Dragonslayer

Alicia Gearfield knelt on all-fours upon the scolding ashen floor of the volcanic crater, clutching her chest through her armor as she coughed up more blood. Her body ached fiercely, and the hot, steamy air was doing nothing to help her short, pained breaths.

Perhaps half a dozen paces distant lay the massive form of the gray-scaled wyvern, no longer able to move after the dozens of fatal wounds she had delivered upon it. It still lived, but barely, staring defiantly at her with its one remaining emerald eye. As they watched each other, it breathed its last; one long, slow exhale that brought with it a sense of finality that seemed to resonate throughout the entire forest, rendering everything silent save for the sound of her own ragged panting.

I did it, she thought triumphantly, I won! Now, I need to get out of here. Regroup with the others, before—

“Ahh!” she cried out in pain, doubling over to lean on her elbow. Why can’t I seem to catch my breath?

Luckily for her, Alice’s retainers were a competent bunch. It was only moments later before she heard the sound of movement behind her, and heard a familiar feminine voice exclaim worriedly, “Alice! You’re hurt!”

She turned to see Miranha’s bountiful form bounding down the slope towards her, holding up the hem of her long white and gold robes to keep from tripping over them in her haste. She was followed closely by Torgan and Clive, who were both eyeing up the dragon’s corpse as though they expected it to come back to life at any moment. Alice tried to rise, to greet them properly, but her body refused to respond.

Miranha knelt at her side, vexedly clicking her tongue as she saw the state Alice was in. “This is what happens when you take off ahead of your party,” she scolded, holding both hands out in front of her. They glowed with an ethereal light, and Alice’s entire body tingled as the waves of healing mana washed over her. Abruptly, she felt a pop somewhere deep in her chest, and at long last breathed deeply as her collapsed lung reinflated, driving out the blackness that had begun to creep in along the edges of her vision and bringing back both her strength and her clarity of thought.

“She’s right, you know,” Torgan stoically noted, arms crossed over his red and white tabard as he admired the motionless form of the dragon, “Even if you were excited to prove yourself for your first slaying, that was a foolish thing to do.”

Clive whistled upon seeing the state she was in, grinning as he jibed, “Wow, to think that I’d ever get to see the prodigy of the Gearfield clan in such a sorry state! That dragon must’ve put up one hell of a fight!”

While Miranha and Torgan shot him looks steeped in displeasure, Alice ignored him, replaying the battle in her mind for the first time. The wyvern had caught her by surprise, all of the stories they had heard reporting only one dragon, not two. She had been lucky that it was much weaker than its companion. And yet, despite being stronger, the blue dragon had obviously been holding back during their fight. Had it actually fought with the intent to kill her…things would have gone quite differently, she realized with a shudder. Then, there were its attempts to reason with her, which she found utterly inexplicable. Why would a dragon attempt to negotiate with a slayer? What could it have hoped to accomplish?

She shook her head to dispel such trivial thoughts. There was no use in trying to figure out their logic. The only good dragon, is a dead one, she reminded herself, those words and the philosophy behind them having been brutally drilled into her over the course of her eighteen years by her adoptive aunt.

“Did you see any other dragons on your way up here?” Alice asked, gritting her teeth as the healing magic knitted together her fractured ribs and sternum.

Torgan and Clive exchanged a confused look, before Clive responded, “No? Why, do you expect it to have friends in the area or something?”

Alice took a moment to think about the situation. They had come from the opposite direction from where the blue dragon had fled, so of course they would not have seen it, which was good. She was in no condition to continue a hunt, and if anyone else found out that she had bungled her first slaying…she’d never live it down. Especially if her aunt found out. Just thinking of the possibility made her stomach crawl with anxiety.

Of course, there was still the issue that the monster was on the loose, and probably enraged that she had just killed its friend. She vaguely recalled seeing it grab two large eggs as it left, but doubted either of the two had a mate nearby. Either way, she wanted to finish up here and leave as soon as possible.

It won’t hurt anyone out here in the Far Reaches, she told herself, not entirely convinced, and the eggs weren’t even hatched, yet. I think for now, I'll keep my knowledge of its existence to myself. Someday, when I’m stronger, I’ll return and finish what I started here today. I swear it.

