Chapter Two
A Mingling of Blood
'Marci.' Mirana shook her handmaiden again. 'Come on, Marci. It's time.'
Marci just turned over again and slept on.
Mirana sighed and glanced out of the window. She was keen to get going before the sun fully rose, the better to avoid notice. This plan had included the fact that Marci could be difficult to rouse.
It was funny really, Mirana mused as she searched their bags. For somebody who could be impulsive and quick to act, Marci slept very heavily.
Mirana searched for about a minute before she conceded that she had done her best. The strip of dried jerky was all she had. They would have to hunt when they made camp.
Mirana tapped Marci's head with the jerky. 'Breakfast, Marci.'
Marci turned onto her back and opened her eyes, amber in the sunlight streaming through the shutters. She shielded her eyes and blinked several times, then spotted the jerky. She raised her eyebrows.
'That's all we've got, Marci.'
Marci sat up, took the jerky and split it roughly in half, handing the bigger piece to Mirana. Mirana smiled and swapped them round. Marci had a voracious appetite despite her size, and for good reason. As kind as it was for Marci to offer her the larger share of any food they procured, Mirana always made sure that Marci got the most. Yet still Marci persisted in being generous.
Marci smiled gratefully and took her piece. It was gone in less than a second.
'Do you even chew your food?'
Marci indicated the bags with her eyes and then gestured at the door. She had a point, it was Mirana who was in a hurry.
'I'm not sure we can trust Gwanwyn's friends.' Mirana announced.
Marci nodded, having come to the same conclusion. She lifted a hand and flexed her fingers, curling them into a fist.
'If we have to. The less attention we attract, the better.'
Marci nodded again, stood up and stretched, the odd joint popping. As much as it galled Mirana, they both slept fully clothed with the exception of their boots. They also kept daggers under their pillows, assuming they were lucky enough to have any.
Mirana and Marci had come a long way to get away from the past. There was still every chance that it would catch up to them one day. Gwanwyn had realised who Mirana was yesterday and rumours spread faster than a wildfire. They had to be ready to run, fight or both at a moment's notice.
Mirana pulled the map from her bag and settled down to examine it as Marci pulled her hair back into its customary bunch, then set about checking their supplies. She looked up, her expression grim.
'I know.' Mirana responded. 'But we have enough arrows and snares left for hunting.'
Coin was an issue for the both of them. It was sorely lacking. They had left the Nightsilver Woods in a hurry to find the lotuses, and it wasn't like the temple had been stocked with free supplies or mountains of gold. What they hadn't been able to take, they had been forced to buy.
It had been the medical supplies which had set them back the most. They had been too vital to ignore. Both of them had known that it was inevitable that one or both of them would face the threat of injury.
They had been lucky so far, suffering no more than a few scrapes in the undergrowth and bruised knuckles in Marci's case for the last few weeks. But they had lost time and supplies when Marci had been forced to tangle with a wild boar and had come perilously close to being disembowelled. The boar had come off much worse.
Mirana could still remember the shock of seeing Marci drag its body back to the camp, bleeding heavily from her abdomen where its tusk had struck her, her dagger thrust deep into the boar's eye.
Mirana had patched Marci up, berated her for taking such a huge risk, and given her the lion's share of the boar to eat. She'd also decided that she would hunt the boars in future. Attacking a boar with a bow was much safer.
It was a good thing they could both hunt. Marci could throw knives accurately, but was less skilled with a bow—assuming she did not accidentally snap the bow. That said, she could move quietly and swiftly and made good use of their snares. Bows were Mirana's forte.
They had no time for mercenary work and neither of them would turn to banditry for coin. They would simply have to stretch the remaining coin as much as possible and hope they found the lotuses soon.
Mirana looked up from the map. 'What did that Dragon Knight want?'
Marci was caught off guard by the question. Mirana had seen her loitering in his presence, and it was unusual for her handmaiden to become distracted in such a way.
By way of answer, Marci shrugged and then tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.
'We need to be careful. You know that.'
Marci nodded and offered an uncertain smile, pointed at herself, then turned her palm up.
'Of course I trust you, Marci.' Mirana was speaking truthfully. As impulsive as Marci could be, she was no fool. She was also Mirana's closest, dearest friend. The only one she could trust.
Marci examined one of the snares and made a few signs, indicating herself frequently. 'No, we'll do it together. We work better as a team.'
Mirana watched as Marci finished going over their dwindling supplies, knowing full well that she would not have made it this far without her. If things had not changed so drastically, if she had been able to take her rightful place, she would have arranged something better for Marci, something better than traipsing around after her, seeking something she had lost.
