Chapter Six

CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:

~ GORE / BLOOD

~ VIOLENCE

"Tyr, guide my arrow to its mark."

She drew the bow back as far as the wood would bend, willing all her strength into the pointed metal. She exhaled and released. The arrow flew through the air with pinpoint accuracy towards the threat in front of her. The beast opened its mouth in another intimidating roar, which suddenly turned into a howl of pain.

Libelle watched as the dragon's whole body flinched on impact, its wings paused for a moment too long as its head lurched backwards and its body stiffened; the arrow had found its mark. Deeply embedded into its left golden eye, the ancient beast tried desperately to correct its own mistake of reacting to such pain, but it was futile.

Its body plummeted to the ground, its chest impacting first before its neck and head slammed down in front of its body. The fragile wings crumpled up around it before the beast toppled into a sudden thud on the soil and rolled forward, tumbling over itself.

Libelle rushed forward, placing herself between the beast and the mortals behind her. The ancient creature grunted and growled, finding its bearings and adjusting itself in the crater it had made during its crash-landing. Its hind legs struggled to get beneath its weight, and its long tail slammed down into the frost as its wings pushed its body upright.

The slayer stared into the single eye of the downed beast, and it glared back at her with almost dead eyes. It tried to take a step towards her, but the motion of placing its whole weight on its wings made it collapse. Its wing was broken, the bones crushed, so there was no way it could go anywhere using that limb.

"Calm yourself, dragon," Libelle snarled, grasping the hilt of her sword between her hands. She had taken advantage of the time the beast had taken to land to drop her bow and ready herself with her heavy sword.

The beast snarled, a gurgling sound erupting from its throat right before a burst of flames shot from its dagger-filled mouth. Libelle rolled away from the heat and stood up again. "I said calm yourself. If you do not calm yourself, I'll strike you down where you stand!"

The ancient beast growled again, another burst of flames erupting from its mouth, causing Libelle to lunge out of the way.

"Calm yourself!" Taking a deep breath, she bellowed out at the damned creature, "Calm!" The force of her words stung her ears, and the dragon before her suddenly swayed. Its body drooped, and the beast settled and lay down in the dew-covered grass. Its breathing slowed to a steady and relaxed manner, and it glared at her. Oh, did it glare.

"Slayer." Its voice was a chilling, low rumble as it spoke in its native tongue.

Libelle steadied herself but still held her sword up. "Dragon, what do you call yourself?"

The dragon chuckled, still lying relaxed on the ground. "You are a fool, slayer. There are no need for formalities between one such as me, and you...one born to kill my kin."

The dragon slowly adjusted its broken wing around its body.

"Alright then, no need for formalities," Libelle said, pausing to give the dragon a chance to respond, but it did not take it. "What brought you down from the mountains? What made you choose to attack Edinburgh? You are an old and wise beast. What made you chose this path?"

"You are a slayer mortal, yet you are a dragon. You are killing your own kind, cursed by the Gods for your actions in a past life."

Libelle growled back, "The dragon are not my kin."

It chuckled again, "But you are slayer, born a dragon in a mortal's body. You have the soul of a dragon, woman, you are cursed."

"Get to the point, dragon. You are testing my patience. I asked you a question."

The dragon seemed to be just as impatient as she was. "Fool," it growled again. "You kill the dragons at the command of a mortal king. You are merely a pawn in this game, and my task is to draw you out." This time the dragon chuckled, its scaled lips curling into a devilish smile. "And I have succeeded."

"What do you mean?" She froze as a multitude of thoughts began to spiral around in her mind. This ancient dragon was tasked with only drawing her out? Why?

If the dragons wanted her, they did not need to send an ancient beast such as this one to draw her out into the open. What were they planning? Could Eskil be up to something again? The charcoal colored beast hadn't been seen for quite some time, so it wouldn't surprise her.

But why sacrifice such a powerful beast for such a seemingly meaningless task? She thought back to the recent attacks on the Nordic settlements. There had been an awful lot lately, and now that she really thought about it, they seemed to be occurring more strategically. Were they testing the Nords, or were they testing her? Libelle froze when she locked eyes with the dragon.

