Sennar's Mission (32 page)

They were alone, one across from the other. The forest at their feet, the stars hovering above them. It was a soundless night but for the rhythmic chirping of the crickets. Nihal could feel the blood drying on her skin. Dola was keeping his promise. He was dismantling her piece by piece.

The dwarf unsheathed his sword. “There. Now the match is even, and evenly matched, I’ll slice you to pieces.”

He was cocksure enough to give her that advantage. But while Nihal was ill equipped against a lance, things were much different against a sword. She spurred Oarf and launched herself at Dola. The dwarf made no reaction, as if her attack meant nothing to him. When she’d drawn within an arm’s length, Nihal stood erect on back of Oarf, lunging at Dola with one stroke after another and taking him by surprise. Even in the rush to defend himself, the dwarf reacted expertly. Still, Nihal kept her composure, and in a sudden leap she was on back of the black dragon. She struck a blow to the dwarf’s hip with all her strength. In a flash of white light, the blade pierced the first layer of his cuirass and straight through to the flesh.

Dola countered with a sideswipe, but Nihal was quick to jump back. She plunged her sword deep into the black dragon’s shoulder, squeezing the handle with both hands and dragging the blade down and around the beast’s side, until she was hanging out over the empty sky. The creature let out a painful roar and Nihal planted her feet into the dragon’s waist, prying her sword out. She plummeted, but Oarf was there to break her fall. She was back in flight! She’d done it.

Nihal burst into a menacing laughter. “That’s some pitiful armor you’ve got, Dola! What, the Tyrant doesn’t provide his thugs with anything better?” she shouted, raising her sword. The black dragon’s blood trickled down its blade and mixed with her own.

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, you sniveling runt,” Dola sneered.

The dwarf launched into a merciless assault, each jab closer and fiercer than the last, and Nihal was forced to dodge him, ducking and leaping. By now she’d figured it out. If she was going to win, she’d need to exploit her agility and focus on wounding his dragon. Once they were on the ground, she’d have a better chance of defeating him. But then, suddenly, Dola’s sword crashed against her ribs and stole her breath. Oarf sped away, putting some distance between the two adversaries and allowing her time to recover. Nihal was already weakened by the wounds she’d suffered, the blood she’d lost. One more cut and he’d have sapped the last of her energy.
I have to act quickly. I have to strike him again, now!
She launched into yet another attack and began to pester him in a blind fury. She shouted, jabbed and thrust her sword, and whenever she was blinded by a flash of a white light, she knew she’d landed another blow. Oarf, for his part, had clamped his jaws around the black dragon’s wounded shoulder and refused to loosen his grip, the blood gushing out in torrents.

Despite his many wounds, Dola seemed as powerful as ever. He assaulted her head on, relentless, trying to knock her from Oarf’s back, and Nihal could feel her strength giving way. Was it sweat soaking her skin? Her own blood? Her dragon’s? Dola’s? Though she went on swinging blindly, she was exhausted, every fiber in her body aching. She lost her rhythm, loosened her knees’ grip on Oarf’s back. She felt herself fainting.

Oarf noticed immediately and propelled himself backward with two vigorous pumps of his wings, taking with him a good-sized chunk of the black beast’s flesh.

Nihal caught her breath and brought the image of her enemy back into focus. Dola’s armor had been pierced through in several places, revealing the dwarf’s bloodstained skin. She was in even worse shape, her skin burning with gashes, her vision blurred. But she was not going to give in. She was going to defeat him, even if it meant her death.
The dragon. I have to take down his dragon.

There was no need to give any command. With a fierce snarl, Oarf dove after the black dragon, lashing him with his claws and teeth. The roar of the creatures was deafening, the heat of their fiery breath too much to bear. Nihal and Dola were stunned into uselessness, abandoned to the will of the beasts that bore them. With all her strength, Nihal gripped Oarf’s back while the dwarf strained to incite his dragon’s fury. Then, out of nowhere, just when he seemed to have the clear advantage, Oarf gave up the fight and took off in retreat.

“Stop! Stop, Oarf!” Nihal shouted. She looked over her shoulder. The black beast was struggling after them, losing blood with every flap of its wings.

