She nodded. Just then a strange sensation passed over him, as though something was trying to pull his insides out of his body. He wavered in the saddle, and Solène gave him a curious look.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said, recovering his balance. “Felt a bit odd for a moment. Like something was pulling on my insides. It’s passed now.”
“You’re sure?”
He looked about, still puzzled by the sensation. The direction of the pull had felt very specific, but when he looked that way, he saw nothing. “I am.” He was considering the sensation, when the day darkened. He looked up again to see what was blocking the sun—a silhouette that would turn the bowels of the bravest of men to water.
“Damn the gods to the three hells,” Guillot said.
“What’ll we do?” Solène said.
“Forget about the plan, for a start,” Guillot said, looking up to the beast that hovered above them, still but for the lazy beat of its great wings.
“How will we get at it up there?” she said.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Guillot said. “Do your best to keep moving and stay out of its range. Ideally by riding for Mirabay as fast as you can.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said, as she tried to keep her horse calm.
Guillot could feel his horse grow skittish beneath him. His own resolve wasn’t too far behind. He drew his sword, for no reason other than to do something familiar and comforting. He felt his heart leap into his throat when the dragon drew in its wings and dropped like a stone from the heavens.
Guillot felt fear tingle across his skin like a colony of dancing ants. He remained locked in place, trying to decide which god to pray to, before remembering that he didn’t believe in any of them. They certainly hadn’t ever helped him before. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Solène was frozen as well. He slapped the rump of her horse with the flat of his blade.
“Ride!” he shouted, before kicking his own mount with his heels.
He craned his neck to see where the dragon was while he tried to work out where to go. Plenty of valley remained, but he needed to come up with some kind of plan, and fast. The horse thundered along the turf with little urging—she wanted to be away from the dragon just as much as Guillot did. He wondered if she would be cooperative when the time came to turn to face it.
Another backward glance confirmed the dragon was coming after him, wings outstretched, gliding silently along like a great, dark shadow of death. He knew the flame would be next. The hairs on the back of his neck shrivelled in anticipation. Unwilling to run his horse to exhaustion, he brought her to a halt and turned. His sword felt like a reed in the wind when he stared at the beast gliding toward him.
It was huge; he could not hope to stand against it. He almost wished he were back in the cave, where its size had seemed less imposing. It was all teeth, claws, and wickedly sharp horns, things concealed by the gloom and smoke in the cave. Then, had he seen all that was now before him with such clarity, he would likely have lost his nerve and fled. Now he felt resigned to what needed to be done and what his fate would likely be.
Guillot spurred the horse into a gallop, overcoming its resistance to charging toward the dragon’s fangs and glowing eyes. He expected a burst of flame to end him at any moment. He re-sheathed his sword, feeling naive for having drawn it in panic, then took hold of the spear with his right hand and brought it to bear. It had been a long time since he had thrown a spear, but with a target as large as the dragon, he could hardly miss.
Still, unsure of the power of his arm, he waited until the dragon was so close he could smell its breath, a mix of rotting meat and naphtha. Gill stood up in his stirrups and with a great roar, hurled the spear with every ounce of strength he had. The spear flew true, but disappeared into a jet of flame.
Reacting as quickly as he could, Guillot urged his horse to the right, but she was not fast enough. The horse screamed as the fire burned her. She had galloped a number of paces before Gill could look back and assess her injury. Her rump was scorched, yet he had felt nothing—no heat, no pain. Had the superb Telastrian armour protected him? Had he turned out of the way in time? Or was this the boon the Silver Circle had enjoyed—a resistance to flame?
He wheeled the horse around and saw the dragon turning in a long, lazy arc through the sky, its black scales shimmering in the sunlight like fine mail armour. He spotted Solène some distance away, watching everything as it unfolded. Frustrated that she had not taken his advice to head down the valley, he waved at her and pointed, but she ignored him. He had no time to argue with her; he returned his attention to the dragon, which was completing its turn back toward him.
His horse whickered but held steady beneath him. They had both survived the dragon’s first pass and been emboldened by the experience. He reached for another spear even as he tried to see if the first one had struck true. He wasn’t sure what else to do. The initiation hadn’t implanted dragon-killing instructions in his mind.
He urged his horse on again until she was heading toward the dragon at full gallop. The pounding of his heart syncopated with the thundering of her hooves and he felt the excitement of battle flush through his veins. To think that he was doing as Valdamar had once done, charging a dragon, spear in hand—to be doing something no man alive ever had, was a thrill like none other. A vestige of his former self wondered if stories would be written about this fight, if he would someday be as legendary as Valdamar, Andalon, and the others.
The dragon let out a shrieking roar that stabbed into Guillot’s ears. He raised his spear once more, smiling at the sight of the previous one sticking out of the beast’s side. More confident now, he waited, spear poised to strike. Perhaps this would be the one to bring it to the ground.
Still he waited, until the dragon was so close that it filled the sky. He drew back his arm, preparing to release his spear, then felt a thud on his armour. Something yanked up on his body and his feet came free of the stirrups. He looked down and saw his rapidly shrinking horse come to a confused halt. Panic threatened to overwhelm his already racing heart as the beast’s wings beat down, sending them ever higher. He tried to twist around in its grip, but was held firm in the creature’s razor-like talons. Were it not for Valdamar’s armour, he thought, he would have been pierced through. As it was, the claws barely made a dent.
Realising that he still held his spear, he stabbed at the dragon’s flank, but the strike had no power. The weapon glanced off the glittering black scales and was wrenched from his grip. He watched it tumble back to the ground, which was dropping away rapidly, and was terror-struck, knowing what lay in store for him if the dragon let go. It occurred to him that was exactly what it intended.
He grabbed a smooth, curving talon just as the dragon released its grip. Despite his best effort, Gill could feel his leather-gauntleted hand slide toward its tip. He gripped with every bit of strength and dangled from the talon. The beast craned its head down to look at him, and its lips twisted. It shook its foot, and Guillot’s hold slipped right to the talon’s end. The dragon lifted its foot again for what would undoubtedly be a final shake, bringing Gill close to the spear he had stuck into the dragon. He hurled himself at it desperately. His right hand fell short, but with a desperate twist, he caught the end of the shaft with his left.