by William King
Rik took a deep breath and nodded although he was not sure her caution was necessary. A normal person would have disturbed those etched lines focusing her magic by simply passing over them. But he was not a normal person. He was a Shadowblood, descended from a race of magically created assassins. His presence would most likely not even register if he passed over the spell's boundaries. It was one reason why Asea was so interested in his career.
Even so he was careful to enter the circle through the two parallel lines that bisected its rear. He did not want anyone spotting how different he was. He found himself standing beside his patron. She was taller than he, though he was a tall man. The hood of her leather armour flowed into position, covering her head. The silver mask moulded itself to her features and reflected the solemn expression beneath.
"Now comes the test," she said. "Keep your sword ready."
Rik did not know what good it would do against fifty tons of winged reptilian fury but he drew his blade. Runes glowed along its length as they caught the eddy currents of magical energy. She had gifted him this weapon on his return from the Serpent Tower. It was an ancient blade brought from her homeworld, Al'Terra. He presumed it must have some power.
All around them the cannons roared. The dragons dropped lower as they began their long, looping approach sweep. The armoured figures of their riders were clearly visible now.
What must it be like to ride on of those things, Rik wondered?
Fires billowed from the dragons' nostrils. Alchemical eggs dangled from the chains on their chest. The colours of their harness were the green and yellow of Kharadrea, not the red and black of Talorea. On banners fitted to the back of the riders’ saddles, the dragon symbol of Halim fluttered in the wind.
The Skywatchers opened fire with their rifles, aiming at the riders and the explosive fire spheres they controlled. Just one of those things could wipe out their position if it was on target. There was a lot of gunpowder around here. Even locked in brass bound barrels marked with the Elder Sign of ice, it might explode. There had been such failures of warding before and they had turned the course of battles. The stored gunpowder of an entire artillery battery would make a terrible mess if it went up. Whoever had directed those dragons to this position knew exactly what he was doing.
Bullets tore at the dragons' scales, smashed into the metal spheres on their necks. One dragon rider keeled over. His thick sorcerously reinforced plate armour made him all but immune to bullets but it looked like the straps holding him into his saddle had come undone and the force of the impact sent him tumbling out of it to hit the ground a hundred feet below. Not even his armour would let him survive that. His dragon, out of control, lifted skywards, unable to decide what to do next.
The Skywatchers were on form today. Another storm of bullets detonated an alchemical egg hanging from the second dragon's chest. A chain reaction erupted as the second and third eggs went up. Rik bit back a moan of fear. For that to happen he knew the devices must have been armed. Things were getting very close. The second dragon plunged down. The ground shook with the impact as it ploughed into the fortifications. Wooden palisades give way and trenches collapsed as it skidded forward.
The third dragon released its freight of incendiary death. Rik saw three silver spheres tumble towards the ground spinning as they went. On impact they exploded. A wall of acrid, stinking flame roared towards him. He heard the screams of dying Skywatchers, the explosions of loaded muskets and then a curtain of flame obscured his sight.
Chapter Two
Sardec rushed forward into the gap between the tumbled walls. Powder-reek and blood-stench filled his nostrils. The whole area was a shell-smashed abattoir. The mangled bodies of men sprawled everywhere, gore bespattered, clammy and missing limbs. Some had been caught beneath falling masonry. Others had been blown apart by cannonball and mortar shell.
Above them a man kicked part of the loose stonework, obviously intending to tumble it onto the fighting beneath. He did not seem to care that he might hit his own fellows as well as any invaders.
Sardec gestured to Weasel and pointed up. The tall, skinny bald-headed Forager grinned, a mad fearless grin, raised his long-barrelled rifle to his shoulder and snapped off a shot. The would-be demolitionist’s head exploded.
Under perfect conditions it would have been a difficult shot, but here amid the screams and howls of battle and the drifting clouds of powder smoke, it was an awesome one. The former poacher deserved his reputation as the best marksman in the company.
