“Cid! Look out!”
It was too late. The dragon, seemingly unmindful now of the stinging fire from Uldo and Maddox’s continued attack, turned its full attention on the golem. It even seemed to grin, as it peeled back its lips and opened its jaws. And now, at last, Cid realised his vulnerability.
Cid swivelled his head to look for the nearest shelter. He could see he was far from any of the boulders that might offer him protection, but as he launched himself into a loping run, the dragon quickly dragged in another breath, unleashing its deadly inferno.
Barely a few feet from safety, Cid’s feet were swept out from under him, buckling in the intense heat. He was thrown up against one of the canyon walls, his metal carapace already bubbling like fat. And even though he somehow managed to struggle away from the flames, collapsing behind the nearest rock, by that time the damage had been done. As Blake looked on helplessly, he watched as the golem’s single green eye first stuttered intermittently. Then, as Cid rolled onto his side, whatever semblance of artificial life he contained in his metal body gave out entirely, and the livid light winked out forever.
Blake stared. For a second, he was rooted to the spot, as all the memories and tragedy of previous hunts came back to him. So many who had accompanied him to the very brink of Hell had been bathed in flame just like Cid. It reminded him how much of a miracle it was that he had survived at all in the wake of such deadly ferocity. Yet no sooner had these remembrances flashed into his mind, than a great cry went up across the canyon, and Blake was shaken back into the moment.
“No!”
It was Uldo.
The bellow was so loud in Blake’s ear he clapped a hand up to the side of his head, wincing. Then he swung his attention across to where Uldo and Maddox had also been witnessing Cid’s fate, only to look on in amazement as the dwarf threw down the Jag rifle Blake had given him and dragged free two of his hand axes from his belt.
“Uldo?” Blake dropped his hand from his ear. “What
are you doing? Uldo!”
The dwarf wasn’t listening. He was already hastening forward. Seemingly unmindful of the danger—or simply not caring about it—Uldo started to run toward the dragon as it expelled the last of his fiery breath, black smoke twisting from its snorting nostrils. The beast turned toward the dwarf as he lifted his axes, and its golden eyes narrowed. Uldo didn’t even slow down.
“Uldo! Get back! Uldo, for God’s sake! Do you hear me?”
If he could, the dwarf gave no reply. Instead Uldo barely broke his stride as tossed his hand axes—both of which glanced off its stony hide as if he had thrown it at rock—before dragging his war axe from his back.
“You devil!” the dwarf cried then, now advancing at a dash. “Prepare to burn in the fiery pits of the Great Forges!”
Except, if anyone was going to burn, Blake realised, it certainly wasn’t the dragon as it shook itself free of more of the netting. Then it snaked back its huge head, and as Uldo was almost upon it, the dragon lunged to meet the running dwarf, snatching him up in its great jaws before he even had a chance to take a swipe with his axe.
“By the gods!” the dwarf screamed, the dragon’s sword-like teeth crushing through his armour as if it were paper, piercing his flesh and crushing his bones, blood bubbling up between his lips.
But the dragon did not let Uldo go. Instead, perhaps as punishment, or perhaps simply as grim play, the dragon shook its mighty head back and forth like a dog, as if it would rend the dwarf limb from limb. Uldo almost lost the grip on his axe too. It was a miracle he held onto it at all. And yet, in such close proximity as he was to the dragon’s glaring eye, and despite the powerful chemicals that the dragon’s mouth excreted, no doubt already burning through his legs and body, Uldo used what last strength he had and somehow managed to heave his axe down again with both hands, swinging with all his might.
The effect was almost instantaneous.
Honed by the currents that kept the axe-blade sharp enough to cut through dwarfish steel, the blow was still powerful enough to pierce the much thinner layer of protection that shielded the dragon’s sight. A great bolt of blue-white lightning leapt up from the blade as it connected with the dragon’s flesh, burning through the monster’s retina so that it let out a great shriek of pain and surprise. It was enough to force the dragon to eject Uldo’s mangled body from its powerful jaws, and the dwarf was slung aside, hitting the ground and sliding through the rain, coming to rest where Maddox was staring slack jawed and impotent.
For a second or two, Blake was unable to move. He first looked to where Uldo’s body lay twisted and burnt on his side, then to Maddox who stumbled to where the dwarf was stricken, crouching down, perhaps to see if he was dead. But when the dragon let out another wail of pain and anger, Uldo’s axe still embedded in its eye, Blake realised he had been given a surprising opportunity. Uldo had managed to blind the beast on its left-hand side, and this might just give him an advantage.
5
Blake steadied his lance. The dragon was clawing at the axe and managed to drag it free with one of its talons, tossing it aside. Blood was now pouring from its wounded eye socket, and Blake saw his chance. He started forward again as the beast turned about, bellowing, sweeping a train of torn netting that was still snagged to its body. Another flash of lightning rippled across the sky.