Only then did Oarf turn up toward the sky and, in a sudden one-eighty, dart downward on his enemy from above. Nihal synched with her dragon’s thought.
Yes! Yes, Oarf! I see it now. I’m ready! Now!
She locked her knees around his back and gripped her sword with both hands, squeezing the handle as if it were a dagger.

Just above the dragon’s black head, Oarf leveled his flight path and Nihal plunged her sword in with the last of her strength.

Blood gushed from the black dragon’s neck and the creature let out a tremendous wail, a surge of pain and anger.

“Cursed swine!” the dwarf yelled, and sliced open one of Oarf’s wings with a stroke of his blade.

The black dragon plummeted rapidly and crash-landed into the trees, dragging the branches down with him.

Oarf came tumbling just after him, landing on the ground a few feet away.

For a moment, Nihal saw nothing but a whirl of leaves and splintered wood, until she was flung from her dragon’s back and thumped on the dirt.

It was the whistle of a passing blade that brought her back to her senses.

“You’ve picked the wrong fight, little boy,” Dola shouted.

Nihal rolled away just in time, and the blade hushed against her cheek as the dwarf thrust his sword into the ground.

Crouched among the bushes, she panted heavily.
My sword! Where is my sword?
There was no time to take precise stock of the dwarf’s wounds, but they were numerous, and at least one or two of them had to be grievous.
How could he possibly have so much energy left?
Nihal began to back away, her knees bent, her hands digging through the leaves for her sword.

Dola seemed sure of victory. “You’re finished, boy. You’re finished,” he repeated, approaching her slowly.

Nihal tripped over something sharp. A cry escaped her lips and she fell backward. One of her ankles was bleeding, but she’d never been so happy to have cut herself open.

Dola burst into laughter.

“Spare me, I’m begging you,” Nihal whispered.

“Now you beg?” the dwarf hissed. “I don’t think so, Knight. Why don’t you try again? I think you could do better than that.”

“I’m pleading with you. Let me live,” Nihal implored. She inched herself toward him imperceptibly.

“Why should I?”

Nihal bowed low to him. “I’ll be your servant forever, I’ll do whatever you want …” she whimpered. She stretched her arms out farther and farther along the ground, until she felt something cold and hard with her right hand. Just then she shot up to her feet, clenching her sword.

She launched at him in attack, but her blows were less precise, her vision blurred, her body gripped with pain. They dueled ceaselessly, and the shrill sound of their crossing blades cut violently through the night’s silence.

Even Dola seemed plagued with fatigue. He began to back away. He missed a block. And then another.
Strike him now! Strike him!

Her sword took the dwarf by surprise. Its crystal blade pierced through his stomach, and for an instant the forest flared with white light.

Dola howled in pain, his breastplate shattered in pieces on the ground. He leaned back on a tree, moaning. Nihal kept her guard up, but a coy smile had crept across her lips. At last, it seemed, the duel had come to an end.

Her satisfaction, however, was short-lived.

Tears of rage burst from Nihal’s eyes. Was there any way to defeat him? She had nothing left in her, no strength to bear another fight. She was destined to die by the hand of the very monster who’d murdered her childhood.

Then, what happened next stole the breath from her lungs.

The Tear in the handle of her sword began to glow and the tree on which Dola leaned was suddenly illuminated, giving off a terrifying, silver gleam. Its roots tore upward and out of the soil, wrapping around the dwarf’s squat body and flinging him to the earth. Its branches contorted and bent to the ground, seizing him by his limbs.

Nihal looked on in utter shock, paralyzed. There was something frightening, powerful, superhuman about the scene unfolding before her eyes. A Father of the Forest had come to her aid.

Its thick bark glowed threateningly, its leaves sharpened into a thousand knives and sunk into Dola’s skin, and its branches shook him violently before flinging him into the distance.

Dola slammed into another tree and fell grotesquely to the ground. Gradually, the light faded and the tree was again silent, immobile.

Nihal felt as if she’d lost all sense of time. She had no idea how long she’d been standing there, motionless, staring at his conquered corpse. When she finally came to, she found herself trembling from head to toe, a singular cry in her head: “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

She stepped slowly toward Dola. He was only a few feet away, but they seemed like miles. And then she was above him, staring down at him. He lay panting in a pool of blood, and even still he eyed her ferociously.

