Zanzeroth sank his knife to the hilt into Vendevorex’s belly.
“And this!” he shouted, pulling the knife free and driving it home again.
“And this!” The knife once more plunged into Vendevorex’s gut.
“And this!”
“And this!”
The hunter’s voice seemed to fade, washed away by the roar within Vendevorex’s ears. Zanzeroth’s leering face vanished behind a growing dark veil. Vendevorex could no longer feel his body. Only some slender thread of intellect remained, coolly observing the scene. He felt as if he were outside himself, watching the sad, limp doll dangling in the giant dragon’s grasp. He stared with grim fascination as blood and feces and urine showered onto the marble around Zanzeroth’s feet. Then, as the world around him went black, leaving him alone in a vast, formless void, he set to work.
Pet cried out savagely as he charged with the huge, heavy spear of his former mistress. Gadreel pivoted at the last second, dodging the tip, then knocked the shaft aside. Pet tripped forward as the spear flew from his hands. His momentum took him straight toward Gadreel who raised his sword to strike.
“No!” Jandra shouted, leaping onto Gadreel’s back and thrusting her own sword with all her strength. The blade tore into the dragon’s wing near the junction with his ribs. Gadreel cried out in pain, bringing his sword down against Pet, but poorly aimed. The flat of the blade whacked the side of Pet’s head, making the steel blade peal like a bell. Pet’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as he fell to the floor.
Jandra braced her feet and pushed forward, pressing her weight against her sword. The blade struck something hard within the dragon, then lurched sideways, tearing from the skin. Jandra fell against Gadreel and as she slammed into him, the sword twisted from her wet hands.
The dragon turned, grabbing Jandra by the arm, digging his nails deep into her muscles. He flung her around, releasing her. She slammed against the heavy throne pedestal, then fell atop Chakthalla’s body. She looked up at the spinning world. She could see Zanzeroth tearing viciously at Vendevorex’s belly. Pet lay helpless on his back, knocked senseless. Gadreel advanced toward her, his sword held ready to strike. Yet he moved cautiously and his eyes watched her warily.
There was no one to help her. Her head throbbed, keeping her from concentrating enough to turn invisible. She wondered briefly where Chakthalla’s guards were. Surely some still lived; there could be a last-second rescue.
Almost as if wishing it made it happen, four earth-dragons rushed through the doors of the throne room, spears lowered for attack. These dragons weren’t bedecked in the fine uniforms that Chakthalla forced upon her guards. They must have been awakened by the noise of the battle, and rushed into combat in their half-naked, savage state. Hope stirred within Jandra as she saw the bloodlust in their eyes.
“Sir?” one of them asked.
“Everything’s under control here,” Zanzeroth answered, releasing his grasp on the wizard’s throat. Vendevorex sagged lifelessly to the floor.
Jandra’s heart sank. The dragons were soldiers of the king.
With Vendevorex dead, she didn’t know what she had left to live for. She watched as Zanzeroth lifted one of Vendevorex’s wings, limp as cloth, and used it to wipe his gore-soaked knife clean.
Jandra couldn’t find the will to raise her arms to defend herself as Gadreel stalked carefully forward atop Chakthalla’s body. She gazed into his golden eyes and found no hint of mercy there. Beyond Gadreel she saw one of the stained-glass windows that ran along the room’s upper half. The pane portrayed a scene of a dragon battling a small group of humans. All around the great beast the humans’ torn bodies lay scattered. A lone survivor knelt before the dragon, his arms raised, begging to live. The look in the stained-glass dragon’s eyes and the gape of its long, open jaws over the man’s head showed there would be no mercy.
A shadow flickered behind the glass, darkening the scene. It looked almost like the form of a man. Just as Gadreel prepared to strike, the window shattered.
Gadreel looked over his shoulder. Zanzeroth glanced up at the noise. Shards of colorful glass fell to the floor like a broken rainbow. The dark form of a cloaked man stood in the window, outlined by the flames of the castle wall beyond.
“You!” Zanzeroth shouted.
The figure pushed aside his cloak and raised his bow as the soldiers drew back their spears. A shaft whistled through the air in a red streak. The closest earth-dragon fell, an arrow jutting from the orb of his right eye. Before his body hit the floor a second arrow flew home to the heart of the next dragon. With a speed Jandra’s eyes could barely follow, the human knocked a fourth arrow as his third arrow sliced into another soldier’s throat. The final earth-dragon spun, preparing to run, when the arrow pierced his kidney.
The human then turned his attention toward Zanzeroth who flapped his wings, trying to get airborne. The hall-huge by human standards-was too small for the sun-dragon to build up sufficient speed. Arrows sank into his shoulders, his back, and his wings as he cried in pain and frustration. Then, in a wound that made Jandra shudder, an arrow sank into Zanzeroth’s nostril, the tip of the arrowhead suddenly visible in the roof of the dragon’s gaping mouth.
Zanzeroth roared with pain. “Thith cannot happen!” the sun-dragon shouted with an almost comical lisp as he crashed to the floor. “I am the hunter! You are the prey!”
“You can track me through hell,” the man answered, taking aim for Zanzeroth’s heart.
Unfortunately, the hall was more than large enough for a dragon of Gadreel’s size to take wing. The dragon slave turned from Jandra and leapt into the air. Despite his injuries, Gadreel strained to beat his wings, climbing toward the window.
“Not this time!” Gadreel cried.
The human turned toward the voice. With fluid grace he sank two arrows into Gadreel’s chest. If the dragon felt any pain Jandra couldn’t tell. Gadreel continued to climb higher in the air before folding his wings to his side to dive forward, letting his momentum carry him into his foe. Jandra saw the human drop his bow and reach for the knife strapped to his boot. Gadreel struck the man in the center of his thighs and both toppled through the window into the courtyard beyond. A handful of blue feathers drifted in the window as a few arrows that had knocked free from the man’s quiver clattered to the throne room floor. In seconds, this was the only evidence of their passing.
No longer able to see the combatants, Jandra sat up, holding her head to fight her dizziness. Pet was on his hands and knees. As he groped around, trying to steady himself, his hands fell upon one of the stranger’s arrows. He lifted it, studying the red feathers of the fletching, looking bewildered, half-awake. Zanzeroth was on his feet now, moving toward the broad oak doors of the far end of the room, limping away as quickly as he could manage.
Vendevorex lay as still as a corpse. Jandra rushed to his side, praying her eyes deceived her. Blood pooled around the wizard in a circle the size of his wingspan. Her feet slipped in the warm fluid as she sank to her knees. She lifted Vendevorex’s head into her lap. Where Zanzeroth’s claws had torn his cheek into a series of ragged flaps, she could see the teeth at the back of his jaw exposed. She cradled his head as if it were an infant. Vendevorex was the only family she had ever known, the only life she had ever had. She knew, in her heart, that other humans had meant nothing to Vendevorex. He’d defied the king only for her. She was as responsible for his death as Zanzeroth. She felt sick; chills racked her body. She worried she was about to vomit. She let loose a long, low wail of anguish as tears burst from her eyes, running down her cheeks like acid.
“D-don’t… c-cry,” Vendevorex whispered.
Jandra couldn’t believe her ears. She wiped her tears, trying to clear her vision. Vendevorex had opened his eyes, ever so slightly.