We’ve arrived at a grand hallway. At the opposite end is a nave, from which an eerie glow is barely visible. I scan the row of stone columns, between which something large and scaly slinks. Hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“The basilisk,” the queen hisses. “Run!”
She darts away, quicker than you’d expect from a woman who should’ve died a century ago. “This way. Quickly!”
She leads us into an upper walkway that runs around the perimeter of the room.
A low clicking sound like the growl of a dragon before it belches fire comes from close by. I scoop her frail body into my arms and bolt up the last few stairs.
Wet breath the likes of which I’d never wanted to smell again in my life skims across my neck.
“Don’t look at it!” the crone says.
“I know that.” Hoisting her higher, I leap up the stairs two at a time. At least she’s light to carry, being so ancient, but my arms ache from mowing a path through the thorned vines.
On the top step, I trip. We go sprawling onto the upper level. Scales slither along my back as the thing pursuing us passes by, chasing Alistair.
“Don’t look at it!” I shout, pushing to my feet and abandoning the crone.
Alistair puts on a burst of speed and darts into an alcove. The basilisk whips around, but its body is too large to pull off a fast turn. By the time it’s in position, so am I.
“We need a mirror!” he shouts from the other side of the monster.
“Make yourself useful. Find one.”
I hold the dragon scale shield between me and the beast, braced with one arm. In the other hand is my longsword, sharp enough to slice a man’s head clean from his neck. Basilisks don’t have impenetrable scales like dragons. I found a way to kill thatmonster. I’ll find a way to kill this one, too. Even if I have to do it blindfolded.
The beast snaps, its jaws closing over either side of the shield. A high-pitched shriek as its teeth scrape against the dense scale’s edge. Blood drips down its maw. I brace one foot against the wall and throw all my weight into holding it off.
A chuckle, low and mirthless, bubbles out of me. This is what I live for. Hunting. Nothing makes my blood sing more than fighting a beast three times my own size—except fighting one even bigger.
“Run, you fool,” I grunt at Alistair. His gold-flecked green eyes cut to mine, then to the monster. He scrambles up and charges past it. The thing abruptly spits out my shield and turns toward easier prey.
“At the end of the hall to your right!” shouts the queen in a quivery voice. Alistair skids around a corner. The beast lumbers after him.
I take a flying leap and land with the scale embedded deep into its flank. The creature roars. Using the scale as both a step and protection from its jaws, I clamber up onto its back. The row of spines down its back will unman me if I lose my balance.
A man born from nothing, raised to do nothing but fight. Fucking is a release, nothing more. Children and a family are nothing but fairy tales. Wouldn’t know what to do with them if my wish came true.
It’s the kind of dream a man like me has no business entertaining for a single second, let alone mid-battle. But I’m not willing to destroy all possibility by letting an overgrown lizard turn me into a eunuch.
The animal’s back quakes with each low-slung step forward. With its legs set at angles to its body, its motions are jerky. Using my sword as a walking stick, I make it to the creature’s shoulders at the same moment it corners Alistair against the mirror.
“Where’s your dagger?”
He pats his torso, eyes squeezed shut as he searches for the hilt.
“I have it.”
“When I tell you to strike, do it.”
He nods.
I raise my sword and aim for the joint between its skull and spine. The same place I wedged my blade into the dragon and pried off the large scale that now serves as my shield. A weak spot on this variety of monster.
“Strike!” I shout, contorting to avoid the spines.
“Which direction?” Alistair’s panic is audible in his voice.
