Draka

I’d hoped that the riders would be deterred or seriously slowed down when I dropped the shredded corpse of their fellow mercenary on them, but no such luck. They recovered in moments. I could still see them coming in the distance when I looked back, though that distance stretched rapidly as I approached the road where I’d left Garal, Lalia, and Maglan; No horse in any world could keep up with me. But they were still only a few miles away when I reached my companions, and I threw caution to the wind, setting down beside them.

“The mercs are coming!” I told them. “A dozen, and riding hard. Go! Go!”

They didn’t waste a moment hesitating or questioning me. Garal took the lead and Lalia the rear. It was miles to the next village. From the air it didn’t look large enough to have much of a militia, if any, but it would have to do. What that meant for the villagers… I didn’t want to think too hard about it.

The hilly terrain made it impossible for the two groups to see each other, but I had no such problems. Best I could tell, the Silver Spurs were about four miles from the road, and my companions had about the same distance to go before they got to the village. I didn’t need to be good at geometry to know that we should leave them in the dust, but the mercenaries were coming in at an angle. They didn’t aim for where their scouts had split up or for the village, but some point between it and the trio, and I wondered how the hell they knew where to go. I made sure not to fly directly above Garal and the others, but that made no difference. From where I was I could even see them turn slightly as they got closer, seeming to adjust for the trio’s movement. They were still far out, and the terrain should have blocked their line of sight. It was a disturbing thing to see.

At the point where my group would reach the village in two minutes, maybe a little more, the Spurs would be a minute behind them at most. It was getting late in the morning, and most of the villagers would be at work tending their flocks or fields or whatever else needed to be done. There was no way that there’d be enough time to call anyone to arms, if they’d even be willing; we’d either need to keep going, or fight alone. Four against twelve were terrible odds in a straight fight, even if one of the four was a dragon.

Whatever Garal and Lalia intended to do, I needed to even those odds a little. I dove hard towards the incoming riders, not relying on gravity but actively driving myself downwards with powerful beats of my wings to the point where the air was roaring past me as I broke it with my face. Beneath me flocks of sheep scattered in every direction as I got closer to the ground, but I was only barely aware of them. I was now directly in the path of the riders, they were close enough to make out individual people, and we were approaching each other at a combined speed well over a hundred miles per hour. An arrow cracked past me, moving so fast that it didn’t even register until the second and third passed over and under me; they were shooting from the saddle, but I was not a stationary target, and neither was I easy to see, thanks to my stealth Advancement helping me blend into the cloudy background.

They had time for a fourth and fifth arrow, both of which were close but not close enough, and then I passed above them. I stayed just high enough that they shouldn’t be able to reach me with their lances, and sprayed a concentrated stream of venom below me. I didn’t bother trying to hit many of them; I doubted that would have done anything. Instead I went for the densest grouping, hoping to do some damage to a few.

I was past before my venom hit them, and when it took effect I was hundreds of feet away and turning. What I saw when I came around was both satisfying in an incredibly vicious way, and heartbreaking.

Two of the horses were down in a writhing, screaming pile. One of the riders had been thrown far ahead, while the other was nowhere to be seen, probably somewhere under the horses. I felt only a vicious glee about the Spurs, but terrible for the horses. I knew how fragile horses could be. Going down the way they had at a full gallop, there was no way that they didn’t have broken bones.

The remaining Spurs seemed split on what to do. Some peeled off as though to go back to aid their fallen comrades, but unfortunately they did the smart thing and joined back up, riding in a looser formation this time. Even with two of their number down and a gods-damned dragon at their back, if they even knew that was what I was, they still stayed on target, riding hard directly for the small village that was now only scant minutes ahead.

There was no way for me to coordinate with the others, so the most productive thing I could do was to harass the Spurs. I did so gladly. First, though, I climbed high enough to get a look at the road and the village. I couldn’t see my companions — they must have been among the houses, either passing through or waiting to make some kind of stand — but I hoped that they saw me.

Harassing the riders was easy, in the sense that they couldn’t ignore me. Doing any damage with my venom glands empty, though, that was tricky. I tried a couple of swoops, but these were skilled riders on agile horses, and some of them were comfortable with shooting their bows from the saddle, so I had to dodge arrows while myself trying to hit moving targets. Those that didn't have bows had lances, and they did their best to jab at me while still controlling their horses. In the end all I managed was to scatter them as I forced the ones I targeted to dodge and slow down. For my trouble I got another hole through the wing, and one arrow struck my belly at an angle where it slipped under my scales and penetrated, though thankfully not deeply. The fact that they made me bleed, though, pissed me right off.

That’s not to say that I didn’t help. For one, between every swoop I rose so that I’d be in sight of the village, showing the others where their pursuers were. For another, the fact that the riders had to pay attention to me if they didn’t want to be bitten, clawed, or dragged off their horses meant that they weren’t paying attention straight ahead.

