Page 18 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Eighteen

T ears roll down my cheeks as I run.

I'm leaving him behind. I'm leaving Jaromir to face those things on his own.

I slow my pace, a strangled cry ripping free from my chest.

I know what he said. I know he thinks he's right, and maybe he is. But I can't take another step if it means leaving him to face certain death alone. I'm not much of a fighter, so perhaps this is me signing my own death warrant, but I'd rather die now than live with the weight of choosing to run.

I turn back, racing to the side of the river with all those stones the size of my fist. When I land on my knees by the rushing water, I shove as many stones as I can into my pockets and tuck a few more under my arm. Heart pounding, I hurry to the nearest tree. It's sturdy, with plenty of close hanging branches.

One thing I'm decent at: climbing trees.

I leap and grasp at the tallest branch I can catch, swinging my leg over to pull myself up fully. I climb slowly, one-handed and burdened with all these rocks, but I climb.

I haven't dared glance Jaromir's way, not yet. But I hear him. I hear the clang of his sword against their shell-like armor. I hear the snap and click-click of pincers desperately aiming for his vulnerable flesh. The shrill squeals of those things I can only assume are cries of pain. I hope they are.

When I reach a thick branch halfway up, high enough I feel safe from those creatures climbing after me but close enough I’m confident in my aim, I stop. One of the rocks sits square in my palm, heavy and warm from my tight grip.

Finally, I look. Jaromir is a thing of beauty when he fights. All power and precision. He spins and slashes with expert finesse, narrowly avoiding the heavy flick of a spiked tail. A few of the creatures are felled, but the rest are slowly closing in. I haul back and aim for the beast creeping on Jaromir's flank. The rock lands hard, and an ear-splitting scream echoes back.

Jaromir shouts in frustration, probably at me for not leaving, but I don't care. I aim again for another of those black-moonstone-colored beasts. The last of the sun glints on its shining armor, almost creating a rainbow against its exoskeleton. I launch my crude weapon, and another shriek responds.

“Neith! Cadoc!” They have to hear me. They have to. Jaromir can't hold them off, and I can't keep throwing rocks from up here. I lob another one, biting back tears as another swipe of a tail comes far too close to Jaromir. I scream their names until my throat goes hoarse.

I'm all out of rocks. My hands shake, so I close them into fists.

Jaromir cries out, and I'm climbing down the tree fast enough to scrape my knees and palms.

He's standing in the river now, chest heaving with every labored breath. Four more of those creatures remain.

A wide gash stretches across his thigh, blood blooming and dispersing in the rushing water. His stance is all wrong, like he's favoring his leg and struggling to stay upright. His eyes find mine, and they widen. He shakes his head, the motion jerky.

As if I'd leave him now.

“Hey!” I shout, even as my lungs threaten to burst. “This way!”

The creatures turn at the sound, clicking their pincers and flicking their tails.

It's all the distraction Jaromir needs.

He brings his sword down, fast and without mercy, cleaving the tails from two of the beasts before him. Their cries of agony fill my head, and I cover my ears even as I run to him.

I snag another rock from the ground and haul it with every last bit of my dwindling strength. The shot goes wide and lands to the earth with a thud. Two creatures still stand, and Jaromir looks ready to keel over. A cry threatens to escape my lips, but I hurtle over the edge of the riverbank, landing in the water beside him.

This close I can see every muscle in his body trembles. Water drips from his hair into his blinking eyes but they're glassy and unfocused.

The sword slips from Jaromir’s grasp as his knees buckle. I snag the handle before it's hidden at the bottom of the river, and I catch him, barely keeping him upright. Tremors wrack his body, his muscles fighting to remain standing. If he lets his full weight fall, there's no chance I can hold him up. I lead him to the opposite edge of the river, setting him down half on the bank, half in the shallow water.

“Stay with me,” I say because I'm selfish, and I don't want to be alone. I raise his sword—a sword far too heavy for me to train with. The blade trembles, my arms shaking with the force of keeping it high above my shoulder.

I need the momentum it will create when it falls. It's my only chance against one of those things. If I thought the river would afford me safety, I was wrong. The spider-like creatures are large enough, the water fails to deter them. Spindly limbs stroke against the current.

Their tales are sharply curled, flicking back and forth.

The two creatures float to us, clicking and snapping. My fear is a visceral thing, like a knife in my belly.

