by Joseph Lallo
“I still don't understand,” Cyrus interrupted, “What you mean when you say they're not who they say they are?”
“He's just jealous,” J'anda said, dispersing his Terian illusion in favor of an elven appearance.
“I have no problem with the Daring or even most of the rank and file of Goliath.” The dark knight's eyes grew intense. “But Goliath's officers... they may appear to be allies, but I assure you they are not. Somewhere along the way the ideals of friendship and mutual assistance that was the core of the Alliance at its founding got perverted by their greed and lust for power.” Terian looked back down the slope to check on the sleeping dragon. “Now we're allies in name only.” The dark elf looked back to fix his gaze on Cyrus's eyes. “Or did you think that the lack of attendance at Enterra was a one time occurrence?”
“I have tried not to think about that night,” Cyrus answered, face frozen.
“Well,” Terian said, “try not to think about this, then. Before Alaric and the rest of us came charging to the rescue that night, he sent a messenger to Goliath asking for assistance. Their whole complement was at their guildhall; one of their officers, Tolada, sent his apologies – he said they were unable to help.”
“Wait a minute,” Cyrus said, jaw tensing. “To opt out of the invasion was one thing. But you're telling me they knew we were in dire need, and chose not to come to our aid?”
Terian's smirk stretched across his face. “Doesn't it feel good to know that you have allies that will be there for you no matter what?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. He straightened. “I believe our first wave of reinforcements just landed.”
Looking up the hill behind them, Cyrus saw Curatio leading the way through the rocky terrain above the dragon’s nest. The elf made his way down the hill, minding his footing. Cyrus could see Vaste standing head and shoulders above the rest of the reinforcements. A blinding flash of light shone off the armor of a female elf, and Cyrus knew by the blond hair that Vara was among them. Andren also made his way down, in the company of Nyad and below her, Brevis. Cyrus felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Orion!” He turned with a start. “Glad you’re here. Look what we found – or should I say what almost found us.”
“I see.” Orion squinted against the sunlight. “Looks like we’re perfectly positioned. He won’t see us forming up from back here.” He turned to Cyrus. “Pretty exciting, isn’t it, leading your first attack?”
Cyrus’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about? I’m not leading this.”
Orion turned serious. “Of course you are. Niamh issued the call for aid you sent out.”
Cy was shocked. “I just thought we should get an army here, fast. I didn’t plan to lead the attack. He looked at Orion. “Look, you’re Sanctuary's General, why don’t you take over?”
Orion froze. The ranger had been absent from Sanctuary frequently over the last six months and had led only one expedition, a boring and overpowered sweep through the pass of the Heia Mountains to the southern lands. With the exception of a few bandit camps and three titans, there had been no resistance at all during their two day march through the pass.
“I don’t think so,” Orion said, shaking his head. “You called us together, it seems only right that you get the glory. I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he finished as he faded into the burgeoning crowd, which had filled out with the arrival of the Daring.
“Cyrus,” Erith greeted him. “How are you?” she asked, dropping her voice so low that no one around them could hear her.
“I'm better,” he answered.
“Good,” she said, voice loud again. “Now try not to die, will you? I'm in the middle of a good book,” she waved a volume that she held in her hand, “and if I have to heal you mid-battle, I might lose my place.” She paused for a moment. “Or forget to heal you.” A grin split her face. “Either one of those would be bad, but one would be worse for me, I promise you that!” She cackled as she wandered off.
A dwarf and a dark elf walked side by side with a few others in tow. The dwarf squinted against the sunlight, looking around until his eyes found Curatio. Tapping the dark elf next to him, whose face was hidden in the folds of his brown cloak, the dwarf altered the course of the group toward Curatio.
“We are here, as called for by the dictates of the Alliance,” the dwarf said, a note of impatience in his voice. “Are you going to organize, Curatio, or are we simply going to sit around and stare at the dragon all day?”
Curatio smiled at him. “Tolada, it's always a pleasure to see you.” Try as he might, Cyrus could not detect insincerity in the elf's greeting.