"He knows," it snarled, "and it won't be long before he avenges the fallen dragons your kind have slain." Its fangs were bound to tear through her flesh.

The beast lunged at her, extending its deadly dagger-filled mouth towards her. Libelle quickly rolled away from the beast, leaped back to her feet and dodged another attack. It was stuck where it had landed and unable to bear weight on its broken wing, so it had no way to return to the air or chase after her as she darted about. The only way it could potentially harm her would be for her to get close enough for it to catch her in its jaws, or for its fiery breath to reach her.

The dragon roared, voicing its frustration and anger at her with a blaze that would turn coal into diamond. "Fight me!"

Libelle avoided yet another blast of fire. She did not want to kill the beast, but it left her no choice. She could not leave it where it lay, but she could not send it on its way either. There was no honor rewarded for taking its life, none at all. When the dragon snapped at her again, she leaped as high as she was able to, and reached down to grasp one of its hard and scaled horns protruding from its skull. Quickly, she secured her grip and swung her heels down to land at the nape of its neck, balancing herself as the dragon reared its head back and swung it side to side.

No, there was no honor from taking its life, but it was necessary. The dragon unleashed another roar, only for its thundering voice to wane and change into a garbled moan. Libelle dug her sword deeply into the soft spot of its skull, wedging the blade into the core of its brain. The kill was swift and clean, and the dragon slumped forward as its eyes rolled back in its head. She was tossed forward, pulling the blade with her as she fell from its head to the ground in front of the dead dragon.

Libelle stood and shook the blood from the sharp blade before re-sheathing her weapon. The corpse of the beast slumped down into the dirt. It had drawn its final breath and would now remain in the field to rot. There was an invisible force that was drawn from its body, and with it came agonizing pain.

Each time she took a dragon's life, their end-of-life pain, suffering, and despair would be felt with every cell in her body. She hated the feeling; she hated the sour taste it left in her mouth and the pit it formed in her stomach.

The legend that the priests told about the dragon race was one that would have been hard to believe if these scaled beasts did not appear before her on such a regular basis. The Father of the God, King Odin, had birthed the dragon race long ago, and over the years, they had spread over the land, infecting the large island Libelle lived on like pests.

There had been years of peace, but when the war started, there were countless deaths on both sides. The only thing that prevented the dragons from winning easily was the dragon slayers. They were cursed beings who had once been a dragon themselves in a past life. A dragon who had taken the life of their kin, and who was then reborn as a mortal.

There was rumor that if one dragon killed another, they would feel every emotion and sensation that their victim felt in their final moments. She believed the rumor to be true, because with each dragon she slayed, she felt their death as if it were her own. At the beginning of the war there were hundreds of slayers, but now there were only a handful left.

Such strange creatures Odin and his children had created. Eskil, she thought, referring to the first dragon Buri had created. He could be planning something, especially if an ancient dragon was dumb enough to take such a ridiculous move. He wanted to lure me out? For what? What would he have to gain now?

She took a step backwards as a rush of excited voices erupted from the town behind her. The surviving citizens were now evacuating their shelters and stepping out into the sunlight. The guards who had ridden to her home were cheering, still kneeling next to the burned soldier who looked seemingly more pleasant than before. Gaalin was quickly moving towards her, not running but almost. He reached her side and grabbed her arm to steady her as she began to wobble on her feet.

"My lord," he whispered, "are you alright?"

Libelle bent her knees and let herself fall to the ground. She remained upright and sitting but just needed a moment to process the illogical thoughts running through her mind. Gaalin called her name this time, but she still didn't respond.

If Eskil is being so bold as to send an ancient dragon to me, he must have a good reason to draw me out. Why would he want me out in the open so badly? What is his plan? If he is that focused and determined to draw me out, it's not for a good reason. Has he returned to the islands again? Is he preparing to try for my life again?

She didn't know, she had no clue what his plans were, and that actually scared her.

"Little slayer," a low baritone voice rumbled.