The Death of a Swordsman 9

9

Descent woke him up. The ship was dropping fast, angled down in front. Sore from his exertions, Varad poked his head up through then hatch. The casket hadn't moved. The light of day was wan, and the deck was in shadow. He looked up and around.

The beast's torso was dark, little more than a black haze, but its wings were brightly lit against a dim sky. They were huge, leathery, and laced with veins. Long fingers of bone went through them and at every joint was a small talon. They weren't scaled, but the claws definitely were. Those still held the sides of the vessel in an iron grip. Varad grew confused by the peculiar play of light and shadows on the beast's body. It was black as night, yet the underside of the wings were sunlit.

"No!" he gasped, running to the rail to look down. Many miles below in the direction they were sinking rapidly, the sun burned above a distant blur of blue and green. He was far above it, on the backside of the sky. The ship cast its shadow upwards onto the scaled belly.

Varad considered constructively wetting himself. It was an arbitrary decision, made consciously when the Swordsman realized he did not have to go. There were no clouds up here. Stars speckled the sky, above, before, and below, in empty air stretching out in all directions. He was having problems seeing because his vision had contracted to a narrow pinprick beyond a long, dark tunnel. Mountains, capped with glaciers or partially blocked by clouds, existed in a tiny point an infinite distance away.

It was the tunnel vision that ultimately let him regain self-control. It was a phenomenon known on the Palm, though usually from battle, and they train extensively to deal with it. Tunnel vision can kill, hiding enemies in plain sight. Reflexively his eyes flicked from the right to the left, forcing him to note the ship, its barren decks, and the silent dragon above. It all came back slowly, bringing with it realization the air was not completely empty.

There was a land mass floating in the distance, and it was towards that they were inarguably heading. Dark and wide, with central peaks mirrored by hanging stalactites, it was a grim and barren place that blocked out the stars. As they grew closer small pinpricks of red and yellow light appeared. The great beast was heading towards one of the sides, a long expanse of earth that stretched out from the central pole of mountain to root.

With movement the shadows on the great dragon moved. Only its extremities were pure black. The body was dark but rimmed with deep green. It was like the black forests of the mountains, where masses of evergreens are dark as shadow until one gets a close look. Bits of the masts were caught up in the breast scales, for the thing's approach had splintered them earlier. It had a long, snakelike tail that swept straight out behind, but this was very flat. On either side it had short ridges like fins. It also had another set of legs, matching the two that held the ship, and these were tucked under the wide tail. Only the head was hidden, for smoke poured from the mouth. That concealing cloud flickered with bright green fire. He had no idea what the shape of its snout was.

Now they were above the flying land, descending in long, spiraling loops. Being perpetually in the shadow, the top of the world was barren of all living things. Desolate bare stone swept out from the mountains. Yet it was lit by many fires, and these were red and orange. Something must be living up here. Other than dragons, Varad hoped.

Soon they were low enough to see a massive citadel rising from the foot of one of the central mountains. It was gloomy and wreathed in dun smoke, unlike the emerald and yellow dragonfire. There was a wide expanse before the gates that was brightly lit withing rings of fire. On the plain the shadows moved. If those shadows were guards, there was a great number of them.

This changed everything. Varad wasn't about to take on an army, especially not if they had dragons. Not that he intended to take on a dragonless army if he could possibly avoid it either. Running to one of the claws, he saw the scales were hard as iron and closely set. There was no way to injure it enough make it drop the ship. The wings beat again, slowly for it was gliding and rarely needed to flap they leathery expanse of them. They looked no thicker than sailcloth, and hopefully as vulnerable.

Turning to the claw again, he considered the scales. They were close set, with some being smooth but some coarse. In places the beast would need to grip, its armor was almost jagged. Varad grabbed hold and started climbing.

At once the beast twitched, and the head swung down. Its eyes emerged from the clinging fog of smoke and flame, searching for the irritation. Varad made an offensive gesture and kept crawling. At once it shook and swooped hard. He clung on as it spiraled, then fell over one side in a roll. The thing was corkscrewing with wings furled, but this proved nearly too much for the ship below. With a groan great pieces of the deck sheared away into the air. One entire claw came loose then and ripped vast amounts of the hull with it. The corsair fell free and dropped towards the flying land.

The dragon dove after it, instantly abandoning the maneuvers. Yet the speed of the plunge was almost enough to strip away the climber, for the wind shrieked as it tore at his fingers. Clouds of hot, sulfurous smoke from the beast's snout burned his eyes. It dove faster until it could snag the ship from the air. By then it had lost so much altitude that the flying ground was rushing up. The dragon juked and dodged, plunging past the floating earth and into open space. A good look at the underside of the flying world as they passed revealed the bottom of it was covered in a great hanging forest, thick as the mountain valleys.

The dragon leveled off, and the instant it did Varad started climbing again. He got to the elbow and past, heading for the broad back, and it wiggled its limb. The ripples in the great scaled hide nearly dislodged him, but they also formed deep pockets. The scales flexed, and edges came loose. He stabbed these openings as they appeared, getting a great roar in response. Fire filled the sky before and behind with a deep thunderous bellow, and plumes of acrid smoke burned his eyes and lungs. But the wiggling stopped.

