Mickey Reichert: Dragonrank master

"Pull the trigger!" Larson screamed as he ran to help. "Pull the goddamned trigger!"

Larson's command fell on deaf ears. His words could have no more meaning to Taziar than the workings of a weapon not yet invented. And, with Taziar clutching the barrel, obedience would only have resulted in the Climber shooting his own foot.

Again, Gaelinar slashed. His sword plowed through flesh, opening another row of copper wire. As the dragon bit at Gaelinar, Taziar swept forward, gun poised for another blow. Larson dove. He seized the rifle butt, attempting to wrench it from his companion's hand. Mannix's last words pounded through his mind like a cadence. I believe only my rod can kill the monster . Taziar gripped tighter, stumbling in surprise.

"Give it to me, damn it!" Larson howled. "I know how to use it."

The chaos-force made a tremendous lurch which tore half its body free of the encumbering wire. The ground bucked and trembled. Taziar lost his footing, staggering backward. Larson fell to his knees. The gun twisted from their grips skidding forward to land beneath the darker scales of the creature's underbelly. Razor-sharp teeth gashed Larson's arm. He rolled aside as the beast whirled to answer Gaelinar's next attack.

Larson knew despair. The Fates were right. Getting the rod did release the chaos-force; it caused the battle in which Bramin broke the electric current containing the beast. We've lost the gun ' 'Geirmagnus'' planned to be used to defeat it, so the only weapon of its kind will not be used against it.''

The rasp of Taziar's drawn sword punctuated Larson's thought. The Shadow Climber seemed to read his mind. "The Fates were right, but Geirmagnus was wrong. Look at the damage from Gaelinar's sword!" Without awaiting a reply, Taziar charged the chaos-force again. His blade rattled on scales like iron, drawing a superficial line across the flesh beneath them. The dragon swung its head around. Its bite fell short, but its muzzle smacked Taziar, toppling him to concrete-riddled ground. Before it could finish its attack, Gaelinar stabbed from its other side. The beast's neck arched back to the Kensei.

Larson drew his sword as Taziar clambered to shaky legs. Shadow's right. It wasn't the Fates who surmised only one weapon could kill the chaos-force. Twentieth-century American parapsychologists can make mistakes . He joined the battle with renewed vigor. Whipping forward, he plunged his blade into the dragon's side. It loosed a high-pitched scream. Its efforts jerked it fully free of the copper wire. Leathery wings large as tents flashed upward. One slapped Larson's chest and face as he dodged. The force hurled him backward. He hit the ground, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood. It suddenly occurred to him that this dragon seemed to lack the fire-breathing ability of its smaller, more focused and agile cousins. For that, he was grateful.

Larson rose as the dragon attempted flight. It spun in an awkward semicircle. Apparently, Gaelinar's katana had taken its toll on the muscles of its opposite wing. Sword high, Larson rushed the beast. Before his blow landed, Taziar's blade gashed the scaled side, drawing blood the color of ink. The chaos-force whirled, moving its bulk with astonishing speed. It whisked toward Ta-ziar.

Larson and Taziar broke and ran. A single step closed the gap between the beast and its prey. Hot saliva dripped over Larson. He stopped suddenly, hoping the change in momentum would throw off the creature's timing. Steel flashed behind the lumbering giant, and Gaelinar's swords stabbed into its flank.

The chaos-force spun, bellowing its rage. It turned on Gaelinar who ran, the creature on his heels. Larson and Taziar turned, hoping to gain the beast's attention long enough for Gaelinar to escape. But it outmaneuvered them, quickly widening the ground between them.

Larson sprinted after it. Losing one of his companions meant losing the battle. Without forces on each side of the dragon, there was no way to distract it from killing. So far, all the wounds inflicted on the chaos-force looked superficial. And , Larson thought with alarm, once it finishes with us, it'll destroy the rest of the world . Terror quickened his pace.

Gaelinar raced for the downed section of wall and the dangling corkscrew of razor wire. Too late, his plan became clear. Inches from the coil, he dodged aside. A dragon claw dug through the back of his cloak. Momentum carried the chaos-force into the wire, dragging the Kensei with it. Honed steel sliced scaled skin to bone. Animal screams of pain rent the air. The chaos-force floundered, reeling with an agony which only worked it deeper into the wire. Tarlike blood cascaded from hundreds of wounds, coating the snow and sand beneath it.

Larson drew up beside the thrashing dragon in horror. "Gaelinar!" His cry emerged as distressed as the dying beast's. Carefully avoiding the wire, he plunged his blade through the reptilian head. The chaos-force went still. The world went silent except for the ceaseless drip of blood.

A soft voice broke the hush. "Allerum."

Larson followed the sound to the opposite side of the razor wire and the great beast's corpse. Several feet from the carnage, Gaelinar lay in a red puddle, still clutching his sword in his right fist. Blood spurted from a gaping tear through his left armpit.

"Gaelinar!" Larson rushed to his mentor's side. He caught the wound between his hands, attempting to apply pressure. But the blood ran freely through the gaps between his fingers. Desperately, he readjusted his grip.

Clumsily, Gaelinar thrust the hilt of his katana toward Larson. His wrist struck Larson's neck so weakly, the elf scarcely felt the blow. The sword fell across Gaelinar's thighs. He fumbled for it with blinded, glazing eyes, apparently unaware he had caught the blade. Again, he jabbed the hilt for Larson's hand. "Hero," he said, his voice like the dry rasp of a drawing sword. "It begins again. Carry on."

Larson accepted the hilt. Blood pulsed in a spray across his hands, then dropped to a methodical wash. Still Larson clung to the wound and the image of Gaelinar's immortality. Somehow, his mind could not accept the demise of a man who had survived being crushed by a dragon, who had killed a god with his bare hands, who feared nothing, not even a Dragonrank Master in his own school. Larson had seen death often enough to recognize it, but, this time, his mind deceived him. He raised a hand, but his own irrational certainty would not allow him to check for a pulse.

"Allerum." Taziar knelt beside Larson and reached for Gaelinar's neck. "He's…"

"No." Larson lashed out in misdirected fury. His blood-wet hand caught Taziar across one cheek. The force of the blow staggered the smaller man.

Immediately, Larson regretted his attack. He had hit Taziar to keep the Climber from stating something they both already knew. Gaelinar is dead . The revelation wrenched tears from Larson's eyes. The world blurred around him as he succumbed to the blanketing curtain of grief.

A sound pierced Larson's shrouded awareness, the metallic clack of a rifle bolt slammed into place. Bramin's sibilant voice followed. "Don't move, Allerum."

Cautiously, Larson raised his eyes. He blinked away tears to find himself staring down the barrel of Gary Man-nix's rifle, now in Bramin's hands.

The dark elf sneered. "Did you forget about our fight to the death? Or did you believe a little jolt would kill me?" He laughed with the dignified arrogance which comes with great power. "Thanks for showing me how to use the rod."

"Wait," Larson pleaded hoarsely, praying Mannix had stored his gun unloaded. "This is between you and me. Let Shadow go first."

"And let him stab me in the back?" Bramin started.

Instantly, Larson realized his mistake. Taziar had made a charge for Bramin just as Larson drew the dark elf's attention to his companion. The gun roared. Taziar toppled forward into the snow. Blood trickled from a hole in his thigh. He struggled to his knees as Bramin chambered another round.