SIXTEEN

Maddileh had expected some warning that they were about to emerge into the dragon’s main lair. When she’d gone with Sir Osbert to take down the Shimmering Corsair, the increasingly hot air and sharp scent of molten metal had alerted her to their proximity. But she and Petros simply walked down a sloping tunnel at the bottom of which they found themselves in the open cavern of the White Lady’s main lair. The orb of direction flickered, went out, then fell to the floor with a soft thud.

“I … Oh my…” Petros murmured, his eyes wide. Even Maddileh, who had seen a cave full of treasure before, was taken aback by the wealth on display. “There’s so much of it,” the mage whispered.

“The White Lady has been around a long time,” Maddileh said, her eyes scanning the treasure heaps and rock ledges for any sign of the dragon. Light came from flames feeding on little piles of a sticky black substance. Some hunters called it bile fire because it was something a dragon excreted from its insides, like a hair ball vomited up by a cat. But its exact nature had never been determined because no container could hold it long enough to allow examination.

“Don’t walk too close to the flames,” Maddileh instructed. “If your cloak catches fire from that stuff, you’ll never put it out.”

“Look at the size of that silver plate!” Petros said excitedly. “And I can see a crown, and a … a…” He frowned. “Is that a tin roof?”

“Probably sparkled invitingly in the moonlight. Now, come on and help me.”

Together, they searched the cave, looking for both Petros’s sister and the sword but finding neither. They saw no dragon either, which worried Maddileh no end. They moved quietly, peering into the many small offshoots and alcoves that dotted the edges of the cave. After an hour, they’d barely covered even a quarter of it, and they decided to split up to cover more ground but not to go too far in case of danger.

“May you walk the Bridge untroubled,” Maddileh said before they parted.

Petros rolled his eyes. “I have no plans to die down here.”

A pile of ash and molten metal caught Maddileh’s eye, and she knelt to examine it. She knew incinerated human remains when she saw them; the ash had an oily, clumping quality that you’d never find in the ashes of an ordinary fire. The sight brought dream memories thundering into her mind, and she got dizzy at the idea of what it must be like to be caught in dragon fire. Putting out a hand to steady herself, she accidentally knocked the top off the pile of ash, getting some on her fingers. Disgusted, she wiped them on the side of her trousers, her stomach churning with the violation and a premonition of bad luck settling on her. Then she saw something glinting within the pile of ash. Bracing herself against the revulsion, she pulled the object out and cleaned it off. It was a ring, burned and twisted by intense heat, the onyx in the centre cracked and grey, but still recognisable: it was the twin of the one Kennion had given her.

Curious, she extended her hand to compare the two and realised her own ring was missing. She cast around, looking for it, even though it had been most likely lost in the tunnels somewhere. With a shudder, she thought of the unknown hand she’d held in the darkness; as it retreated, had it slipped the ring from her numb fingers? And what did it mean that she’d found its twin down here in a pile of dead knight?

The sense of dreadful surrealism was heightened when a voice she knew but had never expected to hear in this place said, “I will not give it to you. Any trust I had in you is now firmly shattered.”

Slipping the unsettling ring into her pocket as a mystery for later, Maddileh stood up to face the two people coming towards her: Petros and his sister, Saralene. The two of them were arguing in low, heated voices, and Saralene was only five steps away from Maddileh when she noticed the knight. She stopped dead, her eyes widening.

“What are you doing here?”

Hoping her own shock didn’t show on her face, Maddileh gestured to her armour. “Hunting dragons. You?”

Saralene opened her mouth to reply, then narrowed her eyes at her brother and muttered, “It’s a long story.”

During this brief exchange, Petros’s gaze had been flicking between the two women. Although his surprise and curiosity were written plain on his face, he clearly decided it could wait, and he said, “We should really be going. Take that damn thing off, will you, Saralene? I told you that’s what drew the dragon to you.”