Her mind made up, Alice responded casually, “Just making sure. I do not want to have any unwelcome surprises.”

The healing mana washing over Alice suddenly abated, and Miranha sighed heavily, wiping the perspiration off her brow with the back of a hand. “You’re lucky you’ve got one of the best healers in the Empire here, or those injuries might have actually done you in.”

“Thanks, Miranha,” Alice told her, smiling as she rose, “I’m glad she insisted on sending you along.”

“Still,” Clive mused, pulling at his already sweat-soaked leather jerkin, “you seriously fought a dragon in this heat? That’s insane, you know? I guess you dragonslayers really are no joke after all.”

Alice paused for a second as his words sunk in. That’s right. I might have been raised by them, but I could never really call myself a dragonslayer…until now. Clive had a nasty habit of picking on her, so she was sure he had not meant it as a compliment, but even so, she had to hide her giddy smile as she responded cooly, “You don’t feel the heat, as long as you stay focused. Perhaps when we return home, I can teach you how it’s done.”

Miranha giggled as Clive’s face went pale, indicating that he had no wish to endure whatever her training might entail. Holding up his hands defensively, he pleaded, “Oh, I would never want to take up any of your precious time, Miss Alice. But my buddy Torgan over here…” He trailed off, the other man simply looking at him with a quizzical eyebrow raised. It was clear that he had barely broken a sweat at all, so far.

As Clive struggled to come up with another method to excuse himself, Alice held out a hand towards him, palm upward. When he simply regarded it with a cautious gaze, she prompted, “Come on, give me your knife; my work’s not yet done, here.”

He sighed in relief, drawing the forearm-length blade at his belt and holding it out to her. She took it, and approached the body of the fallen drake. There, she took a moment to brace herself in preparation for what she was about to do. Gripping the dagger tightly, she set to work.

She began by prying the hand-sized gray scales away from its flesh, before plunging the dagger into its chest and cutting away the leathery skin and meat. She did her best to ignore what she was doing as she worked her way deeper into the chest cavity. At last, her fingers closed around a small, hard ball, which she quickly tore free.

Alice grimaced as she withdrew her arm, coated nearly up to her shoulder in dragon’s blood that still steamed in the open air. She then held her prize up to the light, a small gemstone slightly larger around than a fingernail, which caught the sun’s rays in its translucent crimson depths. This was the creature’s core, what slayers called a vestige, taken as a testament to her slaying having been successful.

While she admired the stone’s visceral beauty, Torgan cleared his throat and spoke. “Actually, there is something you should know. After you went on ahead, a messenger hawk found us, with a letter from your aunt. Turns out that Johel somehow convinced her to convene with the Bandit King.”

Alice’s heart fluttered anxiously at the mere mention of her aunt, and she turned to look at him, musing, “So, Aunt Umbra’s actually going to meet with Marik?”

“Apparently so,” Torgan nodded, adding, “She’s taking Staff-Bearer Danis along, as well. Her orders were for us to finish our hunt quickly, and return to Centrale.”

Alice said nothing, and considered his words as she set about retrieving and wiping down her spear and sword from the dragon’s corpse. Just how did they manage to convince Aunt Umbra to get involved in that mess? I thought she was set against it. But, well…I can’t imagine her losing to anyone if it comes to a fight, especially not with Staff-Bearer Danis backing her up. I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, if the rumors about that man are true, I’d just get in the way.

Returning her sword to the scabbard hanging at her waist, she told her retinue, “Very well. Then, let us get out of this place before Clive withers away. We’ll find someplace to camp that is a bit cooler – preferably near a stream where I can wash off – and depart in the morning.”

She was not looking forward to the long trip back home, but inwardly, she breathed a slight sigh of relief that her aunt had not requested her presence. It gave her more time to perfect her story for when Umbra eventually asked her how things had gone. Alice was truly thankful for Miranha’s healing, but she was already trying to think up ways to talk down the severity of her injuries, lest Umbra lecture her on a thousand different things she already knew.

At the top of the crater’s rim, Alice looked back over the scene once more, relishing the cool evening breeze as it rushed up the shallow side of the mountain face. Someday, I'll return, she told herself resolutely, and for the last time, turned her back on the smoldering basin.