Under the jaw was Blake’s intention. Despite the area being protected by all those knife-like barbs, Blake knew from experience that this was one of the dragon’s most vulnerable areas. He’d seen juveniles of the species felled by armour piercing rounds because their armour hadn’t sufficiently developed. Of course, a fully grown Red Matriarch was a different prospect altogether, and those spikes were old and encrusted. Yet if he managed to find the right spot, sliding down between that cluster of protection, he knew he would be able to cut up through the dragon’s jugular and kill it where it stood.
It was a good plan. Blake skipped around onto the dragon’s blind side, managing to avoid a swathe of razor wire netting that came slithering out toward him, and found himself under the shadow of the beast, ready to thrust the lance up and into its throat. Except, at the last second, the dragon caught sight of Blake’s intention—perhaps even sensing the proximity of the lance—and it moved quicker than he expected.
Before Blake could realise the danger and activate his shield, the dragon threw out one of its talons and caught its attacker with full force. Blake was flung across the canyon, stunned by the speed and ferocity of the counterpunch, and landed heavily on the ground, bright pain taking hold of him, the lance thrown from his grip. For a second, he was completely dazed, sounds muted and far away. He vaguely heard the dragon’s roar and smelt sulphur and felt cold rain on his upturned face. For a moment, he feared that he had been paralysed by the blow. Then his vision began to clear, and he was rolling on his side and managed to return to the moment, blinking up into the washed-out murk of the scene.
The dragon was turning, its head low to the ground, netting still tangled in the spines about its back and shoulders, although now its wings had wrestled free. Blake desperately turned his eyes across the canyon, looking for the lance. And when he saw it, he realised that it was where Maddox was now standing, barely a couple of feet from the egg. It looked as though, in all the confusion, Maddox had left Uldo behind and was probably hurrying to grab the lance himself after Blake had been swept off his feet.
“Maddox!” Blake cried. “The lance! Give it to me!”
Maddox dropped his eyes to his feet. All he had to do was pick the weapon up and throw it to Blake.
The dragon began to draw in its breath.
“Maddox!”
Maddox lifted his chin again and stared to where Blake was waving at him.
“Throw it!”
Only for Maddox to step over the weapon to where the egg was laying.
“Maddox? Maddox! What do you think you’re…?”
The dragon unleashed its breath.
Bla
ke barely had time to activate his shield. He turned and threw up his arm, a wavering veneer of protection crackling into life just as he was engulfed in flame. The dragon had been so intent on Blake that it didn’t even notice Maddox bend down to up the egg. A great wall of steam and flame was thrown up, obscuring Maddox as he ran off as fast as he could, racing back down the canyon. Blake gritted his teeth. The air was filled with boiling heat and the smell of lung-stripping chemicals while his shield calmly told him how little protection he had left:
“Shield at twenty-three percent…Shield at eighteen percent…”
The breath kept on coming. Blake could feel the heat against his arm now. Before too long it would probably begin to blister. Yet he also knew that this was the dragon’s last gasp before it would have to recycle the chemicals again inside its body. Would it give him any chance of survival?
He managed to turn his head. Maddox had now disappeared into the driving rain and the swirling steam.
What the Hell was going on?
But then he remembered. Nyara had told him about Maddox’s profession. A dealer in exotic goods, that’s what she’d said. So, was that what Maddox had been here for all along? Did he somehow know of the egg’s existence? Or did he simply believe that the hunt was doomed and saw a spontaneous opportunity?
Whatever the truth, Blake realised he was now entirely abandoned. There was just him and the dragon. And no one alone could defeat such a beast single-handed.
“Shield at thirteen percent…Shield at eleven percent…”
The air was a fog of white-hot steam. It was scolding his exposed skin, his arm and face soon raw and painful. The fire seemed like it would never end. He thought this was the way he might die, alone, just like Kaylen.
Until finally, and thankfully, he became aware of the flames faltering. The steam was clearing. And Blake knew he would only have one chance to get himself out of this canyon alive.
THIRTY-TWO
1
When the fire burned away, the shield seconds from stuttering out, Blake began to run while the dragon searched for him through the billowing clouds. The ground was hot enough to grasp at the soles of his boots as he made for where his lance was lying, undamaged on the ground. He snatched it up, retracting his shield, and swung about as he heard the dragon’s scales scoring against the rock. Rygorath reared up, a terrible dark shadow within a boiling haze as its one good eye alighted on Blake, perhaps in premature triumph. But then it finally flicked to where the egg had lain on the ground. And saw it gone.
Its absence was at first a confusion to the dragon, before a rising frenzy of anger began to take hold of the beast. It began to scan the canyon desperately, searching as to where the egg might have been taken, before coming to the horrible realisation that it had disappeared. Then it turned its glowering attention back to Blake. A rumbling growl bubbled up in the monster’s throat. Blake could feel it reverberating against his chest.
It thinks this was my intention, Blake thought. It believes I came here to steal it.
Which made a very bad situation even worse.
The dragon came almost too quickly for Blake to react, flattening its great wings against its sinuous body and leaping forward with a bone-shaking roar.
