Amar rode in the prow of the boat, bound with jagged ropes and
chained by her neck to the rail. Oars creaked and groaned as the
long boat slid across the fog-shrouded waters, still as glass in the
fallow light of morning. The clouds above were heavy with rain and
the light of the sun only came down as a ghostly radiance, like a
memory of spring.
All around them rocks jutted from the waters of the bay, and the
rowers turned deftly to evade them, she saw how every man watched the
surface sharp and wary, looking for the slightest disturbance. These
waters were avoided for a reason, and they were all afraid. There
were eight men in the boat, each with their hands set to the rough
oars. And then there was Amar, daughter of a King and bound for the
shunned isle ahead, and death.
The island emerged from the mist
like a shadow, first
the low, rocky shore, the hills green and dark and wet. The stones
were heavy with moss right down to the waterline, and as she looked,
Amar saw the spiral designs etched into the rocks, half-hidden by the
thick growth. Once this island had been a place for men, and their
worship of ancient gods now long forgotten. Now it was a place for
death.
The shore was littered with scattered bones, crushed and broken to
pieces. She saw the skull of a great deer, horns hung with moss and
dark with age. The bones of cattle and fish mixed freely among the
stones, and in the still shallows, the skeleton of a whale lay
embedded in the silt, a few ribs jutting up from below.
The ship pushed up to the shore,
and the men climbed out, splashing in the water. Their feet slipped
on the mossy rocks as they pulled the ship onto the beach just enough
to keep it fixed in place, and then they turned to her. They wore
helms that hid their faces, and they clutched at their swords and
spears as they took hold of her, pried the collar from her neck, and
dragged her from the boat.
She did not struggle or curse, she was past that. In her mind she
saw the slaughter in her father’s hall, the thanes down in their
own blood. She heard the screams. Skall the Wolf-Son had done his
work, and now there would be a new king in the hall by the sea.
Amar stood on her own; her feet were not hobbled, only her wrists
bound with stout knots. She looked the men in the eyes, one after
the other, and two of them looked away. She would neither beg nor
curse, she only spat at their feet. “Get on with it.”
“We will bear no blood-curse,”
one of them said. He took a sword and cast it ringing at her feet.
“You will die here, but none of us will shed your blood.”
“Cowards you are,” she said.
“You think that shocks me? Go back to your master and tell Skall I
will have the blood-price for my father and my brothers. I tell you
to strike now, or when next I see you, I will use your beard to grasp
while I saw off your head.”
They backed away, watching her as though she were a serpent. They
climbed back into the boat and pushed off from the shore. As they
turned, one of them stood up and drew back his arm, cast his spear so
it thudded into the earth ten paces away from her. “Take it,” he
called. He was one who had looked away from her with shame. “You
will need it.”
Amar watched them go. The air was very still, almost no motion upon
the water save for a gentle, shallow swell. She knew this island was
too far from land to swim ashore. She was meant to perish here.
Unmoved, she watched until the boat was out of sight, and then she
picked up the sword and wedged it in the rocks, used the edge to cut
the ropes from her hands. The ropes made an adequate belt for the
loose shift she wore, and she put the sword in it to hang at her
side. Amar recognized it as one of her father’s old blades, the
gold work on the hilt worn and faded. The steel was not bright, but
the twisted pattern was still there, like flames frozen in the blade.
She was glad they had left her boots, for the ground was rugged and
harsh. Amar took the spear and jerked it free, held up the keen
steel head. It felt good in her hands. She looked inland, to where
the ground rose up, and there she saw a swath of burned ground, the
moss and grasses seared black, and she felt afraid.
o0o
Amar pressed inland. There would
be nothing to eat on this island, no shelter from wind or cold. She
could only grow weaker. Better to meet death while she was strong,
there was nothing for her to lose by seeking it. The fog was so
heavy, she could not see more than twenty paces ahead of her. The
ground was a jumble of boulders, rounded by time and covered in thick
mosses. The mist seemed to breathe up from the earth like smoke from
some inner fire.
And everywhere she found more
bones. Some were new and still dark with blood and rotting flesh,
broken and crushed as though under the tread of heavy feet. Some
were old, and covered over with weeds and moss so that it seemed they
were bones of the earth itself. There was a smell in the thick
air. Part of it was simple decay, but under that there was a bitter
scent of char and sear, and under it all lay a murky reptilian stink
that made her hair stand up on her arms.
She heard it first, long before she saw it. She heard a long, low
sound, like a moan, and then a sound that she thought was surf, but
then she remembered there was no surf this day. It was the sound of
something heavy sliding across rock and bramble. Then she heard a
grunt, so deep it seemed to speak in her guts, and then a growl. The
mist seemed to move and heave, as if it were alive, as if it
breathed. She firmed her grip on the solid ash of her spear-haft,
and she climbed the bone-strewn hill with careful steps.
