Throne of Scars (37 page)

M
orginthax gazed at the plummeting dragons with concern. “I’ve slept for thousands of years. And now I’m to give my life for the Nine? So be it. An oath is an oath. But only to recover the Horn and the Scepter from Hel’s minions.

I wiped my face, and was fairly sure Dana was going to survive, after all. I pulled away from her. “As long as you don’t attack Shannon or Kiera, I’m happy.” I looked up at it. “And I’m very grateful. I couldn’t have wished for a dragon to aid us.”

The dragon smiled enchantingly, then shook her head in disgust, changed and grew with a dizzying speed, spread her wings, and nodded at me. “Go, then. Let’s go and spare your filthy friends.”

I went forward, and the dragon grasped me. “I’m ready, if you are,” I said and looked over to Dana. “Coming?”

Dana squared her shoulders and stood to watch the terrible battle. Shannon’s army had stopped the riders and the orcs of Ban. A ferocious battle was being fought just over the ridge, where hundreds and hundreds of riders tumbled from their lizard mounts. The orc army still tried to break the thickly-packed svartalfs, hacking down ferociously with huge axes, but slowly, their undisciplined ranks faltered as their losses mounted. Shannon’s army pushed, pushed. Shields and spears took turns to batter and savage as fifty thousand svartalfs marched on, killing, saving the surrounded regiments. Cyclones of fire were tearing the heart out of Ban’s army, and they fell back in places, gutted. Thousand, then more fell. Svartalf riders of Scardark were routing the last of the enemy riders, then orcs, and I saw how the embattled jotuns surged against the female guard of Ban in an orgy of blood.

The elves were surging over Markudin after the draugr. Thousands were already engaging Shannon’s ten thousand and the draugr that had been stopped from fleeing. The bridge was filled with the beautiful folk form Above, and their human allies, light spells bringing them ability to see.

The Masked One had to stop them.

They would rob him of the Throne.

Four dragons swooped at the elven army as it was crossing the bridge. Imagine a spiked ball made of magic, mayhem, claws, jaws, and terrible ill will, and see it tear through unsuspecting, gleeful but tiny enemies, and you can see the destruction in your mind. The dragons, a dark one, a white one, and one red, tore into the heart of Aldheim’s finest legions. The red dragon slammed itself onto the bridge itself, its tail throwing hundred elves to the abyss, its claws ripping to shreds a unit of Safiroon infantry, stout humans bearing halberds. Then it unleashed spells. Wind buffeted the bridge, then fire mixed to the wind, and for a moment, Vastness was light as if a dozen moons shone in the sky, and a thousand elven and human warriors crumbled, their proud standards thin flaming pillars. The other two dragons roared into the army beyond the bridge. They landed and killed a Safiroon general, but soon they were roaring with pain as ten thousand elves charged them with spears. They went into a battle frenzy. Spells of shredding winds and ice tore the heart out of the elven contingents around them. The dragons glowed with protection spells, and leashed more and more icy wind and fiery spells. I thought I saw Almheir screaming orders on our side of the bridge, and Shinna Safiroon in green armor calling for her maa’dark to slay the wyrms on the bridge. The white dragon with two tails, puffed out of sight as it plummeted against the ten thousand elves that had already crossed, and appeared in the midst of them, ripping apart some very high nobles, before going berserk in a frenzy of claws, teeth, tails and fire.

The other dragons, they headed for Shannon.

Dana hesitated. She got up and walked towards us. “I guess I owe her this much. We must get the Scepter.”

“Only Nött might stop this,” I told her. “And Kiera will be down there.”

“To her, I owe nothing,” she said viciously while stroking her throat. She looked up at me. My chest was a mass of pain and I felt blood flowing to my hips. “You are bleeding.”

I nodded. “Worry about it later, Dana. Much later. We need you.”

She nodded, and stepped closer. The dragon grasped her, and then, like a ship riding the most terrible wave back in Earth, our whole world changed into a breathtaking ride. The ground was left behind, and the dragon tore across the dark air of the Vastness. She was flapping her wings strongly, and below, suddenly not far, there was the huge battle that was still ongoing. I saw how Shannon’s army was overcoming King Ban himself. Riders overran the enemy king’s guards, and jotuns broke through at the same time. Ban fell on his back from his seat. He struggled, but was hacked by the swords of two mighty jotuns.

