The Dragon's Lover (12 page)

“Maybe I should try one of those,” Lorifal
suggested.

“No!” Feyden and Raine said simultaneously. They both
grabbed an arm and led him out through the throng that had gone
from belligerent to admiring. Amazingly, Raine was still steady on
her feet, far steadier than the inebriated dwarf she assisted out
the door.

Idonea watched the display from the corner. She, too,
had heard the commotion and followed Feyden and Raine in. She was
curious to see how the woman would handle the altercation. Most
with her skill and fighting prowess would have thrashed the mob.
Raine merely defused the situation and moved on, as if anything
else would have been beneath her.

It did not surprise her that Raine was able to down
the deadly drink, nor did it surprise her she blew the fire out in
the great funnel. But what Idonea did note that was missed by all
others was the change of expression on Raine's face as she mimicked
the dragon's fire. Her eyes, for a moment, were filled with an
intense longing and flickered, almost as if they were changing
color. Idonea thought perhaps she was imagining things; it was
difficult to see in the dim light.

Idonea rose, ignoring the lustful stares of the
drunken patrons. Suddenly it seemed uncomfortably hot in the
tavern.

Raine was lying with her head on her pack near the
flickering fire, enjoying the residual warmth of the amber sting.
It left her with the mellowest of feelings and the heat from the
flames felt good on her skin. Lorifal lay sprawled nearby,
occasionally snorting and snoring in his drunken slumber. Elyara
had taken one look at the fallen dwarf and decided to stay at the
inn. Lorifal would not be pleasant first thing in the morning.

Feyden leaned against his own pack, gazing up at the
stars. “Do you know the legend behind the amber sting?”

Her eyes had drifted closed, and now they opened but
slightly. “The one about the dragons and Scinterians? A little. It
is but an old myth. A story told to children around the
hearth.”

“Hmm,” Feyden said, “Sometimes I wonder.”

Raine's eyes drifted back closed. She rolled over
onto her side, settling in comfortably. “You should get some
sleep,” was all she said.

CHAPTER 8

First light came far too early and Elyara's plan to
avoid Lorifal was in vain. The dwarf was in a foul temper as the
small band set out to continue their journey. The sun had moved
halfway up the morning sky before he even spoke a word, and that
was more of a grunt than anything else. Raine, on the other hand,
appeared to suffer no ill effects from the deadly concoction she
had consumed. She was mindful of Lorifal's mood, however, and
walked quietly next to him, which he found comforting. Dagna hummed
a gentle dvergar tune, which also seemed to soothe him.

They were making surprisingly good time considering
the roughness of the terrain. They were high above the valley now
and they could see fires burning below. Smoke hovered over large
blackened swathes of land. Flocks of winged scavengers wheeled
about in the sky above what was most likely carnage below. It was
not a good sign and weighed heavily on Gunnar. The weight became
crushing, however, when they found their primary path blocked by a
landslide.

“This is not an accident,” Idonea said.

“No,” Gunnar said in agreement, “this is too
fortunate for the Hyr'rok'kin.” He pulled his worn map from his
pack

“Smuggler's Breach is too dangerous,” Bristol said.
“It is a narrow passage and we will be forced almost single
file.”

Lorifal was uneasy as well. “I have been through
there. The walls are steep and there are ledges on both sides,
perfect for an ambush.”

“Well at least we know what to expect,” Feyden said
sardonically, pessimistic at the outcome but seeing little choice.
Dagna nodded her agreement.

Gunnar glanced to the smoke hanging over the valley.
They were running out of time. He, too, saw little choice. “Turning
back will add weeks to our journey.”

Whereas before Raine's opinion had not been solicited
and would most likely have been ignored, now both Gunnar and
Bristol turned to her. She gazed at the blackened land below,
destruction that indicated the diseased horde was spreading very
quickly. Smuggler's Breach was not a good option but the
alternative was worse. She was reluctant to make the decision for
the others; she had no doubt of her own survival, but she was not
confident of theirs.