Amar crested a ridge, and found herself looking down into a vale.
Standing stones thrust up from the wet grass, their lower reaches
dark and oily. The grass was crushed down in many places, and the
smell was stronger here, almost overpowering, and she flinched from
it. The grunt came again, and part of the hillside moved and hissed
with a stinking breath.
It was immense, with a body longer
than a ship, and a tail besides. It had skin the color of corroded
bronze, and heavy plates jutted from it like stones. It lifted a
head as long as her body and shifted, heavy throat dragging on the
ground. Its eyes were small and black as pits, but she knew they
looked at her. The jaws opened slightly and she saw the jagged teeth
in its black mouth. Belly to the earth, it crawled with its thick
legs, churning the soil with claws long as her arm. Amar looked on
the dragon and was afraid.
She gripped her spear hard in her
hands and watched it as it moved. It seemed impossible that such a
thing could die, that her slight steel points would kill it, but she
had to believe it was possible. Otherwise, she was dead already. If
she was, so be it. She would die fighting the wyrm, rather than lie
down and wait for the end.
It saw her, that much was plain, but it gave no sign of alarm. As
she stood, it settled down and laid its head on the grass, jaws open
and smoldering. It breathed fire, that much was plain from the
charred swaths upon the earth. She did not know how much, or how
far. She had no shield, and no armor would save her from flames.
She had to be quick.
So she advanced on it, spear ready, watching. As she drew close it
lifted its head and turned it, watching her. Closer still, and it
sucked in a great breath and hissed – a dreadful boiling sound that
made her flinch. Slaver dripped from the bestial jaws, and it
steamed in the air like hot oil. Amar watched it, looking for a
weaker point in the armor that sheathed the monster, and she saw the
underside was not so heavily scaled as the upper.
It hissed again, shifting its body around, the long tail sliding
through the grass, scraping the rocks like a boat-keel. Amar moved
closer, her hands shaking on the haft of her spear, and then she
lunged. She ran across the open ground as the dragon reared up, and
she stabbed in at the thick throat. It jerked back and then snapped
at her, jaws clashing shut like a castle barbican, spraying her with
hot saliva. She flinched, then lunged at it again as it drew back,
and with a scream she stabbed her spearpoint in near the corner of
the dragon’s jaw.
It jerked away, ripping the spear loose in a gout of blood so dark it
was almost black. It snapped at her again, and this time the heavy
upper jaw slammed into her and sent her crashing to the stony earth,
breathless, clutching her spear, the wood haft vibrating from the
blow.
She rolled and kept moving, hearing the beast slithering over the
rocks, unable to see, her hair in her face. Then she was up and
staggering backward, spear held up before her. She saw it there,
head rearing back as if to strike, but something was strange about
it, and then she ran as it snapped its neck forward and those black
jaws yawned wide.
A gout of stinking black venom jetted forth, and then as it
splattered across the grass it burst into white flames. Amar threw
herself out of the way, feeling burning droplets fall on her left arm
and her back, screamed as they seared through cloth and flesh. She
crawled away, slapping at the flames that burned on her skin and
would not stop. The stink of the fire was acrid and hideous, choking
her with black smoke. She coughed and reeled to her feet, grinding
her teeth against the pain until her jaws creaked.
Now there was a wall of fire between her and the dragon, and she
could not see it. She squinted through the smoke and the ghostly
flames, trying to spot it, waiting for the charge, but she saw only
vague motion through the smoke and the steam that rose from the
sizzling moss. The beast did not come. She wondered if it could
endure its own fire, or if its flesh was mortal as her own. The
blood on her spearpoint told her the truth.
She took the moment to head for higher ground, clambering up the
slope to her right. The wounds on her arm and shoulder stung and
burned and she gagged on the pain, but she did not stop. She swore
to herself she would be burned away to bones before she let herself
stop, before she gave way. She would escape this place and avenge
her family, or she would die in the trying of it. There would be no
other way.
With the vantage of the slope, she looked down into the vale again
and saw the dragon there, moving around the other side of the fire,
sniffing for her. It did not walk through the flames, and in that
moment she knew she could indeed slay it, if she could survive long
enough.
Amar hunted for a stone and pulled up a rock shaped like an egg. She
stood up and hurled it down at the dragon. She banged her spear-haft
on the rocks and shouted, stooped and took up another stone, threw
it. “Here! Come and kill me! Here!” She watched and saw the
beast turn its head, cocked to one side so one tiny eye could face
her, and it sniffed the air.
She saw it gather itself, tail lashing, back hunching up high above,
and then it charge like nothing she had ever seen before. Its feet
churned the earth, tearing up grass and rocks, sending them
scattering in its wake, tail lashing behind. It hissed like a
boiling sea as it rushed up the slope with its jaws open, blood
trailing from the paltry wound she had given it, and she saw the
blood smoke where it touched the ground.
