Heartless

“In good time, little goblin,” the Dragon said, raising the crest on his head. “If you’ll not oblige me, I may send you there before me.”


“You cannot!” Sir Oeric declared. “My life is not yours!”

But the Dragon smiled. “And who’s to stop me?”

His tail, sinewy as a snake, thick and strong as an oak, lashed out, and the end of it wrapped about Sir Oeric’s waist, lifting him from his feet. With a snap like a whip, the Dragon flung the knight from him, over the wall and into the darkness, laughing as he watched him fly. Then he turned his burning eyes once more upon the king. His vast body dwindled, the wings shrinking and folding into a long cape, and his burning eyes, no longer set among scales, were instead set in a face of white skin stretched over a skull of black bone.

In the body of a man, he stepped over to the king, who fell upon his face before him.

“Greetings, King Fidel,” the Dragon said. “It’s time to come home.”

–––––––

The cage sat off to one side of the bloody throne. The cage itself was stained with the blood of countless captives, but it sat in such a dark corner that some of its hideousness was hidden. One could smell it, even so.

No other dragon folk were near the cage now, having at last lost interest in its new inhabitant. The dragon girl could see Aethelbald sitting cross-legged in the back, his eyes closed, his head bowed to his chest. She gulped and took in a deep breath, pulling the sleeves of her robe down over her dragon arms. When she opened her mouth to speak, no words would come. Cursing herself, she turned to go.

“Una?”

She froze as though paralyzed at the sound of her name. It hurt to hear it, like a knife in her mind.

“Una.”

His voice was low and, wonder of wonders, kind. Her chest felt dull and empty as her fire sank inside.

“Una, come back.”

Keeping her face hidden by the hood, she crept up to the cage. He stood at the bars, gripping them with both hands. As she neared, he reached a hand toward her, but she remained out of reach.

“Why did you come here?” she whispered.

“To find you.”

She knew that but could make no sense of it. “When the Dragon returns,” she said, “they are going to kill you.”

“They will kill you too.”

“I know.”

“It will not be a good death,” he said.

She turned away from him, clenching her dragon hands into fists so that her own claws pricked her scaly palms. “All I love are lost to me,” she whispered. “My brother is dead. My father may be as well. And my – ” She clenched her teeth, for the flame rising inside burned her throat.

“Your brother is alive,” Aethelbald said.

She stopped breathing. “What?”

“Felix is alive, Una. The duke’s plot did not succeed, and your brother was only wounded. He is receiving care. He is alive.”

All the world was still, around her and inside – a stillness without serenity, a silence without calm. “Felix,” she whispered. Then she hissed through her teeth like a snake. “He may as well be dead, for I am dead to him, dead to all of them!”

Aethelbald reached out to her. “Una – ”

“That is no longer my name!” she snarled.

“That name is precious to me,” he whispered.

“More’s the pity for you, then.”

“Little sister.”

She gasped and stepped back at the Bane of Corrilond’s growl.

“Little sister,” the giant woman said, grabbing her shoulder with a massive hand. Claws pricked her skin. “Were you, perchance, the princess sought by this handsome Prince? How fitting. So you weren’t entirely forgotten, were you?”

The giant bent down and snarled in the girl’s face. “But he’s not the right one, is he?” She chuckled harshly. “You gave your heart to another, and this one can never help you now. Poor little sister. And poor little Prince! You see, don’t you, that there is no redeeming our kind.” She turned to him and showed sharp fangs in a hideous smile. “But perhaps this will stir up a fire in your own breast, noble Prince? Jealousy makes a fine flame. How does it feel to not be good enough to win her heart, no matter what you risk?”

Aethelbald slowly shook his head. “Woman, I fear you have long since forgotten the meaning of love.”

The Bane of Corrilond hissed, then glared down at the girl. “True love does not exist, little sister. I learned that lesson centuries ago. You would do well to learn it now.”

With a flame in her mouth, she disappeared into the darkness. Moments later, a fireball roared to the ceiling of the cavern, and a massive red dragon raced up the path to the tunnel and vanished, gone to spend its flame on the desert night.

The dragon girl, her breath coming in short gulps, looked down at an object clutched in one scale-covered hand: a cold iron key plucked from the Bane of Corrilond’s robes.





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