There was a noise behind him. Tobias spun round in a panic. Another dragon. A demon. Eltheia the beautiful, naked on a white horse.
New boy Marith. Staring at the dragon like a man stares at his own death. A chill of cold went through Tobias for a moment. A scream and a shriek in his ears or his mind. The boy’s beautiful eyes gazed unblinking. A shadow there, like it was darker suddenly. Like the sun flickered in the sky. Like the dragon might twitch and move and live. Then the boy sighed wearily, sat down in the dust rubbing at his face. Tobias saw that the back of his left hand was horribly burnt.
‘Pretty good, that,’ Tobias said at length.
‘You told me to draw my sword.’
‘I did.’
There was a long pause.
‘You killed it,’ said Tobias.
‘It was dying anyway.’
‘You killed a bloody dragon, lad.’
A bitter laugh. ‘It wasn’t a very large dragon.’
‘And you’d know, would you?’
No answer.
‘You killed it, boy. You bloody well killed a bloody dragon. Notoriously invulnerable beast nobody really believed still existed right up until it ate their tent-mate. You should be pleased, at least. Instead, you’re sitting here looking like death while Rate and the other lads try to get things sorted out around here.’ Wanted to shake the boy. Moping misery. ‘At least let me have a look at your hand.’
This finally seemed to get Marith’s attention. He stared down at his burns. ‘This? It doesn’t really hurt.’
‘Doesn’t hurt? Half your hand’s been burnt off. How can it not hurt? It’s the blood, I think. Burns things. It’s completely destroyed my sword. Damn good sword it was, too. Had a real ruby in the hilt and all. Bloke I got it off must have thought it was good too, seeing as I had to kill him for it.’ Rambled on, trying to relieve his racing mind. At the back of his racing mind this little voice basically just shouting ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck’.
‘The blood is acid,’ Marith said absently. ‘And boiling hot. Once it’s dead it cools, becomes less corrosive.’ He turned suddenly to Tobias, as if just realizing something. ‘You stabbed it first. To rescue me. I did nothing, I just stood there.’
Absurd how young the boy seemed. Fragile. Weak. Hair like red-black velvet. Eyes like pale grey silk. Skin like new milk and a face like a high-class whore. Could probably pass for Eltheia the beautiful, actually, in the right light. From the neck up at any rate.
Couldn’t cook. Couldn’t start a fire. Couldn’t boil a sodding pot of tea. Could just about use a sword a bit, once someone had found him one, though his hand tended to shake on the blade. Cried a lot at night in his tent. Emit had ten in iron on him one day breaking down crying he wanted his mum. Eltheia the beautiful might have made the better sellsword, actually, in the right light.
‘You just stood there. Yeah. So did most of them.’ And, oh gods, oh yeah, it’s the squad commander pep talk coming unstoppably out. Let rip, Tobias me old mucker, like finally getting out a fart: ‘Don’t worry about it. Learn from your mistakes and grow stronger and all that. Then when we next get jumped by a fire-breathing man-eating dragon, you’ll be right as rain and ready for it and know exactly what to do.’
Marith shook himself. Rubbed his eyes. ‘I could really, really do with a drink.’
Tobias got to his feet. Sighed. Boy didn’t even need to ask things directly for you to somehow just do them. A trick in the tone of voice. Those puppy-dog sad eyes. ‘You’re not really supposed to order your squad commander around, boy. And we haven’t got any booze left, if that’s what you mean. There’s water for tea, as long as it’s drawn well up river of … that. Seeing as you’re a hero and all, I’ll go and get you some.’ He started off towards the camp. ‘Want something to eat while I’m at it?’
An attempt at drinks and dinner. Get the camp sorted so someone with a particularly iron stomach could get a bit of sleep in that wasn’t mostly full of dreams of blood and entrails and your tent-mate’s face running off like fat off a kebab. The final butcher’s bill on file: Jonar, the man who had hacked the thing’s stomach open, had disappeared completely, his body totally eaten away; four others were dead including Gulius; one was dying from bathing in fire and hot steam. Skie finished this last off cleanly by taking off his crispy melted black and pink head. Another four were badly wounded: Tobias suspected two at least would be lucky to survive the night. One, a young man called Newlin who was a member of his squadron, had a burn on his right leg that left him barely able to stand. Tobias had already decided it would be a kindness to knife him at the earliest opportunity. One of the other lads was bound to make a botch of it otherwise.
They’d only lost three men in the last year, and they had largely been the victims of unfortunate accidents. (How could they have known that pretty farmer’s daughter had had a pruning hook hidden under her cloak? She hadn’t even put up much resistance until that point.) Losing ten was a disaster, leaving them dangerously approaching being under-manned.
Piss poor luck, really, all in all, sitting down for lunch in front of a convenient bit of rock and it happening to have a dragon hiding behind it. Even if it wasn’t a very large one.
They were still pitching the tents when Skie’s servant Toman appeared. Reported that Skie wanted to see Marith Dragon Killer for a chat.
‘Hero’s welcome,’ said Tobias with a grin. Though you never could tell with Skie. Could just be going to bollock the boy for not killing it sooner.
Marith got up slowly. Something like fear in his eyes. Or pain, maybe.
Tobias shivered again. Funny mood, the boy was in.
Chapter Three
Skie’s tent was beautiful old leather, well cured, unlike the smelly, greasy cloth things the men slept under, embossed with a design of looping flowers. The colours of the paint still showed in places, even some touches of gold leaf. Looted from somewhere, Marith was certain. Probably part of a lady’s hunting pavilion. Although they usually had a little jewelled flag on the top. Skie’s had a skeletal hand.
Skie himself was a small, thin man, grey and hard, his head bald. A straggly grey beard, which he’d look much better without, a scar across the bridge of his nose. Nothing exceptional, until he moved, and you saw he had lost his left arm at the elbow. Marith looked down at the ragged burns on his own left hand.
‘So.’ Skie fixed him with cold eyes. ‘The dragon killer himself. I suppose we all owe you our lives.’ He gestured to Marith to sit down opposite him outside the tent entrance. ‘Rather more than I assumed you were capable of when I first encountered you, I must admit. Out of interest, how’d you know where to stab it?’
‘I know how to kill dragons.’
‘That seems unarguable. I was asking how you knew. Not a common piece of knowledge.’