Igor Ironbeast's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

Igor knelt in the sand. His breath came hard through his teeth. Borkul lay a pace away, face down, the hammer still under his open hand. Igor's axe hung from his fist. The blade was chipped along its edge from every blow the shield had turned. He ran a thumb over the notches. The axe had brought him this far. It would not bring him through the gallery. He looked at the dead champion. Then at the hammer. Then at the round shield with its iron rim and the scars of a hundred fights. He did not want them. They were another man's tools. But the court was above him now, and above him waited the skeleton with the daggers and the rider on the pale wolf. He would need a wall to hide behind and a weight to break bone. He let the axe fall. He pried the hammer from Borkul's fingers and lifted the shield off the sand. The straps were still warm. He fit his arm through them. The weight sat heavy and true. A red light bloomed at the gate tunnel. Igor turned. The glow grew and filled the archway. Heat rolled out across the pit. Then Emberling came through, and Emberling was not the small dragon anymore. The black head cleared the top of the arch. Wings folded tight against the ribs. Ember cracks ran along the scales like veins of fire. The dragon had grown while he fought. It had waited for this, waited to see him kill the champion before it showed him what it truly was. Emberling crossed the sand and lowered its head to him. Smoke curled from its nostrils and warmed his face. Igor set a hand on the ridge above the eye. The dragon held still under his palm. Not a pet. Not a spy in the rafters. A mount. He looked up at the gallery. Kong stood alone at the rail, both hands flat on the wood, one eye fixed on the dragon. He gave a slow nod. He had kept Emberling alive against his own court, and now he saw why. The far end of the gallery was empty. Rattle Boneshire's cloak was gone. The pale wolf's post stood bare where Shade Nightfang had watched. They had run from a man with a chipped axe. They would come back for a man on a dragon, and they would come in the dark, with poison and with teeth. Igor swung a leg over Emberling's shoulders. The scales took his weight. He shifted the shield to his front and let the hammer rest across his thigh. He did not lift them in triumph. He held them like a man packing for a longer road. The pit was won. The keep was still above him. He clicked his tongue once, and the dragon turned toward the gate.