David Wells - Cursed Bones

Anatoly was wounded, Abigail could tell from his gait, but he was still alert and deadly. A drakini made a run at them, attempting to latch on to Anatoly with its hind claws and carry him into the air. Anatoly kept walking like he didn’t notice the impending attack until the last moment, when he ducked under its feet, flipped his axe up and hooked it over the drakini’s wing, dragging it to the ground and stabbing it in the back of the head with a dagger before retrieving his axe from the corpse.

Another drakini dropped straight down on top of Abigail, crushing her into Ixabrax’s back spikes and cutting through her armor where his talons dug into her shoulders. She felt the warmth of her own blood soaking into her undershirt as the drakini launched into the air, dragging her with it. The pain was so sudden, so unexpected, that Abigail didn’t fully comprehend what was happening until she was a good twenty feet in the air. She dropped her bow, a magical gift that had served her so well for so long-it was useless in this moment.

She drew the Thinblade. Even grasping for it in a moment of desperation, when she couldn’t get a good hold on the hilt, the Sword of Kings still felt like it was made for her hand. The drakini’s legs came free of the rest of its body just below the knees.

Abigail fell.

She hit the ground hard, breaking her left leg with a loud snap, sending a jolt of pain so intense that she forgot to breathe. Anatoly hobbled up, scooping up her bow along the way, kneeling next to her, looking into her eyes and nodding.

“She’s hurt, help me get her onto the dragon.”

Magda took his instruction without question or debate, stabilizing Abigail while Anatoly maneuvered her onto Ixabrax’s neck.

The remaining drakini were fleeing the aerie in the face of the four furious dragons. Ixabrax launched into the night sky with a roar and his family followed him. He flew low and steady toward the crevasse, landing near the edge and letting Anatoly and Magda go to work on Abigail while waiting for the rest of his family to arrive.

Alexander appeared, standing over his sister while Anatoly fashioned a splint.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Been better,” Abigail said through gritted teeth. Then she passed out, overwhelmed by pain when Anatoly set the bone and fastened the splint in place. He worked quickly and efficiently, with a mixture of great care and emotional detachment.

With her leg set, Magda broke some pungent flower buds open under Abigail’s nose and roused her from her pain-induced unconsciousness. She woke stunned from the pain, but managed to accept it and take it into her, mastering the hold it had over her and regaining some control over her body.

Magda cast what limited healing magic she had over the leg, but it was a small remedy next to the kind of magic contained in a healing draught. Next, Magda cast a spell that numbed the pain, not removing it exactly, just making it feel like it was far away and unimportant. Abigail began to relax and clear her head.

Once his family had landed, Ixabrax introduced them to Alexander and Abigail.

Izzulft stepped forward. “I speak for my family. I will hear what you wish to say.”

“My name is Alexander Reishi. I am at war with Zuhl, and he’s using your family against my soldiers. Help me free your remaining children so he can never use dragons against us again.”

“Motives that I understand,” Izzulft said, regarding Alexander intently. “Bargain struck. What is your plan?”

“I’ll tell you where they are, you hold them down, and Abigail cuts their collars.”

“Simple, direct, and effective,” Izzulft said. “I like it. Proceed.”

Alexander vanished for a minute or so and then reappeared. “All three just launched from the aerie and they’re headed this way, backed up by a hundred drakini or more. All three dragons have riders … one of them looks like Zuhl.”

“I’m not ready to fight yet,” Abigail said. “My leg is broken. I can’t even stand.”

“No, but you could ride,” Alexander said. “Tie on to Ixabrax’s neck and he’ll get you close enough to cut the collar while Izzulft holds the dragon down and everyone else watches your back. Go from one to the next, taking the rider first, then freeing the dragon.”

Abigail grimaced in pain, nodding nonetheless.

“I know it hurts, Abby. I wish there was another way.”

“Me too,” she said, turning to Anatoly. “Help me tie on to Ixabrax. If we’re going to do this, I need Magda riding another dragon to attack the enemy riders.”

“I will allow it,” Nix said.

Magda bowed formally with the utmost respect to Ixabrax’s mother.

“You will ride my youngest, Human,” Izzulft said to Anatoly. “This battle is liable to stretch out across leagues … we wouldn’t want to misplace you.”

Anatoly grumbled to himself but held his tongue.

Abigail was relieved that the agony of getting mounted atop Ixabrax was finally over, that her pain had subsided into a low throb, but she knew it wouldn’t last. The battle would be an exercise in agony. Flight required using your arms and legs to remain stable in your saddle … more so when you didn’t have a saddle.

Abigail closed her eyes and focused on her breathing while she waited for the enemy to draw near. Magda mounted, as did Anatoly, riding Ixabrax’s youngest brother, Khazad. At the sound of the enemy’s approach floating on the cold night air, all three quaffed dragon draught, the last of their supply. Coldness flowed into Abigail’s veins.

The enemy crested a rise and formed up for an attack run. All four dragons leapt into the air, scattering in different directions. Abigail gasped in pain, willing her mind to focus on the fight and not on her injury, but was still distracted by the pulsating agony in her broken leg. Zuhl’s trio of young dragons remained in formation, targeting Izzulft. The elder dragon roared in defiance and gained altitude, easily outpacing his children.

Nix carried Magda into the sky, following her mate in a wide orbit, waiting for a chance to strike. Her youngest son, Khazad flew at her wing, carrying Anatoly. Ixabrax waited off to the side, orbiting in wider circles.

Spells from the three riders fell short. Izzulft tipped over and fell into a dive, gaining terrible speed and closing the distance to the dragon on the right of the formation in seconds. He crashed into his daughter and grappled her wings tight against her chest, falling with her while his tail snaked around and cut the man riding her in half.

As they plummeted to the ground, Ixabrax altered course to glide toward the spot where Izzulft intended to land. “Be ready, I’ll get you as close as possible.”

Abigail slipped her hand through the thong on the Thinblade. Izzulft continued to fall with the other two dragons in tight dives behind him. Ixabrax altered course to intercept one of his sisters.

All Abigail could do was hold on and endure the pain, waiting to cut a collar while dragons battled around her. She started laughing at the insanity of it all.

Nix made a run at the lagging dragon that was chasing Izzulft to the ground, breathing frost in a great cloud, icing the wings of her daughter and collapsing the shield of the priest riding her. Magda waited until they had passed before unleashing her spell, a dozen shards of magical force, one after the next, leapt from her hand, streaking to the target and hitting the priest in the back with unerring precision. He slumped forward against the dragon’s neck.

Izzulft broke their fall at the last moment, sparing his daughter a crushing death but dropping her hard enough to stun her, while remaining aloft and banking sharply toward the dragon still diving toward him. Zuhl loosed his spell. An orb of amber, tinted with blackness, shot toward Izzulft, transforming into a wide circular net at the last moment and collapsing around him, midair. Izzulft lost strength and folded his wings, falling nearly a hundred feet to the ground.