Nihal raised her sword and impaled the dwarf through his shoulder, nailing him to the ground. His wailing was a melody to her ears.

Only then did she remove her helmet and toss it aside.

Dola shot her a sneering grin. “So it’s true, there’s still one of you vermin left.”

Nihal was blind with rage. “Yes, Dola, there’s still one of us,” she growled. “And her name is Nihal of the Tower of Salazar. Take a good, hard look, because she’s about to black out your eyes forever.” As she spoke, she pressed her sword to his throat.

“I remember it like it was yesterday, Salazar. Such a wonder, to watch it burn …” the dwarf mouthed. “Kill me then, if you wish, young half-elf. But don’t fool yourself. My death will do nothing to stop the Tyrant. You’ll never kill us all, not in a thousand lives.”

“Kill him! Kill him!” the voices implored her.

But Nihal hesitated.

That’s all it takes. All I have to do is press this blade into his throat and I’ll be happy; I’ll have done my duty.

But she’d promised; she couldn’t.

How many enemies have I finished with a stroke of my sword, how many Fammin have I slaughtered, how many dying breaths have fogged this blade? What harm could there be in one more death?

Her hand was sweating as she gripped tighter, her forehead cold.

Nihal remembered Megisto’s words: “You want to see him beg for mercy.

And then when he’s groveling at your feet, you’ll take great pleasure in slicing his throat and watching his blood stain the ground. And when he’s dead you’ll laugh, thinking you’ve satisfied your need for vengeance.”

No! No! No!

She took a step back on infirm legs and sheathed her sword. “I’ll let the others decide your fate, you coward,” she hissed.

Dola glared at her from beneath his heavy eyelids. “You’re making a big mistake, half-elf, a big mistake. …” His words trailed off into a faint echo. His eyelids sank.

The strategy of keeping Dola occupied while the troops led their attack down in the field proved successful. It had been a difficult battle, but in the end the Army of the Free Lands claimed victory. By dawn, the Herzli Forest encampment was once again under their control.

While fighting raged on the battlefield, Laio had been busy watching the duel between Nihal and Dola from a hill. He’d witnessed Oarf and the black dragon writhing in the night sky, had heard Nihal’s desperate cries. At every wound his friend suffered he’d closed his eyes, and he’d celebrated her every successful jab, marveling as her sword pierced through the dwarf’s impenetrable armor. Then he’d seen Nihal and Dola come tumbling from the sky, and he’d sprinted in horror to warn the general.

When the reconnaissance team came back with Nihal, covered in blood and unconscious, an astonished silence fell over the camp. Just behind them were four soldiers dragging a chained and wounded Dola.

All that day, the encampment’s sorcerer stayed at Nihal’s side, and only when evening came did he dare claim that the worst had passed.

Nihal would have no memory at all of her time in the infirmary. Not even dreams came to give her the semblance of being alive. She was as good as dead—darkness and nothingness, everywhere.

Upon hearing that Nihal had been gravely injured, Ido mounted Vesa and came as fast as the wind. He and Laio attended to her dutifully, changing her pillow, watching over her night and day, waiting faithfully for the moment when she’d open her eyes.

“He won’t stop asking for you, Ido.”

“I know.”

“But is it true? I mean, is it true that he …”

“Quiet, Laio. Quiet.”

Slowly, Nihal lifted her eyelids and two indistinct figures emerged from the dark.

She could hear her name being called. “Nihal! Nihal, are you awake?”
Laio …
She opened and closed her eyes and the faces hovering over her were soon familiar. Laio’s hair was ruffled and he seemed tired. Ido was smiling. Nihal strained to return his smile, but wasn’t sure if she’d managed.

“I’m proud of you,” Ido murmured.

Suddenly everything came back to her.

Yes, she too was proud.

During her time in the infirmary, Nihal received an extraordinary number of visitors. Among the first to arrive was the general, who took it upon himself to grant her official recognition of her achievement. Then came one soldier after another, and Nihal was forced to tell and retell the story of how she’d defeated the Tyrant’s most feared warrior. Not that she wasn’t flattered by all the attention, but she felt ill at ease in her role as the latest heroine.