The Dragon Book (32 page)

End it with him,
she told herself,
give up the lies and find another way to settle Father’s debts. A way without sorcery … that makes sense, doesn’t it?

To someone else, it might have. For Armecia, it only made her leap to her feet.

“LENNY!” she suddenly screamed, “WAKE UP!”

The young man recoiled away from the knight, the woman taking a cautious step backwards. Apparently, of all the things they thought he might do, sitting up and scratching his head with his severed arm while he blinked blearily was not at the top of the list.

“What happened?” he asked, then slowly became aware of the stump where his arm had been. Quietly, he glanced from it, to his arm, to the woman towering over him. “Ah … yeah.”

With a speed that shocked the woman into inaction, he lunged to his feet, swinging his club of flesh and bone. With a force that surprised everyone, it connected solidly with her jaw, sending her reeling backwards, a spout of blood arcing from her mouth to spatter the ground.

Whatever revulsion Armecia and the young man might have had for the sight was apparently not shared by the woman. When she recovered, her smile was a jagged red gash in her mouth. She hefted her axe, cracked her neck, and rushed to meet Sir Leonard, Scourge of Savhael, risen.

“Damn,” Armecia cursed under her breath as she watched them lumber toward each other, two foul abominations of scarred flesh and dirty weapons. “Damn, damn, damn … what made me think that was a good idea?”

“A decent enough question,” the young man mused, apparently unconcerned. “Judging by Maddy’s grin, she’s probably intent on not stopping for a bit.” He glanced to Armecia, held out a bag. “Jerky?”

“What?” she blinked. “I just … sent a man to fight your giant lady friend, and you’re offering me dried meat?”

“A flavorful assortment of dried meats. But … I guess
we
could fight, too”—he shrugged—“if you really wanted to. But really, I’m far more interested in why a half-blooded sorceress with a greasy zombie is fighting my giant lady friend in front of a dragon’s lair.” He pulled a piece of meat from the bag. “I’m Nitz, by the way.”

Armecia blinked, glanced over as Lenny took a knee to the groin and cackled, then reached out and took a piece of the jerky for herself.

“Armecia.”

THERE was a crack of thunder heralding the blow, a spray of splinters punctuating it, and when the dust settled, Sir Leonard peered through the other side of a tree trunk, his shoulders and neck firmly lodged in the wood. Maddy’s laughter was soft and gentle, a giggle she reserved only for lovers and shoving men’s heads through trees.

“That’s it, is it?” She tapped her axe against the ground. “Spent after one dismemberment?”

“Just give me a moment,” he grunted, trying to squirm his way free. “I’ll be ready to go in just a few breaths.”

“Don’t they all say that?” Maddy hefted her boot, and, through her one good eye, leveled it squarely at the knight’s rear end. “However, I’m ready
now
.”

From across the clearing, Nitz paused in the middle of chewing jerky to wince. In a spray of brown and green, Leonard went tumbling out of the tree trunk and rolling like a limp doll upon the earth, only to rise again, clutching his severed arm like a club as Maddy stalked toward him casually.

“He’s not bleeding,” the young man noted immediately.

Punctured, pummeled, and pounded as he might be, there wasn’t a trace of red upon the knight. That wasn’t to say he looked at all good, however; Nitz felt the dried meat rise in his gullet as he spied the large, jagged splinter rolling about in Leonard’s eye socket. The knight didn’t seem to notice, but Nitz felt compelled to speak, regardless.

“Should … should we help him?”

Armecia casually reached over and into the bag of meat, producing a piece of her own. Chewing thoughtfully as Leonard loosed a war whoop that was far too enthusiastic for a man whose eyeball had just been replaced by a branch, she shook her head.

“He can take care of himself.”

“He doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job of it so far.”

“Well, I mean he can’t
beat
her, obviously,” Armecia replied, “but he’ll probably wear her out eventually.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Nitz forced his own bite down. “He doesn’t seem to be tiring … in fact, he doesn’t seem to even notice he’s hurt.”

“Hm … was it the severed arm that gave it away?” She grinned a grin full of beef-stained teeth and winked her blue eye. “He’s a
Nazj-Nazj
. He’ll be fine.”

“A
Nazj-Nazj
.” He chewed once, swallowed, then blinked. “You brought Sir Leonard, Scourge of Savhael, slaughterer of women and children, back and turned him into a demonic vessel.”

“In summation,” she shrugged, “why? What do you know about it?”

“I read.”

“You’re literate. Congratulations.”

“I mean I’ve
read
the annals of the Uncharred Library,” he replied, decidedly more hastily. “Tomes of Hashuni myth and sorcery that, after reading, I think
should
have been burned.”

“But are left whole for purposes of studying the heathen.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard the rumors. But you’ve read about
Nazj-Nazj
, so you know they’re not that big a thing.”

“A
thing
?” He gestured to the brawl wildly. “A corpse raised from the dead, infused with a demon, and anchored to the mortal world, is not just a
thing
. A man who doesn’t bleed and who batters women with his severed arm qualifies as something slightly more
blasphemous
than a ‘thing’!”

“Listen, if I phrased everything so gloomily, I could make
you
sound pretty vile, too.”

“This was Sir Leonard! A friend of my father’s!”

“But not
your
friend.”

He could find no words to offer in reply, no fury, righteousness, or combination thereof that he suspected should have been in his voice.

She was right. Sir Leonard had been his father’s friend.

For obvious reasons, of course. Sir Leonard, if legends were true, had been a holy terror before his namesake. Savhael, the city that straddled the border between the kingdoms and heathenry, ceased to
be
after he visited it. All great Crusaders were named for what they destroyed.

