Dragon Blood

Chapter 2

“Helkryvt . . . ” Malek’s voice was empty and haunted. He stared from Helkryvt to the crumpled bodies by the cliff. “What have you done?”

“Only what was necessary,” said Helkryvt. “Your chieftain and her dragon deserved what they got.”

“You have committed the greatest sin. You killed—”

Twang! Before Malek could finish his sentence, Helkryvt put an arrow in his throat. Malek scrabbled at his torn jugular for a few frenzied moments. He sank to his knees, choking on his blood, then fell flat on his face. The force of his fall drove the arrowhead clean through his neck.

Helkryvt smiled; he’d never liked Malek.

“Traitor,” someone cried into the horrified silence.

“Murderer!”

“He’s taken by the Shadow!”

The unit rushed Helkryvt. He wasn’t worried; he was stronger than all of them combined. He attacked them with magic as he pulled more arrows from his quiver, felling Rotys and Aev—people who’d once been his teammates, his brothers, his friends.

No. They were never my friends. It was Beledine they followed. Beledine they loved. How many of them did she deceive? How many of them were snared in her spell?

As the unit closed in, Helkryvt drew Nighttalon, his magnificent black-silver sword. Saanug tried to block a blow from Nighttalon with an earthen shield. Helkryvt tore through the spell with his own magic and ripped the older man’s chest open with a swipe of his mighty blade. He wielded and slashed without restraint, heedless of whether it was male or female, young or old whom he felled. Weak and useless, every last one of them.

And then—Helkryvt blinked. Not a single person was left standing. The ground was black with blood. The stillness of the night settled on the clifftop once more.

A piteous gurgle rose behind him. Helkryvt turned, his fur cloak trailing across entrails and broken bodies. He froze, caught halfway between revulsion and shock. Ghokarian was awake, and he was crying over Beledine. No, not crying—he was bleeding. Blood oozed from his left eye socket, dark droplets dribbling onto Beledine’s parted lips.

“I thought bonded dragons were supposed to be easy to kill,” snarled Helkryvt.

“I am strong enough that I might survive, but Beledine is fading.”

A fresh surge of hatred rose in Helkryvt. “Go on, then. Despite being a mediocre wielder, people worship the ground you walk on. Save her, if you’re so clever.”

“Timemagic can only do so much.” Ghokarian stared at Beledine, and the expression on his scaly face made Helkryvt want to scream—or possibly weep. “She needs lifemagic, too. Helkryvt, you and I can save her together. You have the power.”

The dragon looked up again. His one remaining eye glinted in the moonlight, emotions flashing through it faster than Helkryvt could read them. “Help me. I . . . I beg you.”

Helkryvt hesitated. No matter how deeply Beledine had hurt him, he couldn’t deny his love for her. It was in his heart, his soul, his very blood. He approached, gazing at the face he so adored. They could move past this, couldn’t they? He would forgive her disloyalty, she would forgive his attack, and the world would be right again.

Then a light appeared, washing Beledine with an eerie purple hue. Ghokarian’s eye was glowing. Surely that meant the creature was wielding some foul magic, and Helkryvt reacted like lightning. Before Ghokarian had time to complete a spell, Helkryvt struck with his sword, lopping off the dragon’s head. It thudded to the ground next to Beledine and the purple eye dimmed, light and life snuffed out in a heartbeat.

Silence reigned once more. Triumph sang in Helkryvt’s veins as he surveyed his handiwork. “It wasn’t hard to kill you after all,” he panted. “So ends Ghokarian Equilumos.”

The smile faded from his lips as he stared. Something alien was gnawing at the feeling of triumph, fighting to take its place. Beledine lay unmoving, the gray fur of her toga slick with ruby liquid. A trickle of dragon blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, which had once been vibrant and full of fire, were closed forever.

Helkryvt had killed the only woman he’d ever loved.

The unfamiliar feeling—which he expected must be guilt—swelled until it consumed him.

“Beledine,” he whispered uselessly, kneeling by her head. He smoothed silky, fiery hair from her death-stilled brow. “Why did you make me do this to you? We were meant for glory, you and I—and you ruined it.” He repeated the words in a hollow voice: “You ruined it.”

His life was spent, aimless, destroyed without Beledine. What was there to fight for, if not her honor? What was there to strive for, if not her approval? Helkryvt had followed his chieftain wherever she led, even when he disliked the direction she took. He’d lived by her side . . . it seemed fitting he should die there, too.

Nighttalon flashed wickedly as he turned the sword on himself. Settling beside Beledine, he pushed up the left sleeve of his tunic and placed the blade against his forearm.