The cloaked dark elf reached out with a skeletal hand and laid it upon Tolada's shoulder. “Now, now,” came the dark elf's voice, “let us not be hasty or uncivil.” Throwing back the cowl of his cloak, the dark elf revealed a visage that was as skeletal as his hand. His face was old, desiccated, and thin. His cheeks were sunken, eyes almost like slits. When the dark elf smiled, it gave the appearance of a snake that was ready to coil around its prey.
Curatio nodded. “Pleased to see you as well, Malpravus. Thank you for bringing Goliath along today.”
The dark elf named Malpravus bowed. “We are pleased to stand with our old allies in so noble an endeavor as striking down one of the dragons. Tell me, Curatio, who among you leads this assault? We should begin as quickly as possible.”
Curatio looked around before his gaze landed on Cyrus, who felt his blood freeze. “This is one of our newest warriors, Cyrus Davidon.” Curatio looked back to Malpravus. “He's the one who called us here.”
“Excellent, excellent,” Malpravus said, almost too quietly for Cyrus to hear. The dark elf's eyes rested on him and a great rush of discomfort filled Cy as he realized everyone around them was staring at him, waiting.
Curatio waved for him to join them. Shuffling, Cyrus entered the forming circle of Alliance officers. Elisabeth greeted him with a smile from her place next to Tolada. Cass beamed in support, as did Erith when she was certain no one was looking. Malpravus studied him carefully, still wearing the frozen smile. “So, my boy, do you have a plan?”
“Ah...” Cyrus looked to find Curatio, Niamh, Terian and Vara all standing behind him. Vara rolled her eyes and looked away, but the others looked at him with encouragement. “I have a few ideas,” Cyrus said, uncertainty causing his voice to quaver. He blushed.
“I see,” Malpravus said, unconvinced. “Well, having had some experience in facing dragons, perhaps it would be best if I were to... assist you...”
Cyrus heard perfectly timed twin coughing fits from behind him originating from Terian and Vara. They were silenced quickly by what Cyrus assumed was a glare from Curatio. “No,” Cyrus said with a confidence he didn't quite feel, “I think I've got it well in hand.” This prompted a raised eyebrow from Malpravus, who bowed in acknowledgment.
Cyrus looked around the circle, taking a deep breath before speaking. “The biggest danger we face in using traditional assault tactics is the dragon's fire-breathing capability. In order to counteract that –”
“Wait,” Cass said. “Not all dragons breathe fire. Are we sure this one does?”
Terian spoke up from behind Cyrus. “This is Kalam, one of Ashan'agar's former ministers. He is definitely a fire-breather.”
Cyrus looked back at the dark knight. “Some time you'll have to explain to me your intimate knowledge of the Dragon Kingdom.” The dark elf shrugged and smiled before Cyrus turned back to face the Alliance Council.
“Since he does breathe fire,” Cyrus said, “to approach him with standard tactics would be dangerous.” Looking down the hill to where the black dragon lay, Cyrus thought for a moment. “I believe we can nullify that danger with a little advance action.”
“Excellent.” Malpravus's voice was smooth and hissing. “Then of course you'll be willing to be the warrior in front of the dragon, keeping his attention while the rest of our force engages from behind?”
“And spare one of your better armed and equipped warriors from having to face this foe?” Vara shot from behind Cyrus before he could respond.
Cyrus answered before Malpravus could respond. “I'll stand before the dragon and keep his attention. It's my responsibility.”
Malpravus looked at him with an expression of undisguised pleasure. “My, my, you are quite brave, aren't you?”
“In Sanctuary,” Cyrus said, “we accept only the brave. Gather your spell casters and place them behind the rocks surrounding the nest. Once I have the dragon's attention, engage with all your forces.” As the group began to disperse, Cyrus gestured for Elisabeth to join him.
Before the ranger reached him, Cyrus felt a strong hand on his shoulder, hauling him around. He faced Vara, whose normally pale complexion was mottled with rage. “He wants you in front of that dragon,” she said without preamble, “because he knows that whoever is in front is most likely to die and he's trying to spare any of his warriors that fate.” She thrust a finger into his face. “And you,” she said, “were stupid enough to play right into his hand with your stubborn nobility!”