That mistake was punished harshly as they crested the final hill before the village. From there they had to ride down the side of the hill they were on into a gully, and then back up an easy slope to the village. This left them fully open. The first incoming arrow struck one of the lead riders on the right flank, but she stayed in the saddle. The next one that I saw missed, but the third took one of the horses high in the neck, and while it didn’t go down it turned sharply, forcing others to slow or stop or turn themselves. This split the group up even further, with the left flank continuing at full speed while the center and the right were slowed. Some of the Spurs returned fire, but sporadically. Arrows continued to come in at an impressive rate, and I remembered Herald telling me that Lalia was almost as good a shot as herself, without any supporting Advancements. And Maglan, of course, was an archer through and through.

I didn’t waste the opportunity. I hit the center group, not caring who I went for. I just grabbed one of them that wasn’t looking my way and took off, then dropped him, kicking and screaming, onto the rearmost of the four of the left flank who were now nearly in the village. Aiming was much easier at such a low altitude, and the two hit the ground at speed, in a tangle of limbs that wasn’t likely to get up soon. Instinct screamed for me to fall on them and finish them off, but there were still three from that flank entering the village, with another five staggered behind them. I tried to strike the next in line, but they were too close to a house as I came in and I had to abort or risk smacking my wing against a tile roof or brick wall. Instead I climbed, continuing forward over the roof in time to see Garal and Melon crash through their line between the second and third riders, taking them by surprise.

As cheerful and kind as he could be, Garal was not soft. His sword flashed low as he passed, hamstringing the second rider’s horse, which crashed to the ground. His readied shield skillfully lifted the point of the third rider’s lance, guiding it over and behind him. It happened so quickly that the third rider didn’t respond until Garal was through and away, though she turned to follow him. I let her, and went after the lead rider, who was now turning to strike Lalia and Maglan from behind. Garal could handle himself against a single mounted opponent, or at least I hoped so. Maglan and Lalia, however, were now trapped between the rider behind them and the five in front.

Or so I thought. I climbed to get into a better position to strike, and took the opportunity to get an idea of where everyone was. Windfall and Maglan’s mare stood at a corner of the village’s small square, moving nervously but too well trained to run. Lalia and Maglan themselves had both turned to face the Spur coming at them from behind, which confused me until I threw a look at where the rest of the riders should be coming from and saw five mounted horses making their way back up the hill, heading back the way they'd come. Whatever the Spurs' goal had been, it must not have been worth losing their whole group.

My first thought was that they were escaping, and a sense of great indignation welled up inside me. How dare they run? I almost gave chase; they had no right to get away when they’d attacked my companions. But those same companions were still fighting, and their safety had to come first.

I needn't have worried. Among the houses, and against two archers, the mounted Spur was at a severe disadvantage. He tried, but he couldn't run them down since they could just pop around a corner, and when they separated he couldn't follow one without risking an arrow in the back from the other. And that was without taking me into account. The houses made striking from above hard but not impossible, but he had to keep checking where I was to keep as much brick between us as possible. It only took half a minute before he gave up. Garal returning was the final straw. He turned for the open hills to follow the others who had already retreated. I set after him, and while I could hear Lalia shouting I was too focused on bringing down my prey to make out what she was saying.

Alone and in the open he didn't stand a chance. He rode well, but he was scared, and his horse was tired. They made mistakes, and before he reached the top of the hill I bodily tackled him out of the saddle. I fell on him, pinning his arms, and my blood sang with the joy of a successful hunt. I was about to tear his throat out when the roar in my ears died down enough that I could hear both Lalia and Conscience shouting, “Alive! Alive, dammit!”

I hissed my annoyance, and the man beneath me blanched. “Do you surrender?” I spat at him, hoping that he would refuse or try to fight me, and feeling disgusted with myself for my own bloodlust. When did I become so blasé about killing? What happened to not killing for convenience? Hell, I’d been about to kill him for— what? Fun? Predatory pride? Because I could, and I had an excuse? That was far worse. Fortunately he robbed me of any excuse I might have had when he choked out a “Yes!” between clenched teeth. Not even a “You speak?” or “Oh, gods!” Just “Yes!”

“Fine,” I said and released his sword arm. I didn’t bother telling him to get rid of his weapons. I simply tore through his belt with my claws and pulled it off him, sword and dagger and all. That tore a scream from him, and I wondered what the hell that was about until I told him to stand and he choked out, “Can’t. Leg’s broken.”

I backed off, and his left leg was indeed bent at the thigh. Not much, but thighs aren’t meant to bend at all. I snorted and paced a while, wondering if I could use this as an excuse to kill my helpless, unarmed prisoner. Obviously not, you bloodthirsty psycho bitch, I told myself, and grabbed his mail shirt with both hands. “Right,” I told him. “You’re going to hate this.”

He screamed when I took off. He screamed for the few seconds it took to fly him back to the village. And he screamed when I put him down in the square. I thought that shock would normally deal with at least some of the pain of a broken bone, but apparently it wasn’t enough for a broken femur being jostled about with absolutely no care at all.

