Dennis swung, but the eyes’ red beams jerked at his arm. He stumbled forward; the stroke went aside.
Rakastava’s eyes held the sword arm up at an angle. “Now you will die, little human,” the creature said as its jaws crashed shut on Dennis’ neck and torso.
The black metal belled but didn’t give under the pressure. Rakastava’s teeth squealed vainly against the armor.
Dennis was sweating from heat and exertion. The vambrace covering his right forearm looked red when he saw it through the visor slots. He couldn’t be sure whether the metal was glowing or just colored by the bloody light that bathed it.
The monster stopped chewing on the refractory metal and jerked its head back while the eyes still pulled at Dennis’ wrist. The two antagonists were only inches apart, both panting. Rakastava’s breath was a hot, moist cloud through the visor.
“Could I but close your eyes, Rakastava,” Dennis shouted as his arm pulsed, “I’d have your head off.”
“Could I but wrench your helmet off, human,” Rakastava boomed, “I’d suck you from your armor like the meat from a shrimp. And so I shall!”
The sucker-knobbed tongue flicked out. One fork groped to either side of Dennis’ neck.
He heard the click of a latch opening. The suckers began to tug apart the halves of the helmet.
Something fell over the combatants’ heads like a white cloud.
Dennis thought he’d been blinded by panic—or else his vision went white when the monster’s tongue broke his neck—
But his sword arm was free, and he brought the blade around with all the strength he’d put into vainly fighting the grip of Rakastava’s eyes.
He expected the monster to scream as the blade bit deep, but there was silence except for the banging of scales on stone and the crash Dennis’ own body made when Rakastava thrust him away convulsively.
Dennis lay on his back. He’d lost his helmet. He pushed himself up into a reclining position on his left elbow.
His right arm burned, but there was nothing he could do for it except ignore the pain.
Rakastava was a writhing shape where the sea met stone. The harsh, damning light had faded almost entirely from the supple body.
The hologram in the assembly hall had been deceptive: Rakastava was much longer than Dennis had guessed. Now he saw the tail flailing against the cavern roof, a hundred feet in the air.
Rakastava hadn’t roared at the final sword-stroke, because its third head lay on the stone beside Dennis. Wrapping the head was the white gauze dress of the Princess Aria.
Dennis looked around. The only light in the cavern was the purple glow of Rakastava’s mane, and even that was dying as the creature itself had died.
Aria was rising to her feet. Foul, faint illumination could not make her naked body look less than beautiful.
There was blood on her face.
“You’re hurt!” Dennis blurted, forgetting his own pain for the moment. He got up, and the effort of moving his right arm reminded him of everything.
Aria touched two fingers to her lips. They came down dabbed with blood. “I didn’t feel anything,” she said. “You said, ‘Could I close your eyes…’ And so I covered its eyes.”
Darkness hid the princess, but Dennis felt the warmth of her body—through his armor, through his pain. His hand reached for her; then he remembered that he wore star-metal gauntlets, and that she wore nothing but golden sandals.
Dennis turned and, with his left hand, lifted the newly-severed head by its mane. He unwrapped the dress as carefully as he could from the angles and pointed scales. The gossamer fabric was already torn, and dim light made the task still harder.
“Ah, here,” he said, holding the rescued garment with his eyes averted—though Aria was only a pale shape in the shadows, and he’d stared at her nude body in clear light through the mirror.
But then she didn’t know.
Dennis busied himself with knotting together the manes of all three heads. The whisk of air indicated the princess was dressing beside him.
She stepped very close. “Come up with me,” she said. “Now.”
“No,” Dennis whispered. His voice caught in his throat, making it sound like a growl. “G-give me your earring.”