The Drake Of Ehknac (The Adventures of Carmen Delarosa Book 1) Page 5

  “Come on!” Carmen cried, slinging her mace in a crescent-moon before her. “Come and get me!”

  The injured skitter—likely crippled beyond survival—hissed and flailed in her direction. Its clumsy movements allowed her ample time to swing her mace around and strike it over the head.

  Bone crunched, blood flew, the grisly sound of death echoed across the walls.

  Its companions charged.

  She pressed a button along the buckler’s wrist strap and watched as the blade shot out.

  It impaled the first skitter.

  The second slammed into her chest.

  A third latched itself along her shoulder while the fourth attacked her leg.

  She screamed—excruciating pain slicing through her right shoulder blade—and slammed her body against the nearby wall.

  The skitter affixed to her shoulder was killed instantly.

  Engaged in a life-or-death struggle, Carmen flailed away from the wall and used her momentum to knock the skitter away from her chest. The one attached to her thick leather boots dug its back claws into her heel and attempted to shred through her like a cat attached to an arm. Its foolhardy determination cost the creature its life as Carmen swung her buckler along her side and cleaved its head from its body.

  The remaining creature—stunned and only just regaining its composure—spread its arms again, hissing as Carmen stalked forward and backed it up against the crevice.

  With nowhere to go, the creature lunged.

  That was when Carmen thrust her mace forward, struck the creature in the chest, and watched as it went flying into the chasm below.

  She had little time to recover.

  Her adrenaline crashed instantly.

  The pain then replaced it.

  She grit her teeth and suppressed a drawn-out cry as the lacerations along her shoulder and collarbone flared with red-hot pain. Shaking, now, from pure shock, she stumbled back and only managed to partially catch herself on the wall before sliding to the ground. The searing agony that ripped through her became excruciating the moment her muscles contracted as a result of her fall. This time, she uttered a cry—one so low she imagined it wouldn’t have even been heard in a house with people the next room over.

  “God,” she moaned, blinking back tears. “Fuck.”

  She clamped her left hand over the wound, but only managed to make the pain even worse.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” she cried. “Goddamn you fucking skitters! Fuck!”

  Her mace slipped from her grasp and landed at her side. Part of her wanted to reach out and grab it—to ensure that she had some means of protection in case there were more of the flock lying in wait—but her searing wounds said otherwise. Instead, she merely sat there, counting the moments as they passed and fighting her hardest to maintain control of her breathing.

  Don’t, she thought, hyperventilate.

  It was nearly impossible to control her breathing, but after several moments of concentration, she managed to find semblance of normalcy. It was then, and only then, that she began to relax.

  She scanned the darkness, waiting for the skitters—or something even worse—to appear.

  When nothing did, she whimpered and turned her head to look at the wound.

  The flesh leading from her shoulder blade to her collarbone resembled nothing short of a fish gutted for an evening’s meal. Though not particularly deep, the shredded flesh was enough to give her pause as she considered how she would tend to her wounds.

  I didn’t bring anything, she thought. What was I thinking?

  That she was invincible, that she would not be harmed—that Carmen Delarosa, in all her glory, would not succumb to a single injury in one of the most dangerous places in the world. She’d packed as light as possible—had refused comforts for essentials. Even the thought of taking medicine had been outrageous.

  But now?

  She grimaced as she pressed a careful finger to a flap of torn skin.

  Ouch, she thought.

  It wasn’t too late. She could still turn back—could, with all her shame, abandon the journey and make the five-day trip back to Ehknac.

  No.

  She’d come too far to turn back now.

  She fought through the pain, forced herself to her feet, then turned toward the road that led to Infinity Pass and started without pause.

  Nothing would stop her.

  - - -

  She tended to the wound as best as she could and settled down for the night under the threshold that opened into Infinity Pass. Sipping her nutrients, contemplating her pain, hoping and praying that she would make it through the next few days and whatever lay beyond—she gripped her father’s mace in her right hand and vowed it would never leave her palm from here on out, all the while watching the darkness beyond.

  Are you there? she thought.

  It was from here that a young man had spotted something only darkness could hide—a primeval, monstrous creature who, though basked in legend, was a very real and tangible thing. She could remember it clearly: its eyes, its fangs, its gargantuan maw, revealed only briefly before spewing flames. But it was not the creature that haunted her nightmares, nor its devastation. It was the absence—the quiet, the dark.

  She sometimes dreamt of a chasm that would never end, and the brother who possibly continued to fall.

  Stop.

  The word—though simple—was enough to dispel the haunting images from her conscience.

  She’d done well so far. She supposed it was only natural that these thoughts would come now.

  “I’m going to kill you,” she whispered, tightening her hold on the mace in her grasp. “I know you’re there.”

  Watching, waiting.

  Whether it was intuition or outright madness she did not know.

  Though rattled by the day’s events, she knew she needed to sleep.

  Her time was about to come.

  - - -

  She hadn’t been this scared in her entire life.

