“How great can it be if it breaks in one hit?” Justin snarled back, kicking his dangling legs at Vann Jeger’s stomach.
The spirit smacked his attack away. “You have no respect! I am the soul of the deep fjord! From the very beginning, the humans who lived on my shores have burned their heroes on my waters. They believed that their souls would be lifted to Valhalla, but their weapons became mine, as do all things that fall into my depths. For thousands of years I have kept their treasures, the work of their hands, and now you treat them as mere tools?”
He tossed Justin down, slamming him into the ground. “I have changed my mind,” Vann Jeger said, hopping off his horse to land with a crash next to the prone dragon. “I was going to grant you an honorable death against a well-matched, if human, foe. But I have no mercy for a wyrm too stupid to recognize a priceless artifact when he sees one.”
“So you’re going to fight me now?” Justin said, grabbing his sword again before shoving himself back to his feet. “And here I thought you were scared.”
Vann Jeger scowled. “Still delusional, but it matters not. If you wish so badly to be crushed, I will oblige, if only because it will give me a chance to teach you the value of true treasures before I take your head.”
He reached out his hand as he said this, and the broken spear vanished, fading into the mist that still crawled across the ground. In the same instant, a new weapon appeared in Vann Jeger’s grasp. A long sword this time, its four-foot-long, rune-marked blade condensing from the mist like a water droplet. Just like the wooden spear he’d just broken, it was obviously magical. Justin was staring at it, wondering just how many weapons the spirit had at his fingertips, when Vann Jeger attacked.
For a slower dragon, that would have been the end. The spirit moved like water, his giant body warping and shifting unnaturally as he drove his sword straight at Justin’s heart. But Fang or no, Justin was a Knight of the Heartstrikers. He dodged with time to spare, using Tyrfing’s small size to his advantage as he slipped the little blade up under Vann Jeger’s defense to stab the spirit in the ribs.
The short sword slid through the spirit’s armor, sinking into his flesh like a stone into a pond as Justin watched in triumph. But when he tried to yank it out again for another stab, the blade refused to budge. Confused, Justin yanked again, but the short sword was stuck fast. He was still pulling with all his might when the spirit chopped down at his arm from above.
Cursing, Justin released Tyrfing, snatching his hand out of the way a split second before the spirit took it off. But as he was leaping back to avoid Vann Jeger’s sword, his own weapon sunk into the spirit’s armored chest, vanishing into Vann Jeger’s body like a coin dropped into a deep pool.
“What did you do to my sword?”
Vann Jeger’s black eyes gleamed. “Delusionalandstupid, I see.” He ceased his attack and straightened up with a cruel grin, patting the spot on his massive chest where Tyrfing had vanished. “Did I not just tell you, little whelp?Everythingthat falls into my waters belongs to me.”
Justin couldn’t believe his ears. “Youatemy sword?”
“Think of it as a requisition,” the spirit said haughtily. “An idiot like you was unworthy of a work of art like Tyrfing. And as you see…” He shifted his long sword to one hand and flexed the other. The moment his fingers closed, Tyrfing appeared in his off-hand grip, gleaming in the silver, misty sunlight as the spirit turned both blades on Justin. “It’s in much better hands now.”
“Then I’ll just have to take it back,” Justin growled, smoke curling from his mouth. He didn’t care about Tyrfing, but like hell was he going to lose anything to this freak. It was also time to try a new tactic. From the way he’d instantly put himself back together after Justin’s first attack, it was clear Vann Jeger was a water spirit in the most literal sense of the word. But while being made of water apparently meant you didn’t care if you got stabbed or chopped in half, a sword was only part of Justin’s arsenal, and losing one now wasn’t going to set him back.
With that, Justin retreated, ceding ground to the spirit. Vann Jeger eyed the distance cautiously, but eventually he stepped in just like Justin knew he would. Opponents who thought themselves superior always fell for that trick because they thought they had nothing to fear. What Vann Jeger didn’t know, though, was that Justin had been looked down on by every serious opponent he’d ever fought. He was always the challenger, the one fighting up, and he knew how to draw his enemies in, leaving his chest temptingly open to attack while he kept his eyes on Vann Jeger, daring him to try.
It was an invitation no fighter could resist, and wise as he claimed to be, Algonquin’s Hunter was no exception. He charged after only a few seconds of taunting, stampeding across the soft, wet ground with his two swords—the long blade and the stolen Tyrfing—positioned to stab Justin through the lungs and heart. Even so, Justin waited, watching the spirit’s swords until they were mere inches from his chest. Only then, when his enemy had committed to the attack and could not turn back, did Justin let go, dropping his human mask in an explosion of fire.
Under normal circumstances, the explosion would have been green, the undying emerald fire of his grandfather. Without his Fang, though, Justin’s blast was the rich, molten orange of his own fire, but it was still more than enough. Everything his flames touched—the loamy ground, the tall trees, his clothes, Vann Jeger’s surprised face—turned instantly to ash. Justin alone was immune, because the firewashim, the burning magic that made him what he was. And when the glare died down a heartbeat later, he was looking down on the now burning forest from his true height.
