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And what did she reply?
“You’re welcome.”
He blinked at her. “You almost died,” he pointed out.
“Not really. I would have been fine.”
“You would have been a stain on the cobbles,” he growled.
“Can we argue later? There’s still a dragon out there.”
As if the words conjured it, the beast breathed on the tower.
Kormac reacted by throwing Fionna to the floor and covering her with his body as the frost entered the open window and limned the area around it in ice.
“Get off me,” she grunted from under him.
“No, because you’ll probably do something insanely stupid again.”
“You mean like stopping it?” she retorted.
She had a point, but he struggled with his pride and an emotion that suspiciously felt like fear, not for himself but for her.
She shoved, and with more strength than should have been possible, heaved him aside.
Kormac sprang to his feet, but she’d already reached the window where she muttered, “It’s heading for the city again. Bloody pest.” She climbed onto the sill.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting back on the roof for a better angle.” And then she was gone, floating upwards as if carried by an invisible hand.
He raced to look out in time to see her land on the roof. He heard the light tap of her feet as she moved higher up its peak. A glance toward his city showed the beast winging its way, spewing frost, coating buildings in ice.
Lances of light began firing from over his head, starting out fat but dwindling in size as they reached the dragon. Still, they packed enough punch to make it jerk and squeal. It veered from its frosting of the city to hiss in the direction of his tower.
Fionna kept lobbing magical lances one after another, but he noticed them fading in brilliance, shrinking in girth, as if she ran out of energy.
He couldn’t let her face it alone. He climbed out the window and gripped the edge of the roof. Years of sword training had left his upper body strong, and so pulling himself up to the tiled surface where Fionna stood took little effort.
His lady witch stood grim-faced and paler than before. Her hands churned in constant motion. The missiles of light kept shooting but noticeably weaker.
Kormac planted himself in front of her but ended up slightly below given the pitch of the roof. He drew the sword he’d gotten earlier that day and waited.
As the screeching dragon came wheeling in and Fionna’s magic fizzled, he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled back his arm and threw his new sword. It flew, straight and true, the blade suddenly glowing. The dragon, its vile gaze fixated on Fionna, never saw it coming.
The blade entered through the neck and sank to the hilt. It buried deep enough the dragon stopped moving. Its wings went limp and it fell to the courtyard with a thump he’d have sworn he felt.
It thrashed weakly, unable to stand. Dead, or it soon would be given the soldiers converging. He turned to find Fionna swaying on her feet.
“I might have used a little too much,” she whispered before her eyes rolled back and she slumped.
This time she didn’t shove Kormac away when he caught her. She remained unconscious which posed an interesting dilemma. How to get back in the tower?
It took some help—a.k.a. him bellowing for someone to get their ass in his room. The first soldier didn’t look sturdy enough for his liking so he had another take his place. He carefully handed her down before following, swinging into his room and taking in the sight of two soldiers murmuring by his bedwhere they’d lain Fionna. Their chatter stopped the moment he entered.
It led to him growling, “What are you whispering about?”
“She killed those dragons with magic,” stated Peter, the smaller of the pair.
