She used the handle of her oil lamp to slide it up her arm, freeing her hands for the climb. The rock face was slippery and uneven, but she found a narrow foothold. And then another. Slowly and methodically, she hauled herself up towards the dripping ceiling.
There were cracks everywhere, the entire cavern seeming to shake under her. There was a ledge not far from the dragon’s wing. Greta’s stomach clenched as she pulled herself on to it.Up close, the wing was soaked in blood, the rusty puncture chafing the membranous scales.
She grabbed hold of the iron stake and tugged. It wiggled, causing a spout of fresh blood.
The dragon roared.
The cavern shook. A boulder fell from the ceiling, nearly smashing Greta’s skull.
Another nearly flattened Elias.
‘What in freezing hell are you doing?’ he yelled, ducking from the onslaught of dust and shale. ‘You’ll kill us all!’
‘If you’re not going to help, then be quiet!’ she yelled back. To the dragon, she said, ‘Please, just hold still. I promise I’ll be quick.’
The dragon was twitching in pain, its fear as thick as mist between them. If she didn’t soothe it into submission, it would bring the whole cavern down. But Greta had never sung to a dragon before. She had never evenseenone before today. She wracked her brains for the right song – foranysong – but her mind was blank, her attention spiralling towards that dangerous thrumming in the earth.
She reached for a tune, something soft and low and ancient, and the words came pouring out of her, wrenched from some primal part of her soul.
‘Ye dragons were forged in the fires of old,
Hunted for sport by the foolish and bold.
But still, there are those who treasure your kind,
Who worship your strength as they worship your mind.’
The dragon stilled at the lilt of her voice. Greta worked on the stake as she sang, gaining another inch.
‘Your fire is fury, your fire is fear,
Your fire protects the soul you hold dear.
Forgive me your pain, my brave ancient one.
Give me your trust and I’ll see this undone.’
The dragon slumped to the floor. Flames spouted from its nostrils, turning a nearby puddle to steam. Sweat beaded on Greta’s brow as she worked the stake free. At last, it yielded, sliding from the rock and through the wing, spurting blood all over her hands. She was too relieved to care.
The dragon whimpered as its wing flopped down, causing another spill of rubble. Greta tumbled with it, catching herself on a lower ridge. The lamp swung, clanging against her armour, but she barely felt it. She hopped to the ground, then braced herself against the wall to catch her breath.
Elias was closer now, watching her with glittering eyes. ‘That was impressive.’
She glared at him. ‘Save your praise, turncoat.’
‘Maybe you should reconsider your loyalty, Iversen,’ he remarked. ‘You would do well at Regna’s court. You’d certainly be treated better than you are here.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Aren’t you tired of being used by Alarik for his own gain and glory?’ He curled his lip, revealing the depth of his own resentment. ‘Wouldn’t you rather sit at a queen’s right hand than be a king’s plaything?’
Greta’s spine stiffened. ‘I would rather serve my country and its beasts with devotion than sell out to a grasping, war-mongering queen.’
‘I hope it was worth it,’ he sneered.
Likewise, she thought, praying her plan would work.
All around them, the mountain creaked, the cavern walls trembling badly now. Water dripped from the ceiling and dampened her hair as she turned her back on Elias and made for the other wing.