I'm not a fighter. Not a warrior. I'm not strong or brave.

I'm just a bard. My destiny is to entertain, and I do so by believing in the truth of my tales.

Perhaps if I believe I have courage, it will grow.

One of the creatures advances, a hissing sound escaping its mandibles. I cry out, dredging the last of my will to heave the sword until it lands with a sickening crunch of steel breaking through black-moonstone armor. The piercing scream of the wounded beast makes my ears ring, and wetness trickles down the side of my neck.

I yank Jaromir's sword free from its body and raise it high, but a sharp twinge in my elbow sucks the breath from my lungs and the strength from my grasp. The sword falls from my hands, splashing into the water.

Sweeping my hands through the water, I blindly search for my last hope. I crouch to reach the river bottom, and cold water rushes up my nose and down my throat.

Coughing, I wipe my eyes and back away from the snap of pincers.

I have no weapon. No way to stop them from advancing. But I angle my body in front of Jaromir, shielding him.

There’s a ballad in this moment. A shame I can’t write it.

The hum of a whistle sings through the air before a hard thwack sounds. An arrow protrudes from the spot where the creature's neck must be, and Neith and Cadoc appear, racing toward us. Cadoc raises his bow, the one Jaromir spent so much time caring for, and looses another arrow. It lands true, between the sheets of armor lining its back.

A splash, and Neith is in the water, her lovely face twisted in a grimace. She spins her sword, before slamming it hard through the last creature's skull, pinning it to the bottom of the river.

My body is numb, but soon relief should come, yes? I spin around to find Jaromir, still laying on the riverbank. I land beside him, taking his face in my hands and his eyes roll back.

“What's wrong with him?” Panic sharpens my voice, pitching it high and demanding.

Neith sheathes her sword, wading through the water to us. She gently grabs his chin and tilts his head.

“Cadoc,” she calls, “he's been hit.”

“Fuck.” Cadoc has already stashed his bow on his back and is pulling two vials out of his satchel. "Do we have time to make it back?"

“I dinnae ken.” Neith's jaw clenches around her answer. I look between the two of them before glancing down at Jaromir's increasingly pale face.

“What do you mean by time ? Is he going to…” I don't say the last word. I don't say it, but it hangs there, perfectly poised and threatening to crush the air from my lungs.

“He'll be fine, but this won’t be pleasant.” Cadoc bites the cork free from one of the vials, the stout round one filled with amber liquid. He pushes Jaromir fully onto the riverbank. Lifting one eyelid, then the other.

“Pupils are dilated... breathing is slowed... yes his body is shutting down, we need to be quick.”

“You just said he was going to be”—my throat constricts on the last word, and I have to swallow my panic before I can say—“fine.”

Cadoc nods at Neith, who rips Jaromir's pant leg wide enough to see the gash on his thigh. The skin surrounding it is yellowish purple, like a fading bruise. But that isn't possible since he just received the wound.

“Sorry for this, friend.” Cadoc actually seems regretful as he pours the amber liquid over the gash in his leg. It steams and hisses when it makes contact with his skin as if Cadoc is pouring molten ore into his flesh.

Jaromir's eyes flutter open, and his muffled growl behind a clenched jaw rips through me. I scramble to kneel above him, placing my hands at either side of his head.

“Shhh… It's all right…”

Jaromir's fevered gaze finds mine, and he doesn't look away. He stares up at me with desperate intent, and I find myself unable, unwilling, to look away. His thick dark hair is matted with sweat and blood, and I card my fingers through it, pushing it away from his burning forehead. He relaxes, the fight finally leaving his body.

“Now for the venom already in his bloodstream.” Cadoc brings a thin vial of pale gray liquid to Jaromir's lips. But Jaromir thrashes against it. With a sigh, Cadoc wordlessly hands it to me, and I know what I need to do.

“Jaromir,” I say as softly as I can. That gaze snaps right back to my face. “You have to drink this.” I gently tip the vial against his lips, and he parts them, allowing whatever Cadoc concocted to slip in. “Good. That's so good.”

I rub soothing circles against his shoulder, unsure if this is helping or not. When he's emptied the vial, I pass it back to Cadoc, who quickly tucks it away.

“We should head back t’camp,” Neith says. “Afore th’fever dreams set in.”

The memory of when Neith was hit and suffered the venom-induced fever floods me. As if following my thoughts, she continues.

