Book 7: Chapter 33: Venom
Martel had plenty to aim at, but he assumed any damage done to the head would have the greatest impact. He planted his staff solidly in the ground and began to channel magic. Moments later, a bolt of lightning jumped to strike the great snake against its jaw. Magical energy coursed around its head, and it emitted some manner of terrible shriek, but it did not appear particularly harmed. This would not be an easy battle.
The warriors charged from the different sides, bringing their weapons to bear. They struck against the scales of the beast that protected it like armour. Martel felt releases of magic; Rolf cast runes, Halfrid drew strength from the earth to power her attacks, and Eleanor wove defensive spells around herself. Another wave of assaults that did little; either the strength of its scales or some innate magic made the wyrm impervious to their abilities.
Rolf continued laying glowing symbols on the ground, though too far from Martel to know or feel their effects; he assumed they helped the berserker.
He wished he could do something for Eleanor, but their situation was the reverse; if her weapon could not cut through, her spellcraft should keep her safe and let her distract the monster while Martel used his own magic.
He released another lightning bolt, once more striking the head of the wyrm. As before, the spell released its energy, but the monster seemed more angered than anything. It turned its attention on Martel.
Bravely, the remaining of the two Tyrian warriors stepped in front to guard him. Martel did not even recall if this was Asger or Hákon, but if the man survived the fight, he would be sure to remember his name forever.
The snake struck, and the Tyrian dodged, only to stumble and fall on his back. Before he could recover, the wyrm came at him with impossible speed to smash its fang through his shield, mail, and into his body.
Martel felt the release of venom much like a spell, flowing into the gaping wound of the Tyrian warrior. The injured man screamed in sheer agony and terror, and Martel watched as venom burned through flesh. Mercifully, it took only moments before he was dead. The snake raised its head to look at the battlemage.
Martel heard the noise of the others attacking, but it came to him faint, like from afar. He could focus on nothing but the great jaws that opened, fangs dripping with venom, ready to swallow or tear him apart.
The wyrm struck, and Martel summoned his shield. The enormous yellow tooth was held back by an invisible barrier, drops of liquid falling down to burn the ground with a hiss. For all the creature’s might, Martel’s magic proved up to the task. Without his sense of heat, he noticed the movement too late. He barely picked up on the sound and turned, raising his staff on instinct to parry. Before he could summon his shield again, the tail of the wyrm crashed into him.
His staff broke in twain, and his body was sent flying through the air. He landed on his back with sharp pain pulsing through him. For a moment, he feared his spine had snapped just like his weapon, but agony from his leg told him he still had sensation; a rock had become embedded in his calf, drawing blood.
Throwing the useless remains of his staff away, Martel struggled until he could get back on his feet. He did not need it. Magic resided in him. He had already spent much of his spellpower, but he would draw as much as he needed, no matter if it drove him past the brink of exhaustion. As the snake threw up its head, towering over him to launch another strike, Martel held out his hands, palms outstretched. Sparks jumped from all of his fingertips until lightning surged up and down his hands, more power than he had ever placed into this spell before. With nothing but clarity in his mind – before him stood his enemy, and his enemy had to be destroyed – he released the spell.
As magical energy surrounded the wyrm, it seized up. For a moment, it became still before another shriek followed, becoming deep and rumbling. Once more, its yellow eyes turned toward Martel.
To his right, far down along the side of the snake’s body, runes glowed, as did the great axe in Halfrid’s hands. With a battle cry in Tyrian, she struck, and she struck deep. This time, whatever magic she and Rolf had combined proved enough. The blade on her weapon clove the scales to sunder flesh beneath. A triumphant roar followed as the berserker pulled her axe back.
A spray of blood issued, striking her across the face and torso. She cried out and collapsed to the ground. Rolf leapt forward and grabbed her uninjured arm to pull her away as the wyrm turned its head around to see who had dared wound it.
From the other side, Eleanor jumped up to stand upon the creature’s back. Her shield abandoned, she struck her sword downward with both hands. The flaming sword pushed through, causing another wound, but Martel could tell it did not cut deep. As she pulled her weapon out, she rolled to the side, avoiding any spray of blood, but this also made her fall back onto the ground.
They were losing the battle. Whether alive or dead, the berserker would not strike more blows. The skáld had magic to help or hinder but hardly to kill a beast like this. Martel had unleashed most of his spells already; he had precious little left. Eleanor might be able to wound their enemy, but only a blow in the right place could end this fight.
The snake writhed around, causing the earth to shake before moving its great body to crush Rolf. The skáld was barely able to evade, and he could not do it for much longer.
Martel shouted a command to Eleanor, directing her to attack the wyrm in the only place it seemed vulnerable. Their roles were reversed; he was the distraction now. Unleashing a barrage of fire bolts, Martel knew they lacked the power to cause harm; just as long as they caused threat. He walked forward while releasing spell after spell, making himself look an obvious target.
As the snake turned toward him and slithered forward, rearing its head to eat the battlemage, Eleanor made her move. Spells covering her from taking damage, she leapt up to grab hold of the creature’s fang with one hand, slinging herself around to thrust her sword deep into its eye and beyond.
The wyrm shrieked and trembled so loudly that Martel felt his ears bleed while the very earth shook beneath their feet. The monster thrashed around in its death throes, but the flaming blade continued to burn until both its eyes closed forever, and it fell to the ground, finally still.