27. Twenty-Seven #2
“I’ll follow your lead and guard your flank. Bryn will monitor the beast.” He jerked his chin at Bryn, indicating she should take up a position closer to the drak’s head.
Bryn did as he bid her, cautiously approaching the creature’s front end, bow in hand, an arrow ready to be nocked. With Bryn in place, Callan nodded once at Nova, and she advanced on the beast.
She crept onto the pile of treasure serving as the drak’s bed, using the pain in her hand as a tool of detection as she went.
Stalking along the length of its torso, her eyes hunted amid the gold and precious stones for the black blade causing the searing pain licking up into her forearm.
When she reached the joint where the creature’s haunch met its belly, the pain waned slightly.
Nova retreated a few steps, testing. The pain flared, and she stopped, crouching low to the ground and gently sorting through the treasure at her feet.
After a few moments had passed, the gentle expansion and contraction of the beast’s belly measuring the time, Callan spoke.
“Anything?”
Nova glanced over her shoulder at him. He faced her, but his eyes remained trained on the drak’s front end, on its head lolling back and forth as it made itself more comfortable.
Nova scanned the jewels heaped around her once more before expelling a frustrated huff that ruffled the black kerchief covering her mouth.
“Nothing.”
She tipped her head back and peered through the haze of smoke toward the summit, open to the sky beyond but so high above that no natural light aided in her search.
As she lowered her eyes once again, something odd and out of place caught her attention.
The beast’s midsection was nearly twice her height, so it was difficult to see clearly.
But there, amid the spikes of varying heights lining the drak’s spine and tail, she thought she spied the glint of metal.
Slowly rising to stand, Nova reached forward and laid a tentative palm flat against the shimmering black scales covering the beast’s flank.
After a breath, she placed her other hand beside the first and gave an experimental push.
There was no give to its armored side. From what she recalled of the faerie stories from her childhood, draks’ skin was thick, not easily pierced by arrow or blade.
“Callan,” she whispered, motioning him closer when he snapped his eyes in her direction. “Give me a lift.”
Callan quirked a brow and came to her side. “What have you found?” he murmured.
Nova jerked her chin to the animal’s back. “Does that look like a hilt to you?”
Callan squinted in the dim light, his dark eyes going wide as he, too, registered a flicker of metal protruding from between the sharp spines.
“My gods, it does.” He let out an airy laugh. “But wait—you mean to scale the creature to collect it?”
Nova nodded, taking position beside the drak’s leg.
“Suppose it wakes.”
“It’s got thick skin.” She kicked the toe of her boot against the clawed foot in front of her as if it were nothing more than a wagon wheel.
She stretched her arms as high as she could to get a handhold at the crease of the creature’s haunch.
“I’ll be like a fly landing on a horse’s back—barely a nuisance. ”
Callan appeared unconvinced, his brow furrowed in the endearing way that told her he was busy weighing risk versus reward.
“Come away from there,” he said after a beat. “I’ll go.”
He stepped up to the creature’s side and tugged gently on her elbow. Nova dropped her arms and turned to Callan, placing her hands on his broad shoulders.
“Now you, I’m certain, the beast would notice.” She brought her hands to his chest and patted the space over his heart. “Sorry, love. Blame your Winter blood.”
Callan loosed an agitated breath, his curt nod that followed conveying that while he agreed with her assessment, he wasn’t happy about it. He bent down, interlocking his fingers in a makeshift step for her.
“I’ll be careful.” She brushed the back of her fingers over his cheek before reaching up once again and stepping a foot into his ready hands.
He lifted her easily, boosting her high enough to pull herself up onto the drak’s hip.
She paused for a moment to get her bearings, surprised by the height of her perch.
Moving slowly to account for the rise and fall of the creature’s breath beneath her boots, she scaled its back until she reached the row of spikes along its spine.
Using the protrusions like handrails, Nova continued on, the burning sensation in her limb intensifying, until, at last, the metal object was within reach.
What the blooming pain in her hand had hinted at, her eyes confirmed: the final portion of Kinslayer buried to the hilt, plunged into the drak’s spine like a territorial flag.
The pommel was crafted in the wedged shape of a raven’s tail, the grip wrapped in smooth black leather.
The intricate cross guard was a raven in flight, wings spread wide.
Nova couldn’t be certain how long the embedded portion was, but the visible portion of the sword was roughly two hands in length.
If its skin was as thick as she guessed, perhaps the creature wouldn’t notice when she withdrew the blade.
Still, odds were that removing it would cause pain and wake the slumbering beast, transforming it from a docile creature to an enraged one.
Nova bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she had no choice.
She crouched, blowing out a breath and shaking her hands as she prepared herself—mentally and physically—to claim the final piece of her father’s sword.
No matter how many times she touched one of the Kinslayer shards, the sensation still ripped the air from her lungs.
Forced her entire body into an agonizing spasm.
Nova closed her eyes briefly, sending a silent message to both Callan and Bryn.
Brace yourselves.
Opening her eyes once again, Nova gripped the hilt.
Pain exploded in her hand and surged up her forearm, stronger than it had been any other time.
She pressed her mouth shut, stifling a scream.
Clutching her wrist with her opposite hand, she forced several deep breaths before attempting to wrench the blade free.
At first, it refused to budge. She clenched her jaw against the sensation of flame boiling the very marrow in her bones and leaned back for purchase.
At last, like a rotten tooth, the blade slipped loose.
Nova crashed onto her back, the cursed sword held aloft over her face.
The short length of blade shone with blood, a crimson so dark it was nearly black.
A deep, rattling roar filled the stone chamber, the sound vibrating Nova’s chest as she covered her ears with her wrists.
The drak rumbled to life beneath her, its body pitching violently from side to side as it attempted to shake off the source of its pain.
Nova grasped one of its spines to keep from being tossed like a ship on an angry sea.
Through the blinding agony of holding her father’s sword, Nova vaguely registered Callan shouting her name.
As another roar shook the stone chamber, she pulled herself onto her feet and crouched low, still gripping one of the spikes for dear life.
As the creature bucked beneath her, Nova could see Bryn close to the head.
The beast rose onto its legs, its long neck stretching up toward the summit.
Seemingly spotting Bryn, it ceased its writhing and angled its face toward the Wyldling, jaws yawning open.
Even from her position, Nova scented the acrid odor that signaled the drak was about to spit fire.
She thrust her father’s blade into her sword belt and pried her fingers off the hilt with her opposite hand.
Drawing her Nivalian steel from the sheath at her hip, she propelled herself forward, sprinting along the drak’s spine.
Just as Nova reached the space between the beast’s wings, Bryn sent an arrow slicing through the air; it whistled faintly before striking the beast in the eye.
The drak screeched, whipping its head back and forth, a shower of dark blood raining down on Bryn.