“Yes, you did,” Saralene said coldly, “but I already worked that out for myself. What would be more helpful is if you could tell me why you gave me an enchanted amulet in the first place.”

Petros rolled his eyes, giving Maddileh an exasperated look, but the knight only had half her attention on the conversation; a movement on the rock shelf above them had caught her eye. She peered upwards into the shadows of the roof.

“It was a mistake,” Petros said. “I’m sorry—an honest mistake. I didn’t know, and when I realised what had happened, I came as quickly as I could.”

“As quickly as that time you raced to fetch help when I was drowning in the lake?”

The White Lady was an old dragon, a clever dragon. By all accounts, her scales shone a brilliant white in daylight, but what colour would she be in her own home? In the gloom of her lair?

“That was a long time ago and totally different.”

Few knights had survived an encounter with the White Lady; those who did return spoke of how she materialised out of nowhere.

“Not that different, when you think about it.”

“I told you I was running to help then, and I’m telling you I came to help now. Why won’t you believe me?”

Maybe her scales were like water and reflected her surroundings. Sunlight would appear dazzling in a lake, but a cavern pool would also take on the colour of the stones around it.

From the ledge above, a large grey wing stretched out.

“I’m sorry I ever came after you, Saralene. Stay here and starve or rot in a dragon’s belly for all I care.”

Never taking her eyes off the dragon, Maddileh put out a hand to stop Petros walking past her. “Squire,” she said softly as a great serpentine head leaned over the edge; golden eyes peered down at them. “I want you to give me my spear and then run.”

Both Petros and Saralene looked up. In the next instant, Petros shoved the spear at Maddileh and then was pelting back the way they’d come. The dragon glanced lazily towards him before returning her attention to the two women below her. Maddileh gazed up into eyes that had seen centuries; she glimpsed a flash of teeth that had devoured countless victims. Firelight danced along the creature’s scales, making her hide appear crusted with jewels.

For the first time in her life, Maddileh was scared enough to run away. She had never been scared in the tourney. She might have been afraid when she ventured into the Silken Sigh’s demesne, but that fear had not prevented her putting one foot in front of the other. She’d been petrified to see her master battle the Shimmering Corsair, but she’d stood her ground and answered his call for help. And although she’d been terrified, standing on those stairs in just her nightgown, her brothers cowering behind her as a trio of grinning reavers advanced up the stairs, she wouldn’t have run then for all the gold in the fourteen realms.

But now all she wanted to do was flee those ageless eyes, those sharp teeth, and those talons that could disembowel her with one flick. The White Lady was old. The White Lady was cunning. The White Lady was looking right at her.

Something landed at her feet, breaking the dreadful mesmer of the dragon, and Maddileh glanced down to see the emerald necklace that Saralene had been wearing.

“It’s enchanted,” Saralene said. “I haven’t been able to leave while I was wearing it. She follows it wherever it goes. If I leave it here, that might be enough to distract her while we run.”

“I’m game to give it a go,” Maddileh replied. Slowly, the two of them started walking backward. The White Lady didn’t move, but neither did her eyes leave them. She didn’t even glance at the discarded necklace. When the two women were halfway across the cavern, Maddileh allowed herself a small flicker of hope that they might make it. Then the White Lady shifted and jumped down from the ledge with the grace of a cat.

The dragon didn’t rush them; she walked with a lazy sway to her body, but the length of her stride meant she quickly halved the distance. “Run!” Maddileh said, turning to find that Saralene was already doing so.

They were almost at the mouth of one of the tunnels when a great clawed hand swept Saralene off her feet and sent her flying. Momentum kept Maddileh going for a few more paces, and part of her wanted to keep running, to flee back to the safety of the sunlight. But another part of her knew she couldn’t live with the guilt of leaving Saralene behind. She was no Sir Warbrick. Turning back, she drew her sword and faced the dragon, who had also halted and was staring at her.

I cannot die. I will not die.