His twenty thousand remaining soldiers immediately laid down their weapons, and the remaining two kings turned to flee, only to fall to arrow and spell. They were Shannon’s then. And only then, did the army see what was taking place with Shannon.

The smoldering dragon, the Masked One, plummeted towards the Queen of the Dead, the lady of Scardark, hoping to grasp her title with its dying breath. He was flanked by his dragons. Shannon, she looked up. Her svartalf army stared at the beasts aghast, scattered, shooting arrows, thousands of arrows up at the beasts, making them roar with anger and annoyance. Spells, hundred or so reached out, and one, a gray worm lost its wing, plummeting in rage amidst a legion of jotuns, who slashed it to pieces, losing a score of theirs in the bloody process.

The rest tore into Shannon. Flaming pillars tore down at her, like a rainstorm of death. Fifty black-armored guards fell into brittle heaps of dust and a hundred gorgons burst into flames.

Shannon didn’t wait to fall.

The dagger aloft, she blinked out of sight, a dark cloud that escaped from a melting chariot of gold, and shot across thousands of her troops. The dragons landed where she had been standing. The chariot was a pool of molten gold, and the scaled beasts were turning their heads lithely around, seeking a hint of her, roaring at stinging arrows, which their spells mostly deflected.

Shannon stayed hidden.

Instead, a hundred armored jotuns and thousands of svartalfs attacked the beasts. Fire licked the ground around the army as they charged, and spears and arrows peppered the dragons. On the bridge, one of the dragons roared, as Shinna and a dozen Safiroon mages cast intense fire at it, and a burning dragon rolled dead into the chasm.

The Masked One turned, it’s one good eye seeking Shannon desperately. He was horribly burned, but still alive. He screamed, “Queen of the Rot! Come! It is time to see you honor the Dragon Pact!”

The chaos was complete. The dragons, frustrated, hurt by arrows and spells, attacked the enemy ferociously. The jotuns hacked at the scaled enemy, their swords and axes coming down, and one dragon, a red-tinged one, fell, ripping off jotun heads as it died.

The rest of the dragons breathed a conflagration of utter horror. The fires they breathed were so fierce, even jotuns fell, breathless. It went on for a long time, the flames spreading as the beasts breathed gleefully. Thousand died, more. The shocked svartalfs hesitated.

“What shall we do?” I asked the dragon.

“They’ll think I’m an enemy,” she answered. “In a way, I am. But you get ready. Your Shannon will fight soon. That’s the best time.”

She was right.

“There!” the Masked One shrieked, having spotted Shannon in the midst of the milling army.

The dragons turned and charged forward, making a slithering path towards Shannon and the corpses of the svartalfs. The dragons waded into a sea of swords and spears, killing hundreds as they made their way for Shannon. A king fell, smashed under a claw, a gorgon general was ripped apart between jaws. Shannon’s army rushed over the ridge, the riders first, shocked to see the massive elven army and the dragons tearing havoc at their rear. “Is the Queen dead?” roared one of the generals, sitting on a lizard. A lightning bolt from a dragon split him, and dozens of others in half, even through his magical guard.

Shannon walked to the top of a small knoll. The dragons, all badly wounded by now, aimed for her, slithering, ripping, clawing and killing. She smiled, madness in her eyes, and danced. Her hair was flying as she called for terrible powers. Her horrible wounds were on the mend, but she looked like a witch from some old story. Darkness rolled around her, and a huge lightning ball grew in her hands. It was massively tiring, even to the dead Hand of Hel. She shuddered with fatigue, but then she released it.

A stabbing bolt of lightning pierced the air, zig zagging across it.

The Masked One roared, and shrunk to his human form, dodging the spell. Another dragon was too slow. It had just spat a huge storm of fire at Shannon’s guards, which scattered a regiment of svartalfs, but the dragon died. The lightning tore into his head, exploding it, the ancient creature died on impact and it crashed to the ground.