There was no time to get out of the way, and as the beast rushed up
at her she fell back against the hillside, among the mossy stones,
and she braced her spear against the ground. Her hands shook as the
armored mass of flesh and fire hurled itself on her, jaws gaping, and
she pointed the blooded point of her spear down that yawning maw.
She felt the spear bite, and then the haft bent like a bow under the
crush of the onslaught. For a moment she was certain it would
shatter, but then the spearpoint burst through the dragon’s flesh
behind his jaw as the haft snapped straight, and the beast reared
back, lashing its head side to side. The hillside crumbled under the
monstrous flailing, and Amar scrambled to get away. Rocks turned
beneath her and she tumbled down, the roaring of the monster all
around her.
She caught herself, groped for her sword and found it gone. Then she
saw it gleaming in the smoke and the mist as the dragon loomed above
her like a shadow, and she seized it up, saw the patterns in the
steel glowing in the sullen light. It felt alive in her grip, like a
thing of fire itself.
A clawed foot slammed down beside her and she hewed at it, saw the
bright edge cut the verdigrid scales and draw black blood that
smoked. The dragon bellowed and shook its great head, the spear
still wedged in its mouth. It drew in a great breath and vomited
forth the black venom that burned whatever it touched. Fire covered
the hillside, ran in rivers between the tumbled stones. Amar
scrambled away from it, coughing on the savage taste of the smoke.
The spear-shaft burned away to a black cinder, and she saw the
spearpoint where it jutted from the dragon’s flesh glow red, then
white-hot before it fell away and shattered on the rocks. She reeled
away, coughing and blinded, hearing the dragon bellow and thrash
behind her.
She fought free from the smoke and
clawed her way up the hill; wind from the sea blew away the reek and
she gasped for breath, fell hard against a small heap of stones. She
saw markings on it, and she realized it had once been a shrine or a
grave of some kind. Something raised by man in this place long ago,
before the wyrm came to dwell here.
She forced herself up, coughing and spitting out the taste of poison,
and she made her way down the far side of the slope, the sounds of
the beast behind her as it followed.
o0o
Amar struggled across the island as it went dark. She saw the dim
glow of the sun burn down in the west, and knew that southward lay
her home, but there was no way for her to reach it, not from this
desolate place. But the land was lower and easier that way, and so
she went south into a long heath of deep grasses, studded here and
there with ancient gray stones etched with glyphs of coiling dragons.
She wondered when the first dragon came here, where it came from.
They said the wyrms came from the north in elder days, before ever a
man dwelled in these lands, but that was a lie. Everywhere on this
island she saw the marks of men.
She waded through the waist-high grass, and then her boots plunged
into cold water. The smell of the sea was powerful here, and she
realized she was in a salt-marsh on the low side of the island. For
a long moment she hesitated, and then she turned to go back, seek
another place to shelter for the night. Her legs and back ached from
her long hike and from the battle; her wounds pained her. She would
not fight the beast in the dark. Let the night stiffen his own
wounds and drain his blood. Tomorrow they would contest again.
Then she heard the low growl from behind her and she turned, looked
into the growing darkness. The island was vanishing into shadow, and
every rock and hillock became a lurking beast filled with wrath and
blood-hunger. She gripped her sword in both hands and watched,
looking for a sign. The growl came again, and she saw something
glimmer that might have been an eye reflecting the dying light.
Amar crouched down, hiding in the grass, and she began to try to
creep through the water and the muck without making too much sound.
It was difficult, and the mud sucked at her boots and slowed her
down, and she dared not fight too hard lest she splash and attract
the beast. She went a little way and stopped, listened. The wind
was growing as the day passed, and the sighing of the grass hid
whatever sounds she might have heard. Then she heard another growl
and she gripped her sword tighter, holding her breath as she strained
to hear.
The dragon came out of the dark sudden and furious, and she saw the
flash of the black jaws as they snapped closed so near she smelled
the foul breath of the beast and felt the slaver on her skin. She
struck out, furious and shocked, and the sword cut into the bony
ridge above the eye, bringing blood that poured down and blinded it
for a moment.
She ran, not caring to be silent any longer; she stumbled and
splashed through the marsh until the water was suddenly deeper, and
she sank into her waist, fell and struggled up to her feet. The
beast came thrashing toward her, bellowing, and then she saw a sheet
of purple fire spread and she fell back into the water as the venom
fell and burned. In a moment the muddy inlet was a lake of flame.
Amar burst up and thrashed away from the fire, slapping at it as it
burned her skin. The venom caught on her sword and blue fire crawled
on the steel. The waters sizzled, and then a hot wave washed over
her as the dragon crashed into the water, parting the flames like the
prow of a ship.
