He had expected his dragon to fly over the armor and destroy it with one of its fiery breaths. There would have been no risk for the dragon and anyone standing there would be incinerated. His plan was to fire when the monster passed above the armor. Aleon bent over the ballista and tried to gauge how far he would need to lead the shot. To his surprise the dragon raised the top joints of its wings and slowed to land gently before reaching the suit.
Had its keen eyes determined the ruse?
This was hard for the Templar to judge. The monster was fifty paces from the bait. It must have noticed there was no face inside the mask. Why was it just standing there? What was it watching? The dragon hadn't turned toward the forest where they hid, but its eyes were on the sides of its massive head. It could see them clearly without facing their way. No one moved, or even risked a breath. Even the songbird went abruptly silent.
The dragon took a step halfway to the armor. By the way its head angled and back arched, there was no question that it had now discovered the suit was empty. Before thinking about it, Aleon threw his shoulder into the side of the ballista and shifted it to point at the dragon. Branches cracked as the heavy weapon pushed them aside. The monster reacted to the sound by turning just as quickly to face the forest.
To Aleon the dragon seemed once again uncomfortably close. He hesitated. Staring into the dragon's giant, inhuman eyes frightened Aleon. But again, rather than anger, its eyes seemed to contain some glimmer of recognition. He expected that would be followed by anger, but saw instead surprise. The tableau remained frozen for what seemed a very long time, so long that the bird returned to trilling its song. Then the dragon must have noticed the ballista. The expression in its eyes hardened, and suddenly the wings snapped open and began to flap.
Aleon cranked madly and fired. There was little need to aim carefully. The massive dragon filled the sky. The bolt sped forward with an angry buzz that ended with a solid thump. The young knight risked a glance upwards even as he scrambled to simultaneously both crank the weapon and fit another bolt in the firing groove.
The first bolt had flown true and buried its iron head deep in the front of the dragons shoulder. The great beast made no sound as it turned to examine the wound as it hovered over the empty armor. Aleon got the impression that it was more annoyed than hurt.
As soon as it was ready the knight fired the giant crossbow again. This time the bolt sped toward the monster's chest, but it skittered along the thick scales there until it drove into the softer muscles at the wing joint.
This brought a bellow of pain and the monster moved slowly towards the knight. As it approached, the Templar could once more smell the spicy odor of its breath. He yelled for the others to flee for their lives, but all had anticipated him and were already crashing through the forest.
Aleon hurried to prepare to fire a third time. Before he had finished cranking back the bowstring, a line of fire marched across the edge of the forest. There wasn't much he could do. Throwing himself to one side and rolling away, the knight escaped with only another singeing.
The ballista was less fortunate. It exploded in the intense heat of the dragon's flame. A quick glance assured the knight that nothing remained of the weapon except charred stubs of wood. Aleon rolled to his feet and dashed into the woods. The dragon bellowed a second time as the knight scrambled toward the thickest section of trees. Once in thicker cover, he risked a look back.
The monster had bent its head around and was using its teeth to draw the second bolt from its wing joint. This time the missile had buried itself much more deeply. The action must have been painful for a third, even more intimidating roar followed.
Turning to continue his retreat, Aleon felt the buffet of wind that told the dragon had taken to wing. For the next few minutes Aleon lived the nightmare of fighting his way through the thick forest undergrowth while overhead a dragon circled and occasionally breathed fire. Twice trees within a few paces of the Templar burst into flame and showered him with hot ash. Other trees suffered as well until Aleon understood that the monster was simply attacking every time it saw some movement. Still there was no way he could stop and hide. The fire drove him forward, and soon the growing conflagration was as great a threat as the circling monster.
The Templar pushed forward with no regard for the branches that slashed into his exposed face and arms. Before Aleon expected it, he emerged not far from where he had staked his horse under the shelter of a giant willow. The mount was pulling at the rope that held it and whinnying in terror as the forest fire drew closer. This was no time for niceties. Aleon used his sword, which he didn't remember drawing, to cut free the tie rope as soon as he had mounted. As he expected, the horse bolted. He clung to the saddle, not caring where the beast fled so long as it was away from the dragon.
It took several painful jounces before he was able to sheath his sword and start to bring the horse under control. Scanning the sky he caught sight of the dragon. He had ridden for only a few dozen heartbeats after calming his horse when a new problem became apparent. At first the knight was upset because the six villagers had not scattered as planned. Instead they were cowering in the shelter of a small clump of oaks. The cart they had arrived in was nowhere to be seen. Aleon waved and yelled for them to split up before the dragon took them as a group. Instead of fleeing, they all began to gesture toward the sunset.
Aleon's anger quickly gave way to fear. There, riding quickly toward them was a band of almost a dozen Tartars. Reddish sunlight glinted off their armor. The horse nomads' distant war cries could be heard even over the sound of the burning forest.
Aleon had to quickly make a hard decision. He had to assume the dragon was still searching for him. If it had been upset before at its cave, then it would be enraged now. He couldn't outride a flying dragon. His only hope would have been to find someplace to hide. But to stop anywhere meant death at the hands of the Tartars. Searching the evening sky again, Aleon spotted his dragon. Almost overhead, it was rising higher by flying in circles inside an updraft. The knight felt somehow it was watching him.
