Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2) (26 page)

“This crazy human attacked a friend of mine. Big mistake. I never saw a body with so many stab wounds.”

House Elanesse was no more, its wealth confiscated by the crown. Findecano would have challenged Dinendal to a duel but he and his wife had apparently killed themselves in a lover’s quarrel. Meerwen had disappeared. Valandil had been caught trying to revive a petrified dragon. He had been executed for treason and the dragon turned to gravel.

“It’s not like I singled them out because they were your friends. They all stood against me at one time or another.”

“ENOUGH OF THIS HUMBUGGERY.”

“Did you say that?” I asked.

The dragon crashed through the skylight. Glass everywhere! I found my feet. Leaped clear of the glittering death. Dinendal somersaulted away. The dragon slammed into the ground, claws digging into the marble floor. “YOU ARE EMBARRASSING US.”

“Me?” I said. It caught me in a grip of steel.

“Guards! Guards!” Dinendal had drawn his swords. He sliced the air, gathering fire. He hurled a bolt of power but the dragon shielded me with a wing.

“TIME TO GO.”

“What’re you—no!”

It leaped into the air. I threw my arms over my eyes and screamed. We crashed through more glass and flew into the night.

Dragons are the fastest things in the air. They don’t fly so much as force the wind out of their way. They form an energy field from nose to tail and go through the air like a gunshot. They don’t even flap their wings.

We reached Starinpeaks sooner than I thought possible. The tops of the mountain range rushed toward us. The dragon released and then I was rolling on the ground.

I shook myself. I was cut in a dozen places and both my arms were bleeding. The dragon was circling to land. It glittered in the moonlight, its scales like polished metal. It was as large as Cruix had become, and dragons don’t get big by being cowards. They’re known to fly their prey to a mountaintop so they can eat in peace.

I pulled sword and mace out of hammerspace. I got to my feet and faced the airborne beast. It was huge, forty feet long and eight tons light. It moved like murder. It flared its wings, flapping backward as it hit the ground running. Dust and small rocks flew. I charged, pouring energy into spell-glyphs. The sword in my right began to glow. The mace in my left began to spark.

The Mace of Shock was one of those rare dwarven items whose enchantment could be turned off. I could use it as a normal weapon without painful feedback. I turned it on anyway, because against a dragon, a normal weapon was not enough. It saw me too late. I slashed its nose and let it have the mace.

“Aaaugh!” The shock turned my arm rigid. I grit my teeth and pulled back for another swing. The dragon showed its teeth and lunged. I sidestepped and pierced its tongue with the red-hot sword.

The roar was incredible. The dragon batted me with a wing and when I tried to get up it hit me with a blast of ice. It was like falling through a frozen lake. “C- crap!” I called up a fireball glyph. I was about to throw it when the dragon said, “CEASE THIS FOOLISHNESS.”

“I’m not going gently! I’m going to be the worst thing you ever ate!”

“I CAME TO HAVE A CONVERSATION, NOT A POOR EXCUSE FOR A MEAL.”

“I knew dragons played with their food. I didn’t know they insulted it!”

“I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY. I AM CLOSER TO YOU, IN FACT, THAN THAT MAN YOU ONCE CALLED FRIEND.”

I was silent. Because I knew, with utter certainty, that this was true. It was like looking at a painting and just then noticing someone in the background.

“Who are you?”

The dragon never did answer my question. But we managed to have a civilized chat. First, I introduced him to the concept of indoor voices.

“BUT WE’RE OUTDOORS.”

“Not all species perch on different mountains to have a chat.” Dragons don’t actually talk—they’re not built for it. But they simulate speech by vibrating the air. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re on the same mountain!”

“How’s this?” he said.

“Wow. That is one punchable voice.” I thought about it. “It’s my voice, isn’t it? So what are you?”

“I’m a dragon.”

“No, what you are is impossible. Cruix is the last dragon alive in my world, and in this world he’s probably lining a road or something. So how do you exist?” No answer. “Eh. I’m probably still hallucinating. Maybe you’re supposed to be from a world where up is down, light is death, and backwards talks everybody. You’re the good Cruix.”

“Can we focus on how you’re THROWING YOUR DEATH AWAY.”

“… or maybe you’re the less-subtle version,” I said, when my hair settled and my ears stopped ringing.

“It was your choices that brought you here. It is your people that you fight for. You are wasting your time on could-have-beens and never-weres. You are running from a fine and noble destiny.”

“What’s so noble about getting killed? Hafgan will expose my guts and that’ll be the end of me! I’ll fight, briefly, and then I’ll be dead. Not turned to stone, dead!”

“Since when did you value life more than honour? Listen: If you run away, you will never stop running. You will carry that ache forever, one day at a time.”

“Is that what you are? An overgrown, armour-plated conscience?!”

The dragon looked at me. “You may never again do something this meaningful. You would be betraying yourself if you didn’t do this. To say nothing of your friends.”

I fell to my knees. I left my weapons in the dust and cradled my face in my hands. It was a while before I could lift my head again.

“It’s just that I had plans, you know? I wanted to build stuff. And my friends… so many things undone and unsaid. This prince business got in the way.”

“You are mourning a life unlived, and yet you have no idea what you’re losing. You may have a wonderful life. You may have a miserable one. You may live ten thousand years, you may die before you reach the portal. What is a single spark, weighed against the light of a species?”

“Are you talking about elves or caprans? Will I save both of them?”

“I don’t care about past or future. To my senses they do not exist. I care only for your actions in the present. Seldom does a man get the chance to make his death a gift to the world.” He curled up and made himself comfortable. “You don’t really want to run away. You only need time to accept the truth.”

“And what is the truth?”

He rubbed his nose. “Why did you attack me when you knew it was hopeless?”

“I thought I was trapped. I wanted to do some damage before I died. It was the only choice I had.”

“And so you gave me a taste of steel. Angrod, the truth is that you are fated to fight this duel. Between Arawn and your own conscience, there is no other option. Win or lose, you are committed. Accepted it. You are already dead.”

I don’t remember falling asleep. Most people don’t notice when a dream ends and another begins. I was back in my makeshift camp, a half-empty bottle between my knees. The fire had gone out. “Hello?”

I was alone. I looked in the distance for the cottage but all I saw were rocks and shadow. If there had been a house there, that was long ago.

I checked myself. You don’t survive a few elven parties without developing the habit. Aside from the usual risk of waking up in a strange bed (“Is that a woman on your left? Is that a man on your right? Is that a watchman’s helmet?”) there’s always a chance you’ll wake up a different species. We put a lot of magic into our entertainments. It’s not uncommon to find yourself in someone else’s body, and not in a fun way.

So I took stock. I wasn’t covered in fur or feathers. My plumbing was in order. I wasn’t missing limbs or teeth. My head was still elf-shaped. This was a relief—I knew a water mage who went around making an ass of people who’d passed out drunk. He’d lower their blood alcohol level, change their features to that of a donkey, and leave a cigar in their pocket.

I was sure I’d gotten cut by flying glass, but I wasn’t even scratched. My right arm was as cold and metallic as it had been the day before. I had been dreaming. I stood up, and that’s when I saw the giant footprint on the other side of the fire. In the footprint was a familiar pipe axe. It was halfway buried in the ground.

Dagonet woke up. She stretched. It was light already. She sprang upright. She hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply, and she would have been alerted if someone tried to hit her with a sleep spell. She got on hands and knees and went to check Angrod’s camp. She was just in time to see him riding toward the palace.