Raymer winced in pain from the increasing sensations on his back and glanced over his shoulder to assure himself the dragon had not spat on him as the pain flared to test his tolerance. His attention shifted again to the window and the fires, the running people, and dragon falling from the sky.
The dragon was as large as a small house and weighed more. It struck the stone walls of the dungeon with its chest just as it touched the ground if touching would be the term for a collision with an animal flying into a four-hundred-year-old stone wall.
The bars on the window that Raymer clung to relayed the impact. The jolt made the wall of his cell bulge inward. He felt the beginnings of the collapse through his hands holding onto the bars. Stones fell from above. The dragon roared and shoved the wall again with its chest. More stones clattered to the floor of the cell. Raymer lost his grip and joined them.
As he fell he caught sight of the Dungeon Master standing frozen and watching as if he watched a puppet show instead of the massive destruction taking place. The top of the wall between the two cells collapsed into a pile of rubble. Raymer scooted to the far side of the cell to avoid falling rocks.
Quint turned to face Raymer, looking every bit as scared as Raymer felt. The wall between their cells was now a pile of rubble and rising dust.
The dragon shoved again, and the outside wall of the dungeon fell. It created a hole large enough for the dragon to enter. In doing so, it also pushed back the iron bars of the two cells. The front of Quint’s cell broke free and fell onto the Dungeon Master before he could move.
The Dungeon Master lay on his side, pinned down by the weight of the iron cell bars. The dragon’s head appeared inside, and it spat in the direction of several guards racing down the stairs. They quickly retreated.
The stairs and floor of the dungeon were soon covered in the dragon spit. The torch that had been in the Dragon Masters hand lay close to the oozing black mass. It ignited.
Raymer leaped across the rubble and to the side of the Dungeon Master who lay under the cell bars, unconscious.
“What’re you doing?” Quint called one leg already out of the broken wall and ready to run into the market.
Where the dragon had spat more fires flared. The timbers were wood, dry as tinder by hundreds of years of respite from the weather. Soon they’d carry the flames to the unmoving Dungeon Master.
“Quint, I need help.”
“Oh, for the saint’s forgiveness,” He swore, as he changed directions and came to Raymer’s side. Quint grabbed the massive wall of iron bars in his hands and lifted, saying, “Pull him out. Fast.”
“Okay, okay. We can’t leave him here to burn.” Raymer’s probing fingers found and locked on foot, and he tugged. “Lift higher, Quint.”
The Dungeon Master slid free. Raymer pulled him as if he was a sack of oats in a feed locker. When he had the Dungeon Master safely from under the bars, he turned to run for the opening in the wall, noting the chaos continued outside. The dragon had turned away from them and now faced the courtyard, and it had started spitting into the distance. Where the black balls landed screams, and new fires erupted.
“Come on, Quint!” Raymer hit the opening in the wall and leaped, his foot landing one full step into freedom. He heard Quint panting behind, but spared him no glance. Quint would either keep up or not. The gate lay ahead, a hundred steps from his cell, just as he remembered. He had already taken three or four steps. Ninety-six more to the gate and twelve more into the dense brush at the edge of the forest. Barely a hundred steps to freedom.
Quint’s footsteps and heavy breathing were right behind. Raymer instinctively wanted to dodge arrows or guards, but none appeared, and he decided to sprint until the first came in his direction. Fire lay ahead, no larger than a campfire, and instead of avoiding it, he leaped and felt a wave of growing pleasure and confidence as he flew over it.
If his life ended in this escape attempt, he would die contented. Two guards appeared from an alley and sprinted in his direction. Neither held a bow. One held a spear. A glance at the gate ahead and he knew they’d never stop him in time. The angle of their attack was too narrow. He was too fast.
It didn’t matter. He heard the dragon scream again and the hollow sound of it spitting. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two guards twisting and turning to avoid the mass of black acid that splashed on the ground right in front of them. The gate lay only ten steps ahead.
The sound of flapping wings drew his attention, but Raymer didn’t slow or turn his head. One chance.
The wings beat faster. Raymer burst through the open gate and took the twelve steps down the road in ten. As he veered off into the forest, the dragon flew above him so low he felt the pulsating wind from the beating wings. He spared one thankful upwards glance before lowering his head and driving on. One chance. Do not slow until you are truly free.
A larger path crossed in front of him. For the sake of speed, he leaped onto it. The footing was better, and he didn’t have to fight the clinging branches or dodge around more trees. Quint managed to stay on his heels, but his breath came in ragged gasps, and Raymer heard him stumble a few times. He should have worked harder at running in his cell.
At a stream, a larger path crossed and led away from the castle. He took it, hoping Quint could keep up, but deciding he was not going to slow or stop for providing aid or help. The path followed the winding stream and Raymer desperately wanted a drink, but continued on.
In a wide bend in the stream, the path turned off and went up the side of a small hill. At the top, it continued along a ridge and ahead stood a cottage on the edge of a small valley. On the side of the cottage, a corral held six horses grazing beside a ramshackle barn.
“Horses!” Raymer gasped, never slowing.
“Yes,” Quint answered after a few more steps, but he lagged further behind.
Turning, Raymer pulled to a full stop. Quint stumbled, perhaps twenty steps behind, the limp body of the Dungeon Master slung over his shoulders.
“What?”
“You didn’t want me to bring him? Fine time to tell me.”
Raymer said, “I didn’t know you were carrying him. Why?”
“If you didn’t want him, why bother to pull him from the wreckage?”
“I didn’t want him to burn.”
“Oh, I thought you wanted to use him as a hostage.”
Hostage. “Bring him. We take the horses.”
Raymer knew the palace guards and the king’s army would soon be after them if they were not already. But with the palace fires burning, walls falling down, and general confusion, the pursuit might be delayed. Raymer made a promise to himself. For any followed, there had better be a lot of them who were willing to fight for their lives, or he and Quint would remain free because he was willing to fight to the death.
He ran for the front of the cottage, a small building of no more than two rooms. A trickle of smoke from the chimney indicated someone was inside, or at least nearby. He ran faster, outdistancing Quint.
Nobody spotted them. He arrived at the door and threw it open. Inside stood a shocked woman at the stove. A pot simmered in front of her. She looked older than his mother, but not old by any means. “Anyone else here?” he managed to ask between gasps for breath.
She shook her head, shifting her eyes as if searching for a weapon.
“We need three horses.”
She shook her head again.
He shut the door on her, after telling her to stay inside, and turned to run to the corral where Quint had spread the body of the Dungeon Master on the ground. Quint entered the barn door.