“Let him have it!” Te’oma shouted at the shifter. “Now!”
Burch ignored her. The angle was either there or it wasn’t. Some people marveled at his skill with the crossbow. They asked him who’d blessed his crossbow or what kind of magic infused it. He always smiled at them and told them the truth. Most of them never believed him.
You just line up the angle. Don’t loose your bolt until it’s there.
Lots of things got in the way of an angle. People screaming in your ear never helped. Riding a bouncing ship driven by a sullen elemental creature of fire didn’t come up often, but it made things harder. Firing at a moving target, even one as large as a dragon, that was more common.
The trick, if there was one, was to let those other things go, to focus on the task at hand, and to wait for the angle to present itself. When ready met chance, you pulled the trigger.
Sometimes it never did.
The dragon spun in a swashing roll right over the ship and disappeared behind the airship’s rudder.
Te’oma slapped Burch on the back of the head. “Why didn’t you loose? What good does that bolt do stuck in your crossbow?”
Burch snarled at the changeling, and she backed off. That was one distraction taken care of, at least for now.
He hefted his crossbow again and scanned the sky for the dragon. The sun rode low and red in the west now, making it harder to pick out the black-scaled creature against the encroaching night sky.
He was peering out at the bow when the beast appeared over the rudder, having doubled back instead of following the momentum of its loop out to the front of the ship. Burch started to swing his crossbow back to find the angle, but he was too slow.
Nithkorrh whipped its arched neck forward and spat something green and viscous down at the ship.
Te’oma screamed and dove over the bridge’s front railing, trying to avoid the burning acid, but the dragon hadn’t aimed it at her. Instead, it sloshed into the airship’s upper restraining arc and began eating away at the rune-crusted wood.
Burch swore as he sprinted toward the changeling, the dragon’s monstrous laugh echoing in his ears. The ship’s deck jangled beneath his feet, but he kept his legs pumping, the long, dark nails at the ends of his bare toes digging into the wood.
As the restraining arc melted, the ring of fire flared up and out, the elemental straining against its magical bonds. The first burst slashed out and caught Nithkorrh through one of its wings, setting it ablaze. The dragon roared in pain and surprise, and then it was gone, falling away behind the ship again.
When Burch reached the tremulous Te’oma, the ring of fire flared again. The heat singed his mane of hair.
“We have to leave!” the changeling shouted, trying to push the shifter away. “This thing is falling apart!”
“Not yet,” Burch growled in her face. “Not yet.”
59
Kandler smiled as he felt his life’s blood leaving him by the hole the dragon-elf had speared through his middle. He struggled to his knees, the world around him seeming colder by the minute. It wasn’t the chill of the high, thin air, he knew. His blood was his heat, the magic fire that kept him going, and it was leaking out between his fingers.
“You cannot have him!” Sallah said, slashing at Ibrido with her flaming sword, the sacred symbol of her office.
It was not her own blade, the one she’d been given when she’d been knighted. She’d left the fragments of that in Construct, having shattered it trying to avenge the death of Sir Deothen—her mentor, her commander, and her father.
This blade had belonged to her friend Brendis, a fellow knight who’d died at Ibrido’s hand. She’d taken it from the hands of the changeling who—at the dragon-elf’s behest—had impersonated him long enough to spirit Esprë away once again. Now she was ready to plunge it into the heart of the beast who had caused her so much grief.
Kandler staggered back against the railing along the airship’s bow. If not for the gunwale to rest against, his knees would have given out for sure. Instead, as his blood dripped down on to the deck between his feet, he watched the woman he loved fight for his life and hers.
Ibrido stood his ground against the lady knight’s onslaught, weaving his fangblade into a defense that shielded him from all her blows. The blade’s light heft and incredible strength combined to let him equal Sallah’s efforts and surpass them.
After the dragon-elf parried yet another of her mighty blows, Sallah fell back panting, brandishing her burning sword before her. The sweat on her brow glistened in the silvery light, giving her skin a metallic sheen, except for her fiery curls and her emerald eyes, the same color as the tight-fitted scales covering her foe’s skin.
“You cannot stand before the light of the Silver Flame,” Sallah said, a snarl curling her lips. “Righteousness will prevail.”
Ibrido stared at the knight with his unblinking, yellow eyes for a moment, then laughed. “You think your little cult can withstand the full power of the dragons of Argonnessen? Nithkorrh alone is older than the candle you worship. He could snuff it out with the beating of his wings.”
Sallah narrowed her eyes at the dragon-elf as she caught her breath. “The Silver Flame burns in the heart of us all. It is the spark of goodness that melds us together like tongues of fire joining to form a mighty blaze.”
“Goodness?” Ibrido scoffed, stepping forward and slashing at Sallah with his blade, testing her, seeing how tired she was. “That’s a concept for fur-bearing beasts. Those with scales know better. There is no good or evil, only triumph and loss!”
The ferocity of Ibrido’s assault caught Sallah off guard. Still exhausted, she fell back before the dragon-elf’s flurry of blows, managing to bring her sword up just in time, over and over again. As she went, Kandler could see that she strove to keep her foe from getting past her to the justicar, protecting him from the beast too.
Still holding his middle together with one hand, Kandler slipped his knife into the other. He knew he’d never get close enough to stab into between the dragon-elf’s scales. Instead, he reversed it and grabbed it by its gleaming blade, smearing it with his blood. Then he hurled it at Ibrido’s head.
The dragon-elf never saw the knife coming. Kandler’s feeble throw lacked the force it needed to hurt Ibrido, but when it smacked the dragon-elf in the nose it stopped him in mid-slash.
Sallah saw her chance and stabbed at the dragon-elf with her sword. Its vicious point rammed right through the scales in Ibrido’s chest and stuck there between his upper ribs. She tried to wrench it back, but Ibrido’s free hand reached up and held the blade in place.
The dragon-elf bared his teeth at the lady knight. “Time to end this,” he said, slashing out at her with his blade.
Defenseless without her sword, Sallah flung herself backward, trying to avoid the whizzing arc of Ibrido’s fangblade. She almost made it, the tip of the blade slicing through her breastplate and across her chest.
“No!” Kandler shouted as Sallah backpedaled. He couldn’t tell how badly she’d been hurt, but he refused to let her stand alone against the dragon-elf’s sword.
The justicar shoved himself off the gunwale so he could be at Sallah’s side. As he did, she stepped in the pool of blood he’d left behind when he’d been run through. Her booted heel slipped in the slick, red fluid, and she tumbled back on to the deck.
Kandler reached out to catch Sallah and wrapped his arms around her. Too weak to support both his weight and her, he fell backward to the deck too, cushioning her landing.