Gill had to remind himself to breathe. He had grown up on stories of dragons, fearsome beasts that terrified children, but he had also known—as surely as he had known the sun would set each evening and rise the day following—that dragons were long dead. Until this moment, part of his mind still refused to believe what he had seen that night in Villerauvais, but now? Here it stood before him, and he was sober—he could not deny it. Despite his fear, he had to acknowledge what a magnificent creature it was. It seemed a shame to have to slay it, but everything about it was designed for the kill, from its fangs and horns to its talons and the barbs on its tail. It had killed so many people. People that had deserved better lives. He had failed them while they lived. If it took his death to make amends, so be it.
CHAPTER 29
Guillot surveyed the cavern to see if he could identify who had been caught in the flames. It was impossible to tell—he could make out some charred remains, and barely see the survivors taking cover behind rocks amidst all the smoke. He returned his attention to the dragon, who continued to ignore him. It was a curious thing to study the beast when it seemed to be unaware of his scrutiny. It sniffed at the air, causing the smoke to swirl against the backdrop of the cavern mouth. Guillot hefted the spear in his hand and swallowed hard.
“Hey!” he shouted.
The dragon’s head snapped around to face him, pupils narrowing as it fixed its glowing amber eyes on him. It felt like the beast was staring into his soul. Guillot looked over the beast’s body, wondering where to deliver his blow. The eyes were always a soft target, but unless the thrust was perfectly delivered and reached all the way to the brain, it would only enrage, not kill. A spear driven through the body was always a good bet. Living creatures had too many vital parts for such a strike not to hit anything important.
He targeted the dragon’s chest and charged. He was wound tight with tension, and unleashing it was a great relief. Sparing a word of thanks for Hallot’s healing magic, Guillot powered through each step. The dragon watched him approach, making no attempt to move. Was it confused? Or did it simply not care?
Guillot shouted in satisfaction as he felt the spear’s tip strike home. The beast’s scales were tough, like armour plate, and he felt the shaft flex as he tried to drive it through. With a great crack, the fire-damaged wood gave way and Guillot stumbled forward with nothing but a useless piece of lumber in his hand. With a tremendous blow, the air was knocked from his lungs and he was sent sailing through the air. He had enough time to decide that the dragon must have swiped at him with its paw, luckily without bringing its claws to bear, before he hit the ground with a clatter of metal plates.
Breathless from the impact, Guillot struggled to his hands and knees. The monster had turned to face him, and now bared its fangs, letting out a long, screeching hiss. Gasping, Gill finally managed to draw air into his lungs; he flung the remains of the spear shaft at the dragon. The cavern exploded into light and he felt hot air rush over him. With a burst of agility that would have done him credit on his finest day, Guillot flung himself to the side, his exposed skin stinging from the flame that passed through the space he had occupied a second before.
When the flame stopped, Gill checked himself over. He was grateful he hadn’t been able to breathe during that last manoeuvre—the air sizzled with heat that would have seared his lungs had he drawn it in. His armour was blackened and blued from the heat, and would likely never be fit for public wear again, but he seemed to be physically intact. His night vision had failed during the fiery onslaught, so it was the war cry that alerted him to Leverre’s attack. He heard the clatter of metal, and from the dragon’s lack of reaction, assumed the strike had been ineffective. Its eyes glistened in the darkness, fixed on Guillot a moment longer before it turned away.
With the dragon’s attention elsewhere, Guillot drew his sword and looked for a place to strike. He made for the dragon’s flank and the join between body and wing. He heard a cry that could only have come from Leverre, then the voices of the others; an instant later they were all drowned out by the dragon’s great, reverberating roar. The sound seemed to bounce off the cavern walls and assault Guillot’s ears a dozen times.
Raising his sword with both hands, he made to stab the patch of softer-looking flesh where the dragon’s wing connected to its body. The creature moved, putting his aim off, but the sword’s tip bit into the dragon rather than glancing off its scales. He drove the blade in as deeply as he could, then pulled it out for a second strike. The dragon turned quickly, letting out another roar, and swiped at Guillot with its paw, but he managed to roll out of the way. As he did, he spotted Leverre lying on the cavern floor. The dragon turned away and lit the cavern with fire. Guillot couldn’t hear any screams above the sound of the flames and the dragon’s roaring. It disappeared into the smoke and darkness as he got to his feet. Guillot knew he had hurt it, but he didn’t seem to have slowed it in the least. His body protested as he tried to stand straight, and his vision swam. He wished that he were anywhere else.
The cavern was becoming ever more choked with smoke and it was growing difficult to breathe. His throat burned and his eyes were streaming water. The smell of roasted meat was on the air, but Guillot did his best not to think about it. He tried to orient himself, but could not make sense of the hellish inferno before him. He had banged his head at some point and now struggled to think of what to do next.
He realised there was no way they could win in the cave. They had been fools to try to fight the beast in its lair. They had to get out or they would all die.
He went to Leverre, hacking on the thick smoke. Leverre was moving, but had been knocked senseless. Guillot sheathed his sword, grabbed the other man under the armpits, and dragged him toward the light of the cavern’s mouth.
“Dal Sason!” he shouted. “We have to go.” He wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. The dragon continued to thrash about in the smoky darkness, occasionally issuing bursts of flame. When he reached the cavern mouth, Guillot laid Leverre on the ground and drew his sword, peering into the cave. He could just about make out the dragon, its lumbering shape causing great swirls in the smoke.
Every fibre of his being screamed at him not to plunge back in, but he knew how he would feel if he did not at least try to get the others out. He took a few deep breaths of sweet, fresh air, and then, covering his mouth with one hand, went back into the cavern.
After a few steps in near total darkness, he began to think this was an exercise in futility. Something struck him and he flinched, fearing it was a talon or that wickedly barbed tail. He felt no pain, so he patted himself down and was horrified to find his hand covered in sticky blood. For a moment he panicked, then, realising the object that had struck him was still at his feet, he knelt. It was Brother Quimper’s head, and part of his torso.
Guillot fought down the urge to vomit. He had felt momentary flashes of panic on the battlefield, where his instincts demanded he turn and run. He had always overcome it, but never had he felt that compulsion so strongly as he did now. He couldn’t see where the beast had gone, though the smoke was starting to clear.