21. A Dragon’s Fury #3
As soon as the gaping hole in the wall was clear, our arms yanked forward. I screamed against the monumental weight. It was like hauling boulders through a mire, every inch its own hellish battle. But the draugr answered our command, jerking up a few steps with the stiff movement of our arms.
“Onward!” the Shadow roared with our twin voices, flaring her power through to the tips of our fingers.
The draugr launched into a stilted run, jostling against each other with their frenetic, graceless movements.
They moved around us in a stampede of unearthly howls and the putrid stench of rotting flesh.
I bolstered my will to keep our arms held rigidly in front of us, fingers curling like claws around the black tendrils attached to the draugr.
Steady, the Shadow said within my mind. I hadn’t realized until then that I was clenching our jaw so tightly my teeth were beginning to hurt. You’re doing well, Asvoria. Maintain your focus.
I growled like a feral hound in response, unable to form words—too focused on maintaining our hold on the undead to even think them.
The draugr piled through the gaping hole, their decaying arms reaching out to grasp at the myrkva trying to reform their mass of whirling shadows.
Horrified fascination trickled through my mind as the creatures of my own making descended on the myrkva .
Their jaws distended to better latch onto the monsters, and their bony fingers grappled with the darkness.
Freya Vilke stood open-mouthed beside me, arms hanging limply at her sides as she watched.
Unholy screams erupted from the myrkva as the draugr sucked the life from them.
When they fizzled out of existence, flashes of red light shot up into the sky, bouncing off black and charcoal gray scales as Trygg circled overhead.
I shuddered, struggling against the pull of the inky lines extending from our fingertips.
“Whatever you do,” the Shadow said aloud, taking control of my voice once more, “do not let go!”
I didn’t need the reminder—the tale of Queen Magga the First was branded in my memory.
But seeing the draugr before me now, vanquishing the myrkva as easily as I breathed, I couldn’t stop the fear that trembled through me.
They rushed over the shadowy creatures like a storm surge, swallowing them up in an explosion of scarlet light.
Trygg swooped down once more, spreading out massive wings to catch his descent and shooting a jet of flame at the few remaining myrkva trying to escape .
He was close to the ground, his wickedly sharp talons scraping the ruined earth.
A spray of muddy snow kicked up from the swish of his spiked tail and splashed against the outer wall, scattering through the opening in front of us.
He circled back again, silver eyes molten as he looked over the group of draugr finishing off the last of the creatures.
Upon first seeing his beast form that day we went to the Temple, I’d suspected his size would cause an issue at some point or another. But I never imagined this.
Horror bubbled up as I watched the long bone of his wing catch against the group of draugr, jerking him and upending his balance.
The ground beneath our feet shook violently as the black dragon crashed into the earth.
He slid across the slushy mud, whipping the mass of undead creatures with his tail.
They screeched wildly as scraps of decaying flesh and splintered bone flew in every direction.
We ducked our head to avoid a segment of a leg hurtling towards us, its jagged edge flipping with the promise of cut skin or a painful stab.
Trygg released a trembling roar that grated against my ears.
His body skated along the ground, finally smashing to a stop against the outer wall.
The force of his impact dislodged a few pieces of the battlements, and they toppled into the bailey.
The people down below scattered under the threat of being crushed.
A wave of unbridled fury that was not my own swept from our toes to the crown of our head, knocking us to the ground with its force. Pain seared through our chest. Tears pricked at our eyes from the agony. And then…
The darkthread twisted back together in an instant.
I gasped, a massive inhale of air that flooded my lungs with smoke and the stench of death.
My chest heaved with every clogged breath.
Terror and fury swelled through my mind, clouding my thoughts.
I could tell the terror belonged to me, but where had the fury come from?
Was it from Trygg? I couldn’t decipher through the ripping pain tugging at my chest.
Struggling to my feet, I blinked back the tears with an agonized cry. My knees trembled beneath me as I tried to gain my footing. The ground shuddered again and more stone broke off the wall in a cloud of dust. The darkthread jerked, making me stumble toward the wall.
