Sherlock whined.
“Listen to your owner,” Maria said.
Fine, but if you aren’t out in five minutes, I’m coming in to save the day. Sherlock left with Gelbus on his back, escaping to the cool night beyond.
Macran laughed, throwing his head back. His hood fell off, and Maria saw there were two small horns near his hairline.
These Dragon Tongue really take their job seriously, I guess.
“This won’t be much of a fight,” Macran promised her once his laughter died down.
Gramps raised his wand to eye level, squinting as if looking down the sights of a gun. Frieda’s hands sparked, and the roar of her growing flames hung heavy in the still air.
Maria tried to draw on more magic, but got nothing. She ground her teeth, thinking of what to do. She had backup; she wouldn’t need as much magic as before. The only problem was that whatever she lacked, Gramps and Frieda would have to make up for. Gramps was weak enough as it was, and Frieda couldn’t hold off the Dragon Tongue by herself.
No, it was best to end this as quickly as possible.
Macran grinned, his mouth full of filed fangs and slobber. “We’ll make this quick and painf—”
Maria brought her sword up and heaved it with all the strength she had left. It did three rotations before piercing through Macran’s gut; his dark robes grew darker, and he looked wide-eyed at the hilt jutting out of his midsection. He fell to his knees, dead; that stupid grin still on his face as the fire was doused from his eyes.
The other Dragon Tongue looked around in disbelief.
“He said it’d be quick,” Maria laughed, shrugging.
Before the other guards could raise their hands to conjure flames of their own, Gramps sent blue shockwaves from the tip of his wand. They struck the men in the sternum, driving them back. Frieda joined the fun, too, lighting the corridor up with her silver fire.
The Dragon Tongue tried to move out of the way, but the fabric of their robes was flammable, and they caught fire. White light engulfed them as they screamed; Maria watched it all with morbid fascination.
The other Dragon Tongue disappeared around the corner.
Went better than I thought it would. Maria walked over to Macran’s unmoving body and pulled her sword free. Surprisingly, there was no blood; she was not sure why. Macran was dead as dead could be, though; she had taken another life. It was hard to comprehend, but she had no choice but to.
It was kill or be killed.
Maria didn’t sheath her sword as she pushed forward, and the mayor looked at her in awe. So did Gramps.
“I’m not your little girl anymore, am I?” she asked him, as they made their way out of the prison keep to the yard beyond. It was empty. Sherlock and Gelbus must’ve led the prisoners to safety. At least she hoped they had.
“You always will be, but we should probably have a talk about how killing is wrong,” Gramps said.
“Oh, Ignatius, I’m sure you’ve killed a few bad guys in your warrior days,” Frieda said dismissively. “Better than being killed, isn’t it?”
“Well…yes. But I’m still technically Maria’s parental figure, and I must set a good example—”
A Dragon Tongue lunged out of the shadows and wrapped his arm around Gramps’s throat. In his other hand, he held a short dagger.
“Don’t move!” the Dragon Tongue yelled. “If you do, I’ll slice this old geezer’s throat. Don’t think I won’t!”
“Please,” Maria said. “Let him go. Take me instead, I’m to blame for all of this.”
Gramps grimaced. “Maria, no! Go on, I can handle myself. Make sure no harm comes to the townspeople.”
She needed to think quickly. The Dragon Tongue looked like he had nothing to lose. He would try to kill all of them, even if he died in the process. He’d do anything to save his precious Rogue Dragon.
“I’ll take all of you,” the man challenged. “I’ll take all of you and bring you to the afterlife, where you’ll burn and daemons will rip apart your soul for all of eternity!”
“Please,” Maria said. Her hand weighed the sword in her hand, considering her options.
“No! Get back! Get back. Odarth the Bright rises soon, and you are all my sacrifices!”
“That dragon will never rise,” Frieda spat. “But you, my friend, can still redeem yourself. Let him go, and no more blood need be spilled.”
“Ha!” the man spat back. “Blood will always be spilled. It is the way of the world—the way of the Rogue Dragon! The more blood that flows into the ground, the better, for Odarth awakens as we speak. The fire will consume the lake, and from it, Odarth will be reborn!”
Maria’s breath was taken from her. They figured out a way to free the dragon? But Gelbus didn’t talk—can’t talk. How—
A dagger whizzed through the air and pinwheeled so fast, Maria could barely make out its shining silver in the torchlight.
In the blink of an eye, the Dragon Tongue’s head snapped back, thudding against the wall. His mouth dropped open, and out from behind the fanged teeth came a death rattle, long and drawn out. His own dagger fell from his hand and clattered on the stone floor; it bounced a ways away and landed in a divot created by Macran’s raging fire.
Gramps’s eyes went wide; all of theirs did. No one was exactly sure what had happened for a long moment.
The Dragon Tongue’s hand reached up toward the dagger’s hilt, for the blade was buried deep into his forehead. A trickle of blood rolled down each side of his nose, making it look like the man was crying red tears. Letting go of Gramps, the Dragon Tongue collapsed to his knees and slumped backward against the wall. Dead.
Nice fucking throw, Gelbie! Sherlock’s voice came into Maria’s head. Soon, she heard his paws padding along the stone.
She whirled around, the shocked expression still on her face. She wasn’t sure what she was more