“Lorifal is right. Smuggler's Breach is ideal for an
ambush, which is most likely what the Hyr'rok'kin have arranged for
us. They will line the ledges with archers then flood the
passageway with heavy infantry. The only thing we have in our favor
is the passageway is narrow, meaning we cannot be flanked. And
there are only so many of them that can squeeze into that
space.”

“Can we pick off the archers from a distance?” Feyden
asked.

Raine shook her head. “No, the twists and turns of
the path make the angles impossible. Which will somewhat work in
our favor because it will make hitting us a bit more difficult,
even from above. We will have to pick them off as we go.”

“Who is this we?” Bristol demanded, his voice
sounding a bit high even to his own ears. “That is a death
mission.”

“Yes,” Raine agreed, “which is why I will go first.”
She glanced to Feyden, “But I will need someone at my back.”

The elf nodded. “Of course.” He would feel safer with
Raine at his back than this so-called imperial knight who was
squealing like a young girl. Even Elyara was showing more fortitude
than him.

“Feyden and I will go through first, back-to-back. We
will move quickly and take out as many of the archers as possible.
As we move, the rest of you will stay back until they charge us
from the front. There will most likely be a logjam near the center
of the pass at its narrowest point, and it is crucial that Feyden
and I have destroyed the archers or we will be trapped there. After
that, the pass opens up and if we have destroyed the threat from
above, we should have a favorable defensive position.”

“Elyara and I can help,” Idonea said, “there are many
spells that work at a distance as well as an arrow.”

“Good,” Raine said. “And when the mass comes crushing
forward, Lorifal, Gunnar, Dagna, and Bristol will be there to meet
them.”

Gunnar thought through the plan. It seemed suicidal,
but it was as good as anything that he could come up with. And the
fact that the woman was willing to lead the initial assault herself
gave him confidence. From what he had seen, if anyone could get
them through this pass, it was Raine.

Raine crouched low, creeping forward silently, Feyden
at her side. She motioned for those behind her to stop. They had
traveled only a short distance into the mountainside, but she could
feel the presence of the Hyr'rok'kin, and she could smell them. It
was an unmistakable smell to her, a combination of wet, rotted
leather, sulfur, the coppery smell of blood, spoiled food, and the
foulness of unwashed bodies. Her keen nose picked up another odor,
this one far subtler: the smell of corrupted flesh, rotting from
the bone. It was the smell of death and it made her frown. She
would have preferred another Marrow Shard.

“Are they here?” Feyden whispered.

“Yes,” Raine whispered back. “Look there.”

The ledge above them appeared empty, but there was
one undisciplined Shard archer who kept peering over the edge.
Perhaps he was the lookout, but he wasn't a very good one.

A smile played about Raine's lips. “Watch this.”

She carefully withdrew her bow and instead of
violently snapping the risers into place, she slowly and silently
unfolded it. She pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back, took
aim, and the next time the Shard's head appeared above the edge,
she let it fly. It impaled him through the eye. He gurgled once,
then fell forward off the ledge onto the ground below.

There was a commotion above them, some shuffling and
the creak of armor, then numerous Shards peered over the ledge.

“We are fortunate they are so stupid,” Feyden
said.

“Agreed,” Raine said, “are you ready?”

Feyden took a deep breath, then nodded his head.

“Then let's go.”

Raine stood upright and Feyden pressed his back to
hers. Within seconds, the two had unleashed a hail of arrows that
unerringly found their mark on the enemies above. It took the
Shards a moment to even realize what was happening and in that
short time span, twenty of their number had fallen.

Feyden marveled at the skill of the one at his back.
Raine did not miss and fired at a rate that did not seem possible.
Her movements were a blur, the steady rhythm of her attack broken
only by the occasional sharp twist of her wrist which would strike
an incoming arrow from the air, snapping the projectile in two.
This defensive maneuver was used not only to protect herself but
Feyden as well, and he had one of those random, battle-born
thoughts that he would ask her to teach him the technique if he
lived.

