William King: The Queen's assassin

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 relief 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.

"It's dead," Rik shouted to Karl Mandrake.

"It was dead from the time I first shot it."

"How can you be so certain?"

"The bullets were laced with dragonbane and notched so they broke up on impact. The poison was spread all through its body. It was only a matter of time before it went down."

"The cannon shot might have had something to do with it too."

Karl whipped away his mask. His brutal features were twisted in a crazed feral grin. "Aye, they might have," he said. "But I reckon you and I might still get medals for this."

"Do notched bullets really split up?" Rik asked just to have something to say.

"Aye — it's a nasty thing to do, but so is lacing them with poison in the first place."

Rik could not disagree with that.

Sardec leapt aside as the Wyrm raced by. He roared at the Foragers to take cover and prayed that none of them would be crushed. Moments later the out of control monster vanished down the street into the smoke and flames. He took stock. A bunch of corpses lay nearby. Smoke filled the air. Next to a wall a group of uniformed men had their hands held high while Weasel and the Barbarian stripped them of weapons. They were forcing the enemy soldiers to turn out their pockets and their purses as well, and Sardec saw no reason to stop them.

From somewhere up ahead a horn sounded a long sad note. He heard cheering and screams and then more cheering. The horn sounded again, and then drums began to beat a slow, inexorable rhythm. As if in answer to the horns call, temple bells began to ring. More Kharadrean soldier's emerged from the alleys around them and began to throw down their arms. They kept shouting that they surrendered, and slowly it dawned on Sardec that the horn and the bells must have been a pre-arranged signal.

Sergeant Hef rushed up to him. A Terrarch officer in the green uniform of the local militia accompanied him. His sword was held in the ritual position, hilt forward, balanced in the crook of his left arm.

"Are you in charge here, Lieutenant?" asked the enemy officer. His face was smeared with soot. His eyes had a curiously empty look. There was a listless quality to his voice.

"I am," Sardec replied.

"Then I would be honoured if you would accept my surrender and that of my men. It appears that Halim has fallen."

A broad smile spread across Sardec's lips. Enormous relief flooded through him. It looked like the siege was over and the Taloreans had won. Triumph filled him. They were victorious, and he was still alive to enjoy it. It looked like word had spread. Already the Foragers had begun to smash down doors and search within for their contents.

This would not do, Sardec thought.

"Get the men together, Sergeant," he said. "Why loot these hovels when there are palaces up ahead?"

Hef nodded understanding. "Why indeed, sir? Why indeed?"

Night lay over the camp of the victors. Funeral pyres burned bright as the still-blazing buildings within the city walls. The stink of burning flesh warred with incense. A vast space lay cleared between the tents of the Talorean commanders. In front of their pavilion stood the banners of the Armies of the South and of the East. In the middle of the southern edge of the impromptu square two high wooden thrones had been set up, and the Scarlet commanders sat waiting to accept the surrender of those they had conquered.

Rik stood slightly behind and to the right of Asea in the group of watching Taloreans. She seemed to have recovered entirely from the backlash of her spell earlier. Now she looked exactly as poised and beautiful as she normally did. She smiled with that slightly shocked look that most of the officers had. They had ended this campaigning season with a stunning victory. The capital of Kharadrea was in their hands, and its Generals and nobility were all making the pilgrimage out to their camp to offer their surrender. He and Asea were close to the front of the ranks of observers so he had a good view of the proceedings.

Rik studied the commanders closely. Lord Azaar was tall and lean. His body had a fragile wasted look. An antique silver mask obscured a face said to have been eaten away by some dread disease. His uniform was a simple functional red tunic. A long blade lay casually against the arm of the throne. His whole posture suggested fatigue and boredom.