David Gaider - The Calling

The dragon was still moving, but now Duncan had the purchase he needed. Pulling one of the daggers out, he stabbed up ahead of the other. And then repeated this process. Quickly he ascended the dragon’s neck this way until he was directly behind its head.

Now it thrashed him around. He had to hug the neck close, warm scales pressed against his cheek, and hang on for dear life. His stomached heaved left and right, and he would have vomited had there been anything in his stomach to expel. Fighting against the inertia and the winds whipping by him, praying to the Maker that he wouldn’t be flung off across the entire cavern, he pulled one of the silverite blades out and then stabbed it directly into the dragon’s head.

He could feel it hitting bone and cutting through, and bright blood spurted out over his arm. The dragon threw its head back and roared, but rather than dislodging him, this very movement forced Duncan to push the dagger in deeper. It went in even past the hilt, more blood and gore gushing out of the wound. He felt muscles twitch convulsively in the creature’s neck. It tried to leap up into the air again, only to crash down so that its entire neck hit the ground.

He simply couldn’t hold on. He lost his grip on both of his blades and was thrown off, hitting rock with such force that he heard his arm break. He screamed aloud as he rolled along the ground and skidded to a halt.

When he opened his eyes, he found he was back in the effect of Fiona’s spell. Wind and ice whipped about, and for a moment Duncan couldn’t see anything in the dim orange light of the lava. Where was the dragon? Where had it gone? How could he not see something so incredibly large?

Then it appeared, emerging from the blowing snow like a giant apparition. Its dark head was streaked with its own blood, and it roared in fury as it charged toward him. Every instinct told him to run, but he was too broken from the fall and too gripped in terror. As that great head descended down upon him, Duncan clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, waiting for the inevitable …

… and then felt someone grab him from behind, yanking him backwards.

He saw Julien, battered and caked in blood. The wounded warrior picked him up and physically threw him back, and for a moment he felt himself sailing through the air as if in slow motion. He could see the high dragon behind Julien, its head snapping at the ground where Duncan had been only a moment before.

And then he crashed back to the ground, rolling away, and the pain flared up in his broken arm until his vision became little more than white fuzz. He fought against the agony and opened his eyes. The dragon reared on Julien now, clearly furious that the man had denied it its vengeance. It lunged down at him, and while Julien fought to bring up his sword to meet its attack, he was slowed too much by his injuries.

The dragon’s head closed around his body, teeth closing in and crunching loudly. Duncan heard Julien scream in agony. Then the creature pulled the man up in his mouth and flung him up in the air behind him. The broken body sailed out of sight into the blowing wind and shadows.

The dragon slowly turned back to stare at Duncan, its black eyes narrowing in pure hatred. He gulped and began to scramble backwards, but before he could even get far he saw Genevieve charge the dragon from its side. She ran into view, soot covering her armor and sweat pouring down her face, the effort showing in every step. With a great cry she swung the sword hard against the base of the dragon’s neck.

Blood fountained forth from the gash. The creature bellowed its fury and lunged its head down at its attacker. Genevieve was ready for it, however. Bracing herself, she shoved the greatsword up into the onrushing maw of teeth, the point of the blade driving into the back of its throat and piercing its head.

The inertia drove her back, and she slid along the ground several feet until one of her metal heels caught in a large crack in the cavern floor. She screamed in exertion as she pushed back against the weight, holding her ground. The dragon twitched violently and attempted to pull its head up and away. The blade remained impaled within its mouth, however, and as Genevieve held on she was yanked off her feet.

The creature floundered, its strength dissolving as bright blood gushed out of its mouth and down Genevieve’s arms. It crashed down again, slamming her hard against the ground, but she doggedly held on. The impact drove the sword even more deeply into the dragon’s head, and its whole body spasmed in response.

It tried to gnash its teeth, but couldn’t quite close its mouth around the blade. Small blasts of flame guttered forth from the back of its throat, licking at Genevieve’s face. It tried to claw at her, but the creature almost seemed too disoriented. It kept trying to rise and ended up only thrashing its wings uselessly.

Slowly but inexorably, she gained her feet and pressed her blade forward until her arms were well past the dragon’s great teeth. It spasmed again, ribbons of blood streaming out of its black eyes. And then, just as Genevieve screamed in rage at the strain of holding against the creature’s impossible strength, it collapsed to the ground.

Its wings settled, and its entire body twitched once and then was still.

For a moment Duncan almost couldn’t believe it. The blizzard began to dissipate, and a hush descended over the cavern. He heard only Genevieve’s labored breathing as she knelt down by the dragon’s head, shaking with pure exhaustion. Weakly she braced a foot against its snout and slowly pulled her blade free with a sickeningly wet sound. Dark red blood gushed out of its mouth, pooling at her feet. The dragon’s eyes were still open, but they were blank. It was definitely dead.

They had won.

Duncan heard quiet footsteps approaching and twisted around to see who it was. Utha held her chest gingerly and favored one leg, her robes covered in streaks of blood, and ran quickly over to the Commander. Genevieve did little more than nod curtly and wave away the dwarf’s concerned hand on her shoulder.

“I need to catch my breath,” she gasped. Wearily tugging off one of her gauntlets, she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. “See to the others.”

Utha glanced over to Duncan, but he pointed off toward the far end of the cavern. “Go that way,” he suggested to her. “Julien got thrown over there; he’s probably hurt really badly.” She nodded and ran off.

Fiona and Maric were not far behind. Neither seemed too hurt, though the King looked battered and all but covered in foul ash. They both ran over to Duncan, the mage bending down to help him sit up. He winced as sharp pain radiated from his broken arm. There was blood covering the leather straps, and no way to tell if that was his or the dragon’s. Truth be told, he didn’t care to inspect the injury too closely. It felt bad.

“Are you all right?” Fiona asked

“Do I look all right?” he snapped, cradling his arm in front of him. The pain intensified for a moment and he hissed sharply through his teeth, closing his eyes as he rocked back and forth.

Maric whistled in appreciation. “I can’t believe you rode that thing!”

“It was idiotic!” Fiona snapped up at him. “He could have been killed!”

“He looks alive to me. Plus, it worked.”

Duncan held up a bloodied, shaking hand to distract the pair from their bickering. “Hello? Wounded here?”

The elf snorted in anger, frowning tightly as she turned back to see the extent of his injuries. When she touched his arm too strongly, he flinched and twisted away from her reflexively. That brought its own agony, enough to make him fall back to a prone position and writhe on the ground. Had he shattered the bone? It bloody well felt like it! It was like liquid fire burning through his veins.