“Amazing.” Caroline’s brows furrowed. “But how did you get this? Hydra acid of this quality is almost impossible to get. A normal hydra can’t produce acid this concentrated. You’d have to get it from an ancient hydra. And, well, not even I want to go near one of those.”
“I bet he killed an ancient hydra with his frying pan,” Jon said. “And then took its acid.”
“Not exactly, Jon. I happen to know someone who deals with rare creatures.” Gerald wisely refrained from mentioning that Timmy didn’t so much as deal with rare creatures as transform them into nightmarish abominations that occasionally haunted Gerald’s nightmares. Oh, and Timmy also used those nightmarish abominations against his enemies and for more mundane tasks. Gerald had once seen the necromancer ordering a zombie hydra-manticore-chimera to stand still, so he could climb up it instead of using a ladder. “Anyway, you’re welcome to have it.”
“Do you have any idea how much this is worth?” Derrick asked incredulously. His face had gone a bit red. “We can’t just accept this without paying you something.”
“Not really, no.” Gerald had recently received a generous pay rise, on account of having to deal with ‘extenuating circumstances’ on a regular basis, which was a polite way of saying that the Council liked the work he’d done and sympathised with his lack of aptitude for life-and-death situations.
“We’re paying you for it.” Caroline reached for a pouch and handed him some coins. Gerald stared. It was a lot of money. “Don’t look so shocked. Even after paying you, we’ll more than double our money on this. Trust me. Hydra acid of this quality is almost impossible to get, and any good artificer, apothecary, or mage will pay handsomely for it since most of the people who try to get it end up in a hydra’s belly. We might even be able to sell it here before we leave.”
“Is that right?” Gerald supposed it was probably true. Hydras were exceptionally vicious creatures. Their blood was a deadly poison, their venom could kill all but the mightiest of creatures within moments, and their acid could melt through solid steel with ease. Then again, Timmy wasn’t like most people, and neither was Katie. Neither of them would have any trouble incapacitating a hydra.
All the talk of hydras had the three boys listening intently. They were undoubtedly hoping for an epic story about Gerald singlehandedly defeating a hydra with a frying pan.
“Don’t worry, boys, I don’t have a story for you, but I do have a gifts.” He summoned some more items with his magic. He’d been forced to ask Timmy and Katie for advice since he knew practically nothing about what young children liked these days. Hopefully, they hadn’t steered him wrong. “Now, this one is for you Michael…”
* * *
Gerald was walking with Caroline and her family through Crossington. It was a fine, sunny morning, and he’d enjoyed a good night’s sleep under the watchful eyes of the ninja rats. There might have been some inhuman power slumbering underneath the town, but Sam had done his best to shield Gerald from its influence by soaking up as much of the eldritch power as he could before he’d left to search the area for interlopers. Sam and his kin were bound to the castle, and he and the others generally followed Timmy’s rules. Any horror lurking in the shadows around Crossington was unlikely to be so civilised, and Sam had Timmy’s permission to devour anything that posed a threat to the locals. Gerald had wisely not inquired any further. The less he knew about how Sam actually went about devouring other horrors, the better.
The boys had been pleased with their gifts, and Gerald smiled inwardly. His faith in Timmy and Katie had not been misplaced. He’d gotten the youngest boy, Darren, a magical kite. It used magic to fly if there was no wind available, but it was horribly inefficient. However, more efficient flying contraptions tended to be far more difficult to make, requiring much more effort and far more expensive materials. Jon, the middle boy, had received a magical flute. Caroline had once mentioned Jon’s love of music, so Gerald had gotten him a flute that could teach him how to play it, which would come in handy since all of their time on the road made it difficult to find a good tutor for music. Jon was only six years old, but an early start was critical. Why, Gerald’s parents had started asking him to store things for them the moment they’d learned what his magic was capable of. He still had a few of his father’s old swords stored away, along with some of his stepmother’s old armour. As for Michael, the oldest of the three had already begun to show great interest in the study of magic and its history. Gerald had gotten him a copy of one of the books that Timmy had used to help teach Katie about the subject. Katie had spoken fondly about the book, and Michael had given a cry of delight before spending the rest of the previous evening reading it.