Blake, however, stood his ground. He figured that Rygorath hadn’t any fire to expel against him, otherwise the dragon would have drawn in another breath. Blake knew he couldn’t outpace the beast, nor did he want to. Instead, he waited as the dragon came, lifting his lance and setting his feet apart, clutching the weapon as hard as he could. There was only one way this was going to end, and as the monster was almost upon him, its jaws stretched wide, Blake danced to one side to strike.
The blow was true. He caught the dragon as it tried to snatch at him to take him between its teeth as it had Uldo. Fortunately, Blake had anticipated the move and slipped out of its reach at the last moment. Rather, he wheeled and stabbed up with all his strength, catching the dragon in its supine neck. The lance’s blade cut through tough hide and into thick ribbons of flesh, eliciting a scream from Rygorath as it threw its head around, dragging Blake with it. But he clung on. If he let go of the lance there would be no second reprieves, and, despite the blood now running down his arms, the serrated edges of the blade held firm and he managed to keep hold of the haft. That was until he realised, in its desperation, the dragon was spreading out its wings. And that wasn’t good.
When it launched, Blake had two choices: cling on or drop to the ground. If he dropped, he would be without a weapon and the dragon would undoubtedly kill him. Alternatively, if he held on, God only knew how long it would be until his strength failed him and he would fall. He held on all the same. Despite his muscles protesting, he felt his feet leave the ground as he was pulled up into the air.
2
Whether the dragon was even aware that Blake was still clinging to the lance, arms screaming with agony with every sweeping wing beat, only became apparent when Rygorath had cleared the slopes of the canyon. Blake managed to find some purchase with one of his feet, balancing it on one of the dragon’s rough spines. But when the dragon began to bank, tipping to one side, Blake knew he was done for. The blood that had spurted from the dragon’s wound had coated his hands and made them slippery, and despite the blade’s teeth and the lance’s moulded haft, he could feel his purchase slipping.
They were back over the forest now, heading west and into flickering lightning, the crowns of the mighty briarwood trees alarmingly close. Blake closed his eyes. The wind tugged at him. His clawing fingers slithered away.
And he fell.
He crashed through the thick foliage, somehow managing to activate his shield in a fit of instinct to spare him some of the worst impacts of the highest branches. Even then, when the first major collision came, it was enough to knock the breath out of his body. Then the next branch smashed against his right knee, most likely fracturing it, before another caught the back of his head, knocking him into a daze. The shield, undone by the first strike, closed. But Blake somehow remained conscious as he helplessly descended, the shadow of the dragon soaring away with another shrieking roar—no doubt to wreak more destruction on the world—until Blake came crashing down to the ground where he landed, twisted and broken, on a damp carpet of leaves, staring into the twilight.
3
He lay where he had fallen, still conscious and oddly without pain. Rather, a peculiar sense of peace overwhelmed him as he stared up through a rent in the canopy. Vaguely, he thought of Kaylen again, as he always did in moments of calm when it wasn’t so agonising to remember her, and she was standing before the luscious green hills of Terevell, as she always did in his memory, studying him with her soft grey eyes. She was so beautiful, he thought, and so fragile. He knew he’d spent far too long away from her.
I’m ready, Blake thought as she smiled down at him. We can be together at last.
But to this, Kaylen simply shook her head.
No, my love, she seemed to say. Not yet. You still have things to do.
Blake frowned.
But there’s nothing left. I tried to kill the dragon, and I failed. Maddox has taken its egg. Now the dragon will destroy everything in its path. I can’t fight that. I’m not strong enough. So why not let me be with you?
Kaylen’s smile faded and she seemed to reach out to him through memory and time, laying a cool hand on his cheek, saying: No. Not like this. Not yet.
But I’m so tired, Kay, he thought.
I understand. And we’ll be together again sooner than you think. I promise. But not now. Now, you need to rest and heal. You have to get strong again, Blake. You have to be ready. So, close your eyes, my love. There’ll be help along soon.
And though he tried to resist, finally Blake McCord succumbed to darkness.
EPILOGUE
The village of Tarasei on the edge of the Emerald Hills was more like a ghost town now. Those elves who had been fit enough to make the journey to the Petitioner’s Village and the p
romise of safety in the World Tree had all long since departed. Now there were only a few stragglers left. Those who stubbornly would not abandon their homes, the ancient, and some of the very young, were all who had stayed behind.
And such a one was Meera.
Being just eight elven years of age—the equivalent of twenty for a human, but barely a blink in the life of an elf—she was in the care of her grandmother who herself was too old to make the long, arduous trek to the World Tree. Grandmother Yula was nearing her fifteen hundredth year, and all those long seasons of experience were present in her wise, dark eyes, like twin dwindling stars. There were the rivulets of creases about her face now too, and her hair was the colour of burnished silver. Yet while she otherwise seemed no older than a healthy human woman in her late sixties, Grandmother Yula was fully aware that she would soon succumb to the Will of the Tree. This was an event known as ‘the Great Returning’, where the body gave itself back to the world that had nurtured it. A fate afforded to all living beings on Terevell, even such creatures as dragons.
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