Igor Ironbeast's Arc

Chapter 8 of 9

Mara's hand rose. Igor was in the open, hammer at his feet, the iron cauldron useless behind her. Emberling lay on its side across the courtyard stones, one wing bent under it, blood running black from the hole in its chest. The spear of blue light had gone clean through. The dragon's breath came in short heaves. It could not stand. Igor picked up the hammer. He knew it would do nothing. He held it anyway because his hand needed to hold something. Mara drifted forward across the flagstones. Her feet did not touch. The white eyes fixed on him. She shaped a second spear from the air between her palms. The blue light bent and folded and grew a point. Igor ran. Not at her. At the dragon. He crossed the courtyard as she loosed the spear. It passed where his chest had been and struck the weapon rack. Iron heads clattered down. He slid on his knees against Emberling's flank and pressed his palm to the wound. The scales were hot. The blood was hotter. He looked into the dragon's yellow eye. "Up," he said. He had never needed a word before. He said it now. "Up." Emberling tried. A foreleg found the stone. The bent wing dragged. Mara was already shaping the third spear, closer now, patient as a woman feeding a fire. Igor grabbed the horn at the base of Emberling's skull and hauled. The dragon got its haunches under it. Igor swung up onto its neck. He drove his heel hard into its side, the way he had taught it in the pit weeks ago, when it was still small and learning. Emberling's wings opened. The torn one caught wrong and snapped taut. The dragon screamed and beat down anyway. Stone dust rose. The third spear left Mara's hand and struck the courtyard where the dragon had lain. The flagstone cracked in a white star. They cleared the wall low. Emberling could not climb. It banked hard over the outer roofs and lost height fast. Igor lay flat against its neck and held the horn with both hands. The keep's banners passed under him. The torchlight of the courtyard shrank behind. Mara did not follow. She could not, or would not. He did not know which. He watched the courtyard fall away and saw her standing in the center of it, small and blue, one hand still raised. Emberling made it past the outer wall and came down hard in the black field beyond. Igor rolled clear as it hit. The dragon lay heaving on its side. The wound in its chest still ran. Igor stood up in the dark. The keep sat behind him, lit and closed. His throne was in there. His mount was here, bleeding on the ground. He knelt by Emberling's head and pressed his hand to the hot scales and began to realize Emberling would soon be gone.