Cabham didn’t seem to be in any hurry to put himself in danger. Still, the beast needed to be killed, and if he wasn’t going to make the most of the poor unfortunate still dodging jets of flame on foot, Gill would. He spurred his horse to a gallop and levelled his lance. He glimpsed Cabham’s look of astonishment but gave it no further thought, focussing on his task.
The dragon turned its attention to Guillot and, with a screeching roar, unleashed a jet of flame. The air sizzled, but the blast felt like nothing more than a warm breeze to Gill. His horse reacted, shying away, but the fire had struck only Gill’s head and shoulders, passing over the horse. He had just decided to carry out the ritual on his horse in future when his lance tip connected with the dragon and his ears were filled with the sound of splintering wood.
The lance would have had more effect had he charged a castle wall. The shaft must have contained a knot, and had shattered, though the initial impact was still strong enough to drive Gill from the saddle. As he hit the ground, unseated for the second time in as many days, it occurred to him that perhaps going against a dragon on horseback wasn’t the best idea. He rolled to his feet, his well-fitting armour barely impeding his movement, and turned to face the dragon, sword drawn. It sprayed him with flame again, its eyes filled with fury. Gill braced against the barrage of hot air. When it stopped, the dragon had turned its attention to the last of Cabham’s men and finished him in the blink of an eye, perhaps assuming that Gill, like its other victims, was dead.
Guillot charged, leading with his broad-bladed Telastrian sword in an underhand grip that would allow him to drive it deep and true. He could almost feel its tip touch a scale when a talon swipe sent him to the ground again. He allowed the momentum to tumble him back to his feet but was struck again, on the back this time. Gill stumbled forward, doing his best to stay upright. The ancient Telastrian armour he wore absorbed most of the blow, but it still felt as though he had been hit by a battering ram. He wasn’t sure even a suit of Jauré’s finest tournament armour would have withstood the impact, and thanked the gods that he had measurements similar to the original owner, Valdamar.
He swiped behind himself with his sword, a blind strike born more of frustration than any hope of scoring a hit, but felt the blade connect and heard the beast screech. Turning, he was satisfied to see the dragon holding one of its talons against its body. He faced it and took his guard out of instinct, feeling foolish, knowing how little good it would do him in fending off an attack. The beast looked hesitant—it had clearly never before encountered anything that could hurt it. As satisfying as that was to Guillot, it was a lucky shot, and not one that would do any lasting damage. The killing stroke would be far more difficult to land. He thought of calling to Cabham for assistance, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed that this challenge was a little too rich for the Humberlander’s taste. He was gone.
Gill backed away slowly, his eyes locked on the dragon’s as they both tried to work out what to do next. It belched out another jet of flame, but it was a less determined attack. When the flame and smoke cleared, and Gill stood unharmed on a patch of baked soil, the dragon pounced. Gill dived to his left, doing his best to roll out of the way. He remembered to watch out for the beast’s tail the instant before it struck him—not soon enough to get out of the way.
One of the barbs found its way to the unprotected spot at his left armpit, and he roared as he felt it punch into him. He instinctively pulled away, then struggled to his feet and staggered backwards. There was no pain. At first he thought that a plate had blocked all but the blunt force of the impact. The blood flowing down his vambrace and cuirass dispossessed him of that idea, however.
He had been injured before, and not felt the pain right away. The shock of the moment, he reckoned, though that didn’t last long. When the shock faded, he would be in trouble. He needed to get his business finished, and fast.
The dragon turned, and knew it had done damage, for its eyes went straight to Gill’s wounded left shoulder. It moved around to Gill’s left, trying to position itself on his weak side.
He tracked it, keeping his sword out in front of him for the ever-diminishing sense of security it gave him. The dragon rasped out a threatening hiss, baring its fangs. Gill held his ground. He reckoned his best hope was to allow it to come at him, try to dodge, and strike, hoping he’d find a way through its hide to something vital. It held its place, seeming a little more circumspect now that it had realised he was able to hurt it and that its main weapon had no effect on him.
“Come on then!” Gill said. There was no reaction other than a low, throaty grumble. Although he still didn’t feel any pain, Gill was losing blood; he realised the dragon was waiting for him to weaken. Shouting, he threw himself forward. He sliced at the dragon’s face as soon as it was within range, but the beast moved it out of the way with time to spare.
His blade swished through the air. Off balance because of his injury, Gill staggered a few paces, and was then helped along by a swat of the dragon’s talon, which launched him into the air. He did his best not to land on his wounded shoulder, but the impact rattled him nonetheless. He expected a sharp pain, but instead felt a dull, nausea-inducing sensation that made him realise he’d been hurt badly.
He was slow and awkward in getting up, hanging on to his sword with his one good arm. A shadow stretched over him, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The air was filled with the smell of charred flesh.
A roar broke the moment, one that vacillated between the shout of a man and that of a boy. Gill looked up to see Val charging the dragon with one of the spare lances. The lance shattered, and Val was thrown through the air. Gill knew he was unlikely to get another opportunity as good as this. He scrambled along, ignoring the discomfort that seared through his chest from his shoulder, and hurled himself forward, sword first.
He drove with his feet, slipping to his knees, then trying again. He continued until the blade was buried deep, then wrenched at the hilt for all he was worth, pulling it in every direction, trying to cut up as much of the dragon’s innards as he could. The dragon’s thunderous roar pounded in Gill’s head, sounding angry and hurt. Gill pulled his sword free and scrabbled away on his hands and knees. Only when he was clear of the beast’s shadow did he turn to look.
The dragon was still on its feet, its head lolling gently from side to side. It let out a short puff of flame, then turned toward Gill and let out more fire, although the jet fell far short. A final act of defiance. With that, the dragon toppled over and didn’t move again.
This just does not get any easier, Gill thought. He prodded the beast with his sword, stabbed it a couple of times to make sure it was dead, then rushed to where Val was lying. His heart was in his throat when he rolled the lad onto his back. If it was anyone’s turn to die, it was Gill’s. Val was little more than a boy, with so much of life left to see.
“Did we get it?” Val said groggily.
Gill let out a laugh of relief. “We got it.”
Val tried to get up on his elbows, but Gill held him in place. “Rest easy a moment. We can wait for as long as you need.”
He slumped down beside Val and took a breath. A dead dragon lying nearby was becoming a familiar sight for Gill. That wasn’t something he thought he’d ever find himself thinking. He realised he had forgotten about his shoulder—the intense pain had yet to arrive. He unbuckled his left pauldron and gently removed it, then did his best to loosen his cuirass and pull it off. His quilted under-jacket was dark with blood, but the wave of pain that he had expected remained conspicuously absent. He took his dagger and cut the quilting, enlarging the hole left by the dragon’s tail barb, then used a piece of the cloth to wipe away some of the blood. That he was no longer bleeding heavily was a relief, but it didn’t change the fact that he had already lost quite a bit of blood and was utterly exhausted.