Authors: Licia Troisi
Nihal could tell that Ido was proud of her response to the difficult situation. In her firm actions, in her steady determination, the dwarf had recognized a changed person, a mature and trustworthy warrior. But that wasn’t the way she felt. Her encounter with Dola had shaken her, rousing a storm of unbearable memories.
“I can’t get the thought of that warrior out of my head, the day they attacked Salazar,” she began one evening, as she and Ido contemplated the summer sky. “I remember it all so vividly, the way he hovered there on his black dragon, his army like pitch over the countryside.” She turned toward Ido. “Do you know what he did to the people of my city? He trapped them in a tower, set it on fire, and left them there to burn alive. Men, women, children.”
Ido drew calmly on his pipe and expelled a dense cloud of smoke. “They’re all that way, the Tyrant’s generals.”
Nihal gazed up at the stars, her mind straining. “We have to hunt him down. I’d like to ask the general to organize a special operation.”
Ido remained silent for a moment before expelling another cloud of smoke. “A miserable idea, if you ask me.”
“Why?”
“Do you really think our little deployment is capable of facing a warrior like Dola? Take a look around, Nihal. They’ve decimated us. We’re at the end of our strength. This is no time for heroic gestures. Dola is a powerful warrior. He controls the Land of the Wind. And he’s ruthless.”
“Ido, that man killed my father, massacred my friends, razed my village to the ground!” Without noticing, Nihal had raised her voice. “He needs to be stopped. And I’m going to be the one to do it!”
Ido took the pipe from his mouth and gave her a long, searching look. “Who’s words are these, Nihal?” he asked finally.
She gazed back at him, confused. “Mine … these are my words.”
“But which part of you?” the dwarf insisted, pressing his words upon her.
Nihal could feel her cheeks burning. “I know what you’re getting at, but you’re wrong.”
“That’s not the way it seems, not from the way you’re talking,” Ido answered.
“This isn’t about revenge,” she murmured.
Ido replaced the pipe in his mouth. “No? Then what’s it about?”
“It’s about justice.”
“Listen to me, Nihal. If they ever do arrange an attack against Dola, and I assure you they won’t, you can set out with all the greatest intentions in the world, convinced it’s just another basic war mission, but when you find yourself face-to-face with that man—” Ido let the words trail off and shook his head. “Don’t test yourself like that, Nihal. Don’t do it.”
After that evening, Nihal decided not to bring it up anymore with Ido, nor did she dare confront the general about organizing any suicidal missions, but in her heart and in her mind the image of Dola remained. The memory of that immense black creature, of those red eyes fixed on her from the depths of hell, had become part of her. Those same eyes that might have settled on Livon’s lifeless body, spread out in a pool of blood in his welding shop, those same eyes that had passed over the friends and neighbors Nihal had known— before the flames wiped them out of existence. Anger rose in her throat. She wanted to scream. To do something, anything. She knew Ido was right. To go chasing after that man would be playing with fire. And she knew her thirst for revenge had not been quenched, that an excuse like this could send her into a rage again. After all, it was revenge she wanted, wasn’t it? Did she not want redress for the deaths of all those whose blood Dola had shed?
No, that’s not it. Dola is an enemy and I’m a Dragon Knight. That’s why I’m doing this. And that’s the only reason.
Her resolve grew quickly. She, a native of Salazar, would stop Dola. Her city, destroyed by the Tyrant, would have its revenge on the very man who’d reduced it to ashes. And with Dola out of the picture, it would be far easier for the armies of the Free Lands to reclaim the Land of the Wind.
She was galvanized by the idea and determined to carry out her plans. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she felt charged with an important mission.
This must be what it feels like to commit to an ideal, to have a true direction in life,
she told herself.
Once she’d found justification for her decision, she relinquished all doubt. No more questioning herself, she resolved, because deep down she knew what answers she’d find, and they weren’t what she wanted to hear.
After that dreadful night when the camp was obliterated there was a period of relative calm. The wounded got back on their feet, the soldiers who’d survived were absorbed by whichever regimen had taken them in, the generals worked on developing new strategies.