Not that Marci complained. Mirana had a feeling that Marci actually enjoyed this—she saw it as an adventure, and she was devoted to Mirana. It was more than duty which compelled her.
'All set?'
Marci nodded and smiled, slinging two of the bags over her shoulders.
'Then let's go.'
Marci sauntered out of the room. Mirana adjusted her own load, a little envious of Marci's strength once more, and set off after her handmaiden. It was a long road to Haupstadt.
Neither of them could have anticipated just what would be waiting for them on the way.
It was unusual for Davion to wake alone after a dragon hunt. He and whichever woman he ended up with would usually exchange sweet nothings before he set off for another hunt.
Now he was not really sure what to do.
He dressed slowly, then set about checking his armour and weapons. His armour was unscathed and just needed cleaning. His greatsword was not something he could fix here. He would have to take it to a smith, and in all likelihood it would be easier to just have another sword forged. A shame. He had liked this sword.
Somebody hammered on his door, then burst in, nearly falling flat on his face. Bram.
Davion was about to remark on his less than graceful entrance, but the look of pure terror on Bram's face stopped him. 'What is it?' He could think of one thing which would terrify Bram. He hoped it was not that.
'Frühling!' Bram gasped. 'He's vanished! People are saying he's gone to kill the Eldwurm!'
Davion stood. 'Help me with my armour, then warn Dragon Keep.'
Bram hurried with Davion's armour. Though his fingers trembled on every knot and strap, he was well practised and had the armour on Davion's broad frame soon enough. Davion took up his sword and bolted from the room. Broken or not it would have to do. If he had to kill Frühling it would more than suffice even without its tip. He leapt down the stairs, hurtled through the door, and jumped onto his horse.
If Frühling woke the Eldwurm, everybody here and for many leagues over would die.
He did not know why, but his mind wandered to the handmaiden he had met, Marci, and the Princess she served. If they were still in the area, they would feel the Eldwurm's wrath too.
Davion reached the tunnel, and for a wildly hopeful moment thought he had beaten Frühling to it. There was no sign of a horse.
As he dismounted, his hope sank. There were fresh footprints in the soil. The odd marks around the prints revealed that the person had been wearing sabatons.
Frühling had walked here.
That struck Davion as odd. It was a long way to go on foot, and even somebody as foolish as Frühling would not have wanted to face an Eldwurm when tired. The man must have had a death wish. Maybe he was drunk again.
It did not matter. Davion lifted his sword, ejected the glowing shard from his gauntlet, and hurried inside.
Frühling was not drunk. In the light of his gauntlet, Davion could see that his footprints were unerringly straight and purposeful. He had walked in here with a clear head—well, as clear as one could be when marching towards certain death on a whim.
Davion was becoming increasingly worried. Frühling did not seem to be acting like himself. The man probably felt that he had something to prove, especially after yesterday. But this? This was madness.
Davion reached the Eldwurm's vast tunnel and detached the rope from his belt. He just hoped that it was long enough. After anchoring it around a narrow stalagmite, he made his way down the shaft, dropping the last eight feet when he ran out of rope.
If he had not been in such a hurry, he might have wondered how Frühling had made his way down here. He had not bothered with a rope.
Davion smelt blood. Fresh blood.
Frühling's? No. If the Eldwurm had awoken and slain Frühling, Davion would be dead too.
He lifted his gauntlet, his heart pounding.
The sight before his eyes defied all he knew of dragons and men.
Standing atop the now dead Eldwurm was none other than Captain Frühling. His sword was slick with blood, his armour drenched in it. 'You took your time, Dragon Knight.'
It had been Frühling who had spoken, but the words were not his. Even though Davion could still hear the man's strident accent, it was little more than an undercurrent. This new voice was cold, calculating, mocking and terrifying. Davion felt cold rushes of fear, old memories threatening to bubble up to the surface.
'What have you done?' Davion whispered.
'I provided a helping hand to the good Captain. He needed it. I needed his help. It was a mutually beneficial partnership.'
'What do you mean?'
The man who had been Frühling turned slowly. Davion gasped. It still looked like Frühling, right down to the muttonchops and moustache and the sagging gut held under his breastplate, but he stood tall, confident and powerful.
The worst of it was his eyes. They were full of a bright, evil, eldritch green light.
The thing which had been a man cocked its head and stared at Davion with its evil, fathomless eyes. 'Ah... there it is: the fear. I do love mortals, you know. They are so full of fear. Not the primal fear of an animal, no. You have all sorts of complex, delicious fears.' It ran a tongue over its lips. 'You were powerless that day, Davion the Dragon Knight. Davion the coward. You watched your father burn before your eyes. You watched your family burn in the fires they unleashed. You thought you could avenge them by becoming a dragon slayer, but even now you still fear dragons. The fire still frightens you. The thought of others suffering the wrath of dragons terrifies you.
