Page 2 of Courting the Dragon King

Anton lurched, sitting upright. Konrad gaped, stumbling to his feet.

Unsteadily, with jerky movements, Anton stood. He reached for the sword buried in his chest. His fingers wrapped around the hilt. With a croaking groan, he yanked the blade free. Red coated the metal.

Blood. Anton’s blood.

Anton pointed the bloody sword straight at Konrad.

Konrad took several steps back. Groans sounded around him. He could hear shuffling. He glanced around. The Draconian dead had started to rise, their movements jolting and unnatural.

Konrad shook his head, looking to his childhood friend once more. “Anton … I⁠—”

Anton lunged.

Konrad jumped to the side, dodging the blade. He grabbed at a discarded sword on the ground. “Anton! It’s me. Konrad!”

But there was no recognition in those pale-blue eyes.

With a garbled, inhuman cry, Anton drove forward again, blade aimed for Konrad’s torso. But Konrad easily parried the clumsy attack. Anton staggered. He lunged once more.

“Anton, stop! Please!” Konrad jumped to the side, out of the way of the blade. “You know me! I’m your friend. It’s me! Konrad!”

Over the years, Anton and Konrad had sparred. Many times. Konrad knew his friend’s attacks and defences by heart. But now, Anton lacked his usual skill. He swung wildly, like an untrained youth holding a blade for the first time.

All around, Konrad could hear yells and cries as the dead rose and fought the living. A short distance away, dragonfire lit the battlefield.

“Anton! Don’t do this! Please,” Konrad begged. “We’ve been friends since boyhood. Remember?”

But Anton just swung his sword again. And again. And again.

Konrad dodged and parried blow after blow. “Anton, listen to me!” But there seemed to be no talking to Anton.

He’s gone … I have to stop him.

Eyes burning, Konrad gritted his teeth and lunged. He shoved the sword through Anton’s gut. Anton’s eyes widened.

Konrad yanked his blade free. Anton stared at the sluggish blood dripping from his wound. Then he lifted his gaze, roared, and hefted his sword.

Konrad sidestepped the attack. He swung. His sword severed bone, muscle, and flesh. Anton’s sword arm fell to the ground.

But Anton just ran at Konrad, without a weapon and missing one arm.

“Anton. Stop!” Konrad shouted. He lifted his sword. He brought it down. Over and over. But if Anton felt the blows, he didn’t show it. And he didn’t stop attacking.

So Konrad kept hacking at Anton, screaming as he struck repeatedly, until Anton was too dismembered to continue fighting.

Finally, Konrad stood shaking, puffing. His cheeks were soaked, with tears or his friend’s blood, he could not tell. His grip on the handle of the sword was slippery.

All around, the fields burned as dragons destroyed the undead Draconians. Weapons still clanged as the Draconian army battled their reanimated comrades.

Then he saw them. On horseback on a hill a short distance away, hiding amongst trees, probably about twenty necromancers. He’d thought they’d killed all the necromancers controlling their undead army. They must have missed these, who’d regrouped and then caused the Draconian army to rise and fight one more time.

“There!” Konrad shouted and pointed. But another dragon had already spotted them. She flew straight at them.

Something clutched at Konrad’s ankle. He looked down. Anton’s hand gripped his foot. Fingers delved beneath the bottom of his trousers, and nails scratched and dug into his skin.

Konrad reached down, grabbed the hand, and flung it away with a shout. He looked at Anton’s decapitated head. Anton’s pale-blue eyes stared back at him.

Dragons attacked the necromancers on the hillside, setting it ablaze. Konrad wasn’t certain if they’d been killed or if their focus had been disrupted. But all around, the corpses collapsed, returning to death once more.