The pain of slicing open his flesh was acute and oddly fulfilling. Warm liquid bubbled from the cut, sheeting across his tan skin. Even in the pallid light of the moon, Helkryvt could tell something was wrong. His blood wasn’t red—it was purple.

“What is this?” he breathed.

a familiar, phantom voice purred in his head.

Helkryvt floundered around, staring into the night. He caught a glimmer of movement in the darkness. The shadows were tearing themselves from the ground, materializing into a human shape.

“You again.” He glared at the wispy apparition. “I have nothing more to say to you. Leave me to die in peace.”

The telepathic whisper bloomed in Helkryvt’s mind, as clear as spoken words, as alluring as ambrosia.

“I gave you an answer, Necrovar. You just didn’t like it.”

“Why? Because I’ve committed such an irredeemable act of evil that I have no choice but to join you?” Helkryvt sneered, his voice cold and mocking. Unbidden, his gaze flickered to Beledine’s corpse.

said Necrovar.

A hesitant curiosity trickled into Helkryvt. Sensing it had caught his attention, Necrovar seeped closer through the air.

the Shadow explained.

“Don’t speak of my bondmate.” Helkryvt’s dragon, the creature who was supposed to be his greatest ally and supporter, had left him after the war. The pain was too fresh, the wound too deep. Helkryvt did not want to think about it, much less discuss it with Necrovar.

“Did you come to torment me?” Helkryvt snapped. “Or was there something you wanted?”

A rumble emanated from Necrovar, the ominous thrum of untapped power.

Helkryvt had rejected this offer in the past because he hadn’t wanted to risk losing Beledine. She was one of those people who believed the Shadow was the root of all evil—as if evil could be boiled down to something so one-dimensional.

Nothing left to lose, Helkryvt reasoned. Beledine was the only thing that had stood in his way of a partnership with Necrovar—but Beledine was gone.

“What do you want in return?” said Helkryvt. Necrovar had made plenty of tempting promises, but had never specified a price for their fulfillment.

The Shadow’s form flickered, stirred by unearthly wind.

“You want to steal my soul?”

“I’m considering it.” The concept had always been tempting, but Helkryvt hadn’t gotten this far in life by trusting blindly. “Before I commit to anything, I have to ask: why me?”

“You could have chosen anyone. Why did you choose me?”

The Shadow oozed closer. Helkryvt stood his ground, allowing it to draw near.

Helkryvt looked at Ghokarian once more, then at his left arm, slick with congealed purple fluid. His lingering guilt vanished. If he was no longer a mere mortal . . . why, the possibilities were endless. Everything would be different. Everything would be better.

“So that was their secret,” he breathed, touching Ghokarian’s severed head. His fingers came away coated with viscous violet liquid. “The dragons’ power can be stolen through their blood.”

Necrovar extended a hand.

Helkryvt didn’t hesitate. He grasped the Shadow’s proffered hand, which was surprisingly solid. Not a shadow at all, only the illusion of it.

said Necrovar,

It was a moment, a small slice of infinity. It lasted a fraction of a breath and lingered for an age. She was as vast as the universe, confined to a singularity, alone, lost in darkness.

Then she was elsewhere.

The sky opened with a thunderclap, and she was falling from a great height. She was going too fast. The impact would kill her.

Light wrapped around her, weightless yet firm, and slowed her descent. She jerked to a halt a few heights from the ground.

The brightness faded and she dropped. Her lungs flattened when she hit the earth. She was bleeding, suffocating, ripping apart at the seams.

Darkness closed in again.

CHAPTER ONE“It is not what you do on the worst day of your life that defines you.

It is what you do on the day after.”

~ Beledine Arowey, Second Age

Twelfth Age, Year 608

Eventually her senses returned. She heard voices and felt a touch on her shoulder.

“She’s coming ’round—”

“Ra’s teeth, get away from her, Caimos!”

Her eyelids fluttered and the world came into focus. Two sun-darkened faces hovered above her, belonging to a balding man and a portly woman.

“What’s your name, child?” said the man.

“Don’t speak to her—look at them eyes, would you?”

They spoke with strange accents in an even stranger dialect. Some words were familiar, some were from the old language, some were incomprehensible.

“Hush, Seema! Come girl, we mean you no harm. Tell us wha’ happened.”

The man slipped an arm beneath the girl’s shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. She groaned as pain rippled across her body. Her head lolled limply to one side.

“Lord of Fire, she’s bleeding something awful. I say, Caimos, don’t touch her!”

“She won’t last the night like this.”

“Then leave her. Suppose she’s Moorfainian?”