“Have you heard from any of your siblings?” Gerald asked. Caroline was his stepsister, but she had half-siblings who Gerald had never met. It was all very complicated, and it had taken Gerald some time to properly map out his new family tree.
“They’re doing well, but I do worry. They’re all soldiers, and most of them are stationed along the border with the clan zone. If there is a war, they’ll be amongst the first to feel it.” Caroline shook her head. “Whether it’s your side of the family or mine, we seem to have a knack for finding trouble.”
And speaking of trouble, they were about to run into more of it.
The first sign Gerald had that trouble was headed their way was the screaming. He sighed and braced himself for the worst, which, given his luck, was likely to be only moments away. Screaming, he’d learned through painful personal experience, was invariably followed by something horrible, something he would normally have dealt with by quickly retreating behind someone like Avraniel or Spot because plenty of fire was usually enough to kill almost anything. Alas, neither Avraniel nor Spot were here, and Sam, currently the most terrifying thing in Crossington, had decided to spend the morning observing all of the bakeries in town to determine which one had the best cake.
With senses he’d honed to a fine edge during his recent rash of near-death experiences with Timmy and the others, Gerald quickly identified the reason for all of the screaming. Actually, it was rather hard to miss it given how big it was and the fact it was flying through the sky.
There was a dragon above Crossington.
“Is that a dragon?” Darren cried. “A real one? Awesome!”
To his supreme credit, Gerald did not give a high-pitched wail of terror. On the contrary, he managed to keep his voice even as he replied although there was definitely more than a little glumness in it too. “Yes, Darren. That is a dragon.” He paused. “And it being here is the very opposite of awesome.”
A dragon? It just had to be a dragon. Couldn’t it have been something smaller and less deadly? He would have gladly faced – more like asked the rats and Sam to face – a group of ogres or a couple of hydras instead of a dragon. In fact, he was certain Picasso could kill an ogre all by himself in less than a minute, to say nothing of what the rats could do if they worked together. A dragon was a different story. Dragons were flying engines of death and despair. Sure, the majority of them were unbelievably arrogant, but they had good reason to be. They were virtually impervious to most weapons and magic, and their claws and teeth could tear through solid steel like it was paper. Their fire was hot enough to reduce the walls of even the mightiest town to little more than molten rock.
“We need to get out of here,” Gerald mumbled. “We need to get out of here right now.” But how could they? Using a zombie wyvern was out of the question. Dragons weren’t stupid. Anything that could fly was a threat, and as strong and agile as Timmy’s zombie wyverns were, they couldn’t stand up to a dragon in the air. Getting away on foot or on horseback would also be impossible. A dragon was simply too fast to outrun.
“Why is it here?” Caroline had frozen mid-stride, shock and horror on her face. Dragons tended to have one of two effects on people: either they froze or they ran around screaming and wailing. Gerald had learned from Spot that it was better not to run. The little drag
on had explained that his eyes were often drawn to motion. If something ran, it was alive, and live prey often made for the tastiest food. Gerald did not want any of them to end up as food.
“We’re not far from the border,” Derrick muttered, gazing up furtively as the dragon swept overhead, ignoring the barrage of spells and projectiles that lanced up toward it from the town’s defenders. “Dragons have been known to use magic to evade detection despite their size.” He swallowed thickly. “And Black Scales is dead. He had a lot of territory, and only the greatest of dragons would ever have dared to face him. But now that he’s gone… dragons are territorial. This dragon might be headed toward the forest to claim territory for himself. Without Black Scales around, who is going to stop him? But still, what kind of magic could conceal a dragon of this size? The border is well guarded, and the mages in Crossington are skilled and experienced. It should have been impossible for a dragon of this size to get this far into Everton without being intercepted.”