The words seemed small and weak in her head.

From the corner of her eye, Maddileh saw Saralene staggering to her feet; that was good, but she needed to lead the White Lady away if Saralene was to have any hope of escaping. Just as she was racing through possible options in her mind, the dragon brought its head down close and looked at Maddileh. A voice echoed in the knight’s head.

What kind of creature are you, little dirt-walker?

Maddileh staggered back as if caught by a physical blow. This close, she would have seen the dragon’s lips if they’d moved; they hadn’t. But she’d heard the White Lady speak with a voice like a rich, aged wine.

The White Lady tilted her head slightly. Clearly, a creature that can hear me. How novel.

“I’m a knight,” Maddileh said, taking a step forward. Her voice barely shook.

You are certainly dressed as one, the White Lady conceded, but you look … peculiar.

During this exchange, Maddileh had taken slow steps to the left, away from Saralene. Now, she had a clear run towards the distant reaches of the cave. Her best plan was to dodge among the stalactites and piles of treasure, always keeping something between her and the dragon as she did a circuit and hopefully arrived back at the exit.

Looking up at the White Lady, Maddileh said, “I am the Knight of the Stairs, and I’ve come for the Fireborne Blade.”

Her words wrought an immediate change on the White Lady. The dragon visibly tensed and her eyes narrowed. She had looked dangerous before; now she looked lethal.

I cannot let you take that man-fang, she said, the voice soft and threatening.

“I didn’t think you would,” Maddileh said, and an instant later, she was pelting across the ground. The White Lady roared, and Maddileh sensed something coming at her very fast. She dived for the floor, her armour shrieking as she slid along the smooth stone. Above her, the White Lady’s massive tail split the air so hard and fast that there was a whipcrack of thunder.

Scrambling to her feet again, Maddileh raced towards a pile of gold. Dragons were large, powerful beasts, capable of wreaking great destruction. But they could be slow. Maddileh remembered Sir Alfonso offering her advice before they set out: “A black kite might be a large bird with powerful talons that can kill a falcon in a single strike. But a falcon is small and swift, and if it is also smart, if it dodges and dives, it will escape the kite every time.”

So Maddileh became a falcon, slipping through crevices, curling around corners, always staying just out of reach from hooked talons and snapping jaws.

She can talk. She can talk, Maddileh thought as she dashed here and there. Despite the terrible danger, she felt a deep sense of awe at such a discovery. She’d read all the volumes of The Demise and Demesne of Dragons that her aunt had owned, and during tourneys, she had spoken to knights who’d hunted dragons and wyrms, but none of them had ever heard a dragon talk. Think what the mages will say when I tell them about this. If I survive to tell them, of course.

No. I cannot die. I will not die. Not here. Not now.

She ran, clutching her spear and sword, praying she wouldn’t have to use them, thinking only of escaping. And then she saw it: the Fireborne Blade. She’d passed various swords and armour as she strived to escape, but none of them had looked like this. It lacked a cross guard—this was a blade for a single killing blow, not a fight. The pommel was circular with a dragon on it, and the blade had a moving shimmer to it, like ripples on water. It seemed to glow with some internal light. The sight of it halted her in her tracks, and she stood staring.

I could do it, I could really do it. I could take it and—

The White Lady turned a corner; the dragon stopped, her golden eyes flicking between Maddileh and the sword. Slowly, as if laying down a weapon, she tucked her wings into her sides, diminishing her size but not the sense of threat she exuded.

Please, metal-wearer, pick some other treasure. I cannot let you take that.

Maddileh looked at the sword resting against the wall, untarnished by age or use. Saralene was forgotten; her own life was insignificant. Only the Blade mattered. Planting her feet solidly on the ground, bending herself slightly for any onslaught, she replied softly, “I didn’t think you would.”