The remaining two dragons shrunk into human forms.

All three braided together spells, and magical armor covered them head to toe. One had a golden spear, one a flail, and the Masked One, the icy sword. The rushed forward, slaying as they went on. Thousand svartalfs rushed to intercept them. The dragons tore into the army, killing and killing, getting closer to Shannon.

One dragon fell under the blades of a beautiful queen and her guards. They stabbed it to death, roaring their victory.

Two dragons were left.

Shannon waited for them. But not alone.

I saw Kiera. “There she is.”

“And the Scepter,” the dragon rumbled. “It will be now, or never.”

Shannon beckoned for Kiera and grasped the Scepter. She called out. “Let
him
come!” She pointed at the Masked One.

Svartalfheim’s armies stopped attacking them, and backed off.

Out among the elven ranks, the dragons raised their bleeding heads, saw the terrible losses and the state of their leader, and fled. One, a red, long-tailed one roared as its wing exploded, hit with a lightning bolt, and it fell to thrash its life away amidst a host of draugr. The last of the dragons that had been accompanying the Masked One hesitated. It stopped and released a spell that opened up the ground under the svartalfs, killing hundreds and fled away, trailing blood as it fled.

And the Masked One, embracing death, he surged for Shannon.

His sword swept up as he jumped past a jotun, killing him. The dragon was suicidal, terribly wounded, hurt beyond caring, and his hurtling image charged for Shannon. The sword crashed down on her. The Famine blocked it, and the two mighty beings stood there, pushing. Shannon glowed, and struck the dragon with the Scepter. He took the hit, a part of his face missing, and hacked again, the icy blade tearing into Shannon’s skeletal hand.

The Masked One pushed terribly, and Shannon slipped on blood and fell on her back. She tried to get up, but the beast, giving the effort all it had, placed a blade under her guard. Kiera was there, stabbing, but the dragon struck her so hard she fell away, broken.

“Now,” the dragoness said resolutely, and plummeted down. “Saving such as she …” she muttered, but went quiet with glee, as she was about to have vengeance for her mate. The speed was terrific, silent, but the Masked One looked up, just as it had grabbed the Scepter of Night, and was about to impale Shannon. He had sensed, or heard something. His eyes burned with confusion, and then he spotted us.

The white dragon’s rear claws tore into him. She spun in the air, and the Masked One flew behind, trailing blood, an arm missing.

She dropped us near it.

I rushed forward. The fiery whip appeared in my hand, and I struck it around the Masked One’s face. Dana was there as the beast still got up, breathing heavily. I flailed, whipped, tearing the thing to pieces, and Dana’s spell of firewall burned its head so it burst into flames. It raised the icy sword one more time, and then Kiera appeared behind it, twisted and terribly hurt, and rammed the Heartbreaker through its chest.

Apparently, it had a heart.

The Masked One tottered forward, and fell at my feet. a blackened corpse.

He turned to dust.

And there, in the dust was the Gjallarhorn. Kiera fell on her back.

I rushed to Kiera, and turned her around. She had been broken, her spine was twisted and her nose was in tatters. Dana strode forward, keeping an eye on two dragons that were swerving around the battle. She kneeled next to the corpse of Kiera, and grasped the Scepter from the ground. She also picked up the Horn, wondering at it.

The tumult of battle could only barely cover her rasping breath, I looked at her, and nodded toward our friendly dragon. “We have to get the Horn to Nött,” I said.

“No,” said a voice, and we turned to look at Shannon. Dana flinched at the sight of her. She was broken, mending slowly, but naked and looked truly dead with so many burns and wounds I could not count them. She pointed at the artifacts. “Give me the Horn, Ulrich. It was what we always agreed on.” Her eyes went to Dana. “And that.” I wasn’t sure if she meant the Scepter or her sister.

I shook my head as Dana held on to the Horn and the Scepter. I walked between her and Dana. Morginthax growled above us at Shannon while her troops looked on, nervous as the elven army was pushing on towards us, slaying and routing troops. I shook my head. “No. I will not. We’ll do what we must.” I backed off towards Dana.

She regarded me feverishly.