The Foragers plunged into the gap. Sardec fought alongside the Barbarian, a huge northerner with a walrus moustache and a head fringed by long blonde hair, his bald crown visible now he had lost his tricorne hat. He grasped a hill-man fighting knife the size of a short-sword in one hand, and bayonet in the other. Moving with a terrifying controlled fury, the Barbarian cut a brutal red swathe through the melee, carving a path for the rest of the Foragers to follow.
Behind them came Sergeant Hef. Beside him Handsome Jan, dapper as ever even in the midst of this howling maelstrom, carried the company flag. The bullet-riddled banner depicting a naked dragon-winged female on a black background fluttered proudly. Sardec moved towards it slashing with the hook that replaced his right hand, keeping his pistol ready in his left.
"Onwards, lads!" he shouted. "Carve up these bastards!"
Two massive elementals fought above the nearby rooftops. A whirlwind locked in a death battle with a column of fire. The winds of the battle sent all manner of trash flashing down the street. Clouds of dust obscured Sardec's vision and brought tears to his eyes.
Suddenly they were out of the breach and into the rubble-filled streets beyond. Sardec felt cobbles beneath his boots. He glared along a narrow alley between tall burning tenements. This was not good. Those building might come down at any time killing Talorean and Kharadrean alike. The alleys could easily become a death trap. They needed to get into the clearer streets beyond. He caught Handsome Jan's attention and pointed forward. The soldier understood and waved the flag.
They raced onwards, flames burning all around.
Rik flinched, expecting to feel the wave of heat pass over him and his new dress tunic ignite. The wall of flame parted, lapping around the circle of protection like tidal water around a rock. The temperature increased but not by as much as he had feared. A halo of light played around Asea's head as she used her magic to protect them.
An enormous shadow passed overhead. It was the third enemy dragon. Was it turning to make another attack run or had its rider decided to return to the city in the face of such determined opposition?
The wall of flame died away, and Rik caught sight of the carnage it had left in its wake. All of the grass on the hillside below was gone save within Asea's circle. Oily black covered the area where it had been. Dozens of Skywatchers lay dead in their trenches, skins scorched by the alchemical fire. Still more sprawled nearby, screaming in agony.
The enormous body of the dragon lay in the furrow it had ploughed. Its tail twitched and its long neck snaked upwards. It shook itself and drew itself erect. Its titanic wings, larger than the sails of a galleon, snapped open. Rik could tell by the way they did so that something was broken. The great ribs over which leathery flesh stretched poked out through the skin. This dragon was not going to fly again. It was hurt and very angry.
Hissing like a huge kettle it staggered forward. Greenish blood splattered its scales. Its dead rider lolled in the saddle, his broken limbs moving in a parody of a cheerful wave. Standing on its hind legs, balanced by its enormous tail, it was at least ten times Rik's height. He stood there frozen, feeling like a rat confronted by a tiger.
"This is not good," said Asea, revealing what Rik thought was a great gift for understatement.
Sardec led the Foragers into an open square. In the centre a fountain played, water emerging from the mouth of a statue of a river dragon. All around were more corpses, their faces purple, their skin blotched. Sardec sniffed the air. It s
till held a hint of the bitter scent of poison gas. It must have happened some time ago, he thought. The elementals passage had blown the gas away. The Foragers had been very lucky not to emerge into the cloud themselves.
A few terrified women and children milled in confusion. Already some of the soldiers were starting to pull the women aside, tearing at their skirts.
"That's enough!" Sardec bellowed, grabbing the nearest man. He put his hook against the man's groin. "Any more and I'll have your nuts off."
The girl looked at him gratefully and raced for the nearest doorway.
"You heard the Lieutenant," shouted Sergeant Hef. "There will be time enough for raping and looting when the fighting is done."
That was not exactly what Sardec had meant but it would have to suffice for the moment. He glared around trying to work out what to do now. They were in the city and seemed to have hit a temporary lull in the fighting. If he did not give the men something to do quickly, discipline would go and the looting would start. He had nothing against looting as such, but there was a time and a place for it, and that was after you were sure the enemy was beaten.