His own father had an accruement of titles the equivalent of a small country.

“Besides,” Armecia replied, “it’s not like it’s
really
Sir Leonard out there.”

He looked toward the brawl, eyes wide. In the moments he had been conversing with the sorceress, the battle had shifted in favor of Sir Leonard. He now straddled Maddy’s torso, pinning her arms under his knees and bludgeoning his arm against her scarred face with a holy vengeance.

Holy as it was, no legend ever mentioned Sir Leonard having the ability to beat women … with his arm, at least.

“That’s … not Sir Leonard?”

“Well, I mean, it’s his
body
, sure.” Armecia bit off a large piece of meat. “Some of his brains are probably rattling around in there, too.”

“But the rest of him is demon,” Nitz muttered gloomily.

“Spirit, actually.”

“The difference being?”

“The difference is that your people tend to brand whatever they don’t particularly care for as ‘demon,’ which, while understandable for a race of ignorant, god-bothering book-burners, would be far too broad a category to be of any use for classifying Lenny.”

She winced as Maddy wrenched a hand out from beneath the knight’s legs, seized him by the throat, and pulled him to the earth. Digging her knee sharply into his chest as she drew herself up, she snarled and delivered a large-booted kick to his side.

“Not to mention that a demon would put up a better fight than this.”

“Well, stop him, then!” Nitz demanded, painfully aware of how his voice tended to crack during moments of attempted authority. “You can command him, can’t you?”

“Well, not
now
; he hasn’t had anything to smoke.” Seeing his confusion, she rolled her eyes. “Apparently you haven’t read far enough. Putting a demon—”

“Spirit.”

“I lied. There’s no difference.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, it’s a thing not of earth, so it can’t exist in a living body … or, rather, a body that
used
to be living, without an anchor.”

“Something to tie it to the earth.” Nitz nodded. “I read that chapter. Witches use heathen relics to tie their spirits to their service.”

“If they’re rich, sure.
I
had to make do with what I could find when I found his body.”

“And you chose … the Devil’s herb?”

“Well”—she sighed—“Savhael is only known for three things: weed, women, and song. And by the time I found Lenny with a spear through his chest, he had already crushed and raped two of those.” She cringed. “I’ll leave it to you to decide what he did to which.”

“I’m not sure I follow.” He scratched his chin, painfully aware of the futility of trying to look philosophical without even a wisp of facial hair. “The books all say that a relic is required to give the spirit meaning and duty in order to keep it obedient.”

“True enough, for most
Nazj-Nazj
. However, most witches use demons of pride.”

“There’s … there’s types?”

“It wouldn’t be interesting otherwise, would it?” She talked through a full mouth. “Demons of pride, or spirits of metal, if you’re versed in the old scriptures, won’t obey without purpose. They require a relic to give them their duty, something to be proud about, as the name implies. Otherwise, you’ve got nothing but a lifeless husk … apparently a humble one.”

“Whereas Sir Leonard …”

“Is powered by a demon of wrath,” she replied. “Storm spirit. He needs something to mellow him a bit; otherwise, there’s the exact opposite of what happens with demons of pride.”

“He rips himself apart?”

“No, he rips
me
apart.”

“Hence …”

“The weed, yes.” She beamed at this, apparently quite proud. “It works. The more he smokes, the more coherent he becomes, the easier he is to command. But there’s a problem.”

“One would expect reanimating corpses to bear their own little issues, yes.”

“I
know
, right?” She punched him in the arm, apparently missing the sarcasm. “See, wrath demons don’t like to be chained. They’re constantly fighting their host body for control. The problem with that is, that the host fights
back.
So, the more he smokes, the less he fights.”

“The less he fights,” Nitz hummed, “the more his host fights?”

“Precisely. If the demon wins, then it takes control and kills me. If the demon loses, then Sir Leonard takes control.”

“And kills you.”

“Isn’t that how it always ends?”

“In the books, it does.”

“And those were all crafty, full-blooded sorceresses, not half-breeds.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of him? I mean, it’d be easier if you hadn’t raised him in the first place, but …”

“Well, for the time being, I still need him. All I have to do is keep a careful eye on how much he smokes.”

“Need him … for what?”

Immediately, her head went low as she averted her gaze. She seemed to shrink then, curling into herself like a scolded puppy. No, Nitz corrected himself, more like a child, a frightened child … a frightened child with a large, murderous, one-armed doll, he corrected himself further.

A litany of condemnations had already formed in his mind, words he knew he ought to hurl at her, along with stones and a torch, if he had one handy. But he found himself unable to bring them to his tongue.

Her position was uncomfortably familiar, a mirror in a woman’s body of how he had seen himself. He was always shrinking, always wilting, like a plant starved for light in a broad, all-consuming shadow. And he could see her now in that shadow, and he felt the urge to show her the reassuring smile he never could see through the darkness of that shadow.

The shadow that only a father could cast.

“I need him for lots of things,” she replied, apparently as unaware of the eternity of silence that had passed as he was. “Specifically, I need him to kill a dragon for me.”

“What … Zeigfreid?”

“You’ve heard of him?” She blinked, thumped herself in the head. “Of course you have. Why else would you be here?”

“I don’t know …” He glanced up at the macabre décor dangling from the lair’s mouth. “Sightseeing?”

“While that wouldn’t surprise me at all, I’ll have to protest your presence.” She rose up, dusted her skirt off, and assumed a position he could only assume was intended to be intimidating. “We’ll be killing Zeigfreid.”

“With?” Nitz sneered, gesturing across the clearing to Maddy, who was apparently attempting to induce some form of oral intimacy between Leonard and a large stone. “Your frozen-eye trick didn’t even slow Maddy down.”