When the great beast didn't swoop to attack, the Templar turned his attentions to this other threat. The Tartars had gotten closer than expected when the young knight turned to face them again. They were riding hard and it was apparent they knew who Aleon was. He could now see they were all heavily armed with lances and their peculiar horsebows. There was a chance he could at least outpace them. He hoped that they had been riding hard already and their horses would be tired. His own had rested all day, except for its recent panic.
One of the Tartars shouted and pointed at the gathered villagers. Aleon turned his horse and literally rode for the hills. If he could not outdistance the nomads, then he would at least draw them away from the poorly armed villagers.
Spurring his mount, Aleon galloped away from the nomads. As the pursuit lengthened he wondered why they ignored the dragon circling overhead and worried that perhaps his two enemies had formed a pact against him. Though how this made things worse he couldn't guess since he could not think of any way his situation might be worse. The horse nomads' cries increased as they recognized a chase and saw it as great sport. A few fired arrows at him, but he saw them fall short. For the first time Aleon regretted leaving his armor on the far side of a burning forest. Without it he was less a burden to his horse, but its lack meant that they wouldn't need to actually catch him to kill him. If they managed to close the gap between them, the Tartars could shoot him from the saddle.
Aleon's back hurt. So did his hips and the inside of his legs. The muscles in the back of his neck hurt worse from straining every few moments to look over his shoulder. He had been riding or hurriedly leading his steed all through the night, unable to stop for any real rest. Twice he had stopped to water his horse and nearly been overtaken by the Tartars. With the approach of night the dragon had screeched and flown away. Aleon was too exhausted for coherent thought. He rode on because that was what he was supposed to do. Fear had
long ago given way to fatigue.
The Tartars had lost sight of him in the darkness. Still, even now Aleon could hear their war cries echoing off the low hills. He knew from experience their strategy was to drive their prey onward until it dropped from exhaustion, and it was working.
The sun had just risen. Its growing light caused the jumble of rocks and scrub to throw red and blue shadows. Shaking himself out of a walking drowse, Aleon knew he couldn't run much farther. With the coming of the light the nomads would find his trail. Their wiry ponies seemed never to tire. The next time they saw him he would not escape.
He considered an ambush. But with no bow and a dozen skilled warriors pursuing him that would be suicide. The lone horse and rider were picking their way across a stone-covered slope when the shadow passed over them. Without looking up Aleon knew the dragon had returned. He braced himself to dodge another fiery breath, but none came. Evidently it was still content simply to watch him flee from other enemies. Resentment fought its way through his exhaustion. The dragon was playing with him, watching him scurry away from the Tartars while knowing it could pluck him from his saddle at any time. In an impulsive act of defiance the knight halted for a brief moment and watched it circle. It was impossible not to watch the magnificent beast in flight. He drew his sword and challenged it to fight, but the great beast ignored the gesture.
Silently the dragon glided up the side of a nearby hill. The flyer then rose, circling overhead in a tight upward spiral. It roared once and Aleon spurred his tired destrier from a slow walk to an exhausted trot, then pulled it to a stop when nothing happened. The monster's attention seemed to be on something other than the knight and his challenge. After a moment of confusion Aleon knew that it must have spotted his pursuers. As he plodded on he realized that the Tartars would not need to find his back trail. His location was being marked to everyone for miles around.
The Tartars weren't long in appearing. They had ridden past him in the dark. That was hardly a surprise considering the slow time man and horse had been making. They appeared at the crown of the hill above Aleon and his destrier. Several of the nomads fired from the saddle even as they spurred down the slope towards him. Their horsemanship was impressive, but fortunately their marksmanship was less sure. Most arrows went long, but one glanced off the neck of the Templar's horse.
That was too much for the abused animal. It was too exhausted to buck, much less run. Whinnying with pain, the horse rolled on its side. Aleon pushed himself from the saddle, managing to avoid having his leg crushed beneath the horse. The ground came up hard under him, and a pointed rock bruised several of his ribs. The knight could feel that in a short while the bruise would begin to stiffen. But then the pain in his side faded as he discovered that he didn't have any time left. The triumphant cries of the horsemen greeted the young knight as he stumbled to his feet. Drawing his sword, he turned to face them.
The Tartars were all dressed in leather and unmatched pieces of Frankish armor. Most were short and had small, dark eyes. Each carried a long spear that could be used as a lance. There was a string of hair fastened to the tips of their lances. Earlier, from a distance, the knight had thought this to be horsehair, but as they closed he saw that the hair was too light and fine. It had once graced the heads of their human foes.
Most of the riders had put their bows away and leveled their spears at Aleon. They were riding forward at a leisurely pace, calling out to him in the singsong language he didn't understand. That was probably just as well, though the intent of their comments was plain. His would not be a pleasant death.
When the horsemen were fifty paces away Aleon could see them tense for the final charge. He raised his sword in defiance and looked about for some miraculous chance for escape. There was none. On the rocky, gentle slope their steppe ponies could ride a man on foot down within heartbeats. Nor was there any place to hide. The Templar knew that all he could do now was fight back well enough to force them to give him a quick death.