  Alone, on the pass, heading toward danger—it was a feeling unlike any she’d felt before. Even on the night everyone died.

  When I’d seen its eyes, she thought, and knew the face of evil.

  But it was not her eyes she feared, for even in the darkness monsters could be seen were they large enough. It was her ears—plagued by a torrent of thoughts, the ragged gasps of cautious breathing and the monstrous thud of her feet—that threatened to send her over the edge.

  She was being too loud, too obvious, too matter-of-fact.

  If she were heard, before even being seen, then the monster would surely—

  A shift in lighting, caused by the tilt of the glow worm’s jar but resembling a pale burst of fire, nearly made her scream.

  She clamped her hand over her mouth.

  Beneath her palm she tasted sweat.

  Don’t panic, she thought, breathing through her nose. You’re psyching yourself out.

  How could she help it, though, when she walked toward a nightmare made real?

  When she felt herself composed, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and lowered it to her side.

  She was just about to start forward when she saw the scarring on the stone.

  The blood, the fire—

  It marred the rock’s surface in scars that would forever stand the test of time—blanketing the path before her as though purposely arranged for her demise. It licked the pass from side to side, wall to crevice, and then spilled over into the darkness.

  She heard it rather than saw it—the moment her brother was ejected from the wagon and into the darkness below.

  This time, she couldn’t help it.

  She screamed.

  Anything for the next mile would’ve heard the tortured cry as it spilled from Carmen’s lips and echoed throughout the canyon, punctuated by the choked sobs and the breathless wail that followed, but she knew few listened, and nothing cared. With space came time and time distortion. Echoes were merely ghosts here. If an
ything, her cry was ignored—considered briefly, then forgotten.

  Like my life, she thought, after all this occurred.

  It was here, she knew, that this thing made home—that, in her gut, compelled her to search. She trailed her eyes from Fall to wall and realized, with undoubting certainty, that this was the spot.

  “And though blinded,” Carmen whispered, “I can always see.”

  The indentations in the rock—likely to be unnoticed for their inconspicuous nature—guided her eyes to the level above.

  Those were claw marks she saw, branded into the stone.

  She sheathed her mace, rolled her shoulders, and pressed her gloved hands to the wall.

  Then she began to climb.

  Her shoulder screamed mercy as she worked muscles untested and lifted weight without gear, desperate for relief yet at the same time compelled to obey. Carmen knew, as she continued to climb, that one false step could end her life. Boots without grooves and gloves without grips offered no support, and with no harness, she could easily fall and break her back. She’d heard many a story—cautionary at best but absolutely terrifying—about adventurous Dwarves who’d dare go where no others would. Those who survived were the worst off. Bound to beds or wheeling chairs, they would never walk again. And that’s if they only hurt their bones.

  She grit her teeth and steeled herself for the next reach.

  Dwarves weren’t meant to climb, a wise man once said. We were meant to dig.

  That’s why they lived in the mountain—so they wouldn’t climb and instead dig. But here she was, defying odds, Gods and machines alike, racing toward what could surely be death.

  Loose earth came free beneath one foot and nearly sent her with it.

  She breathed, knowing this was not the end.

  Then she climbed.

  And climbed.

  And climbed some more.

  Until her landing was only a few feet away.

  Then she pulled herself onto firm ground and sighed relief.

  But this wasn’t the end.

  No.

  She knew.

  The stalagmites that rose from the earth were the only things that shielded her from whatever lay beyond. And though no scientist, philosopher or even beastmaster, she knew, without a shroud of doubt, that she’d willingly entered the lair of the beast.

  Rising to her feet, Carmen drew her mace from her side and prepared herself for what was to come.

  After taking a deep breath, she inched along the stalagmites and peered out from one’s side.

  Big Blue was old, cold, and filled with life, terrifying even in his slumber and undoubtedly the largest living thing Carmen had ever lain her eyes upon. At ten feet, he was a stout creature, with a short snout and a single row of spines along his back, but it was his fangs—visible even beneath his closed mouth—that frightened her to no end.

  His eyes were closed, his massive body alive with the swell of breath.

  If she were to approach quietly—if she were to not make a sound—

  It was a foolish thought, one considered rashly and without merit. Even if she were to somehow ambush the creature—to strike its head, eyes, mouth or even the underside of its chin—its hide was armored, covered in thick scales and bulbous grooves and ridges. It would take more than just a single blow to do any real damage.

  Its range of motion was unknown.

  Drakes were rarely seen in the wild.

  If it were to lash out—if it were to capture her within its jaws—it would surely snap her in half.

  Carmen swallowed.

  For more than a year she’d considered death a luxury she’d not been afforded. But now, in the monster’s presence...

  Thor, she thought, please. Give me the strength to...

  She opened her eyes—and felt, without an ounce of hesitation, the inspiration to go on.

  She stepped from behind the stalagmite and into the creature’s den.

  “Hey fuckface,” Carmen said.

  It opened its eyes—its pale, ugly yellow eyes—just as Carmen reared her fist back and slammed it into its snout.