Maddileh had expected the dragon to lunge at her, but the White Lady didn’t move. She stayed still, alert, and Maddileh wondered if the dragon was weighing her options. But then she saw that while the head and neck were immobile, the creature’s sides were pumping faster and faster. Like bellows, Maddileh thought a split second before the White Lady opened her mouth and a stream of white-hot flame roared towards her.

There was no time to duck or dive aside, so Maddileh merely bowed her head and braced herself for the impact, her heart stuttering in her chest.

I cannot die. I will not—

The heat was searing, agonising, scouring her down to her bones. It was her nightmare made real.

Then it was over, and Maddileh was still whole. She raised her head and looked at the molten metal around her that hissed and ticked as it cooled. She looked down at her body: the unmarked armour, her clothes not even singed. Her spear was still whole, although her sword was now a steel puddle on the floor. Laughter bubbled up out of her, and the White Lady gaped, her massive dragon jaws parted in shock.

“I survived!” Maddileh cried. The White Lady roared, and then another bout of fire came at Maddileh. She endured the agony with a grim smile of triumph on her face.

I cannot die. I will not die.

As the last of the flames died away, Maddileh snatched up the Fireborne Blade, then charged forward with a battle cry. The White Lady backed away, her eyes darting nervously here and there. What is this? This cannot be. What manner of thing are you?

Maddileh wasted no breath on a reply but hacked at her enemy’s feet and legs, the only parts of a dragon covered by leathery skin rather than scales. A sword could pierce that, although such a hit would likely only enrage the dragon rather than causing it any lasting damage. But enraging the White Lady, drawing her head closer to her prey, was exactly what Maddileh wanted. During her many centuries, the White Lady had never suffered a missing scale or developed a weak spot. There was only one place that a spear could be driven into her flesh, and few knights would have the bravery to try.

Swinging her sword at an upraised foot, Maddileh managed to slice through the softer skin. The White Lady bellowed in pain and lifted her foot away. With no sheath for the Blade, Maddileh dropped the weapon on the floor, her fingers aching at its loss the second she let go, and gripped her spear with both hands. After twisting the two sections of the engraved central band in opposite directions, she readied herself.

Eyes filled with fury and pain, the White Lady lunged at Maddileh, opening her jaws wide to bite the knight in two. Maddileh bent her knees and then launched herself upwards into that terrifying maw. As she jabbed the spear into the dragon’s gums, her eyes were drawn towards the creature’s throat where fire bubbled and burned.

The White Lady shook her head, her tongue writhing so violently that Maddileh lost her balance and tumbled to the floor with a jarring thud. Instantly, she rolled to avoid being crushed beneath the dragon’s descending foot. Bellowing, the White Lady shook her head and clawed at her mouth, trying to wrench the spear free, but its barbed tip held it fast, and her large claws were not dexterous enough to pry it loose. Maddileh watched as the poison from the spear took hold, causing the White Lady to sway, her eyes to become unfocused. As she watched the dragon stagger sluggishly and then slump to the floor, Maddileh was surprised to find grief rising within her. There was no triumph in seeing those intelligent golden eyes lose their lustre nor any pleasure in witnessing this graceful creature become as clumsy as a drunk.

The dragon lay on the floor, her legs now limp and useless; the only movement was her chest rising and falling with her rapid, panicked breathing.

Maddileh walked over as the White Lady tried to lift her front leg in one final effort to dislodge the spear. There was a new sparkle to the dragon as frost began to form along her body. Kneeling down by the creature’s head, Maddileh whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The eyes rolled in their sockets, the pupils dilated. Where did you … get that … spear? What … are … you?

Frost whitened the dragon’s eyeballs, and the White Lady finally lay still. Feeling a tightness on her cheeks, Maddileh reached up to her face and pulled away a bead of ice, a frozen tear she’d wept without knowing.

The frost was starting to spread across the floor now, and Maddileh backed away, her breath misting before her face.

“Goodbye, my lady,” she whispered before retrieving the Fireborne Blade and hurrying after her companions.