Mary Herbert - Return of the Exile

The dragon’s roar thundered off the peak, and dragonfear radiated from him like waves of heat. He shot one short burst of flame at the warriors, killing several, and flew by, his head craned around to look for Linsha.

Linsha felt the whump of wind from his wings as he passed overhead. A storm of dust and grit blew up from the ground. In almost the same moment the horse carrying her and Lanther reared in terror, and the surviving Tarmak warriors fell on their faces, groveling in fear.

Linsha struggled to stay on the terrified horse, for she knew as well as Lanther that Crucible would not attack him as long as she was in the way. If only she could get Lanther to drop the lance. She twisted her head up and saw Crucible curve around.

“Tarmaks!” bellowed Lanther. “On your feet! Use the steel arrows! The poison will bring him down!”

Linsha went cold. What poison?

Obedient to the Akkad’s will, the warriors struggled to their feet. They drew out arrows tipped with barbs forged and tempered in the smithies of Ithin’carthia. Lifting their bows high, they stood firm and sighted on the approaching dragon.

Lanther’s horse squealed in terror. In spite of the horse’s panicked attempts to bolt and Linsha’s added struggles, the Akkad-Dar stayed on his mount and kept his grip on the lance. With a ferocious jerk of the bit, he forced the horse’s head around and settled it briefly on its feet.

Linsha heard the flap of Crucible’s wings and the snap of bowstrings. The dragon fired another bolt of searing fire at the warriors, then he lurched sideways and snarled in pain.

“Did you hit it?” Lanther yelled.

Those few still standing gave a ragged cheer. At least one of the specially made arrows had penetrated the dragon’s tough scales.

Frantic, Linsha caught a glimpse of Crucible in the sky. He winged upward then angled around to make a third pass.

All at once the dragon’ head lolled and his wingbeats slowed into a ragged flap. As he lost control of his flight, his heavy body fell. Writhing and twisting in the air, he dropped out of the sky and crashed on the slope of the volcano a few hundred feet downhill from the ledge. His body lay motionless; only his wing vanes twitched in the wind.

Linsha could not make a sound, so stunned was she by his sudden fall.

Filled with triumph, the Akkad-Dar shouted a warcry, raised the lance, and kicked the big Damjatt down the hill toward the fallen dragon.

The saddle banged painfully into Linsha’s ribs and stomach; her arms throbbed from the strain of holding on. She fought to stay on the horse, not just to help Crucible this time but to prevent herself from falling on the rocks or under the horse’s heavy hooves. Her hands clutched at Lanther’s legs and his waist, and her bouncing weight dragged at his unsteady balance. He cursed her, but he could not drop the reins or the lance to push her off.

Grimly they hung on while the horse charged down the slope toward the stricken dragon. In a flash of panic and fear for the bronze, Linsha summoned her strength into one desperate effort. She hauled her upper body off the saddle and made a grab for the red shaft of the lance.

Her sudden movement threw the horse off-stride. He staggered sideways, and the black barb that was aimed for the dragon’s rib cage jerked sideways, slammed off a boulder, and stabbed deep into Crucible’s haunch, penetrating his poison-induced stupor. The bronze roared, his agony drowning out all other sound in the world.

The sudden impact knocked Linsha and Lanther from the horse and sent them tumbling to the ground near Crucible. The horse, relieved of the thrashing weight on his back and the vicious pain in his mouth, bolted down the hillside.

Linsha lay sprawled on her back while the world whirled around her and tears trickled down her face. Crucible had stopped screaming. She hurt in every bone, muscle, and fiber of her being. She didn’t want to move, but she could hear movement from Lanther in the rocks and Crucible’s labored breathing. At least the dragon was still alive.

She rolled over to her side and pushed herself to her knees. Dizziness and pain shook her, but nothing seemed to be broken—just bruised, battered, lacerated, and pounded. She felt like a side of meat prepared for the fire.

“Curse you!” Lanther shouted at her. He staggered to his feet and drew his sword. His mask had been torn off in his fall, and blood streamed down the blue paint on his face from a wicked gash above his eyebrow. He limped forward and lifted his sword, ready to drive the point through Crucible’s eye into his brain. Linsha reached for the closest weapon at hand—a fist-sized chunk of rock—and heaved it at the Akkad-Dar’s back. Years of juggling had given her excellent eye to hand coordination, so the rock flew unerringly and struck him on the back of his neck.

He pitched forward, his arms flailing to keep his balance, and the sword dropped from his hand to fall close to Crucible’s head. He reached for the sword as Linsha grabbed for another rock. She drew back to throw again when Crucible stirred. One eye crept open; his head moved.

Lanther barely snatched his hand away from the sword before the dragon’s teeth clashed together just above the blade. Thwarted from the sword, Lanther lunged after the Abyssal Lance that hung at an angle from Crucible’s back leg.

“No, you don’t!” hissed Linsha, and she pelted him with more rocks.

Frustrated and enraged, the Akkad-Dar backed away from the dragon. Emotions crawled over his blood-stained face—hate, anger, jealousy, and pain, then his blue eyes flared like lightning and he turned on his boot heel and ran up the hill toward the cave.

Linsha knew where he was going, but she could not leave. Not yet. She clambered around to Crucible’s head, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“You’re still alive,” she marveled and touched his cheek, his eye ridges, his neck as if she could not quite believe the evidence of her eyes. “Stay with me! Fight the poison. Fight it!”

I will try. His message came to her mind in barely a whisper.

Her hand wrapped around the scales on her chain and she reached deep into herself to summon the healing power of the heart. She had to heal him, for the thought of his death tore at her like a nightmare. Try as she did, she could not complete the spell. Her magic bubbled in her blood and immediately drained away, sucked out by the souls of the dead around her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Don’t be. Go. His eyelid slid closed. Save the eggs.

Her tears fell on the shining scales of the dragon’s nose, and it took all of her will to leave him lying on the side of the volcano and pursue the Akkad-Dar. She left Lanther’s fallen sword where it lay, for it was too heavy for her to handle. There would be others on the ledge. She hurried up the rocky slope.

When she reached the ledge, she discovered all but two of the Tarmak warriors who had accompanied them were dead. The two survivors stared at her as she scrambled over the edge onto the level ground in front of the cave. Their swords drawn, they moved toward her.

Horns blared in the trees to the north and were echoed on the skirt of the peak to the south. The two Tarmaks stopped and stared out at the meadow below. The ranks of warriors that had survived the dragon’s fire were pouring into the meadow below to escape the smoke and flames. Their horn-blowers answered the challenge with a pealing call of their own. All at once a dark flight of arrows soared out of the trees and dropped with deadly accuracy into the milling crowds of warriors. The Tarmak horns sounded another warning as a long line of mounted Plainsmen and centaurs came out of the trees. There was another flight of arrows, and the horsemen charged underneath them into the line of waiting Tarmaks. A thunderous clash of bodies and weapons, the shouts of fighting men, the screams of horses, and the pounding beat of drums filled the valley.