  The creature grunted.

  Carmen stepped back.

  And threw herself to the side just in time to avoid its breath of flame.

  The fire rebounded off the nearby stalagmites, licking the ceiling and sending steam into the air.

  Having just avoided its blast, Carmen was quick to recover, though it wasn’t long before the creature laid eyes on her. It rose—in all its fearsome glory—and let loose a scream that could’ve woken the dead.

  Then it charged.

  The stalagmites did not deter it any as it crashed through its den toward her. Rather, they crumbled beneath its assault, sending pieces of stone and droplets of water throughout the area. Carmen raised her shield to protect her face, but did not falter. Instead, she started running—toward the far wall, where the rocks were thicker and reinforced with age—and sprung the hidden blade from her buckler. She stopped only when she’d a foot to spare, then spun: lashing out, first, with the buckler’s blade, then slinging her mace along her side.

  The blade missed—

  The mace connected, striking the creature under the chin and knocking its head back. It howled its frustration and snapped, just narrowly missing her with its jagged rows of teeth as she ducked out of its way.

  “Come on!” she screamed. “Come and get me!”

  It whipped around, its tail knocking pieces of stalagmite away, then lunged.

  She was able to bring her buckler between them before it had the chance to sink its teeth into her flesh, though the resulting shockwave was enough to jar her arm and send excruciating pain throughout her body. She brought the pommel of her mace down alongside its head and reveled in its screech as she struck a fleshy section beneath its eye. She pushed—trying to drive space between them—then slammed the buckler into its face.

  It grunted.

  She struck with her pommel, then drove the buckler’s blade into the roof of its mouth.

  She was only just able to avoid dismemberment as it flailed away, snapping the blade from the buckler and showering her in a rain of blood. The momentum allowed her to bring her mace about and slam it into its eye. Shielded as it was, it could not avoid the jagged grooves along the mace’s crown, and thus was blinded as the weapon penetrated its cornea. The milky matter exploded outward and covered Carmen with gruesome goo.

  But she didn’t stop.

  Even as it flailed its head she continued her assault, slamming her mace repeatedly into its nexus of unearthly pain. It lashed out, attempting to bite her, but each time she raised her shield. Its clumsy counterattacks allowed her ample time to bring her mace around and into its face.

  Once sure the gore was more than show, she brought her mace down again. This time, however, she stabbed the crown into the gaping wound and drove the jagged grooves into its head.

  It screamed as she bore down with all her strength, unable to continue its rampant assault as the mace crushed bone and parted the soft matter of its brain. Once it collapsed, Carmen took the weapon in both hands, then slammed the brunt of her weight into it.

  The crown sunk in.

  The drake convulsed, then began to choke.

  Carmen brought the weapon back into one hand and, with one mighty swing, brought it down onto the drake’s skull.

  The exposed bone leading to its nostril cracked.

  She swung again.

  The bridge of its nose caved in.

  The socket where its eye used to be filled with blood.

  There was no fight left, Carmen realized.

  Its skull was crushed, its jaw nearly disengaged on one side.

  The drake was dead.

  She stumbled back, tripped on a piece of stalagmite, and landed on her ass.

  Even the pain that resonated through her tailbone wasn’t enough to abate the shock.

  I did it, she thought, almost unable to believe it.

  “The drake�
��s… dead,” she breathed. “It’s... it’s finally dead.”

  She couldn’t stop the flood of tears that followed.

  “I did it,” she continued, unable to control the sobs that racked her body. “I did it. I did it. I—”

  She lowered her head and wailed.

  The sound—drawn from the very core of her being—loosened something she’d been holding in for over a year.

  The nightmares, the doubt, the pain, the one thing she’d feared at night before she went to sleep and the first thing she thought about when she woke in the morning—it was gone.

  But so were her parents, the people, her little brother—

  She struggled to lift herself from the ground, and even on her feet she thought she would collapse from exhaustion. She didn’t cave, though, even when the rush of battle began to die and the pain started to take its place. Regardless, she marched toward the drake’s body and looked upon its corpse.

  This monster had caused so much pain, so much destruction.

  “But no more,” she said.

  With one last swing, she brought the mace down and broke a fang from its jaw.

  In the moments after retrieving the fragment from the floor, she considered leaving it to rot with the rest of its body. She didn’t need proof. She’d seen in the flesh that the creature was dead. But she knew, without a doubt, that others would not believe unless she brought something back.

  The root was still attached to the bone, the gum in the place where its jaw should have been.

  She reached down, secured the fang in the satchel strapped along her chest, then looked out at Infinity Falls.

  Though she’d a long journey home, she realized, from this point on out, that she could sleep peacefully at night.

  Her battle was over.

  Her peace had just begun.

  THE END

  Carmen’s adventures don’t end here!

  Watch out for the next installment, The King’s Watch

  Coming 2016

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  Want more dark fantasy set in Carmen’s world?

  Then start reading The Brotherhood Saga today!

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