What is happening? My mind was full of mud, thoughts sliding from my grasp like morass. All I could clearly sense was overwhelming ferocity and the pain of the darkthread, pulling me toward the ruined gates.
Asvoria! the Shadow screamed violently, stopping me in my tracks.
Suddenly, I realized… I’d lost my Sight.
The world around me was once again swathed in the dim, muted colors I always saw, save for the glow of fire.
My hands and arms were no longer covered in the Shadow’s essence.
And the black tendrils that connected me to the draugr had disappeared.
Somewhere behind me, a rough voice screamed my name.
Time slowed to a halt.
Trygg’s massive wings stretched above the ruined top of the wall.
His ear-splitting roar swelled around us, the ground shuddering as he got his legs beneath him.
The myrkva were all gone but the draugr remained—some of them whole, some in pieces.
They moved aimlessly, shuffling about the ruined gates.
I caught a glimpse of the woman I’d noticed before, her glossy entrails swinging heavily from her incised gut. She looked from side to side, searching for something. And when her gaze finally swept back around the bailey, landing on me, all the air rushed from my chest.
Her eyes were blood red.
I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. The horror palpitating through my body kept me rooted to the spot, mouth hanging wide. More draugr turned their attention back toward me with glowing crimson gazes.
I lost them.
I dug my fingers into my chest, gritting my teeth against the searing pain still emanating from the darkthread.
The Shadow was back inside my mind. I tugged on the thread, willing it to release her again so I might regain control.
But it did not answer my call. It thrummed violently, making my chest pop forward and dragging my center of balance along with it.
You have to get away, the Shadow pleaded, her panic melding into my own. Go, Asvoria, now!
I… I… I couldn’t even think the words.
The draugr started back through the ruined gates, red eyes searching the gathered crowd for lives to extinguish and gruesome mouths stretching wide. Freya Vilke moved at my side, turning to the group of flametenders at her left.
“Get out of here!” she screamed, gesturing wildly toward the market square. She turned back to me and gripped my shoulder. “You must move, Your Majesty. These monsters know neither friend nor master. Flee this place at once.”
My legs refused to obey me, guided by the relentless tugging of the darkthread.
I was completely helpless but to watch as the scene unfolded.
Vilke pulled at me again, screaming in frustration.
But I would not be moved—I could not. It was an animal sort of instinct filling my mind now, forcing me forward.
But why? Why could I not turn away from the waves of undead rapidly approaching me?
Nothing awaited me there but death and?—
And Trygg was still on the other side of the wall, closer to the draugr than any of us.
The undead nearest the opening picked up their pace upon finding their targets fleeing. A few near the back of the group broke off to the right, directly where Trygg was still trying to recover from his crash.
Gods-dammit, Asvoria, move!
They were nearly upon me. Freya Vilke was gone, and the others were running anywhere their legs would take them.
The same voice as before screamed my name and I finally registered that it was Lenn.
Not even his abject terror was enough to sever the inescapable gravity of the darkthread, continuously pulling me toward the oncoming wave of the undead.
This was it.
Every moment of my life amounted to this. A complete and utter failure. I was about to be killed by creatures of my own making—creatures I’d lost control of and loosed on a city of innocent victims. How had it come to this?
Searing wind rushed over me.
Sulfur stung my nose and eyes, snaking into my lungs and burning from the inside out.
Heat flared all around from streams of white-hot flames.
A roar reverberated in my chest and filled all the empty spaces in me.
The draugr— only a few feet in front of me now—screeched like wounded animals, bathed in the flames that poured from the dragon’s open maw.
Trygg clamped his mouth shut with a predatory snarl, silver eyes glinting in the firelight.
The draugr continued their pitiful screaming as his flames sloughed off what little skin they had left, charring their bones black.
He smashed through the ruined gates, toppling the wall on either side to force his way into the bailey.
At the danger, my legs jumped to action, leaping out of the path of a chunk of stone hurtling toward me.