my head I wept, but he goaded me on.

Come on, stupid, I’m in pain too but I’m still—nngh—here. KEEP EATING.

I ate the meat, and tore the gristle, and crunched the bones. I ate until I swore I would never eat again.

Naturally, my captors noticed this.

“Is it—it’s eating itself! Like a fox in a trap!”

“Ha! Nobody said dragons were too smart. Let the last of its kind die an animal!”

Nnn… no. I. Will. Not. Nngh.

I must have fainted again, because the next time I woke up the world was on fire.

* * *

Findecano Elanesse swooped out of the sky like a bat with a beard. Robes flapping, Dinendal’s former master brought death wherever he looked. He would glance at an assassin and detonate their heart. The blood flashed to steam and the ribcage exploded, throwing bone shards in all directions. Findecano landed and three assassins rushed him. He summoned wind and threw them at the gates. They hit so hard the inner gate blew outward. A well-placed fireball and the outer gates were down. Armed townspeople streamed in. Royal guardsmen teleported onto the battlements.

It was a good time to run, but Dinendal still had the human to finish off. He looked to where Heronimo had been, but saw only a blood trail.

“Hey, where’d you go? We aren’t done yet!”

He followed the trail. It disappeared up the stairs of the northwest tower.

“You think something there can save you? There’s nothing but catapults! And even if there
were
weapons, you couldn’t pick them up! Ha ha!”

He sheathed one blade and, sword in hand, began to climb the steps.

* * *

I awoke to a shower of scalding blood. What fresh sorcery was this?

Were my friends still alive?

Now or never. I closed my eyes and reaching inside.

Centuries from now, historians would still argue over this moment. Was this when the elven race began its decline? Was this when the world began to change… for the better?

If I had known what I was setting in motion, would I have continued?

Only hindsight is perfect. In the moment, you act on what you know. I drew upon myself, focusing my entire being on a single point. I called up power from deep beneath earth, where rivers of iron flowed like water. I dipped into the vast molten currents, trying to bend them to my will. I was a leaf daring to steer an ocean.

But I had mind. I had leverage. The air hardened with potential.

Keep going
, Cruix said.

With my Sight I visualized my old body. Two arms, two legs, upright posture. Quite attractive to the ladies. I saw its beating heart, saw blood coursing through arteries and veins. I saw the heart resting in a cage of bone. I recalled every system and held it in my mind. I remembered how they worked together.

Keep going.

I looked closer, down to the cellular level. The molecular level. I beheld the basis of heredity and glimpsed the forces behind elven longevity. Elegant, really. Dragons and elves were not so different—and a way to reconcile the two was suddenly clear.

Almost there.

I began to see double. I had turned my Sight inward and built a working model of my own brain, memories and all. It grew in complexity until there were
four
minds in the same skull—two of me and two of Cruix. At the signal, we pinched off parts of ourselves until only one of each remained.

There. There!

I opened my mouth and vomited fire.

* * *

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Dinendal said. He paused. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

He continued to climb. He did so leisurely, for the steps were uneven by design. Anyone who didn’t know the pattern would stumble if he ran. The staircase was narrow as well, with barely enough room to swing a sword, and only if you were a right-handed defender.

“I am not right-handed,” he said, holding the sword in his left hand. “If your plan was to handicap me that way, you’re shit out of luck. Are you waiting to jump as soon as I get close?”

“You’re close enough,” Heronimo said. There was a sound like thunder and a huge stone ball fell down the stairs.

* * *

I belched fire. It melted the nets and struck an invisible barrier. Pouring into the space, it grew feet, legs, and all the rest.

Plasma transmuted into bone. Burning bone sprouted fleshy worms. The worms twined and twisted, becoming nerves, muscles, organs. Intestines coiled out of ribbons of flame. The brain grew from a single spark. The skull was as transparent as glass.

It was beautiful. It was horrifying. The red-hot man raised his fists and screamed.

Skin appeared on his head, then flowed down the neck and shoulders like a sheet of milk. There was an explosion of steam, and then the body fell to the ground, coughing fire.

I gave a great shudder and felt myself shrink. The barbs popped out, the chains fell away, and my wounds healed over. There was an emptiness in my head—a silence not felt in weeks. I looked at Cruix and realized he was changing into a dragon. I decided I’d done enough and I blacked out.

* * *

Dinendal, broken and bleeding, lay at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up.

Heronimo hugged a huge stone to his chest. His face was knotted with the strain.

Dinendal tried to move, but couldn’t. “Hey, wait a second,” he said. “You’re taking this kind of personal, aren’t you?”

Heronimo said nothing as he came down the stairs.

“Come on, man, you’re making me nervous. Come on, you can’t do this! Hey!
Hey
—”

Heronimo dropped the stone on the elf’s head, crushing it. Then, grunting with effort, he picked up the ball again and dropped it a second time. It made less of a crunch. Only when he kicked it aside and saw the pulpy mess beneath did he let himself sigh.

“You killed my mother. You killed my father. You killed my people.
We’re through
. Do you hear me, elf? I, Heronimo, have taken my vengeance. Our quarrel is done.”

Suddenly weary, he sat down next to the body. He could hear that the battle was over.

“I could use a drink. Can’t wait to raise a cold one with my friends.” He looked at his stumps. “Of course, I’ll need my hands first.”

* * *

“Angrod?” It was Mina’s voice.

“Go ‘way. Sleeping.”

“Master Angrod, seeing how you’ve won the battle, it might be good to get up and face the music.”

“What, are they drumming me out of Corinthe?”

“They want a parade, actually.”

I opened my eyes. Mina was bruised and bloody, but smiling. Meerwen looked happy enough, but she had her arms crossed. My uncle was beaming.