She dove and swam away, feeling the
oncoming dragon through the water, the currents made by its bulk as
it sought for her. The muddy bottom shallowed and she crawled out of
the water, skin burned in a dozen places. She turned and saw the
whole little inlet alive with fire, and in the midst of it, the
dragon moved like a black shadow.
It rushed on her, and she wedged
herself back against a stone, hunkered down, and she screamed as the
massive jaws clamped on the rock and did not touch her. She felt the
awful hot breath like a wind, and then she stabbed blindly and there
came a hissing, awful stench and then fire bloomed. The dragon
reared
back and screamed as venom streamed from the wound, and Amar screamed
as well, fire lashing along her body, searing her flesh. The dragon
battered the rock and it broke apart, the impact sending Amar flying
to splash down in the water, her sword lost.
The dragon howled, caught in a pool of its own fire, and Amar
struggled to the surface, gasping for breath. She was covered with
pain, and gasped at every movement, but now was not the time for her
to weaken - now she had to press the attack. She crawled to her feet
and looked for her sword, and there she saw it. It glowed like a
star, the blade embedded in the earth, surrounded by a pool of
dragonfire. The gold and bronze were melting even as she looked at
it, but the blade only flared brighter.
She heard a bellow as the dragon saw her, and she had no time. It
came for her, a hell of seared scales and drooling fire, and she
reached out and grasped the hilt of her father’s sword. The pain
lanced across her hand and fingers like lightning, and she screamed
as she ripped the blade free and threw herself flat as the monster
charged. A clawed foot smashed down beside her, and then the beast
was over her, huge and black and endless. She stabbed upward, and
the white-hot steel ripped through the scaled flesh.
The terrible momentum of the wyrm ripped the blade along its belly,
and a mass of black, smoking entrails spilled out and hissed in the
muddy water. Blood poured out in a torrent, and Amar screamed as she
was blinded, the glowing sword hissed and thrummed in her hand as it
was quenched in a black flood.
The dragon howled into the darkness, and it dragged itself away, guts
streaming behind it in a mass; it tried to breathe fire in its final
wrath, but its venom was spent, and it could make no more. It dug a
long furrow in the mud as it dragged itself from the water, and then
it collapsed there at the edge of the marsh, and died with a final
shudder.
o0o
Dawn came like slow burning, lighting the east, crawling across the
horizon. Six men rowed a long boat toward the island, watching every
rock and ripple in the water, but they followed a pillar of smoke,
black as the vanishing night, and it led them to the forbidden shore.
The creaking of the oars was very loud in the mist-wrought
stillness, and they wrinkled their noses at the smell of burning
flesh.
They rowed into the shore, and there they saw the corpse of the
dragon, laid out in the mud, still streaming black blood and smoking
in the dawn. They stared, and spoke oaths and made signs against
evil. None of them had ever seen a beast like this, and none of them
quite believed it.
When they dragged the boat ashore, the tallest of them climbed out,
stood in the marshy grass and lifted up his voice. “Amar!” he
called, his voice sounding flat and thin in the fog. “Amar! Can
you hear me?” He paused, listening, as did they all, but it was
quiet. “Amar!”
There was a long silence, and he looked back at the men in the boat,
and they cast down their gazes. He looked at the carcass of the
great beast, and he knew they were too late. Then something moved in
the tall grass, and he turned, putting his hand to his sword.
A shape walked out of the mist, blackened with soot and mud. It took
him a moment to recognize Amar, the daughter of kings. She was
almost naked, her clothes mere charred tatters, and her hair was
burned down to a shock with blackened ends. Her skin was so dirty he
could not say if she were wounded, but she carried in her hand a
sword with no hilt or guard, just a tang in her fist, and a blade
with steel marked by an overlapping pattern, like braided serpents.
She stopped and he saw her face was scarred by fire, half of it
almost gone. He knelt in the mud. “My lady, we have come to take
you back. A war is coming against Skall, the Wolf-Son. Those of us
who are loyal to your fallen father turn now to you. Come, and lead
us.”
She looked at him, her eyes blank and haunted, and then she nodded.
He rose and swept the cloak from his shoulders, draped it over her as
he led her to the boat. The men were in awe, looking at her
fire-blackened visage, and the dread beast lying dead before them.
They did not ask the tale - they could see it.
Amar seated herself in the bow of the ship. “Let us be gone from
this place,” she said, and without further word, they took their
oars and rowed away from the island of death. Amar stabbed her sword
into the wood of the seat and let it stand there. Her hand was
blackened and scarred from the dragonfire, and she held it up and
looked at it. The burnt skin was loose, and there was no pain. She
dug at it with her left hand, and the skin peeled away, revealing
clean skin beneath it, new skin printed with a subtle pattern, that
was almost like the mark of scales.
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