The Dragon's Prize Page 2

  “You’re stubborn.”

  “You’re a bastard!”

  Their ascent was much slower. He swept great wingfuls of air beneath him and gained altitude as fast as he could, but it was almost calm compared to their fall.

  Sandra took the time to launch her next attack. She reached forward and pulled most of her body up his neck. Then she pulled the knife out and jammed it in higher up. He shrieked but didn’t twist or turn in the air, just kept climbing. What was he doing?

  She inched up his neck, using her knife to get handholds as she could, for what seemed like hours. They were close to the top of the mountain when she reached his head. What was he doing? She was ready to stab him in the eye, and he was still climbing… then it hit her.

  Mira!

  She panicked and tried to stab the knife into his head. The first strike skidded off hard bone and scales and she barely kept her grip on it. Daro threw them into a punishing barrel roll, and she nearly fell off.

  “One more chance.” Daro actually laughed.

  She raised the knife again, ready to stab him, when he bucked in the air and lost altitude dramatically. Sandra whipped around with the force of his convulsion, and briefly saw a crossbow bolt tear through the skin of his left wing.

  What a shot!

  Off-balance, she wasn’t able to get the right angle and her next strike missed his eye and went into the scales above his mouth. He growled as the knife worked in between two scales and jabbed through to the inside of his mouth. It wasn’t what Sandra had been trying to do, but it looked very painful.

  “End uv da line!” His words were slurred by the presence of her knife.

  Then a clawed hand slapped her. It was nearly as big as she was, and had the force of an angry dragon behind it. She couldn’t hold on against that. The knife was ripped out of her grip, and then she was falling!

  She twisted through the air to see the top of the mountain rushing up to meet her, and then pain slashed across the side of her body. The dragon’s tail whipped against her side, turning her over and twisting her so she was aimed… at the hole in the mountain?

  His aim was impeccable, despite all of the pain he must have been in. She completely missed the mountaintop and went falling into the hole.

  The entrance to his lair.

  Stone rushed by on all sides and the wind of her fall whistled in her ears. For the first time since she’d started fighting Daro, cold fear gripped her stomach. She couldn’t fight this opponent. She couldn’t outwit it. She couldn’t grit her teeth through the pain and do what needed doing.

  The darkness and the ground it hid was rushing up toward her, and when it found her she’d be dead.

  *

  Three weeks earlier, Sandra was sparring with a practice dummy and not doing very well against it. Her attention was elsewhere, and the dummy kept nearly braining her as it spun. It was designed to teach you to keep your guard up when you hit someone. You might succeed on one side, only to have them strike at you from the other. Normally it was a lesson she appreciated, but today it was getting dangerous.

  Of course, she would do better if she spent more time focusing and less time watching the prince.

  He flowed like water across the practice yard, dodging around his guards’ strikes and easily infiltrating their defenses to jab them with the wooden practice sword. When he scored a hit, they dutifully exclaimed in pain and fell to the ground 'dead'.

  The prince was training under a swordmaster from a mysterious Eastern kingdom which his father was in the midst of forging trade bonds with, so his movements were unfamiliar to the guards. He retreated when he should press the advantage, he stood still when he should be circling and he struck when he should block.

  And it worked!

  He was a blur on the field, weaving in and around and under and over.

  The training dummy struck Sandra across the back of the head. She swore and stumbled forward, nearly getting thwacked by another spinning arm in the process. Growling, she dodged out of the dummy’s reach and planted the tip of her wooden sword in the hard sand of the practice field. The dummy spun forlornly by itself, wishing someone would come play with it again, but Sandra finally admitted to herself that she was too distracted to do this.

  She wandered over to the side of the dummy yard and rested against a training weapon rack to watch the prince. As he 'killed' guards, they went to the side of their field to wait while others rushed in to 'fight' the prince. He made short work of all of them, spinning in and striking them cleanly with his weapon.

  While he moved, the Eastern master sat at the edge of the square yelling instructions and chewing on a tobacco pipe. He shouted phrases like “dancing water”, “sitting phoenix” and “rushing mountain”. Sandra didn’t quite know what they meant, but most seemed to be techniques. Sometimes they were stances or combinations, but mostly they were single moves or countermoves. Whenever the prince did something wrong, the master would take out a long whip that sat beside him and crack it at his pupil. He never struck flesh, but the loud crack was enough to draw everyone’s attention.

  “Beautiful, isn’t he?” A woman’s voice, soft and inquisitive, came from behind Sandra. Sandra turned to see a young woman in a maid’s outfit dusting a vase. Sandra wasn’t an expert on the subject, but the vase looked like it had no dust left on it.

  “Mira!” Sandra smiled and went over to her. She clapped Mira on the back, forgetting for a moment that the woman was a maid and not another guard. Mira stumbled under the impact, but kept a good natured smile.

  “Hi Sandra. Looks like you were having some trouble just now.”

  “It’s hard to pay attention with him around.” Sandra smiled. Mira’s smile was infectious.

  “I know, right?” Mira fanned herself with the duster. “So dreamy.”

  “Those moves.”