A bridgeback wyrm loomed out of the smoke behind them. At first Sardec was not sure whether it was friend or foe. He was only aware of the great quadruped’s bulk and the way the small, reptilian eyes glared down at him from a beaked head that snaked ever closer. Fear and fury filled those tiny eyes. It obviously did not like being amid the smoke and flames despite all its training and the shouts and prodding of its mahout.
Sardec wondered if his time had come, but the wyrm swept past him, and he heard the friendly cries from the infantry in the howdah, and saw the black dragon on a red background flag fluttering on the howdah's pennants. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was one of their own.
A group of men rushed out of a side alley. They slashed at the wyrm's ankles as it passed, trying to hamstring it, keeping in so close it was all but impossible for the men on its back to shoot at them. The wyrm danced frantically as it tried to avoid the sting of blades. The howdah came dangerously close to jarring loose.
"Get them," Sardec shouted. Some of the Foragers raised their rifles and muskets and fired. Others drew fighting knives or charged with fixed bayonets, sweeping forward to overwhelm the outnumbered Kharadreans.
Only as the fizzing fused grenade arced out of the alley mouth did Sardec realise that it was a trap. "Get down," he shouted, as the bomb exploded in the midst of the melee.
"Bastard," he heard someone shout, inside the alley. "You've killed our lads too." Moments later a green-tunicked Terrarch officer raced out of the alley pursued by enraged humans. He slipped on the blood of the men he had just bombed and looked up at Sardec with pleading in his eyes. He seemed very young, about Sardec's own age, and quite shocked, as if he had not expected his men to turn on him for his deed.
"Help me," the Kharadrean shouted. Sardec looked at the corpses of the men his fellow Terrarch had cold-bloodedly killed and shook his head.
"Kill him," he said to Weasel.
"With pleasure, sir," the sniper replied, putting a bullet through the officer's head. Sardec understood the dead Terrarch's logic easily enough. He had got a few of his men killed in exchange for a larger number of Sardec's humans. To him, it must have seemed a sensible trade and there would have been a time when Sardec would have agreed with that thinking. Now, he could no longer countenance it.
A moment later he realised he had more important problems. The wyrm, wounded by the grenade, and frightened by the explosion, was running amok, out of its mahout's control. Despite all of the rider's efforts it was turning on the men around it, uncaring of their allegiance. Turtle-beaked jaws, capable of shearing a man in half with one bite, descended inexorably closer.
Rik gazed up at the dragon in awe and wonder. His sword felt pitifully inadequate in his hand. He drew his pistol. If it tried to bite him he would try for the creature's eyes. There was a vanishingly small chance he could put a bullet through its brain. The dragon's jaws opened wider, revealing row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It seemed amused by his presumption. In the creature's place, Rik thought, he would probably feel the same.
Asea began to chant again. Rik knew she was too late. By the time she completed her ritual the great reptile would have crashed through her wards and devoured them. Trying to control the shaking of his hand, he raised the pistol, sighted along its length and pulled the trigger. Smoke billowed forth. The dragon screamed. The bullet had penetrated its eye. A jet of flame erupted from its nostrils, spraying upward. The smell of its sulphurous breath filled the air.
There was a loud bang from behind them. Something whooshed over Rik's head. A massive wound appeared in the dragon's breast. Behind him someone cursed. It was Karl Mandrake, the Wyrm Hunter. Somehow he had survived. Perhaps the wall of flame has not reached him. It was possible if he had been standing directly behind Asea’s circle.
Rik knelt and began reloading his pistol. It was a forlorn hope but force of habit, imposed by training, sent him to it. It was the only thing he could do except turn and run, and fleeing would get him a massive claw in his back. There was no way he could move faster than this gigantic thing.