“Who’s a whelp now?” the dragon roared, breathing another blast of flame at the trees, spreading the forest fire until even the ever-present fog was overwhelmed by smoke. “Still want to leave me to your humans?”
His taunt was still echoing when he smelled the spirit’s bloody, seawater scent behind him. Justin swiveled his head, turning just in time to see Vann Jeger condense from what was left of the mist at the top of one of the smoldering trees with another weapon, a metal spear this time, glinting in his hands. He hadn’t even finished forming before he threw it, launching the weapon straight at the soft spot below Justin’s jaw. But fast as the spirit was, Justin was faster.
Without even the conceit of a human shape to weigh him down, the dragon moved like lightning, ducking under the spear before lashing out with his tail to knock the spirit’s tree completely out of the ground. The blow caught the spirit off guard. He stumbled, bracing against the falling tree. He was beginning to dissolve back into the mist when Justin lashed out with his claws, pinning the water spirit to the still falling tree before he could get away.
There was nothing held back this time, nothing saved for later. From the moment Justin had realized what it would take to win, every move had led up to this. In just a few seconds, Vann Jeger would turn back into water and slip away. Right now, though, the spirit was pinned beneath his talons, and like any true dragon, Justin came down on him with everything he had.
He opened his mouth with a roar, engulfing Vann Jeger in a blast of fire so hot, it changed the consistency of the air itself. Brilliant, orange-white flames snaked around the spirit’s blue body like chains, and everywhere they touched, Vann Jeger vanished, his water instantly turning to vapor.
But even after he’d boiled the spirit away completely, Justin didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Fire like this could only be summoned once. Already, Justin’s throat was cracking under the heat. It’d be days before he recovered enough to pull off an attack like this again. If he didn’t end things now, he wouldn’t get another shot, so Justin decided to make sure he wouldn’t need one.
From the moment he’d realized Vann Jeger could reform himself from the mist, he’d known the only way to actually defeat him was to keep burning until there was no water left at all. With that in mind, he pulled back, bathing the entire forest in a wash of orange fire. He pushed his fire hotter with every breath, pumping the bellows of his magic until the soil beneath him began to vaporize and the trees at the far edge of his vision spontaneously burst into flame. He pushed until his own feathers began to smoke and the rapidly expanding air created a shockwave that blasted the ancient trees flat in all directions. He pushed until every molecule of oxygen was consumed, smothering his own flames and leaving nothing for him to breathe. Even then, he pushed a little further, pouring his heat into the landscape until even the rocks were burning. Only then, when everything that could be destroyed had been, did Justin finally let his fire die.
It was like standing on another planet. The misty forest was gone, as was the soil below it. Even the omnipresent, oppressive magic of the Reclamation Land had been burned away, leaving him standing alone in a bone-dry crater of fine, powdery ash. But satisfying as it was to witness the absolute thoroughness of his victory, even Justin couldn’t remain in the heavy carbon dioxide bubble his intense heat had created. His lungs were already empty from creating the massive fire, and so Justin had no choice but to use the last of his strength to spread his wings and fly up, forcing his body through the unnaturally heavy air until he finally broke through the ceiling of smoke and exploded into the clear sky above.
He sucked the cold, clear air into his ravaged lungs with a gasp, knocking the ash out of his feathers with a powerful beat of his wings. When he was no longer in danger of suffocating, he took a different kind of breath, scenting the air for any lingering trace of his enemy, and found nothing. Even up here where there was still water, his sensitive nose didn’t pick up so much as a trace of Vann Jeger’s briny scent, which could only mean one thing.
He’dwon.
Satisfaction struck him like a physical blow. He’d done it. He’d gambled everything on a single attack, and it hadworked. He’d known it would, of course, but to actually be on the other side, tofeelhis victory…there was nothing better in the world. He alone had dared to enter Algonquin’s land and face her champion, and like all who dared greatly, he’d been rewarded. He, Justin Heartstriker, had defeated the Death of Dragons!
Now all he needed was proof.
Sucking in a lungful of clean air, Justin dove back down into the smoke. He’d been hoping to bring home a head, but that was impossible since he’d evaporated Vann Jeger, so he’d have to settle for some other trophy. One of the spirit’s prized weapons would have been perfect, but unfortunately his own power had made trophy hunting nearly impossible. The ash bowl he’d created was as fine as silt, a quarter mile in diameter, and swallowed everything that fell into it. Even using his wings to blow the ash back, hunting for a weapon in that pit was like searching for a needle in the desert. Already, his search had taken longer than he was wise to spend, and so, with a growl of frustration, Justin decided to go back to his original plan: ripping open the secrets of Reclamation Land.