  “Those muscles.” Mira’s grin was distant, her eyes were on the prince. It was common knowledge that he was good looking. Most royals were. Nice cheekbones. Straight teeth. Crystal blue eyes. Impeccable hair, even when he was dripping with sweat.

  When he went out among the town, women literally swooned around him in the streets. And in the taverns…

  What most of his admirers never got to see, though, were the muscles. Chiseled like a dancer’s, they rippled with his movement around the field. Unlike many of the guards who were huge and bulky, he was wiry and lean. No fat on him, no wasted space, just muscle and bone. Right now the sun was shining directly down on him, glistening on the beads of sweat which ran down his smooth skin and flew off in a brilliant mist as he moved.

  Mira and Sandra realized they hadn’t said anything in the last few minutes, and they both giggled.

  “We sound like those useless girls in town.” Sandra shook her head. Most days she worked harder than she had to to prove to the other guards that a commoner could cut it among their ranks. Sometimes she deserved a little break?

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get to see him every day.”

  “You’d probably get more done.” Sandra winked.

  “And you’d be a better swordsman.” Mira stuck out her tongue.

  “And you’d have a husband.” Sandra poked her in the side.

  “And you’d be sergeant.” Mira poked back.

  They both dissolved into laughter and literal ribbing, wrestling in the corridor while giggling like girls. They lost their attention on the prince for a while, just having fun instead.

  Eventually, the prince’s cursing distracted them from their fun. He stood alone in the practice ring and threw his sword into the ground in disgust. It vibrated as it stuck in the sand. It was different construction than the other practice swords. Thinner. Flatter. Something the Eastern master brought with him. Sandra could appreciate the design, though it seemed too flimsy.

  “Don’t we have any guards worth fighting!?” The prince’s lip was set in a royal pout, and the guards who’d been 'killed' by him were wandering away from his tantru
m with their heads down and eyes averted.

  “They are trained to fight undisciplined peasants, young prince.” The sword master took the pipe out of his mouth so he could speak more clearly. “Not one with your… talents.”

  “Well!” The prince grabbed a towel and started drying off his sweaty chest. Mira made a pouty face as he did it. “There has to be someone!”

  “There might be, my lord.” The captain of the guard came over. He was dressed in practice leathers and drinking a cup of water, though Sandra knew he had been watching and not practicing. “Sandra.”

  Sandra felt her stomach drop out from underneath her. Her? Of course she was better than these others, but she was a commoner. It was only by grace of her skill that they let her into the guard in the first place. All the other guards were nobles. Minor nobles, or third sons in most cases, but still of noble blood. If by some chance they scored a hit on the prince, it would all be in good fun.

  If she hit the prince? They could execute her…

  “Sandra?” The prince scoffed. Clearly he didn’t know she was there. Hopefully… “Little Sandra? The urchin we found at the castle gates all those years ago?”

  “Yes, my prince.” The guard captain bowed. Sandra felt her ears get hot at the words ‘little Sandra’.

  “I haven’t seen her in years! I forgot she was in the guard. Sandra!” The prince twirled around, looking for her. “Sandra, come out!”

  Sandra gave Mira a panicked look. Mira grinned and shooed her out into the yard, apparently oblivious of the danger that Sandra was going to be in.

  “I’m here, my lord.” Sandra knew she couldn’t hide for long. Even if she ran, someone would find her. The guard captain decreed it...

  Sandra strode out onto the practice yard, carrying her wooden practice sword slung easily against her back and trying to look confident. She was still sweaty and grimy from her failed fight with the dummy earlier, and her hair hung in ragged tangles about her face. Not good condition to be presented to the prince in. Even if they had once run through the mud together, pranking the cooks and causing trouble.

  “Sandra!” The prince smiled broadly and came over, wiping his brow and throwing the towel away. Up close he was even more impressive: the height of physical perfection. Sandra tried not to stare at his chest too much. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, my lord.” Sandra smiled, then bowed before him.

  “Now, now.” He touched her gently on the shoulder, pulling her back to her feet. “There’s no need for that! We skinned our knees and wrestled the pigs together. There’s no formality between us.” His smile was broad and welcoming, she could almost imagine this sparring match being good for her. “Is the captain right? You’re a good swordsman… err, swordswoman?”

  “Her!?” The Eastern master scoffed. Wu? Was that his name? “She couldn’t handle the dummy.”

  “Err…” The captain looked between the prince and Wu. “She might have been having an off-day, my prince. She is our best swordsman. Swordswoman.”

  “Warrior?” Sandra raised her eyebrows hopefully. It would be annoying if they kept arguing over semantics.

  “Warrior then. Tell me, Sandra, how is it that you’re so much better than these others?” The prince gestured at the guards who were slowly filtering back into the yard to watch the spectacle. “I remember when you were in pigtails and helping me throw rocks at the stablemaster!”

  “That was a long time ago, my prince.” Sandra smiled wistfully. Those were the days… before the fact that she was a commoner started to get in the way of everything. Before the duties of being crown prince took her playmate away. “Since then I’ve pursued other activities. Like the sword.”

