The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(76)

When the foot soldiers meet the mercenaries, there is a giant clang that rattles against my eardrums as energy bursts between the two armies. Tanyani: the energy that vibrates the air when two armies collide on the battlefield. A mercenary leaps for me. He snarls, and the bones hanging around his neck clang together. He swings a flail in a circle above his head once and then uses all the momentum to crash it into my skull.

There is a sudden physical shifting inside of me, as if I have lived my whole life half-blind, and now, for the first time, I can truly see. My body, my muscles, my bones, and my head blend into one perfect, highly functioning entity. I know how to do this—this fighting. My physical weakness is my only flaw. I growl and thrust my staff up. The flail hits my weapon and clangs against it; then the chain attached to the metal loops once around the staff. I yank on my staff and thrust my foot into my opponent’s stomach. The flail is stripped from his hand. He falls to his back, and I press my staff to his throat. Glaring up at me, he waits to die, but I freeze. I cannot kill him. I do not want his knowledge contaminating my brain. Enzio springs to my side and drives his short sword into the mercenary’s chest.

Before I can thank him, a blood-painted mercenary swings a sword at my neck. My body responds before I have time to think, thrusting my staff between me and the sword. Enzio rams his shoulder into the mercenary’s ribs, slamming him to the ground, and quickly kills him.

A third man charges me, slicing at the air with two short, curved swords in either of his hands. I duck and parry just as one of his swords touches the side of my cheek. I thrust my staff into the man’s stomach, and as he stumbles back, an arrow pierces his chest. Turning, I see Evay behind me. She nocks another arrow to her bowstring and fires again, killing the man with the two swords. I nod my thanks, but she turns away without acknowledging it.

A horn blares, the very same as started the battle. Far ahead, I see Golmarr raise his sword into the afternoon sunshine. A man and woman on horseback approach Golmarr and stop at his side. It is Ingvar and Jayah, his wife. “Where is your leader?” Ingvar bellows.

The fighting slows and then stops. A long moment passes before a massive man steps up to Ingvar. “We answer to no leader,” the man says. “We fight for ourselves.”

Ingvar studies the man. “We are ready to end this battle!” he yells, loud enough that his words carry to every person on the battlefield. “Already we have killed well over half of your leaderless men. If you surrender your weapons to us and go back to the Glass Forest, we will spare your lives. If you do not, every single one of you will be dead within the hour. Go now and live, or choose death. I do not care either way.”

The mercenary roars and swings his blade at Ingvar’s torso, but Golmarr blocks it and throws the man to the ground, killing him swiftly.

Another mercenary charges at Golmarr. Golmarr turns around to fight, but Jayah guides her horse between the enemy and her brother-in-law and strikes the mercenary down with her sword.

“We are always looking for ways to hone our battle skills,” Jayah bellows. “Slaughtering every single one of you would hone not only our battle skills, but also our reputation for being brutal, bloodthirsty barbarians. Who else wants to fight us? Who else wants to die to hone the Antharian reputation?” she bellows, and swings her sword in a figure eight over her head.

The mercenaries look around. One man throws his sword to the ground and starts running north. Another starts to run, keeping his club and shield with him. An arrow hits him between the shoulder blades before he has taken ten steps, and he falls to the ground.

“Leave your weapons or die!” Ingvar bellows, lowering his bow.

One by one, the mercenaries drop their weapons to the ground, turn north, and start running. The few who cling to their weapons are shot down. I stare after them as the people around me cheer and thrust their swords high into the air. We have won, and the dragon has not come. It seems too easy. An arm comes around me, squeezing my shoulders, and I look into the smiling face of Enzio.

Before me, the crowd parts. Golmarr is striding through the tall grass, his skin shiny with sweat, his eyes locked on mine. When he reaches me, he grabs my face with both hands and stares into my eyes. His thumb gently wipes the blood from the wound on my cheek, and then he leans in and kisses me with the fierceness of battle. The world seems to spin, and I grab his chain mail to keep from falling. He pulls away. “We won.” He smiles. “We won, and the glass dragon never came, and tonight you will be my wife!”

I laugh and throw my arms around his neck, and he swings me off the ground.

“But first, we need to burn the dead mercenaries and gather our own fallen to take home.” Golmarr puts me back on the ground. Already, men and women are piling up wood from a wagon that followed us into battle. Other men are flattening the grass around the wood so the fire won’t spread. Some of the horses are being used to drag dead mercenaries over to the fire. The horse clan’s dead and injured are lifted into the wagon that once carried the wood. There are three dead, and five too injured to ride home.

Ingvar guides his horse over to us. “Well fought, brother,” he says, holding his hand down to Golmarr. They clasp wrists and Ingvar smiles. When he smiles, he doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as I first thought, even wearing full armor. Turning his attention to me, he holds his hand out and I clasp his wrist, like Golmarr did. “Well fought, Suicide Sorrow; well fought, indeed.”