Before the nomads charged, their chief barked an order. He was older and better armored, wearing an intricately decorated and gold-plated cuirass with what might have been a battered Roman eagle on it. He was demanding the right to kill Aleon alone. Aleon realized this was the exact reverse of the battle he had killed the man's son in. Then he had been mounted and more heavily armored; now the other man had the same advantages. The other nomads eased back in their saddles and smiled. They were not pleasant smiles. Then the old Tartar shrieked and drove toward the dismounted knight.
Ducking and only defending with his sword, Aleon managed to deflect the first attack. The sheer force of the spear as he blocked it threw him over backwards. The rocks hurt and the Templar nearly lost his grip on his sword. The nomads cheered their leader while Aleon scrambled clumsily to his feet. The chief was obviously enjoying himself, raising his spear in salute to his bodyguards before dipping his lance and charging again.
This time Aleon was more prepared. He managed to step aside from the lance at the last instant and brought his sword down on the end of the wooden shaft as it passed. The very end of his blade cut through the wood, separating the iron tip and an arm's-length of shaft from the rest.
The nomads didn't cheer this time, and several looked restless. Again the old chief barked an order and those who had again raised their bows lowered them. When he turned to face Aleon, the chief's grin was gone. It was replaced by a determined and deadly look. Visibly angry at his failure, the old Tartar threw the rest of his spear to the ground and drew his own sword.
Unlike a spear, even at the gallop a rider can shift a sword instantly. Aleon knew that there was no dodging aside from the next blow. The heavily armored chief actually rode back past his men to allow his horse room to reach a full gallop. Pulling his shield over his back the Tartar chieftain turned the animal without using his hands and Aleon had to admire the horsemanship. There was little else he could do.
The Tartar came at him in a blur. Aleon was just able to raise his own weapon to deflect the old nomad's swinging blow. They hit with a musical note that hung in the air after the two warriors had parted. The speeding horse had added so much force to his opponent's weapon that the knight's sword was torn from his grasp. The nomads cheered as the weapon clattered to the ground several steps from the Templar.
Alerted by their cheer, the Tartar chief turned his pony in another impossibly tight circle and rode back toward the disarmed knight. Aleon lunged toward where the sword had fallen, but the nomad spurred between him and it. Then he rode directly at the unarmed knight and Aleon was barely able to avoid the blow by diving between the Tartar pony's legs. The chieftain turned and swung again. Aleon danced back, stumbling on loose gravel as the other nomads' cheers grew more enthusiastic.
The old chief was grinning again. It was the same humorless, deadly smile with which he had started the battle. He was clearly enjoying himself. His shouted comment made the other nomads laugh. Aleon tried to yell back defiantly, but could barely speak. His mouth was too dry.
The old nomad's smile grew broader and more menacing at Aleon's feeble croak. He raised himself in his stirrups and chanted something in his own language. The others echoed the same phrase a few seconds later. If he had to guess, Aleon would have said the old man was calling on the spirit of his son to watch his death be avenged. That meant he was hoping for a kill soon. The young knight could feel panic threatening to block his vision. He had been driven even further from his sword. The urge to run was powerful and only the knowledge that he would be easily ridden down let the Templar stand unmoving.
The old Tartar repeated his cry six more times. Finally the nomad charged. Aleon was prepared to dive to one side, even knowing that the skilled horseman would still be able to follow. There was little other choice that might buy him a few heartbeats more of life. The Templar kept his eyes on the approaching chieftain as he shuffled back a few steps and heard a clink at his feet. Risking a quick glance down the knight saw the spear tip he had cut
free earlier.
As the grinning nomad spurred past him Aleon surprised the man by not fleeing, but instead falling flat. The Tartar's sword whistled a finger length above the knight's head. As he dropped the Templar grabbed what remained of the spear shaft and drove the point into the pony's rear leg. The weapon stuck and was torn from his grasp, but the horse's leg collapsed sending the chief into a tumbling roll. The animal screamed, kicked, and screamed again. Aleon dodged backward.
Without turning to see where his opponent fell, the knight dashed up the hill to recover his sword. As he began to run several of the bodyguards raised a cry. An arrow bounced off a rock at his feet and another cut a channel in Aleon's shoulder blade. He continued to run toward his weapon, waiting for the sound of hooves.
Instead the beleaguered knight heard a familiar, but even more frightening sound. The dragon was back. With a sinking feeling Aleon realized that it must have decided not to leave the final kill to the Tartars. The massive beast had arrived to claim its prey. With a growing sense of hopelessness Aleon grabbed his sword and turned to face the new threat.
To his surprise, the dragon wasn't facing him, but had landed between him and the bodyguards. A few of the startled horsemen fired arrows, which bounced off the thick, red scales. The dragon responded by breathing fire in front of the nomads' horses' hooves. The ground it played upon couldn't burn, but the intense heat and mansized column of fire was enough to cause every pony to bolt. Before Aleon could react to the sudden change in his situation, only three Tartars remained on the hillside. The dragon turned, its eyes bright, and settled visibly back onto its haunches.
Dragon's Eye Page 12