  “Yes. Well. Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

  “My prince…”

  “Do not be bashful, Sandra. We’ll fight! And you’ll show me that you’re better than these sluggards!” The other guards scowled at her when the prince said that.

  Damned either way.

  “Yes, my prince.” Sandra tried to hide her dislike of the situation, but some sullenness remained in her voice.

  The prince headed to his corner of the field, grabbing the sword as he went, and Sandra walked to the opposite corner. As she passed the guard captain, she gave him a glare and muttered under her breath.

  “You know I can’t do this.”

  “Why? Because you’re just a commoner, and if you strike the Crown Prince I will have you thrown out of the guard?”

  "…" Sandra stopped and stared at the man in shock. He was whispering so only she could hear, and his face was screwed up in a rictus of malice. Did he hate her so much?

  “Or because my good name is on the line, and if you don’t put on a good showing I’ll have you thrown out of the guard?”

  “What?” Sandra shook her head. There was no way this was happening. “You’re not serious. Either way I get thrown out.”

  “Either way you get thrown out.” The captain spat in the sand at her feet. The prince and Wu were conversing in their corner so he couldn’t see what was happening. “And one way I might get to take that head off your shoulders. Pig spawn.” The captain spat again, then stalked out of the arena.

  Heart in her throat, Sandra took up her position at the opposite corner of the field. Slimy fear roiled in her gut as she turned to face her opponent. Might as well be her executioner. Mira was near the edge of the practice yard now and gave Sandra an encouraging thumbs up. Sandra sent her a wan smile in return.

  “Are you ready, Sandra?” The prince called out from his corner.

  “As I’ll ever be!”

  There had to be a way out of this.

  Sandra glided forward across the sand easily. There must be a third option, a way that she could keep the captain’s honor intact and also not hit the prince. Then she could quit and flee the capital… maybe she should just lose?

  Then she would lose the prince’s respect as well, and any chance of having a decent life.

  Great.

  The prince also came forward, more cautiously than he’d approached the other guards. At least he was giving her some respect now, although it might not be worth very much by the end of this.

  “Rolling thunder!” Wu shouted and the whip snapped. Apparently it was time to start.

  She’d seen this one when the prince was practicing earlier. He would come forward with an overhand slash to her right side, a blow intended to cripple a sword arm, then step to his right and bring the sword low across her stomach, which would disembowel her. It was a gutsy finisher that you used on a weak or slow opponent. Apparently Wu didn’t think much of her.

  She was neither weak, nor slow. She stepped forward and to the left as the first slash came down, moving inside the prince’s guard, then spun around him as he executed the follow-up slash. She ended up behind him and he had to spin to bring his guard up. She could have ended it there with a quick thrust in his back, but the hit that would end the match would also end her life. She stepped back.

  “How did you do that?” The prince’s eyes were wide and he backed up a step to keep some distance between the two of them.

  “You’re telegraphing.”

  “No I’m not!”

  Sandra pointed wordlessly at Wu. The prince shook his head.

  “You don’t know what rolling thunder is.”

  “…” Sandra raised an eyebrow.

  “Lotus on water!” Wu interrupted their conversation.

  She hadn’t seen this one, but Wu was not the only one telegraphing the prince’s attacks. The other guards had been tripped up by his hands, which wove in and around in intricate patterns not seen in their style of fighting, but his feet still showed his intention. Maybe not where the sword was going, but they showed where he was going.

  He floated to the right, sending a quick series of jabs at her side. She went the other way, circling around him and deflecting the attacks. She could have pressed the advantage…

  That was it! Sh
e just had to stop him from hitting her! None of the other guards had lasted through even one maneuver, let alone two. If she just kept blocking, maybe he would realize the captain was telling the truth and stop the match before she had to hit him.

  Wu started yelling at him faster, the words coming in rapid fire, and the prince pressed the attack. Sandra let him come, flowing around the sword or blocking it as she needed to and backing up as she went across the field. The guards standing around the sides of the yard started yelling. Some were encouraging her, some were encouraging the prince, others were complaining that nothing was happening. They’d sparred with her, they knew this was not her normal style.

  “Wait! Stop!” Finally the prince stopped coming and backed off a step. Sandra stayed where she was with her guard up.

  They were both breathing hard in the heat of the sun. Sweat ran freely down the prince’s chest, while her forehead was barely damp.

  “You’re toying with me.” He looked angry.

  “My prince?”

  “You’re not even attacking!”

  “My prince, I…”

  “She’s good!” Wu yelled from the sideline, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Or maybe you’re worse than the dummy!” The prince grit his teeth and stepped forward.

  “Fight back, dammit!”

  “I…”

  “You’re making me look like a fool!”

  Sandra looked around at the guards. They were definitely souring on the prince’s performance, and the ones with the welts from the beating they’d taken at his hands were looking like they wanted a rematch. Of course, the prince was quite good, and he would win any such. He just wasn’t quite as good as her.

  “My prince.” Sandra was torn. “My style is… not suited for fighting royalty.”

  “What?” The prince’s anger was interrupted by such a strange comment. “What can you possibly mean?”