Nest it tried a new tactic. Instead of tricky flying or aerial wiggling, it puffed deeply, and the screen of sulfur blew across its skin. Varad climbed on. Soon he was near the shoulder, near where the vast wings beat the air into submission, scattering winds that dispelled the foul fog. Here the air was clear enough to breath. As if the thing gave up the cloud of smoke faded, and Varad dragged himself onto the shoulder.

Morryin lunged for his head. Lying prone, eyes full of tears, Varad barely saw him come over the crest of the shoulder with the Hurt at full exstension. He abandoned his grip and rolled, letting the sword clang off huge scales. At once he came again. Varad retreated, sliding backwards towards the rounded drop off over the shoulder. Only barely did he catch the underside of a broad scale and stop his fall, but then he was outside the Hurt's reach.

“I'd wondered where you were,” Varad admitted.

“A step ahead, and waiting for you,” he replied.

“I see that.”

Neither moved. The Al was well back, hanging on by fingertips, but the movement of the muscles made the dragon skin treacherous footing. Morryin couldn't chase him down, not with a drawn blade taking up one of his hands.

“Lying on your belly like a worm,” he sneered.

"You want a stand up fight? Back off," Varad offered.

Morryin stabbed a few more times, but couldn't get close enough to score. Varad shifted to a slightly better grip, wedging his left hand deeply in a ridge in the hide. With the freedom to release his right, he drew. Now Morryin had to lay in the full prone to stay within range and work forward on his stomach. He tried this a few times, coming from different directions, but Varad batted his awkward strikes away.

“Get back if you want me to get up,” Varad snapped.

“I'll kill you where you are.”

“No, you won't. You can't do anything.”

Morryin retreated and smiled. Varad thought he was going to allow him to climb upwards to decent footing and sought new holds, but was mistaken. The dragon twisted, got the ship swinging, and rolled to its left. Varad rose and Morryin lunged downwards, descending as stable footing appeared beneath him.

The Hurt gave him a significant advantage. It had several inches of reach on the curved blade and lent itself to lunging. The dragon's long arm was huge, but still too narrow for Varad to effectively move to Morryin's flanks. His advantage in the draw was also moot. With their platform actively seeking to help one of them, even Varad's superior footwork was countered. He hurled to his feet and gave ground, parrying and dodging while he fled backwards to escape.

Morryin pursued quickly, stabbing and lunging, until he aborted and fled himself. Varad had but an instant to halt and reverse direction before the dragon rolled under him, trying to slough him over the side to the endless fall. It even tried wiggling it's arm, but was limited by the vast weight of the swinging corsair. The Swordmaster darted forward, threw himself from the side in a leap of faith, and hit the broad back, just above where the wing met the back. He sheltered in a pocket while the beast rolled, dangling and shaking, and then leveled out. Black clad Morryin was upon him in an instant.

The rippling back was an unstable platform. As the beast's muscles bunched and released with each wing beat, they rose and sank in relation to each other. Terrain advantage came and went. It was like fighting on the surface of a windy sea.

Morryin took a forward guard, hands at waist level with blade going forward, point aimed at the Al's eyes. Given their spacing, Varad settled into a side guard, blade pointed off to the right and up. The Hurt would strike first, and Varad needed to parry or dodge before his riposte. The Song of Winter was faster at close range. The redcloak guessed his enemy would wait until the bunching muscle lifted him up, and then he would rush down with gravity while their lifting footing threw Varad onto the sword point. It would be the fastest possible assault.

He was right. Even knowing it was coming, Varad barely batted it aside, and swept the Song of Winter over his head and down. Varad aiming for the collar bone but hit steel. Without swinging the point of the Hurt, Morryin punched upwards with his hands, interposing the sword's stem in the cutting path. The Song of Winter glanced off, above his left shoulder, and over his head. Varad recovered, but Morryin was already lunging. Varad dove sideways, rolled across the rippling scales, and tumbled into the spinal ridge. Morryin chased him down the dragon's back like a fury.

Again and again he stabbed, always at full extension to maximize his advantage. Sparks jumped from the Hurt as it gouged across the iron scales. Varad tried to work angles, but the moving dragon ever brought him back to the Hurt's path. The Swordmaster retreated, rolling across close-set scales, over the great hump that sheltered the backbones, and towards the far wing. A sudden flex of contraction threw him into the air, and he twisted in midair, squirming around the cutting steel. Unburdened by a cloak, he was never touched.

He landed in a squat, Morryin closed, and a twitch of muscle threw them together. They locked blades, straining, then the footing shifted and Morryin vanished. He spun and turned, dropping his hip into a fleeing back kick that should have broken bones. The lifting motion of the dragon spared Varad that, but instead it scooped him up, sending him flying. Underneath him the dragon rolled again, taking away everything that might provide a hold. He tumbled into open air over nothing.

Yet when the dragon twisted, it spun the ship with it. Now as it moved away, he had a perfect view of the deck. Like a taunt, the casket was clearly visible, tightly tethered down. Purely out of spite Varad flung his belt knife, but the cast was good. It passed through a node of ropes at nearly a hundred feet, parting them like water, and sank into the deck. As the dragon finished the roll the casket tumbled free, arcing through the air away into space.

As he fell, Varad heard Morryin's agonized cry as the casket fell as well. That made everything better.