To my surprise he wasn’t the only prisoner. My three companions were guarding two others that sat on the ground, though I wasn’t sure how long either of them would survive. A woman who I recognized as the third rider, the one who’d gone after Garal, was supporting a short man, presumably either the one I’d dropped or the one I’d dropped that man at — I hadn’t gotten a good look at either. The woman was missing her right hand, and the tourniquet didn’t seem to have stopped the bleeding completely. The man, meanwhile, was pale and sweating, barely conscious and badly hurt in some way I couldn’t see.

I left my prisoner with the two others and turned to Lalia. “There. Alive, just like you asked,” I told her petulantly. “Now what? What do we do with three dying prisoners?”

“First of all, we stop them from dying. We’ve made the first two drink healing potions already. They look bad now but should be better in an hour or three. Did you disarm this one?”

“I took his sword belt,” I told her, and she had the audacity to roll her eyes at me.

“Fine, I’ll do it properly.” She drew her sword and approached the prisoner. “Don’t so much as twitch or I’ll stick this in your gut, hear me?” she told him. He probably didn’t understand a word she said, but he did understand the universal language of “angry woman I just tried to kill has a sword pointed at me,” and he stayed very still. With the point of her sword poking at his belly button, she removed a five-inch dagger from his boot and threw it to Maglan, who caught it by the hilt out of the air. She then gestured for him to take off his coat, and when he’d done that she relieved him of another two blades, a wicked-looking curved thing that he had in a sheath at his waist and a short, triangular punch dagger at his left wrist.

“What do you think, Garal?” she asked. “Do you want his trousers off?”

“Too tight,” Garal said. He was nursing a long, diagonal cut high on his shield arm. “You should be fine.”

“All right.”

I gaped at her. “Wait, how’d you know, though?”

“Draka, how many blades do you think I have on me right now? How many do you think Garal has? Hell, how many do you think Mak or Herald carries when they’re out on business?”

“I mean…” I trailed off. I had no idea.

“I can tell you that Herald has one on the inside of one of the skirt plates on that fancy new armor of hers, and that’s not the most easily accessible one. I like to think I taught them well, her and Mak both. You never know when you’ll need a dagger, or which parts of your body you’ll be able to reach. I’m pretty sure Mak carried her sharktooth when they went to meet the lady justice. She’s usually got it in her sash when she wears a wrap like that. Be just like her to put it in by habit. Now, Maglan. Potion, please.”

Maglan took out a bottle, the little glowing flecks in the liquid inside marking it as a healing potion, and uncorked it. With the bottle in one hand and a dagger in the other, he knelt by the prisoner, who drank it down without a fuss and even some gratitude.

I was still a bit sulky about the whole thing. For all that I’d berated myself for being bloodthirsty, I didn’t like that I’d been told not to kill this enemy that I’d taken down fair and square. “And now what? What are we supposed to do with three prisoners?”

“We were hoping that you might question them,” Garal said. And knowing me, he went straight for flattery. “We need to know why they targeted us, how many of them there are, and if they’re still attacking villages. With your amazing, unheard of skill with languages, you’re the only one who can talk to them.”

“You’re an unrepentant flatterer,” I told him, and he just grinned at me.

“Is it working?”

“Of course it’s working! Ask your questions, and I’ll translate.”

The prisoners, the two who were mostly conscious, at least, talked quite freely once the questioning began. They’d been looking at us, and me especially, with confusion and fear, but had wisely stayed quiet. Once I started speaking directly to them they were eager to please, and after I told them that I had questioned Bekiratag thoroughly they mostly stopped trying to lie or deflect, at least according to Garal who was apparently good at reading such things. The woman was Leretem, the man with the broken leg Kordon and the by then unconscious man was Sergen. Their detachment had indeed been following us. The Spurs had been waiting for us to come south — they didn’t know how the commander had known — and had sent out about a quarter of their remaining number to attack us on the road. Yes, they were still attacking villages, trying to round up magic users, but it was getting hard as their numbers shrank. Their commander had been trying to get permission to pull back for weeks now.

The only thing they both clammed up about was why and how they’d been tracking us. Anger and threats didn’t help. Threatening to bite off the Leretem’s other hand only got me begging from Kordon and a very brave, eyes closed tight, “Do it!” from the woman herself.

Lalia and Garal didn’t much like it when I stopped translating and went off on my own, but neither did they try to stop me. Maiming Leretem had been an empty threat, of course. I could have, but I wasn’t going to. Kill her, maybe. Torture? Maybe someone I hated. Tarkarran, if I hadn’t promised him to the girls. The Blossom, before I started to pity her. Some random mercenary raider who hadn’t done anything to me personally, now matter how much of a murdering shithead she was? No.

Not physically. I had no qualms about making her absolutely piss herself until she talked.