You try to bury it all under a swagger, under brimming confidence. When that fails, you drink, you whittle away your precious hours with women you feel little for. All because of the fear that they will see you for what you truly are: just a frightened little boy futilely seeking vengeance against creatures beyond his capabilities. You can kill the lesser dragons, yes, but the Eldwurms? They are too great for you, and you know it.'
The Frühling-thing stepped down from the Eldwurm's head. Frühling had been shorter than Davion, and still was, yet now he seemed larger and much stronger than the Dragon Knight. His presence alone was overpowering.
'I could take all of that fear away, Davion. Together, we can take the vengeance you desire and so much more. We can end every single one of them, end the terror of the dragons once and for all. It would be a safer world, Davion. Think of all those people who would never need to fear a dragon again. You would be the greatest hero in history, Dragon Knight—a god among mortals. They would worship you.'
The thing peered at him intently, and Davion felt certain memories churn to the surface. Every word this creature had uttered tugged at his heart, promises spoken and unspoken pulling at the fibre of his being.
Had he not sworn to destroy the dragons? To avenge his family? To protect people from monsters?
The creature smiled, cold, malicious and mocking. 'Wouldn't Marci admire you? Perhaps she could be your servant instead. You could have anything you desired. All you have to do is... let me in.'
Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.
Do it. Do it. Do it.
Wild imaginings raced through Davion's reeling mind.
He could see it now: his father melting like wax before his young eyes, stretching like molten tallow. He could see himself vanquishing dragons the world over, standing victorious over their broken bodies. His vengeance would be absolute.
And they would bow and scrape before him, the people of the fearful world. He could give them a safer world, and they would give him everything he had ever wanted.
At the same time, he became aware of the connection. In reading his thoughts and feeding him temptation upon temptation, the creature—the Demon—had given him a tenuous link into its own mind. Thoughts not his own swam in his head, as if it was already inside him—it was very close to taking him.
It wanted to slay dragons too, particularly Eldwurms, but Davion could not grasp why.
Davion considered himself a simple man under all of his bluster. A good drink, a decent reputation and occasionally a warm woman to spend the night with was all he really needed.
Godhood? People giving themselves and all they owned to him?
Tempting. Incredibly tempting.
But he didn't want that. And just how was he supposed to be a Dragon Knight if there were no more dragons to kill?
The Demon glowered at him, sensing his resolve hardening. 'Brave fool. You will make a better tool than Frühling. And what is not given to me, I will take.'
Davion lifted his damaged greatsword. The Demon lazily flicked blood off Frühling's longsword. Even with the tip gone, Davion's weapon had the longer reach. Its weight would make it harder to parry.
But this possessed corpse had just killed an Eldwurm. Davion had no doubt that he was going to die down here.
Better than becoming a willing puppet for a mad Demon, he supposed.
The ground shook. A rich, hot orange and red glow filled the vast chamber as stones fell from high above. A thunderous roaring filled their ears.
Davion ducked behind a large boulder, his ears ringing. The possessed Frühling stayed where he was. His cold, cruel smile grew as the glow began to take on a mighty and terrible shape.
Another dragon. Another Eldwurm.
'Two Eldwurms in one day.' The Demon licked its vessel's lips again. 'Better than I had anticipated. How would you like to die, Slyrak?'
The red-scaled dragon bared his teeth. When he spoke, his booming voice shook the earth and stone. 'Uldorak was old, and the madness was upon him. You will not find me such easy prey, Demon.' Flames licked at the dragon's snout. 'I will turn your host to ash and send you screaming back to Foulfell, Terrorblade.'
The Demon chuckled. 'Dragons. For such powerful creatures, you have no imagination.'
The vessel opened its mouth wide, the jawbones popping. With a long exhalation, the green glow left its dead eyes and sped as a vaporous orb towards the dead Eldwurm.
Davion stared in horror as the corpse twitched violently, becoming suffused with the same green glow. Frühling's corpse lay discarded, for the Demon Slyrak had called Terrorblade had found a far greater host with which to battle the Eldwurm.
Uldorak's possessed corpse clambered to its feet, its wounds scabbing over with onyx grey masses. 'Your soul will be mine too, Slyrak.'
Slyrak growled as Davion reached for his sword. 'You had best run, little mouse. This is beyond your limited skill.' With that, he opened his jaws and unleashed a blaze of searing flame.
