Page 106 of The Last Slayer
I needed to let Valerie know what had happened, although maybe she knew already. She was usually able to put two and two together. I also needed to send a formal letter of resignation to Jack. Hmm. Maybe I could just send a request for an extended leave of absence instead and keep my options open. I’d been planning to quit, but that was before I learned about my choice of allies and Ramiel’s bloodline. Then there was the matter of figuring out how to reach Eastvale without facing Nathanael. Everyone seemed to think it was inevitable, but I had no intention of fighting him or his buddies if I could help it.
The memory of what had happened the last time I faced him covered my body with a thin cold sweat. The lightning flash of his sword, the faint hiss of air as the blade cut from so many directions. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid of him. I should have had more confidence now that I had a heartstone, but I didn’t. There was still only one in me, three in him. I didn’t think it would be much of a contest if we dueled. And Ramiel, even if he was with me, would have other dragons, and possibly Semangelaf and Apollyon, to fight. Even Alexandros thought I couldn’t win.
History is replete with what your generation calls “losers.”
Well, he could think whatever he wanted. I wasn’t going to lose. Leh had told me to make my destiny and that was exactly what I intended to do.
My hand closed around the golden vials of her voice, their contents murky with magic. Why had she given them to me? Were they for the next time we needed to see each other or just in case Supäi visited me again? Of course, first I needed to figure out how to use the vials. I’d become so distracted by her condition after the heartstone extraction that I hadn’t remembered to ask.
So many things to keep track of. When had my life become so complicated?
I splashed my face with the cold water. Maybe things would work out. Actually, they’d better. Dying this young was definitely not in the game plan.
I went to my closet, hoping to find a dress that wasn’t completely ridiculous, opened the doors and stared with utter stupefaction. Gone were the dresses. Blouses, shirts, pants and skirts of various styles and fabrics hung neatly. I walked into it, wondering vaguely if there was a trap door somewhere. Toshi and his buddies couldn’t have swapped all that stuff out while I’d been asleep. So how did they…unless this some kind of magical closet that gave me an unlimited choice of clothes?
Okay, now I had to get the Madainsair dragonlords to back off so I could invite Valerie over and show her this thing. She’d have multiple O’s on the spot.
I’d just put on a nice pantsuit when sudden loud clangs and the heavy thump of dragon footsteps came from outside. For a moment I thought Besade might be under attack, but then I realized the sounds were too regular and structured to be a battle. I opened the French doors leading to the balcony and, squinting a little, stepped out into the morning.
In a courtyard the size of a hundred football fields, dragons—not bas-reliefs, but the real articles—were engaged in military drill. Their scales gleamed, the sun gilding their bodies as they changed positions smartly. I couldn’t remember why I had ever thought they were graceless monsters. Their movements were as fluid as water.
The lawn was too big for me to see what was happening on the far side. I made a circular wiping motion in the air with my hand. Moisture began to converge and accrete until it formed a large convex lens that hung in front of my face. Light gathered and bent, enlarging the field so I could observe the details of what was happening.
A tall man stood in the midst of the exercises. He wore elaborate armor worked in silver, the hydra of Besade crawling over his chest and bits of heartstone crusted around his vital points. A helmet with a beautiful royal blue crest protected his head. Even as the helmet obscured his face from my view, I knew it was Ramiel. Dwarfed as he was by the enormous beasts around him, his presence and air of command were unmistakable.
And who else could have stolen my breath away?
I spent some time watching him put his troops through their paces. Even after last night and everything else, my heart gave a funny leap whenever my eyes rested on him. It was hopeless, and I had a feeling that no amount of therapy could cure me of this…thing. People were stupid to sing of the wonders of love. It was an affliction on par with bubonic plague.
Toshi appeared from under the balcony, his wings a shimmering iridescence in the early morning sun. “Milady. If you’re ready, Dorian would like to ask you to try on your armor.”
“Sure.” I turned to reenter my room, but I couldn’t go in without glancing at Ramiel once more. God, I was pathetic. Shouldn’t the fact that he was part incubus repulse me? But no, I wanted him the way an addict craved another hit.
Toshi gave me a look but was too circumspect to say anything out loud. To cover, I said, “Ramiel’s armor is magnificent. Who made it?”
“Dorian, milady.”
“So he’s immortal?”
“Not exactly. He’s a mortal, but blessed with Lord Ramiel’s magic. He will never age or die so long as he is loyal to Besade.”
He must be amazing if he was granted immortality, even on a provisional basis. Supernaturals don’t bestow such gifts lightly.
Toshi led me through long corridors with high arches. The bas-relief figures on the walls were fighting with added ardor. Maybe it was the scent of dragon sweat and excitement over a battle to come, although that was kind of weird since they weren’t the ones about to fight. I ducked as a stone sword swung over my head.
We finally arrived in front of an enormous door. It opened automatically to reveal a sparsely furnished room. Nothing covered the smooth stone floor. Inside the chamber a homely midget stood by a low wooden stool. A plain brown leather tunic covered his hairy ropey body. He bowed, the movement stiff and ill at ease.
“Milady.” His voice sounded like he hadn’t talked in ages.
“Mr. Dorian,” I said with a nod. What was I supposed to do when people started bowing before I could shake hands?
I heard Toshi’s wings humming by my ear. “Did I forget to tell you? It’s Sir Dorian.”
I glanced at him. He looked worried. “Of course you told me.” Any other response and I knew what the result would be. I turned to the armorer. “Pardon me, Sir Dorian. My mistake.”
Grunting, Dorian gestured at a big suit of white and silver armor. I walked around it slowly, admiring it. A nine-headed dragon motif coiled around the torso. Two heads looked out from each limb, dorsal and ventral, with the last one centered in the upper back. One of the heads yawned, its forked tongue curling lazily.
“Your armor, milady.” Dorian ran his hands along the scaled body of the dragon with obvious pride. “’Tis the famous nine-’eaded wyvern of Eastvale. Should protect your ladyship right enough.”
