Anza stopped firing. Burke could tell from the clanking of chains that she was resetting the war club to strike. Burke shifted gears and spun the guide wheel to swing Big Chief into a better attack position. The ancient, hard-packed earth of Dragon Forge was the perfect surface for Big Chief. Not even the snow was slowing it down.
Charkon gazed up at the approaching giant. Suddenly, the elder dragon broke ranks with his fellows and leapt forward. Anza swung the war club. Charkon raised his massive shield and took the blow. The shudder of the impact knocked Burke's spectacles free. He caught them against his chest. Slipping them back on, he found that Charkon's shield had been shattered by the blow-but Charkon himself seemed unharmed.
Charkon tossed the fragments of his shield aside before Anza could raise the club again. Dropping his axe, Charkon grabbed the iron club in his gauntleted claws. He twisted the weapon with all his strength, grunting loudly. Big Chief's arm groaned and creaked from the stress. The wrist joint exploded as Charkon tore the weapon free. Shrapnel rattled off the mesh cage surrounding Burke. Big Chief's arm fell limp, the shoulder ratchets completely stripped.
"Kanati!" Charkon screamed, his voice given a metallic, cymbal-like quality by his helmet. He retrieved his axe and brandished it with both hands, launching into a charge. The arc of the swinging axe would slice directly into Big Chief's crotch. Burke was fairly certain that the wire mesh wasn't going to offer much protection. Then, to the surprise of both Burke and Charkon, the Big Chief's left arm swung down and struck Charkon on the blind side of his helmet, knocking him from his feet with a loud whang! Charkon hit the ground hard as his dented helmet bounced away.
Big Chief, unfortunately, took the blow as badly as Charkon. Burke struggled to keep the giant upright as vibrations tested every bolt in the machine. Shrill whistles of steam cried out at his back as the boiler sprung numerous tiny leaks. Above, Anza ground gears as she tried to command the arm to rise once more, before Charkon could get back on his feet. The arm lifted barely a yard before freezing. Burke winced as cables throughout Big Chief's arm snapped.
Charkon rolled to his belly, looking dazed. Burke saw one last chance. He jammed Big Chief to maximum speed and steered straight toward Charkon, hoping to crush him beneath the treads.
Charkon rose to his knees, facing the giant as it rolled toward him. His thick claws reached out to retrieve his fallen axe. He threw the gore-encrusted weapon parallel the ground, the blade spinning in an uneven orbit, until it buried itself between the tread and the grooved wheels it rolled on. With a jolt, Big Chief's left leg ground to a halt. Burke kicked the right leg out of gear before they toppled.
Behind Charkon, Burke noticed that Ragnar was now leading the fight against the remaining earth-dragons. Ragnar almost flew as he leapt up, swinging his scimitars with such force they bit easily into his foes' seemingly invincible armor. When the earth-dragons returned the attack, Ragnar, naked and nimble, simply hopped away from their blows.
Burke sighed. He'd lived his life dedicated to the premise that preparation and inventiveness were of greater value than blind faith and naked savagery. Why did he believe anything at all when the world seemed intent on proving him wrong almost daily?
Burke was snapped from his philosophical musing as Charkon climbed onto the treads and stepped toward the wire cage. Burke was strapped into a leather harness, barely able to move. His little bubble of safety was now his death chamber.
"Kanati!" Charkon growled as he sank his claws into the mesh. "You should have learned your lesson twenty years ago!"
With a grunt, he tore the mesh aside.
"Humans are weak!" Charkon shouted, reaching in to take Burke by the throat. "Dragons are strong!"
To prove his point, Charkon yanked Burke from the remnants of the cage, snapping the leather straps that held Burke in position. Burke was certain his right thighbone fractured as it pulled free of the harness. However, since his whole leg was completely numb, he wouldn't know until he put weight on it.
"This feeble rebellion was a fool's dream!" Charkon snarled. His single eye was full of scorn. "They said the man who took my eye was clever! But a clever man would have stayed in hiding! A clever man would know there isn't a chance mankind will ever best the dragons!"
Above, there was the rattling sound of a harness being unfastened. Burke struggled with both hands to try to open Charkon's claws even a fraction of an inch, so he could breathe.
Charkon chuckled and squeezed even tighter.
"Go on, clever man," he taunted. "Give me one reason mankind has for hope!"
Burke twisted his chin upward as heard the creak of the cage door swinging open above. The movement of his chin created a tiny passageway for air. His words escaped in a barely audible whisper: "We… don't… eat… our… young!"
Anza dropped from the sky, her sword extended. The tip landed atop Charkon's skull with her full weight driving it. The finest blade Burke had ever crafted lanced into Charkon's head, sinking to the hilt. Anza somersaulted away, landing on her feet. If Burke knew anything about earth-dragon anatomy, the tip of her sword was now resting in the center of Charkon's liver. The earth-dragon's eye rolled up in its socket and his grip slackened.
Burke dropped to the ground, remaining on his feet for a full three seconds before he toppled over in agony. Ah, yes. Right femur, definitely broken. He hit the ground hard, blood speckling the white snow before him. His spectacles landed nearby with the unpleasant tinkle made by dancing shards of broken glass.
He could no longer see anything but blurs beyond the length of his arm. Ragnar's men were cheering. From people shouting back and forth, he surmised that the last of the earth-dragons had been slain, and Shandrazel's army was in full retreat. Mankind had won this day. Perhaps, if his internal bleeding didn't finish him off, he'd give out a cheer of his own when he woke up.
For now, he settled on allowing the ghost of a grin to flicker across his lips. He closed his eyes as the sound of cheering faded. He was only barely aware of Anza's hands on his face, increasingly lost to all sensation but the cool and gentle kisses of snow flakes melting on his cheeks.
Jandra clung tightly as Hex glided across the snowscape. The winter storm had stopped midday, leaving the world draped with a blanket of white. It was such a peaceful scene, it almost made her forget they were flying toward a war zone.
After they'd made the long trek through the underground to escape Jazz's kingdom, she'd convinced Hex to return to the Nest. Bitterwood had refused to accompany them. He'd remained behind with Zeeky and Jeremiah, saying the children should not be left to face the world alone, despite Zeeky's insistence that she wasn't alone… her parents still spoke to her through the crystal ball.
Upon returning to the Nest, they'd learned of the invasion of Dragon Forge, and of Shandrazel's plan to retake the fort. Now they were heading for the town, or, rather, for Shandrazel's encampment.
Jandra felt introspective. The world below her seemed sculpted from cotton, a soft world with soft edges. The only unpleasant thing about the scene was the stench-even unseen in the distance, the foundries of Dragon Forge filled the air with their fumes.
"Bodies are being burnt," Hex said as he smelled the smoke. "I expect we'll find that Shandrazel has already retaken the forge."