Uldorak's corpse was bathed in the firestorm, several scales peeling away, the hide beneath blistering and melting away. Even with singed bone showing, the corpse remained standing.
Terrorblade chuckled again, this time with a low rumble, and charged at Slyrak.
Davion ran for cover as the two grappled, claws and fangs ripping into scale and leathery flesh. Their roars shook more loose stones from above, and he felt some of them hit his helmet.
Slyrak angled his broad, angular head and spewed flames. The possessed dragon in his grasp snarled and jerked its own horned head downwards.
Slyrak gasped and staggered as the horned head bored into his chest, pushing deeper and deeper, fangs ripping at the flesh and bone beneath the scales.
Davion had to do something.
Slyrak was an enemy, but not one beyond reason. The Demon was the greater threat. For once, he would fight with a dragon rather than against it.
He knew what he had to do. He could see through an open wound on Uldorak's chest, straight into the pulsing heart. A faint glow illuminated the ribcage with sickly emerald light.
He ran straight for Slyrak's tail and pelted up its length without any thought for his own safety. If he stopped to think, even for a moment, he would lose his nerve and plunge to his death.
Roaring, Slyrak tore the horned head away from his chest and pushed the possessed Uldorak back. The Demon within laughed, knowing that it was moments away from victory.
Davion's feet found purchase on Slyrak's hard, ridged scales. He sprinted the full length of the titanic back, saw his target, and leapt from the outstretched arm with a yell born of desperation. With his sword held above his head, he fell through the air.
His aim was true.
The broken point of his greatsword pierced the heart of the possessed Eldwurm. A pained howl escaped the possessed beast and its strength ebbed.
It was enough for Slyrak, who thrust his head forth and clamped his mighty jaws around his opponent's neck. Flames burst into the broken flesh and hissed through the singed fissures throughout. With a great effort, Slyrak bit down. He was rewarded by the snapping of bones and the tearing of vital arteries.
Below, Davion found a foothold and drove his sword in deeper. Between them, Eldwurm and Dragon Knight, they had forced Terrorblade from the corpse of Uldorak.
As the corpse pitched downwards, Davion lost his grip and fell. But rather than fall and break upon the stone below, a massive clawed hand caught him.
Slyrak staggered as he deposited Davion on the ground. Shaking, Davion turned to the dragon just in time to see him collapse. Blood sputtered and gushed from his ravaged chest.
They had won, but not without a cost.
Slyrak angled his proud head to look Davion in the eye. 'You are brave, little mouse. Very brave.'
'That Demon had to be stopped.' Davion was breathing heavily as he settled next to the Eldwurm.
He felt something he had never felt for a dragon before: pity.
Like his fellow Dragon Knights, he considered it an honour to fight a dragon. Part of him acknowledged them as mighty creatures deserving of respect. Though he hated them, he also admired them. This one had sacrificed his own life to stop a greater evil, and Davion felt a strange kinship with him now.
'I could have not stopped it without you.' Slyrak boomed. 'A difficult thing for one such as I to admit.' Blood was now flowing from his mouth, staining his ivory teeth crimson.
Davion stood up, his legs steady once more. 'Go in peace, dragon, and be proud of this victory.'
'Uldorak's soul is gone. Lost. Beyond saving.' Slyrak groaned. 'You know the end I seek, Dragon Knight. You know what I would ask of you.'
Davion nodded and picked up his bloodied sword. 'I do. You honour me.'
'If only I did.'
Something black and red flashed towards Davion. It was so abrupt that he did not immediately know that his flesh had been torn, not until he felt warm blood gush from his neck and soak into his clothes.
Slyrak had cut his throat.
'They will hate you for what you will become,' Slyrak intoned as Davion collapsed, futilely trying to hold back the blood rushing from him. 'They will hate us both.'
Davion's strength faded away. His eyes, now sightless, gazed up at the ceiling high above, light filling them as his life drained from him.
The blood of Eldwurm and Dragon Knight mingled on the ground, testament to a battle which would forever change the world.
It took some time for Terrorblade to make his return to the cavernous space. Disorientated and weakened, he had been forced to briefly return his aspect to Foulfell. Forcing part of himself back through had taken time and effort, but there was a chance he could still salvage the situation.
He should have killed Davion when he'd had the chance. But he had achieved more than he had anticipated. Slyrak had been mortally wounded, and if Davion finished him off he could still claim the Eldwurm's soul—a more valuable prize by far.
Frühling's cold body was still intact, and it would have to do for the time being. The corpse twitched and thrashed as Terrorblade settled back into the paunchy body. He would have preferred to take Davion's corpse as part of his long game. It would have been easier for what he had mind, judging from what he gleaned from the man's mind.
