That One Time I Went on a Quest

Imposter (2/2)

Everything play out the same way. The dragons come, drawn by the Thralls, and as soon as they lay eyes upon the pretty little phantoms they turn on each other, tearing each other apart with merciless zeal. They don't seem to be able to control themselves.

Meanwhile, Kaishen grows heavier by the second.

The scouring heat is turning into the insatiable tongue of some monster, lashing inside my veins and taking more than they could give. Uncontrollable shivers start to run from my shoulder to fingertip in nauseating waves. Any moment now, these flabby arms will refuse to work any longer and command the fingers to let go.

Splat. A massive glob of dragon blood lands on my head, its metallic stink seeping into every crevice of my skin. Through the curtain of red the distant horizon seems to be writhing with shadows.

Wait, those are human shapes. Large ones.

Surprise, then relief, then utter exhaustion. Eyes drooping. Why do I hear the crash of ocean waves in my ears – and what is this light-headed feeling, yearning for air no matter how fast I breathe? All my muscles are screaming but somehow I'm still on my feet and holding up the Thralls like an absurd flag-bearer that had been pegged to the ground. Can't handle it, not the pain but the emptying, like a human mould scoured of flesh and filled with molten lead.

What if I just –

Can't give up. Can't. Have to keep up the Thralls. A hundred reasons I could give for persevering, like the devastation of the Realms, people dying, world ending, so on and so forth, but under the immolation of Kaishen and surrounded by the groaning of my very bones, these reasons mean nothing.

Instead there's just one line, running mad circles inside my head.

If I give up, Kathanhiel will die.

Steam rise from the follicles on my arms. Red, putrid steam.

A massive splash. Two dragons fall into the crater lake, shattering its mirror surface. There is a collective roar from the sky, hundred-strong, and above the din Rutherford's voice rises in cruel laughter.

'You think yourself clever, herald? You think you can deceive one such as I?!'

Screeches of pain. The scraping of claws upon hardened flesh. Bloody white globules rain from the sky: eyes, gouged from their sockets.

In rushes the beating of wings. The first dragon that descends crashes into the earth not ten steps in front of us, breaking its neck upon a jagged rock. The second lands on its side, crushing to shreds its left wing. The third lands on its feet, covered in claw marks, and before it could take a single step a fourth snatches up its neck and with one sickening crunch snaps it in two.

It then turns, its eye sockets empty and red. Puff and huff goes its nostrils, expanding, contracting. Two seconds it takes to reorientate, and one more to leap with a single bound at the hapless, sword-holding human before it.

The Thralls dancing in front of its face have no effect.

Any time now.

Any time now Kaishen is going to move on its own and fend off the dragon – that's how this thing works right? Kathanhiel did it so many times: talk to it, ask it nicely, then let Kaishen do its thing and slay dragons. That's how this works isn't it, the sword obeying my commands?

In the eternal second it takes for the dragon to close the gap, I delude myself. The sword is going to do something amazing. It's going to pull my arm up and shoot fire or...or become a spear and prompt my arm to throw it. All I have to do is...I don't know, be ready when it happens.