Nostrum (The Scourge, Book 2) by Calas Roberto

Author:Calas, Roberto [Calas, Roberto]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2013-06-17T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

The dragon’s jaws clamp shut around Tristan’s waist and the beast tosses its head to one side, scaled muscles rippling, whipping him effortlessly off the riverbank and into the Stour. Knight and beast vanish underwater. It happens so quickly that a moment after the attack it seems like Tristan was never there.

“Tristan!” The mist roils and water churns but I cannot see them. There is nothingness again, an oblivion that has swallowed them both. “Tristan!”

I scramble to my feet and crouch, ready to leap into the river after him, but I hesitate. I cannot help Tristan if I am trapped at the river bottom. The weight of my armor will sink me, and we will both drown. If we are not eaten first. But what choice do I have? Tristan dies while I debate. I lean toward the river, bend my knees and—

A gauntleted hand rises among the mist. It waves violently, slaps the surface. I reach toward it. “Tristan! Tristan!” My fingers brush against his fingers. I grab the thin tendril of an oak branch and lean forward, my entire torso now over the water. My fingertip touches his gauntlet. My fingers close on his fingers. And then he is torn from me.

The hand travels upstream swiftly, appearing and disappearing in the mist for ten or fifteen feet. It becomes an arm, then shoulders and a great helm. Tristan sucks in a deep, wheezing breath. He screams my name, his voice cracking and high pitched. The mist parts and closes behind him as the dragon propels him through the water. He strikes at the dragon with his fist. The monster rolls. Tristan flips sideways and vanishes into the Stour once more.

I run along the bank, pushing through branches and shrubs and unbuckling my sword belt. I glimpse the white belly of the dragon as it rolls and then the mist hides even that from view. But they are less than ten feet from the bank.

I wrap the leather belt tightly in both hands, feel the bite of the cold metal buckle. Then I leap into the Stour.

In these times of madness, only madness will save us.

I spread my body to its full length as I leap. I stretch my arms out forward, the belt forming a two-foot link between my hands. It seems like I hang in the air forever, suspended over coiling white clouds. The water will never come. I am in purgatory again. I am a hairy tick and I dangle over the hairy sea.

When I finally hit the water, I find it surprisingly warm. It surges over me. Floods in through every crevice of my armor. I can see nothing but frothing river. My arms hook around an object that I pray is Tristan. One of my hands touches rough warts and scales. My chest falls on something that does not like being fallen upon. It thrashes and whips its body. Tosses me like a hound’s toy. But I am hooked to Tristan.

The water froths. I think it has released Tristan, because he and I drift downward.

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