Gerald had devoted plenty of time to researching dragons ever since Spot had hatched. Dragons respected power, so the best way to avoid getting eaten was to be more powerful than a dragon. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option for most people, including Gerald. Outside of power, knowledge was the key. Dragons were ridiculously powerful, but they were not invincible. Learning more about the habits and behaviour of dragons would help Gerald to stay as far away from them as possible. If that failed, knowing more might help him to escape with all of his limbs intact. As a result of those studies, Gerald could not only identify many different breeds of dragons by eye but he also knew countless facts of varying degrees of usefulness. For instance, he knew exactly how much force Spot could generate with each bite and how much force he’d be able to generate as he grew. It was absolutely terrifying.
“It’s a distortion dragon,” Gerald said.
“A distortion dragon?” Caroline finally broke out of her shock, and she quickly reeled in Darren’s kite before the dragon could go after it and the little boy holding it. “Quick! We need to get off the street.”
They ran into the nearest stone building for shelter. Dragon fire could melt stone easily, but it would still last longer than a wooden building. Still invisible, Picasso scrambled onto Gerald’s shoulder and offered what advice he could. It wasn’t looking good. The rats would be hard pressed to fight a dragon in the air. If it landed, they might be able to do something, but if it stayed in the air, they would be forced to rely on some of the weaponry the demolition rats had developed, which did not bode well for property values in Crossington.
“Distortion dragons are dragons that possess magic capable of altering space and time.” Gerald gulped and tried not to remember the gory pictures that had accompanied the text he’d read. “In addition to being extremely hot, their fire breath can also channel their magic. Anything they hit will fall prey to the ravages of time in mere moments or will be shredded as the space they occupy is violently torn apart. However, physically, they are weaker than the more common breeds of dragons.” He paused. “Which doesn’t mean much. A weak dragon is still stronger than almost anything else.”
“When did you learn so much about dragons?” Caroline asked. Outside, there was a flash of eerie, ghostly flame before one of the buildings down the street exploded, the shattered pieces of its roof and walls crumbling away before they could even hit the ground.
“I read a book about them,” Gerald replied. “There was more, but I don’t think you want to know.” The ‘more’ had consisted of some very depressing statistics regarding the likelihood of someone surviving an encounter with a distortion dragon.
Perhaps the only thing going their way was that the distortion dragon was not a titan like Black Scales. It was roughly a hundred feet long, which was only one fifth as large as Black Scales. Even so, it was still a dragon. Considering what Spot could do at around six feet in length, the thought of facing something sixteen times the size of the little dragon was terrifying. Gerald saw another wave of spells and projectiles race up toward the dragon. Before the attacks could hit, the space around the dragon bent and warped, reflecting some of the attacks back and simply throwing the majority of them far into the distance. With another roar that shook the whole town, the dragon dove and unleashed a long blast of ghostly flame.
The roof of the building they were in vanished, along with the upper floor. Watching it all happen turned the blood in Gerald’s veins to ice. The stone was being stripped away as though it were undergoing the weathering of a thousand years in a matter of seconds. Any wood was even quicker to disappear, crumbling away in an instant. The three boys weren’t smiling or excited any more. They were terrified.
“Get out!” Gerald shouted as the dragon banked around for another attack. “We need to get out! It’s going to hit the building with its fire again!”
They stumbled out of the building in a daze, and the dragon unleashed its fire once more. Instead of focusing on the buildings beneath it, it was going to bathe the entire street in its fire.
“Picasso!” Gerald shouted. Caroline and the others stared at him like he’d gone insane, but Gerald simply grabbed them and tried to drag them out of the dragon’s path.
The dragon’s fire raced toward them – the paved street in front of them was suddenly little more than dust – but Picasso met the attack with his magic. Had the dragon been exerting the true strength of its magic, they would all have died. Had the dragon known Picasso was there and bothered to increase the heat of its flame, they would all have died. But the dragon was toying with them, and it had no idea Picasso was there until the brave rat leapt onto Gerald’s head and poured all of his magic into deflecting the dragon’s attack.