He blinked at the elf before replying. She had said not a word to him in the last six months. “It's my first time being lectured by a paladin about not being stubbornly noble. I assumed Malpravus was trying to do something of the sort. But it is my responsibility: I am the leader.” He studied her, seeing the bottled irritation threatening to boil over.
“I know you called the attack, you troll-brained sack of meat!” She looked at him with incredulity. “That doesn't mean you have to be the head warrior! Goliath warriors always handle the head warrior duties, because they're the best equipped to take the hits!” She glared at him. “Now, go to Malpravus and tell him you were wrong, that you want him to do what he's damned well supposed to do and put his best equipped warrior in front of that bloody dragon!”
He met her gaze but did not answer for a long moment. “I won't,” he finally answered. “They may be better equipped, but they won't know how to pull off what I'm going to do.”
She looked at him, eyes narrow, visible skin along her thin neck an angry red shade all the way up her cheeks. “Malpravus has warriors armored well enough to take a blast of fire. What if your plan fails and that dragon sends a jet of flame your way?”
“Then the temperature in my armor will rise rather severely in a short period of time, and you'll be free of one annoying warrior.” She blanched, but his face remained expressionless. “Honestly, why do you even care?”
“Of all the people I've known that have died while battling dragons,” she spat back at him after a moment, “you're the first I've met that fully deserves the fate that awaits him.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, ponytail dancing behind her as she stormed away.
Chapter 17
After a brief conversation with Elisabeth, Cyrus set everything in motion. The Alliance army crept down the hill toward the nest. Kalam had begun to snore loudly from within the rocky enclosure. Cyrus waited, staring at the dragon’s closed eyes while he waited for the signal. Cass waited with him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cass said. “I’ve never heard of anyone using this strategy to take out a dragon before.”
Cyrus nodded. “That's because I came up with it myself and it's unproven.” He saw Terian wave from where the melee fighters were stationed. “What I’m most concerned about is making sure no one gets fried while our army is doing their job.” Catching sight of Elisabeth, waving from the side of the nest, he slapped Cass on the shoulder. “Just be ready to jump in if I die.” Favoring the warrior with a wicked grin as Cass paled, Cyrus left the cover of the last boulder between him and the black dragon.
His boots crackled in the magmatic rocks as he crossed the ground to Kalam. Cyrus smiled as he saw Elisabeth approaching much more stealthily than he was, and also more quickly. In her hand was an old spear. She approached Kalam’s left nostril as Cyrus reached his position in front of the sleeping dragon. What was that old proverb about letting sleeping dragons lie? Cyrus watched as Elisabeth raised the spear and stabbed it into Kalam’s exposed and snoring nose, puncturing into the nostril on the other side of the dragon's face.
The reaction was immediate. A screech of outrage and pain rose forth from Kalam as he screamed awake and scrambled to his feet, spear hanging like a tribal nose piercing in the cartilage that separated the dragon's nostrils. Raring back onto his haunches, smaller front legs attempting to grasp the source of the pain, Kalam finally got a glimpse of Cyrus, standing before him.
“Good morning!” he said as the dragon settled its angry eyes upon him. “Sorry to wake you so unpleasantly, but I needed to get your attention. Do I have it now?”
The dragon didn’t respond verbally, though Terian had mentioned that Kalam, like Ashan'agar, was capable of speech. Cyrus could see the smoke rising from the dragon's mouth, as he prepared to send down a flame that would destroy the warrior. He began to draw in a breath…
…and stopped suddenly, screeching in pain, unable to breathe through his nose. He coughed a small burst of flame that didn’t reach even halfway to Cyrus. The warrior grinned. Now all I have to worry about is a dragon that's fifty feet long and thirty feet tall, Cyrus thought. With claws the size of a dwarf.