Nihal’s chance to face Dola came after nearly a month of inactivity. Those in command had decided on attacking an enemy encampment to the west. If they could manage to capture the enemy’s stronghold, they could use it as a base to begin reclaiming territory farther inland.
Meetings were held to coordinate the strike one week before the first attack, and all Dragon Knights participated in the discussion.
For the first time, Nihal made a personal contribution. She’d never taken an interest in strategy. In her days at the Academy, the theory courses had bored her to death. And yet, even though she’d been out on the battlefields for only a year, she’d been engaged in combat almost continuously and had gained her fair share of experience. When she spoke up with her opinion on how to best distribute troops for the attack, she was braced for outright refusal.
Instead, after considering her proposal carefully, the general praised her idea. “You and Ido will have the troops on the western flank at your disposal, one hundred men each. When we give the sign to retreat, that’s when you’ll attack, closing in from the sides,” he concluded.
Astonished, Ido took his pipe from his mouth. “And pigs fly,” he whispered to Nihal, champing back down on his pipe with an air of satisfaction.
Nihal could hardly hold back her smile. Her joy was twofold: she’d be in charge of one hundred soldiers, and, more importantly, she could finally get her hands on Dola.
The morning of the battle, Nihal’s heart was in tumult. As she walked across the steppe, out in front of her soldiers, Oarf trailing behind her, she tried in vain to calm her nerves. Up until then, she’d always been able to keep herself in check. Detachment, prudence, self-control—Ido had instilled in her his own tenets as a warrior. That morning, however, she could hardly go a full minute without losing her focus. From the moment she woke, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Sennar. Every time something important was on the line, every time she felt herself at a turning point, she wondered how he’d have acted in the same situation. And now that he’d left on his voyage, she wondered, too, if she’d ever see him again.
Ido, meanwhile, was the picture of tranquility. From his perch on Vesa’s back, he puffed away on his pipe while his dragon paced stolidly across the steppe.
The dwarf glanced down at Nihal just as she wiped the sweat off her brow. Her face was pale. “Everything okay down there?”
“Of course. It’s just this heat. …”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so flustered.”
She looked up at him, forcing herself to smile. “This is the first time I’ve had to lead a group of soldiers,” she replied, but Ido’s gaze was unflinching. Nihal wanted to know how he managed to stay so calm. Just like Sennar …
“It’s just another battle,” said the dwarf.
Once again, Nihal curled her lips into that torturous, forced smile, the same smile she always relied on when she had something to hide from her teacher.
When they drew within sight of the targeted encampment—a strip of ocher yellow along the horizon—the static in Nihal’s head faded and her heart beat wildly. They came to a halt on a hilltop, where they waited. At their feet lay a gathering of dull brown tents, at least fifty of them in concentric circles that extended over half a mile. Even from high up on the hill, the stink of the beasts living there caught at Nihal’s throat. At the encampment’s center stood a dark, wooden structure.
Dola. That’s Dola’s hut
, Nihal told herself, and her heart raced even faster.
The battle commenced. As the infantrymen barreled down the hill, striding across the open plain toward the encampment, Nihal unsheathed her sword. The blade flashed, blinding in the brilliant light of the summer sun. She climbed aboard Oarf and soon Vesa was flying alongside them. Ido, too, clutched his sword. More than once, Nihal had wondered where he’d come across such a weapon. Strange symbols were carved into the handle, some scraped off, others deeply incised: runes, perhaps, in some mysterious language.
“We’ll strike at the first sign of retreat,” Ido called out to his soldiers.
Nihal tightened her grip on her sword.
Then came the moment. The two units, led by the dwarf and the half-elf, sped howling down the hill. All went according to plan: busy fighting below on the plains, the Tyrant’s soldiers were not expecting a second wave of attack. The front lines broached the heart of the enemy encampment without much difficulty.
Astride Oarf, Nihal fought with her usual brute force, striking anyone and everyone in her way, all the while keeping a watchful eye. There appeared to be no trace of the black dragon anywhere, and it struck Nihal as strange that Dola would not be there to support his soldiers at such a key moment. There were several men and just as many dwarves among his ranks. They’d sold themselves to the Tyrant and were fighting against their own Lands.
But why?
Nihal wondered.
What was it about that man that was so compelling?
