[Teresa Edgerton]

Meanwhile, Prince Ruan and the guardsman Tuillo were in the very thick of the battle. As the dragon's head weaved from side to side, jaws snapping, they both rushed in with their broadswords.

Grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands, Ruan slashed downward, felt the blade connect and cut through the glittering hide, only to glance off the bone below. The huge head recoiled, laid back its ears, and hissed, then came hurtling down in his direction. He threw himself back and to the left, just in time to avoid being gutted by the jagged ivory teeth. Beside him, Tuillo swung an overhead cut at the extended neck, striking just behind the skull; there was a trickle of dark red blood, smelling strongly of seawater, but nothing more. Ruan realized they were doing the monster little damage, and only dulling their swords.

"The eyes," he shouted over the din. "Try for the eyes."

Tuillo nodded grimly and reached for his dagger, just as the Prince reached for his. They sprang from either side at the same time, stabbing at the crystalline eyes. Ruan felt his dagger connect; there was a sound like shattering glass, and his blade broke, but the eye went dark, and more of the thick red blood came dribbling out.

Tuillo was less fortunate. His stroke just missed, his dagger skidded off the thick, scaly hide, and his own impetus continued to carry him forward. Trying to recover his balance, he slipped in someone's blood, fell to the deck and hit his head, and lay there stunned.

Even as Ruan rushed to his defense, the dragon's head came down, and its wide mouth closed around Tuillo's armored torso. There was a horrid sound of teeth grinding against metal links as the monster lifted the guardsman off the slippery boards, whipped him through the air like a terrier worrying a rat, and flung him against one of the masts. His body hit the oaken spar with bone-crushing force, then slid down to the deck.

In the moment of shock that followed, Ruan heard Sinderian's voice speaking urgently behind him. "Behind the ear. There is an old story: Prince Revin of Alluinn killed a water dragon once, by driving his spear into a soft spot behind the ear. I don't know if the story is true, but--"

The Prince had already heard enough, and he knew what he must do. Dropping his dagger, he caught one of the ratlines and pulled himself up. Climbing swiftly and agilely, he went halfway up the rigging, then was forced to hang there while the battle continued below, waiting for just the right moment to jump.

Seeing his chance at last, he leapt from the ropes and landed soft-footed on the broad triangular head, reaching out to grasp one of the curved horns just in time to keep from being thrown off. Then, tossing his sword into the air to reverse his grip, he caught the hilt and drove the point downward, just behind the dragon's fan-shaped ear. The blade went in only an inch or two, then stuck fast, and would go no farther.

Shifting his footing, Ruan released his grip on the horn, took his sword in both hands, and threw the full weight of his body forward, driving the blade in all the way to the hilt. The monster bellowed, flung its head back, and Ruan felt himself flying through the air.

He hit the water with a loud splash some twenty yards from the ship and only narrowly missed being caught by the lashing tail as the dragon lost its grip on Balaquendor and landed in the ocean beside him.

Though a strong swimmer, the Prince was barely able to stay afloat as the monster beat the water into a bloody froth with its convulsions, then sank beneath the waves.

* * * * *

The tumult of battle was over, but the air rang with the sound of hammers, and the smell of burning pitch was everywhere, as the men made temporary repairs to the ship.

Sinderian knelt on the deck beside the battered body of the guardsman Tuillo, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. For every blood vessel she repaired, there was always another and another requiring her attention, and despite her increasingly frantic exertions the life went leaking out of him so quickly she could not keep up. At last his heart gave a final, feeble flutter and stopped beating altogether.

Why she should doggedly keep on after all hope faded, she did not know. Perhaps it was a lingering sense of guilt and shame, the fear that some careless wish of hers had brought this thing about. When a light hand fell on her shoulder, a quiet voice spoke in her ear, it was a long time before the meaning of Prince Ruan's words finally penetrated.

"You can't call back the dead. You have labored most heroically on his behalf, but there is no use going on."

Looking up at him, Sinderian drew in her breath; a flush of anger passed over her. She had blood on her hands and on her gown; her dark hair was sticky with it; she was weary, sweating, bedraggled. Yet the Prince had somehow found the time to remove his wet tunic and braid back his damp hair; in shirt, hose, long cloak, and high boots, he looked none the worse for his dip in the ocean.

"This man's life may mean little to you," she said, in a voice shaking with anger. "There will be others, I suppose, eager to take his place in your Honor Guard, men of no name or importance ready to serve the High King's grandson--"

"You are mistaken," Ruan answered softly "I knew this man's name very well and what his life was. He had a wife and a family, and a farm near Pentheirie. His oldest daughter is named Fearn, and she's to be married at Hafentide. Tuillo hoped to return in time to see her wed, and I promised him--" For a moment, the Prince's voice wavered, then it and his jewel-bright gaze steadied. "But dead is dead, and there are others here who have need of your skills."

One of the two surviving guardsmen, the one called Aell, offered her a rough, calloused hand. Sinderian took it, rose stiffly to her feet, and looked around her with dull eyes. At least a dozen men with bruised and broken limbs were lying on the deck or sitting propped up against the masts; everywhere she looked she saw faces sick with horror or drawn with pain.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry, tried to stop the shaking of her own limbs, but found that she could not. It was true: she had drained herself to no good purpose, and now she had less than enough to give to those still in need. Did I learn nothing at all in Rheithun? she wondered.

An unreasoning resentment flared up inside of her: against the world at large, against herself -- most of all, and by far the least reasonable -- against the silver-haired young man standing before her, flanked by his guardsman.

Sinderian swept him an unsteady curtsy, spoke to him between clenched teeth. "I thank you, Prince Ruan, for teaching me my duty."




copyright 2004 Madeline Howard