Letting loose a fearsome bellow, Cyrus charged forward at the same time as the Alliance forces began to attack from behind. Spells hit the aggravated and injured beast, but he ignored them in favor of the scornful, agitating human that was taunting him after causing grievous bodily harm. The dragon lunged for Cyrus, and the warrior felt the claws of the beast hit him, too fast for him to dodge. He slammed into the ground, hard at the same time Erith’s mending spell was cast upon him, curing him of all wounds. He staggered to his feet, glaring at Kalam.
By this time the rangers, warriors and knights were attacking Kalam's flank, carving through his scales bit by bit. Cyrus saw Vara, her sword a blur, opening wounds for the other battlers to exploit. The dragon's neck extended and the head lanced out toward Cyrus, eager to finish his foe so he could deal with the other injuries he was sustaining from the army behind him.
Cyrus was able to barely dodge but managed to bring his sword around for a glancing blow against Kalam’s face as it shot by. The cut continued down some of the more sensitive tissue on the dragon’s neck. Cyrus could hear an indignant scream from the dragon as it brought its head up; whether from his wound, the frustration of missing Cy, from the fighters tearing into his flanks or the spell casters that were hitting him with damaging magics, the warrior could not tell.
Spots of dragon blood were hitting the ground all around them now, and every place they fell let out a puff of black smoke as the heat of it burned the ground. “Stay away from the blood!” Cyrus shouted. He knew he was late as someone behind the dragon screamed.
Kalam twisted again, repositioning himself to get a better angle of attack on Cyrus. This time, the warrior was prepared. The dragon's head dived at him with full force; Kalam had fully committed to this attack. Cyrus thrust his sword skyward and prayed to Bellarum that Erith was feeling charitable. The dragon hit him with the top of its skull, crushing him against the ground. Cy felt bones break, organs mashed to a pulp…and then a cool breeze of another mending spell, this one from Curatio, and the wounds faded and his bones knit back together.
Kalam’s head rolled to the side, and another small burst of flame issued from his mouth making it look as though his head was on fire. Cyrus rolled to his feet, sword still lodged in the dragon's head. Before Kalam could finish shrugging off the effects of the impact, Cyrus grabbed the hilt and brought the sword downward, lengthening the wound into a gash before pulling the blade out.
At the rear, the fighters had hacked away at Kalam’s haunches enough to allow them to cleave his back legs off while the head was stunned, immobilizing the dragon. With a final roar, Kalam rolled over on his side. Vara soared from t
he back of the dragon to land a dramatic sword thrust between the scales and into the dragon's heart. With a scream and a burst of smoke, Kalam, the black dragon breathed his last.
Cyrus looked at the body. Tongue hanging out his mouth, the dragon’s face was wrecked: Cyrus's slashes had opened up the dragon's face and the vein down his neck, where hot blood oozed and dripped, searing the ground. Spell damage checkered Kalam's torso, with scales ripped off sporadically from the blasts of spell casters. Rejoining the fighters at the back of the dragon, he saw the rear legs cut off with messy sword strokes, and not a single scale left anywhere on the back of the beast, nor any meat left on its bones in the rear.
“All right!” Tolada's shout echoed through the Mountains of Nartanis. The dwarf's daggers were clean; by comparison, Elisabeth's dripped with steaming dragon blood.
Cyrus turned to the crowd grouped around the rear of the dragon. “Everyone okay back there?” he asked.
Terian broke his way to the front of the crowd. “Everyone’s fine. A couple of people suffered burns from the dragon’s blood, but other than that, things went smoothly.”
Niamh and Andren came running up from the spell casters’ group. “That was amazing!” she exulted. “We’re all fine; he never got anywhere near us.”
Erith, Curatio and Cass trotted up from behind, catching the last bit of Niamh’s statement. “Looks like no fatalities and only a couple minor injuries, already healed,” Erith said. She looked around and nodded, impressed. “When I heard you had an idea for taking the dragon out, I thought for sure that because you were a human and a warrior, it would be a stupid idea. But,” she grudgingly admitted, “that worked well.”
Malpravus approached, entourage in tow. “That was impressively led,” the dark elf said with the same leathery smile. “I’ve never heard of a tactic to hamstring a dragon like that. We’ll be adapting it for use the next time we go to the Ashen Wastelands,” the Goliath leader said.