The dragon's tail lashed the air in fury, cracking like an enormous whip. It leaned forward, its huge shadow falling across Rik. Its massive paw smashed down, hitting one of the containment urns, shattering it under the force of the blow. Something demonic and cold leaked out. Rik did not need to be told that it was not under control. The elemental simply emerged, unchained, and the dragon was the first thing it saw. The elemental surged upward, adopting a vaguely humanoid shape. Perhaps there was some sort of antipathy, of ice and fire, between them, for its fury was directed entirely at the monstrous reptile.
The dragon flexed its wings and tried to become airborne, but its ruined pinions would not carry it. It turned its head towards the elemental and breathed fire. The elemental began to shrivel like spider-web burned with a torch. It twisted aside. Lightning lashed the dragon. The smell of ozone filled the air. Sparks leapt from the barrel of Rik's pistol. His hair stood on end.
As the dragon writhed and fought, it threatened to crush them beneath its bulk. Already one massive paw descended where Asea stood. Rik leapt forward pushing her aside by sheer force of momentum. A heartbeat later a titanic foot descended where she had been.
The two of them lay sprawled on the ground, looking up at the primordial figures battling above them. It looked as if a tornado enshrouded the dragon. It lashed out with its tail and its fiery breath, bellowing deafening challenges audible even above the roar of the unleashed winds. The storm elemental was already losing shape, but its lightning had scorched whole areas of the dragon's flesh, removing scales, revealing blotched pinkish skin beneath.
Rik's sword lay in the dirt where he had dropped it. Instinctively he reached for it, not sure what he could do with such a puny weapon but determined that he would go out fighting. Another thunderous bang sounded behind Rik. He rolled over and saw the squat bulky figure of Karl Mandrake, a huge gun smoking in his hands. A metal mask covered his face. He shook his head in disbelief that the dragon yet lived and raced back towards his weapon's rack. Rik wished him luck.
He crawled forward and stabbed at the dragon's leg with his sword. The strange metal of the blade slid through the scales as if they were water but it was like attacking an ox with a needle. The creature ignored him. It was too wrapped up in its death struggle with the elemental.
Sanity smacked Rik in the face. This was no place for him. He looked over at Asea. She still lay there stunned. He rushed over, grabbed her by the hand, and tugged her to her feet. There was an odd blankness in her eyes. Rik had heard that having a spell interrupted when you cast it could cause all manner of complications. This was the first evidence he had seen that it might be true. He tugged at her, dragging her towards the nearby trenches, hoping that the dragon would ignore them once they were out of sight.
He breathed a sigh of rel
ief as he pushed Asea into the trench and jumped in beside her. If they just kept their heads down, they might yet have a chance to survive. The dragon's blood sizzled and hissed on his blade, wisps of smoke rising as it evaporated. He wondered if this was normal or whether it had something to do with the sword. If they got out of this alive, he would ask the sorceress.
The earth shook as the monstrous beast writhed and twisted in pursuit of its foe. Rik risked a peek over the lip of the trench and saw that its movements had become erratic and pinkish froth billowed from its lips. Its fires seemed to have gone out. The elemental had vanished but still the dragon fought against something invisible. Perhaps its eyes could see what Rik's could not.
Its movements became slower and jerkier. They had a spasmodic feverish quality. A man landed in the trench beside Rik. It was Karl Mandrake, yet another massive gun in his hands. Carefully he took aim and fired. The heavy bullet smashed into the dragon's flesh and this time Rik noticed what he had not before. The wound was bigger than it ought to be, even given the bore of the Wyrm Hunter's weapon. A huge chunk of scales had been blown away and something metallic, perhaps splinters of a metal shell glittered where they were embedded in flesh.
The dragon bellowed again, but there was a wheezing quality to its roar now that had not been there before. Its long neck looped spastically, its jaws snapped at random. It raised itself to its full height. From nearby a cannon roared. Some gunner had managed to swing his weapon back into action. Its ball impacted on the wounded dragon, knocking it over backwards. A monstrous gout of blood erupted from its shattered ribcage. Its tail twitched.
Relief flooded Rik as he realised the creature was dying. There was a chance that they might get out of this alive yet.