“We’d have more than nightmares t’worry about, were it not for Cadoc. It's a blessing he brewed th’sepsis oil prior to our need for it.”

Cadoc nods, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “I wish I’d been prepared when it was you suffering.”

A smile wavers at the corner of her mouth. “Ye can't anticipate everything.” Before he can argue, she turns to me. “We need t’get Jaromir in dry clothes, and by th’fire.”

I brush a stubborn lock of dark hair from his forehead and place a quick kiss against his filmy skin. I don't care what they make of it. I care that he is yet alive.

I won't leave him.

The camp is wrapped in the gloaming, darkness pushing the faint light from the sky. The fire stretches tall into the impending night, reaching for the first hints of stars. Jaromir is bundled in numerous blankets beside the fire, but violent shivers wrack his body.

He hasn’t spoken, and a distant glazed look has transformed his normally attentive gaze. It’s a helpless feeling, watching someone else hurt. When you can’t take the pain away. When you’re cursed to bear witness—a useless bystander while they suffer.

“We heard ye, by th’way.” Neith hasn’t looked up from where she’s stitching Jaromir’s pants back together, but her voice disrupts my spinning thoughts. “When ye called for us… I thought it was more mercenaries.”

There’s something in her voice when she says this—something that gives me courage to finally speak of what transpired. “Aeron… in his last moments, he said your name. He said it like you were his last hope, the one person he could trust to take him home even as death claimed him.”

Her hands still, but she doesn’t look up. “Aeron was an old friend.”

That doesn’t answer my unasked question. If she’d rather not speak of it, I should respect that.

But she’ll tell me if I push too far, and I’m itching to know more.

“How did you two know one another?”

She sets Jaromir’s pants aside, finally meeting my gaze across the fire. “When we were children, his family offered mine his betrothal.”

Well. I certainly wasn’t expecting that. But I’m far too learned in schooling my expressions to let my shock show.

Neith laughs. “I’ve scandalized ye.”

Apparently, I’m out of practice at hiding my reactions.

“So, what did they say?”

“No, o’ course. They had their sights set on his older brother, th’heir to the Fowler fortune. Alas, I wasn’t nearly worthy of their firstborn.” Neith rolls her eyes. “But it wasn’t all for naught. Aeron and I exchanged letters every few months. More often when I grew older and right before I left. I gained a friend, which I sorely needed.”

I nod. For all of Aeron’s silly and ridiculous traits, there was one thing about him that stood without measure.

One was lucky to count him as a friend.

“I miss him,” Neith says softly. “He had a way of making everything feel lighter. Life is heavy, is it nae? It’s a rare thing t’find someone who lightens yer load.”

Jaromir stares with unseeing eyes into the fire. Cadoc watches him with a healer’s focus.

“You told me Cadoc was the reason you took this job under Aeron.”

Neith smiles. “He was, but I’ve known Aeron for years. We tried to maintain correspondence. I even told Cadoc t’keep an eye out for him, when Aeron’s last letter explained a plan to hire a crew t’hunt a dragon.” She grabs the bottle near her feet, taking a swig. “We were both at the port when Aeron stumbled into the Rutting Goose searching for his crew. I was never going t’join Cadoc on the Jaunty Loon, but he had every intention of convincing me. Captain Torrick is notorious for hiring anyone from the ports willing to travel, which doesn’t make for th’best crew. My plan was t’stick around the port in case Aeron showed, and at th’very least, keep him from getting himself killed on th’first step of his grand adventure. It was sheer luck Cadoc decided last minute t’forgo travel and happened t’be in the tavern when Aeron appeared.” Neith shakes her head, brow furrowing. “Once Cadoc got th’details, I couldn’t let Aeron go without”—her voice stalls, and she swallows as if the next word has gotten stuck in her throat—“protection.”

Her grief is a palpable thing. It isn’t weeping or wailing, at least not from where I can see. It isn’t crying out or screaming to the skies. It’s a quiet pain that sneaks its way into conversations around the fire. It tinges old memories with a layer of regret and burrows deep enough she carries it without anyone noticing.

But I see it. I feel it.

“He loved you.” I don’t say these words for comfort, for I don’t think there is any comfort in them. I say them because they were Aeron’s last thoughts, last moments on this earth.

She was his safety and a piece of home.

Neith smiles, and it’s such a beautiful, broken thing. “I ken.”