Still howling in pain from the bolt, Ibrido spun and met Sallah’s attack, parrying her mighty chop with his fangblade. As the swords met, Kandler held his breath. Sallah’s sword was a sacred icon, holy to her and her church. That didn’t mean, though, that it could stand against the amazing edge of the dragon-elf’s weapon.
Sparks flew as the blades clashed off each other, and both blades held. The magic in Sallah’s blade made it stronger than Kandler’s, the justicar realized. While his had been the finest sword in Mardakine, it was just steel, forged by his friend Rislinto and given its razor edge by hours of sharpening during the dull hours working the town watch. It could not hope to stand against something as marvelous as the fangblade.
Kandler wondered the same thing about himself. Here he stood, only a man, nothing to aid him but his own skill and determination. He was no knight, no shaman, no wizard, and he had to face monstrous creatures like Ibrido and his magical sword. What hope did he have against such power, much less that of a full-fledged dragon?
Still, Kandler had never been one to worry about the odds. If there was a way to defeat Ibrido, he would find it, then he’d kill the dragon too.
It wasn’t for himself that he’d do it. He’d had a full life, seen many things, fought many a foe for all sorts of good causes. He’d loved and been loved more than he’d had any right to expect. If the Keeper came for his soul now, he’d let that dark god take his hand, but to give up on himself meant giving up on Esprë too, and that he refused to do.
Kandler reversed his grip on the hilt-shard of his sword and hurled himself at Ibrido as the dragon-elf turned to face Sallah full on. He plunged the bit into the dragon-elf’s shoulder, but the weapon turned on the creature’s scaly green hide.
While parrying yet another blow from the lady knight, Ibrido turned and slammed his elbow into Kandler’s face, knocking the justicar to the deck. As he fell to his knees, Kandler spun toward the dragon-elf, trying to catch him in the back of his legs and take him to the deck along with him.
Ibrido leaped backward over Kandler instead, and Sallah nearly ran the justicar through. To keep from doing so, she threw herself to the side, away from both him and the dragon-elf.
This left Kandler on his knees before Ibrido. The dragon-elf wasn’t one to ignore such an opportunity, the justicar knew. He fought the instinct to raise his hands to protect himself. If the fangblade could cut through steel, it would slice through his bones like warm butter.
Instead of trying to scramble away, he launched himself at the dragon-elf again, this time aiming for Ibrido’s middle. If he could get in under the blade’s reach, he reasoned, he might have a chance.
Kandler’s tackle knocked Ibrido back, but he couldn’t manage to wrap his arms around the creature’s slippery scales. For a moment, he thought he had a chance, but the dragon-elf stiff-armed him in the jaw and shoved him back again.
Still trying for a tackle, Kandler stepped forward, but this time Ibrido managed to get his blade up in time, and he ran it right through the justicar’s guts.
Kandler felt the point of the fangblade stab into the wall of his abdomen and pass through his coiled intestines before passing out his back, just nicking his spine. The pain was incredible, like nothing he’d ever felt before, and he knew right then that he was dead. The only question left was how long it would take for him to draw his last breath.
Desperate to sell his life dearly, Kandler grasped at the hilt of the fangblade. His fingers clasped over those of Ibrido’s, and the dragon-elf bared its teeth at him.
“You were a fine foe,” Ibrido said. “Give my regards to the Keeper.”
With that, the dragon-elf put a boot to Kandler’s belly and shoved him off his blade. The justicar’s hot, thick blood poured out after the withdrawn sword, drenching his clothes as he fell to the deck in a heap.
He heard voices screaming: Sallah’s and—somewhere far away—Esprë’s too.
58
Burch could barely hear himself think, Te’oma was screaming so loud. He couldn’t understand how she could make so much noise when he felt like he could barely breathe. He saw her black cloak flapping around her, the living tissue it was really made out of trying to deploy its wings. He reached out and wrapped his arms around them and her, putting an end to that.
“You’ll kill us both!” the changeling cried, struggling in Burch’s grasp. She let go of the airship’s useless wheel and tried to shove him away.
“I don’t plan to die alone.”
“You bastard!” Te’oma screeched. “Let me go!”
“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted in her face, his nose less than an inch from hers. “Try one more thing for me,” he said, trying not to sound like he was begging. “Do that, and I’ll let you go.”
“We don’t have time,” she started. “What is it?” she continued, not waiting for him to press his argument.
“Can you reach it with your mind?” Burch shouted.
“What?”
“The elemental,” he said, jerking his head at the ring of fire. “You’re a telepath. Forget about the wheel. See if you can get its attention on your own.”
Te’oma stared at the shifter for a moment, her hair blowing straight up at the sky as the ship raced toward the ground. He released her and she blinked her white eyes at him once before saying, “All right.”
The changeling closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. For a long moment, nothing happened, and Burch wondered how it would feel to be crushed to death from a fall from such a great height. Would he have any sensation at all of bouncing off the ground after he smacked into it, or would he lose consciousness at that point? Curious as he was to find out, he knew he’d be happy to put off the answers until another day.
The first clue Burch had that the ship was stopping was when he felt heavier. The unexpected change in momentum drove him to his knees. It felt like the ship was swinging from the end of a long rope. Now that it had reached the end of its length, it slowed its descent, hovered where it was for a split-second, and then began its long climb back up again.
Te’oma screamed in delight as the airship zoomed back into the open sky, hot on the trail of Phoenix, which was now moving off to the south. She reached out and embraced Burch, hopping up and down the entire time. The shifter allowed himself a smile and gave her a one-armed hug back. With his other arm, though, he pointed up at the dragon coming down at them again.
“Just won’t give up, will it?” Burch said, pulling himself out of Te’oma’s arms. He picked up his crossbow from where he’d let it fall, thankful that he hadn’t accidentally set off the shockbolt, and he placed it on the bridge’s front railing. Then he got down on one knee and sighted along the shockbolt’s shaft.
The dragon swung back and forth in its flight path as it sped toward Keeper’s Claw, making it impossible for Burch to get a perfect angle at it. With only the one shockbolt left, he was determined to wait for the right moment to loose it. He didn’t miss often, but this attack had to be perfect. He wouldn’t get another chance.
Even if the shockbolt smacked the dragon square in its good eye, though, Burch wasn’t sure it would do a lick of good. He’d already loosed two of these amazing bolts into the beast, and it had still disabled the airship. If it hadn’t been for Te’oma’s psionics, right now he’d be dead.
Still, he didn’t have any better ideas at the moment. The only thing he could think of was to wait until the dragon opened its mouth to devour him before loosing the shockbolt down its rotting gullet. With luck, that would do it. The only trick was that it involved getting close enough to the dragon to be eaten, and Burch wasn’t all too comfortable with that.