Jason Hightman - The Saint of Dragons - Samurai

“It’s just really weird, what happened in Africa,” Alaythia was saying. “The brothers knew where we were, they were ready for us, they set a trap. And they knew how to trick me into coming in first. They knew we were coming into that village just at that time, and they knew exactly where we were.”

“Keep it down,” he heard Aldric say. “Simon’s coming. He doesn’t need to know all of this.”

“Listen, something’s happening,” Simon warned. “There’s something here—”

Suddenly, a set of claws snatched him around the shoulders from behind and hoisted him off the horse, into the air. He screamed, childishly, instantly hating himself for it, but he couldn’t see what had him.

He heard the beating of terrible wings, the smell and heat of rancid breath were everywhere.

“SIMON!” Alaythia screamed, and Simon suddenly saw her down below, firing small bolts of silver from a wrist device. They shot towards him, narrowly missing his ear. He heard a dart plunge into the beast that clutched him, but the animal made no reaction and Simon was carried further up, the pasture growing small far beneath him, and then he saw it twist away in a terrifying spin.

Simon’s head swirled from dizziness and he tried to see what it was that had taken him. But there was no way to see; it was behind him.

He heard his father’s rocket-arrows shooting up from below – Aldric must’ve got to his travel pack, left by the horse trough. The rockets hissed, whisking around the dragon, and Simon saw in the spinning world above Ebony Hollow the white flare of their passing.

“You want to get back to your father.” The serpent laughed. “I’ll make sure you do …”

The voice was pure terror. A female, breathing these threats with fearsome delight.

Simon clambered to get hold of the creature’s claws so he couldn’t be dropped.

“The question,” said the Serpentine beast, “is whether you go down in one piece …” And she dropped him, just enough so his stomach sickened, then snatched him back. “Or in many different, bleeding pieces …”

Suddenly, one of the rockets connected! A silver barb slammed into the dragon’s neck.

The creature was now streaming fireblood – sparks showered down on Simon from the injury, burning his skin in little pinpricks of agony. Green-yellow flames flickered lightly from the dragon’s wound. It was enough to get the creature to descend, but still the dragon held tight to Simon.

Now the creature let loose a massive torrent of flame and Simon felt a disgusted thrill at being with the dragon as the fire charged loose. It engulfed the upper part of the old castle and the wood tiles of the roof, knocking down stones in the walls from sheer force. On the second pass, the dragon set fire to the other side of the house, the Victorian wing made of oak and cedar.

Struggling, Simon could see the castle house returning to view, speeding towards him, and he realised the serpent planned to hurl him against the tower.

“We shall leave him something to remember you by,” she said in a husky growl, and Simon soared with her, past the field, past Alaythia and Aldric rushing to take aim, and then he saw the tower coming for him, closer, closer, closer—

SLAM! A second rocket-arrow burned into the creature and took it off course. Simon was dropped, clattering painfully to the sloping roof, then rolling in and out of the fire and plunging to the flat top of the stables.

He was all right.

He had the wind knocked out of him, but he would’ve been caught breathless anyway at the sight of the dragon above him, a green-yellow beast with long tendrils of many colours trailing behind its soaring body.

Another rocket hurtled past him and he saw it miss the serpent. The creature blurred into nothingness, cloaking itself in magic. He felt it swoop past again and snap at him, invisible jaws tearing at his shirt.

He looked up, catching his breath, and squinted, scarcely able to penetrate the beast’s magic enough to see it. But he could make it out as it was bleeding fire into the air. He saw the creature descend in the Ebony Hollow forest. It needed to recover its strength.

He looked down to see Aldric yelling at him from the pasture, “SUIT UP!”

Simon swung himself to safety off the stable roof and rushed for his travel pack hidden in the hay. In five minutes flat, they had retrieved their horses and were pursuing the dragon in full body armour, galloping at a raging speed.

“The Ashlover Serpent,” cried Aldric, for he’d memorised the White Book of Saint George as Simon never could. Simon and Aldric rode hard through the forest, leaving Alaythia to use her magic to battle the blaze at home.

The forest crackled with an unnatural wind. They stopped at a hole, a fiery spot, devoid of vegetation and underbrush. A thin, leathery blanket stood before them, and as they watched it began to dry up and wither, curling into nothing.

“It shed its wings,” said Aldric.

Human-like tracks in the soft ground left the area and led towards town.

“She’s injured,” Aldric observed from horseback. “It will take all her strength to seal those wounds. We’ll find her in town.”

Simon’s heart was beating hard. No serpent had ever been fought here. No dragon had known where the home of the Saint George descendants lay. This creature had to be recovered. And killed.

They galloped into town, where a street of suspects greeted them. It would take a moment for Simon’s eyes to adjust and see through the disguising magic – and in that time, the serpent could look like anyone. A limping man caught his attention, but Aldric focused on a girl in a wheelchair, pushing herself away as fast as she could.

Simon watched her glide through a small crowd of people leaving breakfast at the Old Soldier Café, and the girl did indeed seem in a hurry. He saw her blood hit the pavement, the red droplets turning to green and then burning away …

Then his vision rippled, as if looking through a mirage, and he saw not a girl but a wounded, scaly creature limping for cover.

The Ashlover Serpent.

It turned the corner and Aldric and Simon hurried to catch up.

As they rode down Main Street, the Ashlover slipped into the novelty shop and gave a howl and a screech, its mouth exploding with fire. Glass shattered out. The fire screamed.

“No!” Again Simon couldn’t breathe – this time out of fear for Emily’s family.

Green-yellow Serpentine flames lapped out of the windows. It was a bad fire. The wooden structure was old and it would burn easily.

“Wait! It could be a diversion to get us off track,” said Aldric.

“No,” argued Simon, “the thing’s in there …” And he rode towards the fire as fast as he could, dismounting at the door in a rush.

Through the flames, he could see the wounded creature lying in a circle of green and yellow fire. It was just an attempt to slow the hunters down. Short of air and nearly unconscious, the dragon was weakening.

Aldric pushed past Simon, walking right through the flames. As the serpent kicked at him with its great clawed feet, Aldric wrestled it down and slammed his hand upon its heart. It took many tries, the serpent slithering out of the knight’s grasp over and over again, but at last the creature stopped shaking and Simon knew his father was reciting the words of the deathspell.

Aldric stumbled back.

The colourful tendrils of the dragon, like wispy tentacles, pulled in and closed around its body, and caught fire …”and the beast burned away into red ash that blew over Aldric and into Simon’s eyes.

The Ashlover Dragon was dead.

“Is anyone in there?” Simon yelled into the store.

“If they were, they’re dead,” said Aldric, but up the street Simon could see Emily’s father rushing from the post office. He’d missed the danger.