Chance was a funny thing, and Terrorblade knew to exploit it when it tilted in his favour.
Terrorblade acclimatised quickly to Frühling's corpse once more. Parts of the flesh and hair had been singed during the battle with Slyrak, but the damage was minor. The corpse was still viable. He could make its heart beat and keep the rot mortal corpses were so prone to on hold.
He strode towards Slyrak's colossal body, a smile tugging at the corners of his host's lips.
The smile faded when he noticed two things.
Slyrak's soul was long gone.
And there was no sign of Davion the Dragon Knight.
Reik had made a decent amount of coin loitering on the road to Haupstadt with his men. The city guards had made half-hearted efforts to root them out or drive them off, but Reik was too savvy for them. He and his gang knew the forests well. The guard did not.
Sadly, today had not been a good one.
He had sent a small group to the crossroads to watch out for lone merchants they could waylay in the early hours of the morning. One of his men had come back in the afternoon to report that the seven men had all been killed.
He had been just as perplexed as the messenger when he had seen the bodies.
Three had been killed by arrows. The arrows had been removed by whoever had loosed them, but Reik recognised the puncture wounds easily. He had inflicted more than a few himself.
Those deaths had not seemed unusual, it was the others which made him ponder.
One man had been savaged as if by a wild animal. Reik would have assumed that he had wandered off—perhaps to relieve himself—strayed too far from the road, and had been attacked by a wolf or bear. But his corpse had been found with the others.
The other three had perplexed him further still. One had died from a broken neck. The other two had fatal internal injures brought about by strong blows. Those injuries could have been inflicted by a hammer or mace, yet Reik was not so sure. He could have sworn that those men had been killed by fists or feet.
Who went around beating armed bandits to death with their bare hands?
It was because of this that Reik was in such a foul mood. He had not robbed anybody this week, and his boss would be enraged if he gained no new coin and discovered that he had lost seven men for nothing.
'Reik.' One of his men pointed at something moving in the darkness. 'There's something out there.'
Reik removed his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. Sure enough, there was something out there. Someone was heading their way.
He was heavily armoured, but careening and stumbling as if drunk or addled. He was a big man, strong and muscular beneath the armour. But he was devoid of weapons, and a man in plate was not invincible, especially if he was outnumbered.
Reik grinned and stepped out of hiding. His band of cut-throats followed him, sensing an easy mark. The man's armour would be of use to them. Even if it was not, they could sell it on the black market in Haupstadt.
The man stumbled and tripped, falling to his knees. Panting, he clambered back onto his feet and resumed his staggering advance. He did not seem to notice Reik as he approached. Curiously, Reik could not smell any alcohol. Somebody this drunk should have reeked like a flooding brewery. His dark eyes were not quite focused, yet he was not weaving around aimlessly. He was going somewhere, and desperate to get there. He was panting hard, sweating profusely, and was covered in blood—there was so much of it that it could not all be his.
A wounded man was still an easy mark. Perhaps this unlucky man had gotten into a fight. He'd obviously won, and been badly hurt.
Oh well. His poor luck. Time to put him out of his misery.
'Lost friend?' Reik taunted. 'You don't look so good. We can help with that, you know.'
The man nearly fell again. 'No... no closer...'
'You want help, you'll have to pay the toll.' Reik stopped him by placing a rough hand on the man's spaulder. The gold ring with its embedded ruby—stolen of course—glinted in the moonlight.
The man heaved as if he was going to be sick. Reik took a step back on instinct. When nothing more happened, one of his men stepped behind the unlucky victim and rammed his boot into his backside. The man fell onto his front, his armour clattering. Reik had witnessed some of his men learn the hard way that a man in plate could get back onto his feet after being knocked down. The trick was to keep the man down. His men moved in quickly and pinned down the man's limbs.
Reik lowered his bow and drew a dagger from his belt. 'Time to pay the toll, my friend.'
The man managed to twist his head to look up at Reik.
Reik froze on the spot.
What he saw would only haunt him for about five seconds, for that was how long he had left to live.
As I warned, I am taking liberties, tiny and massive, with this story. But therein lies the wondrous potential of fanfiction. Let's just say that I have plans for Terrorblade in this story which may not totally align with what he does and does not do in Dragon's Blood. Being a Warhammer/Dragon Age/Dungeons And Dragons fan, I count such creatures as being amongst the most challenging and nefarious of enemies.
Once more, I also ask you to forgive my ignorance when it comes to DOTA. I have been doing some research to try to compensate.