In the end, Picasso failed. As brave as he was, he was only a ninja rat and his opponent was a dragon. But Picasso’s desperate defence, coupled with the teamwork of some of the other rats to throw up a defensive barrier, had bought them just enough time to scramble clear. The dragon swept past them, and Gerald managed to catch Picasso as the rat swayed and then fell off his head, utterly exhausted.
“Are those rats?” Caroline asked. “Did we get saved by rats?”
“Technically, they’re ninja rats,” Gerald replied. The rats were no longer bothering to hide their presence. Instead, they had set up a makeshift ballista to fire projectiles at the dragon. Their first projectile, a ballista bolt tipped in some strange material, was deflected by the dragon’s magic. However, the explosion that rocked the sky was a testament to the weapon’s origins. Clearly, the demolition rats had been working very hard.
“We need more firepower,” Gerald cried.
He wracked his mind for a solution. The distortion dragon didn’t seem to use its magic defensively when it dove. Instead, it channelled its magic into its fire. But waiting for the dragon to dive before attacking it was crazy. Even if they somehow managed to wound it, it would almost certainly be able to reach them with its fire. Still, there had to be something he could do – wait! Timmy had given him an emergency zombie hydra to call upon in case of an emergency, and this definitely qualified as an emergency. There was also Sam, but he’d gone off to look at cake. There was no telling when he’d be back, and Gerald had been frantically pouring his magic into the talisman Timmy had given him in a bid to alert Sam to their dragon-shaped problem.
“Get out of here,” Gerald told Caroline and the others. He was beyond terrified, but this wasn’t a battle his stepsister and her family could win. He summoned a bottle of brandy he’d once confiscated from a colleague and took a generous swig of it. It was strong, maybe too strong, but he needed some courage right now, and if the liquid variety was all he could get, well, he’d take it. “I’ll distract it.”
The zombie hydra shimmered into existence as Gerald’s magic released it. The mighty beast immediately rounded on the dragon as Gerald blurted out commands. He was tempted to babble – he babbled when he was scared, and he was currently far more than scared – but then he remembered Timm
y’s advice. Gerald wasn’t a necromancer, so he needed to keep his orders clear, simple, and easy for the zombie hydra to understand.
“When the dragon dives,” Gerald said. “Hit it with as much acid as you can.”
The hydra bellowed its acknowledgment, and Gerald scurried away. The hydra would undoubtedly draw the dragon’s attention, and he had no intention of being near it if the dragon decided to attack it. Normally, a hydra would never have been able to hit a dragon in flight, but this dragon was preparing to dive, and Timmy had made numerous improvements to this particular hydra. As the necromancer had said, if he were going to give Gerald a zombie hydra, it might as well be a good one. Gerald sincerely hoped those improvements turned out better than the gorgon head Timmy had added to one of his zombie salamanders. The creature had given a mighty roar, burst into flame, and then turned itself into stone. Oops.
As the distortion dragon swooped in to unleash its fire again, the zombie hydra hissed and drew its heads back. A blast of eerie fire rippled down, but it was cut short as five streams of super-high pressure acid lanced toward the dragon. Dragon scales were largely impervious to acid. However, this zombie hydra had been an ancient hydra, and distortion dragons were not as robust as some of their kin. A corruption dragon like Spot could have drunk the hydra’s acid without suffering anything worse than a bit of indigestion. This dragon, though, gave an inelegant squawk as the streams of acid came dangerously close to its eyes. It jerked upward and broke away, flapping its wings to gain height. The acid on its scales bubbled and gave off strange black fumes. Interesting. Hydra acid didn’t normally do that. It might be one of the improvements Timmy had mentioned. Gerald wouldn’t put it past the necromancer to create a zombie hydra that spat hydra acid combined with a host of other toxins and poisons to enhance its effectiveness.
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