The vision of the long-ago struggle between two dragons began to fade. Cayce called out, “Wait, Vaan. Why didn’t you tell anyone this sooner? Why did you save this vision for now, for me?”
Vaan’s voice was sad and helpless, the perfect accompaniment to the smile Cayce could hear but not see. “The geas,” he said, “prevents my speaking freely while life remains in me.”
“So how are you telling me now?”
The vision went completely black, but Vaan’s voice lingered. “Life remains,” he said, “but barely. As it fades, so does the power of the geas.”
Alone in the dark and cold, Cayce finally understood. For the first time she felt a twinge of real sympathy for the sad little pixie.
Cayce awoke. Vaan was dead but still warm on top of her as her mind returned from the vision. The little pixie still carried the broken tip of the dragon’s tail in his torso, where it poked painfully into Cayce’s sternum. Vaan was badly burned and his head hung at a distressingly peculiar angle, but his face was a study in calm tranquility and blessed, peaceful release.
Gently, she shifted him onto the cavern floor. She felt the folded remains of her apprentice headdress tucked into the waistband of his breeches, and she reflexively pulled it free. Cayce stood and yanked Kula’s tight wooden braid from her skull. It came away easily: Kula was either unconscious or dead, but either way she was no longer holding the leash she had placed on Cayce. With practiced hands, Cayce quickly wound her long white hair back under the headdress.
The remains of the dragon they had come to kill sat atop the rectangular platform. He was almost completely unrecognizable, little more than a pile of half-melted bones and ragged razor scales. Beside Cayce, the headless skeleton sat silently, unobtrusive and almost forgotten. It had lost its special blackness when the pixie magic died with Vaan, but the bones still stood out to Cayce.
Back on the platform, the blackened remains stirred as golden bits of light danced across their surface.
Cayce watched as the golden glow rebuilt the machine dragon’s glowing yellow eyes. The glassy orbs ignited, casting an awful light across the cavern as the creature’s head slowly reformed around them.
Cayce sprang to her feet and ran to where Captain Hask had unsheathed his sword. She had to find the Hand of Righteous Retribution and wield it again. Vaan had said it would work for her as long as it was fully empowered after Hask’s first blast. She could end this if she were quick and if she were just a little bit luckier than she had been so far.
A groan caught her attention, and she sprinted toward the sound. She found Captain Hask under a broken segment of column and debris with his face and hands blistered black. The handle of the foot-wide sword was still clenched in his fists. Either through Hask’s heroic effort or more probably due to its special enchantments, the scabbard had reappeared and the Hand of Righteous Retribution was once more safely sheathed.
“Deploy the golem,” Hask muttered, feverish with delirium.
“Boom is gone,” Cayce said. She reached for Hask’s hand and tried to pry his fingers open. “But I can finish this for you. Give me the sword.”
Hask groaned and tightened his grip. “Can only be drawn twice,” he said. “Once in… anger.”
“Then in wisdom. I know. I have the wisdom, Captain. Let me have the sword.”
Behind them a smoking, sparking head rose up on a serpentine tower that was growing longer, stronger, and more complete with each passing second. Garbled and broken, a wretched mockery of Zumaki’s smooth, cultured voice rolled out of the still-forming throat.
“Another unexpected guest gains entry to my home,” the beast said. “Am I so wretched a host?”
Cayce turned to Hask. “Give me the sword, Captain.”
Hask cursed her. “Never. I must… must avenge…”
The dragon’s neck was now complete, and his shoulders were emerging from the pile of formless debris.
“Vaan,” he said, his voice fuzzy and distorted. “Is that you among my guests? Have you been plotting against me again?”
Cayce flicked the officer across the nose. The wounded man stirred, grumbled, and fully opened his eyes at last. They focused up on Cayce.
She flicked him again. “The sword, Hask. Give it to me.”
“Get away.” Hask seemed to recognize her, but that only made him less compliant. “Give the Hand over to the likes of you?” He spat derisively.
“Suit yourself,” Cayce said. With a smooth, practiced motion she slipped a needle out of her headdress and sank the tip into Hask’s neck. The officer’s eyes rolled up in his head, and his body went limp. As his fingers relaxed, Cayce seized the Hand of Righteous Retribution and hauled it free.
The sword was even heavier than it looked. Cayce was barely able to keep her end off of the cavern floor. Moving with it was even more difficult, as its tip dragged across every crack in the floor and snagged on every broken rock.
The dragon extended one newly grown arm off the platform to balance himself as he leaned toward Cayce. Struggling, Cayce tried to circle away from. the dragon’s reach while continuing on toward the skeleton.
“What is…” the machine’s voice squawked and screeched pure static. “What is your name, child?”
Cayce threw herself forward, the sword scraping powder from the cavern floor even through its scabbard. She was now only twenty feet from the remains of the merchant ship and the all-important cargo it concealed.
The dragon sent his other, incomplete arm clutching after Cayce. She circled wide again, staying well clear of his metallic grasp. The dragon’s entire body hummed and seethed like a swarm of metal bees.
The beast hauled his regenerating bulk off the platform and flopped forward. Cayce spun to the side, hoping to lunge around the monster, but she was too slow with the sword. The dragon stretched his neck forward so that his head blocked Cayce’s path, the merchant ship almost completely hidden behind it.
Cayce stared steadily into the half-formed nightmare’s lifeless eyes. She planted the tip of the sword in the broken cavern floor and stepped up onto the hilt, balancing like a child on a pogo stick as she brought both feet up under her. Fortunately, she didn’t have to balance this way for long.
“Vaan,” he said again. “Is that you among my guests? Have you been plotting against me again? What is your name, child?”
“Vaan’s gone,” she said, holding his eyes. “My name’s Tania. And I must thank you, you stupid, broken bastard, for giving me this wonderful opportunity.”
Still perched on the swords hilt with both feet, Cayce leaned back. The Hand of Righteous Retribution toppled, and as it fell Cayce pulled up on the handle as hard as she could while pushing down on the scabbard with her legs. The sword hopped up from the cavern floor as Cayce pulled and pushed. The scabbard’s tip popped out of the broken rocks and slid free, and Cayce felt a surge of pressure and heat.
It was easy now—once drawn, the sword became almost weightless. Cayce leaped up, pulling the blade completely free of the sheath and pointing the tip at the mechanical dragon’s leering head.
Cayce hung suspended above the cavern floor, frozen in place by the swords magic. The dragon opened his mouth, blue-white energy sparking deep inside it. The Hand of Righteous Retribution glowed more brightly and Cayce felt pure power surging up the blade, through the handle, and into her arms.