The confusion of the Shards was growing. There were
only two below them, vulnerable and exposed, yet they could not
seem to land an arrow no matter how many they fired. Those on the
forward part of the ledge were picked off like flies, and those
designated to back-fill as reinforcements were growing reluctant to
move forward. The Shard regiment leaders had to turn their whips on
their own troops to keep them in line.

“By the gods,” Lorifal murmured, watching the pair.
Feyden's skill was a sight to behold, but he had never seen
anything like the blue-eyed demon that was so coolly decimating the
Shard army. He was itching to get into the fight.

“Hold,” Gunnar instructed. He, too, was anxious to
move forward and was palming the hilt of his sword. But Raine had
been very specific in her instructions. They were not to move into
the open until the frontal assault revealed itself across the open
area and was upon her and Feyden.

“There they are,” Bristol said. As one whose courage
was largely determined by those around him, his fortitude had
returned watching Raine. He was beginning to believe they might
actually survive this course of action.

Raine also saw the movement towards the front of the
cave. But when she saw what was barreling towards them, she
muttered a dark curse.

Feyden looked up. The Elvish expletive Raine had
uttered translated roughly to “the gods have fucked me,” a
sentiment he now completely agreed with.

The creatures galloping towards them were not Shards
but rather the blood-hound equivalent of Shards. Four-legged with
thick spiked hides, they were dumb, blunt-tipped, ambulatory
missiles hurtling towards them. It was not the blood hounds
themselves that gave Raine pause but rather the speed with which
they moved. They were far faster than infantry and were quickly
covering the open expanse between them. They would be upon her and
Feyden long before the others could move in to give them support.
The number of enemies on the ledges above them had thinned
considerably and Raine alternated between upper and lower targets.
A Shard would fall from the ledge above them and a blood hound
would go down in a tumble of flailing limbs. But that did not
change the fact that the horde of beasts would soon be upon
them.

Feyden was debating going to his sword but a hot wind
of magical energy blew past him, staying his hand. A wall of fire
appeared between the charging hounds and the pair of archers, and
both Raine and Feyden watched hopefully as the fierce flames licked
upward. The hope was short-lived, however, as the brutes charged
through the inferno and continued unabated, except now they were on
fire.

“Well that didn't quite work out,” Raine muttered,
and renewed firing at the approaching hell hounds. The only good
thing about the attempted spell was that it had created a lot of
smoke and confusion, limiting the damage that could be done from
above. It was not a tactic she would have used on purpose since it
made breathing incredibly difficult and created almost as many
problems as it solved. But she would use anything that was given to
her in this battle.

She used the wickedly sharp edge of her bow to take
out the first wave of hounds, fired a few more arrows and brought
down several more, then retracted her bow with a snap and drew her
swords. Feyden also drew his sword and took a ready stance,
glancing back. The others were sprinting their way but they were
not yet close. He and Raine would be engulfed before they could get
to them.

A mass hit Feyden in his chest and he went down.
Raine was fighting three hell hounds, one whose massive jaws were
clamped around her right arm. Her armor kept the razor sharp teeth
from penetrating, but the pressure was enormous. She hit the beast
square between the eyes with the hilt of her sword, making a
sizable indent and knocking him out cold. A single slice of her
sword decapitated him. She tried to fight her way towards Feyden,
but four more of the beasts blocked her path.

Feyden's sword had been knocked from his grasp and he
frantically felt around with his left hand for the blade. His right
hand was fully occupied with the throat of the beast atop him,
holding the gaping maw inches from his own throat. The beast’s foul
breath steamed down upon him as the strength of the monster
overcame his own and it pressed inexorably downward.

And then the beast was gone. Feyden had the briefest
impression that something much larger than the blood hound had
snatched it from him. He staggered to his feet, helped by Raine who
handed him his sword. He staggered once more and she held him while
fighting with her other hand. He turned to see what had saved him
and was astonished by a gigantic wolf, one whose shoulder stood
higher than the head of a man. The wolf had a blood hound in his
mouth, one which he flung with great force into the rock wall
beside him.