She forced herself to focus on the battle, leading the group of soldiers she’d been entrusted with, though she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying in search of Dola.
Suddenly, a stream of fire forked down from the sky and engulfed a group of tents in the distance, devouring everyone below—soldiers from the Army of the Free Lands, Fammin—turning to ashes all it touched.
The black beast emerged from the wall of flames, demon-like, and with a few powerful wing flaps, propelled itself up into the sky. Nihal’s heart ceased. Dola had made his entrance into the battle armed with a long lance and covered from head to toe in dark armor, leaving no part of his body exposed. The dragon’s low roar filled the air, and though the sun was still shining, a dark shadow suddenly cloaked the encampment.
Nihal spurred her dragon, a cacophony of voices raging in her head. “Dola!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, charging forward with her sword.
The first strike missed the mark. Dola had dodged her with ease. Nihal retreated momentarily, sweat cascading down her cheeks, fury welling up in her chest. She reared Oarf back and changed directions. Now she was face-to-face with the enemy. He wore a horrifying mask, black as night, the two glimmering dots of his unreadable eyes scanning her.
It seemed to Nihal as if Dola were laughing. Yes, he was laughing at her, at her sword, at her dragon, at her city. A cry of fury rose up in her throat. She lunged at him, and this time it was his black dragon who did the laughing, opening his volcanic mouth and hurling a stream of blood-red flames at her. Oarf dodged the surge of fire with one quick torquing motion and Nihal was back on the offensive. Once again, the warrior eluded her blade with ease. From beneath his mask came a sarcastic chuckle.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Nihal shouted, and she charged murderously at Dola, brandishing her sword. In her fury she lost control.
Stay calm. Stay calm, dammit!
One after another, her lunging attacks failed, while each of her enemy’s clanging strikes nearly knocked her from Oarf’s back. The force he possessed was unlike anything Nihal had ever faced, a force so immense she had to wield her sword with both hands to counter it. But there was something strange about his body. His arms, his legs—they weren’t normal.
It took Nihal a moment to understand: Dola was of the same height, the same proportions as Ido. The most powerful warrior in the Tyrant’s army was a dwarf.
Nihal began to tire and her anger only grew. Why couldn’t she land a single blow? The dwarf was unshakable, repelling her every strike with only one hand on his sword. Meanwhile, the voices went on whispering, urging her to fight harder, demanding that she sacrifice everything in order to win. She tried desperately to clear her mind, but her heart beat chaotically, her muscles trembling with tension.
Now! Strike him now!
When the black crystal blade scraped his armor, Nihal howled with joy. But in an instant, the cry died on her lips. In a show of defiance, Dola displayed his right arm to her. There before her astonished eyes, his armor repaired itself on its own. The scrape was gone.
The voices rang deafeningly in her head. Desperation came crashing over her like a wave. She heard Oarf moan and felt the dragon’s blood pool up around her thigh. And then she lost it. She let out a howl, readied herself to strike, and brought her sword down with all the strength in her body. Dola merely lifted his arm and repelled her force with a single hand. They were right on top of each other now. Nihal could hear his steady breathing, and for an instant caught sight of the malicious grin beneath his helmet.
Then her body was seized with an unbearable pain, coursing through her from head to toe. Nihal blinked once, twice. Intermittently, she saw the dwarf’s lance being removed slowly from her side. By the time she tumbled backward, she’d lost her senses completely.
She landed in the enemy’s camp, unconscious, on a pile of other lifeless bodies. It wasn’t Oarf who’d softened her impact. The dragon was on the ground beside her, unable to move its leg, manically spitting flames to fend off the approaching Fammin. Then he took Nihal between his teeth and began a painstaking retreat, dragging her through the dust. Only when they were at a safe distance from the battle did he rest.
In the midst of her delirium, Nihal was haunted by the dragon’s burning glare and the cold, fierce eyes of Dola, pursuing and taunting her in the dark. In her dreams, she saw herself fleeing across an endless field of blackness. She heard her footsteps pounding on the invisible ground. But no matter how fast she ran, the black dragon breathed at her heels, ever closer, the incendiary air licking at her flesh, until the flames enveloped her.