Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Islam the vial of remaining bloodroot oil into a patch of dry grass nearby, shattering it, then break the lantern near the same spot.
The grass ignites with a violent whoosh, forcing the newly-arrived soldiers to abandon us and focus on putting it out, lest they want to lose all the supplies in the wagons nearby; in this dry wasteland, it won't take any time for it all to go up in one giant inferno.
“Nicely done,” Briar says, flashing me a chaotic grin. “But now you definitely owe me for that oil, just so we're clear.”
I can't help but return her unhinged smile. She usually catches more criticism about being the reckless one, but the truth is that I'd set fire to this entire camp just as quickly as she would.
And I'd probably enjoy watching it burn even more than her.
I don't have time to stay and cheer on the flames, unfortunately; the dragon is nearly out of sight, loping along at a surprisingly quick pace even with its wings drooping pathetically along the ground behind it.
“After it!” Briar urges. “I'll trail behind you and pick off anyone who follows.”
In the next breath, she's running toward where she left her bow. I break into a sprint as well. Our splitting up causes even more confusion and chaos among our enemies, and I manage to slip away easily enough.
Once I've put some distance between myself and the camp, I start to look for signs of the dragon.
It's not exactly a difficult trail to find or follow; the smears of blood alone would be enough to track it. But there are also drag marks, places where its broken wings and erratic, shambling steps have disturbed the leaves and left telling marks in the dirt.
I can still hear the chaos behind me.
The smoke from the fires is thick on the wind, itching my throat.
I don't doubt Briar's ability to get away from the mess we made, but I'm still eager to finish this and get back to her side, so I pick up my pace, pressing my way into a small grove of trees without any thoughts aside from everything I know about killing dragons.
Despite how often I've fantasized about the act, I've never actually done it. Both because of how poorly man-made weapons fare against the beasts, and because of that Ashwalker code Briar threw in my face earlier—we really don't make a point of trying to slay dragons. We just survive them.
But I still know their weak points. Where to aim. I also know this forest well; it's one of the few places that provides some measure of shade and substance along this route, so I’ve stopped to rest within it several times before.
Deeper and deeper I go, following the trail of blood and the occasional desperate mark clawed into a spindly tree trunk.
Luckily, the moon is bright tonight, lighting my way toward the small stream I know flows through the center of this area.
I spot fresh tracks in the mud, confirming my suspicion that the wounded creature was seeking water.
I continue down the trickling stream, until finally…
There it is.
The dragon has collapsed in a shallow pool. Its eyes are closed, its narrow head resting on a smooth rock, just barely lifted out of the water. Fresh blood blooms into that water with every slow, labored heave of breath.
I stare for longer than I mean to, the weight of the moment settling. The surreal nature of it—how rare it is to find myself in a position of power over one of these creatures. How lucky. It’s a small victory, a meager recompense after everything that dragons have taken from me.
I’m still going to enjoy it.
I withdraw my blade.
The most vulnerable part of a young dragon is said to be its chest. In the right lighting, you can supposedly see their hearts beating right through the thin layer of scales that haven't yet hardened.
I’ve never seen a hatchling in person, so whether that’s true or not, I couldn’t say. And it’s too dark to confirm it now, especially in the position it lies in.
But I still intend to aim for its heart.
A single, well-placed strike should be enough.
Most wouldn’t expect a one-eyed Ashwalker to be capable of such aim, but the blade I hold is like an extension of my own body; I've spent hours practicing with it while blindfolded, learning to compensate for what I lost five years ago.
I can't rely fully on my eyes the way most people can, so I've learned to guide my strikes through other methods, sharpening my other senses to make up for what I lack.
As the night seems to close in around us, I can hear the beating heart of the dying dragon with a loudness that makes every nerve in my body flare with awareness. Even over the whisper of the stream and my own pounding pulse, I can count each beat with a calm, focused accuracy.
I can feel them like a second heart fluttering inside my own chest.
The dragon opens its eyes to watch me approach, but it makes no move to defend itself. Not at first. It shouldn’t bother me that it doesn’t have the strength to fight back—so few dragon victims are ever given the opportunity to fight back.
So I don’t know why I hesitate.
In the stillness, it decides to move.
Slowly, it lifts its head and arches its broken body. Its front feet come to rest on the rock, black claws scraping and clicking as it shuffles for balance.
As it steadies itself, the lighting shifts, as if the creature is controlling the clouds over the moon itself.
A beam of silver light shines down upon it, illuminating enough to show me that the stories I’ve heard are true—because there it is: that beating life-force in its chest, pulsing like a faint star underneath translucent scales.
My breaths slow as I stare at it, waning to match its dying rhythm before I realize what I’m doing.
I give my head a hard shake.
Somewhere far behind me, I hear Briar calling my name. Something she wouldn't risk doing unless the situation is getting out of control and retreating is the only smart option left.
My mother's sword hangs heavy but steady in my grip. Oddly, the stones on it aren't glowing the way they usually do to warn me of dragon proximity; whatever magic is woven into the blade, it apparently doesn't see this dragon before me as a threat it needs to warn me about.
But it will be a threat, if you let it live.
I hesitate for only an instant longer. An instant. In the next, I'm slicing forward, bringing the blade within inches of the dragon's exposed chest, bracing myself for the resistance of scale and flesh—
Then it happens again, same as it did earlier: An uncomfortably hot sensation blooming in my sternum, making my heart skip several beats.
The heat doesn’t subside, this time, and my entire body seizes as if bracing for my heart to actually ignite. I somehow keep the sword raised and pointed at my target, even though it suddenly feels like the weight of the world is settling into its blade.
Bit by bit, the forest around me begins to tilt.
My balance sways.
The dragon leans forward, nostrils flaring. For a tense moment, I think it might try to snatch my blade into its mouth and jerk it right out of my hand.
The heat in my chest intensifies until I can barely breathe. I hear Briar shouting my name again, along with what sounds like pounding boots pursuing her.
I'm running out of time.
But no matter how hard I try to get myself to finish the kill, my body won't cooperate.
I take a few uncertain steps backward, my heart still burning.
The dragon…follows me. With obvious effort, it slinks from the water and trudges through the mud, trying to keep its gaze locked on mine.
“…What are you doing, you stupid beast?”
It lets out a soft, strange sound, like a strangled chirp. Its wings flutter weakly, broken and useless, flicking blood across the damp ground.
Pity.
I think it's trying to evoke pity.
But all I feel is hatred. Hatred toward this creature, and hatred toward myself for not being strong enough to just swing my godsdamn sword.
My grip on that sword tightens. I want to try again, but…
Useless.
I'm useless.
“Just go lay down and die somewhere,” I snap, kicking mud into the dragon's face. “And leave this world alone.”
It recoils, baring its teeth at me.
Briar's voice cuts through the trees, frantic and close now. With one last furious kick toward the dragon, I turn and race to meet her.
I don't hear the monster following me this time. I’m running so fast it couldn’t catch me anyway—and yet, it still doesn’t feel fast enough.
The world is still tilting. My body still feels like it’s burning from the inside out.
My steps become even more reckless and quick, nearly sending me toppling over roots and careening into several different trees.
After colliding with Briar, I finally stop to catch my breath and look behind me.
As expected, there’s nothing there.
But the scent of the dragon’s blood lingers in the air, and I can’t get its face out of my mind, even as the blistering heat in my heart finally gives way to bitter cold.