Excerpt from The Huntress, by Alexandra Christian.
Tristan drew his sword from the sheath at his back. Large and heavy, his father’s sword had been forged for one purpose, and he meant to put i
t to good use tonight. Gathering his courage, he raced up the staircase, carefully avoiding the places where stones and mortar crumbled. As he emerged into the night, the dragon was perched on the side of the turret like a watchful raven, its head held high, proud of the destruction he’d wrought and daring anyone to defy him. “I do not fear you, dragon lord!” Tristan shouted, brandishing his weapon. Looking around, he realized that there were no more guards to defend him and no more distractions of screaming peasants. Anyone left alive would be hiding in the keep or the dungeons by now. Tristan was on his own. “Time to prove your worth,” he whispered before lunging at the beast.
The dragon turned just as Tristan slashed downward against its clawed foot. The serpent hissed, whipping around to bring the barbed tail down upon him, but Tristan was faster. He dodged the blow and rolled across the stone floor. In an instant, he nimbly got to his feet. He avoided another swipe of the tail and managed to pull a shield from the arms of a fallen guard. He used it to shield his body as the dragon reared back and spit flame. The shield was heavy, and the dragon’s breath was so hot that for a moment Tristan feared that the metal would melt around his gauntlet.
“My turn,” Tristan snarled as the beast coughed its last. He taunted it, beckoning it closer as he darted here and there. The dragon got down on its haunches, stalking him. It rather reminded Tristan of a great bat, crawling along the sill. More of that rumbling speech. The prince knew that the beast was talking to him, as crazy as that might seem. “What’s the matter, beastie? Don’t like the present we had for you?” He had no idea what to do next. There was no way he would be able to slay the dragon unless its breast was exposed, and no dragon would do that willingly. What he needed was a distraction. A sideways glance offered Tristan an idea. A bit of the wall left behind would get him higher. He needed to be above it. With a great leap, Tristan made it to the wall. He landed precariously, dropping the shield. It clattered across the ground. The dragon swept it aside with its wing, throwing sparks. “Come on… come to me then,” Tristan shouted. Higher and higher he climbed, the bricks beneath him quaking under his weight. They wouldn’t hold him long. The dragon sat up and reared back. It had tired of playing with Tristan and wanted to be done with it. Before it could open its mouth, Tristan had leapt onto its back. He came down hard with the edge of his sword. The blade slipped between the black scales, and there was a satisfying suction as it pierced the flesh beneath. The dragon hissed and spat, thrashing about, trying to throw off his attacker. Tristan smiled and pulled the sword back and thrust again, this time clipping the edge of the wing where it joined its back. The dragon roared and unfurled its wings. This time it was not surprised; it was angry. The beast threw back its wing and twisted its body in such a way that Tristan was thrown the ground. He howled in pain, his skull connecting with the hard floor beneath. His eyes clouded, and he tried to shake it off. He gripped his sword, but the dragon encroached upon him, kicking it away with an almost gentle brus
h of its tail. “Go on, then,” Tristan said. “End this!” The dragon crouched over him, one sharp talon stepping down on his shoulder. He cried out in pain as the beast’s head lowered to his level. It growled, baring its teeth as it leaned in.
“Over here!” The feminine voice startled the dragon and Tristan both. The prince turned to see the Tarkinian girl limping toward them. The dagger he’d given her was clutched in her hand. She hissed and growled at the beast. The sound was eerie, like the speech of a serpent. “Come for me,” she said again. The dragon backed off of him and looked toward her. His head cocked to one side as if he were studying her. “Well, come on, then!” she shouted. “I’m what you came for, aren’t I?” It hissed and spoke back. Tristan spied his sword, lying just out of reach. If only he could stretch his arm just a little farther. “I am the virgin bride! I am the tribute of Sheakhol. The one you want!”
The dragon’s body was strangely agile as it turned, creeping toward her slowly as if confused. Tristan used the distraction and heaved his body to the side, grabbing the sword. There was a great percussive noise as the dragon took flight once more, streaking into the night sky until it was out of sight.
AUTHOR (PEN NAME): Alexandra Christian
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Author Email: le*************@gm***.com
Publisher: Little Red Hen Romance: http://lucybluecastle.wix.com/littleredhenromance
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