William King: The Queen's assassin

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 still 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.