"Is there only one? Can you account for a second one, still alive?"
"No, and I hope I never do," shouted the sergeant. Then he turned and plunged forward again into the throng, shoving men ahead of him and yanking those who stumbled to their feet. Soon he disappeared from Tate's view.
The commander turned to Albrecht. "I've got to ride for shy;ward and see what the situation is for myself."
"You can't," objected Albrecht. "If s too dangerous." "The real danger is in not doing it," Tate shouted back. "Ride down the line and assemble as many knights as you can, then bring them back. Go and be swift."
Albrecht wheeled without a sign and rode away. Tate guided his horse forward, threading into the mass of armed men who seemed to be milling but fighting no one. His horse scrambled through the tumbled rocks and bodies piled in the breach and emerged into the din and dust of the inner court shy;yard.
Even through his dust-caked nostrils Tate detected the stench of blood and burned flesh. He expected the first and had smelled it many times before on battlefields, but the sec shy;ond surprised him.
Through the noise of the battle, Tate heard Wolter's boom shy;ing voice shouting encouragement to his soldiers across the yard, at the second breach. With the knights inside the walls at two places, Tate knew the defenders couldn't hold in the open for long. If they could be cut off from retreating to the inner buildings, the battle would be won. Except for the dragons…
An inhuman bellow shook the air. Tate's horse was spooked and reared up, nearly throwing the knight to the ground. Only with great urging could he get it to move forward again. The terrified horse's nostrils flared, its eyes bulged white. Suddenly an enormous dark shape loomed before them. The awful stench of blood and burned flesh mixed with something even more monstrous, and it made Tate gag. His horse reared again and backed away in terror.
The ground was littered with bodies and weapons. Bub shy;bling pools of some atrocious, noxious liquid seeped into the darkened soil, surrounded like the spokes of a ghastly wagon wheel by the scorched limbs and other portions of bodies that the acid had not devoured.
At the center of the devastation was the towering shape, growing ever more distinct as Tate approached over the dead bodies. It was clearly a dragon, spattered with gore and devouring a path through the remains of Tate's slain men. His stomach nearly turned again when he heard the sicken shy;ing crunch of metal and bone being ground together.
Twenty paces from the beast, Tate's horse would go no far shy;ther. Reluctantly, Tate dismounted. No sooner had he touched the ground than a huge black claw crashed down next to him, ripping open the horse. The noble animal screamed for less than a heartbeat, then was silent. Tate could hardly believe how quickly the dragon had lunged. He found himself staring into its glowing orange eyes.
Brandishing his sword, Sir Tate Sekforde welcomed his fate as he imagined Huma might have.
Khisanth felt the warmth of the horse squeezing between her talons. It was another death, only one of so many that day. Each one brought the sense of power and satisfaction that only came with killing. The veneer of civility and reason that surrounded her at most times was easily stripped away by violence, replaced by bestial instinct and fury. Sensation devoid of thought. Khisanth saw only life and wanted to make it death. She wanted to feel life flowing out from her victims, to squeeze it or burn it or tear it out until only some shy;thing repulsive remained.
Now this man stood before her, holding a long sword and a shield thrust bravely toward her. She had seen others with this courage today, and killed many. For some, the courage failed. They were especially delicious; Khisanth could actu shy;ally taste the fear and panic let loose in their bodies by her presence.
Khisanth peered more closely at this knight. There was something curious about him, his stance perhaps. She couldn't see his face behind the visor of his helmet, but the dust-caked emblem on his tunic tugged at her memory. The dragon ground her claws into the corpse of the horse to feel the satis shy;fying crunch of its bones. The sensation sparked a recollection. There were horses nearby the last time Khisanth had seen this man. She had eaten a horse not long before. He was a knight, a man of Solamnia. Her eyes widened in understanding.
The ambush. The event from years ago leaped into her mind. Once again she saw the knights crashing to the ground from their horses and the murderous ogres swarming over them. She saw the young knight who, on fire, had fled, rising from the ground and tearing on foot into the woods. She felt the pain of her broken human nose, the humiliation of having let him slip away. The anger at Led's betrayal. Her claw unconsciously squeezed the horse into unrecognizable pulp.
As the light of recognition flashed in her eyes, the knight recoiled visibly, almost as if he shared Khisanth's memory. Could he recognize her as a dragon, having only seen her as a human? She doubted it. Led had not. All of these thoughts raced through Khisanth's mind in the span of moments. She wanted badly to kill this man, to have revenge. Suddenly the rest of the battle didn't matter, the other humans and knights and horses barely registered on her senses. This Knight of Solamnia grew large in her vision, and his taunts from years before rang in her ears.
The dragon's claw slashed the air and raked Tate's shield. The Knight of the Crown reeled backward and stumbled in the litter. His hand splashed into a pool of acid. The knight rolled away from the cursed spittle and uttered a strangled cry as he clawed at the glove with his right hand. It came off in tatters, revealing patches of smoking skin underneath.
The dragon aimed another blow at Tate. The knight ducked aside and snatched up his dropped sword. Having missed with the first swipe, Khisanth swept her claw back again.
The knight was learning quickly and expected the attack. Instead of slamming into his body, the dragon's claw col shy;lided with a slashing sword. Steel bit into dragon scales and cut the flesh underneath-not deeply, but enough to cause the dragon to bellow with rage. Tate stepped backward, crouching, as if making himself smaller would lessen the thundering in his ears.
The dragon didn't react to pain like a human. She neither withdrew to examine her wound nor debated whether she was fit to continue the fight. The enormous black creature lunged forward with the unbelievable speed of her kind, striking again with the injured claw.
This time the blow caught Tate's shield on the edge. One talon pierced the thick wooden target just above his forearm. The knight was jerked off his feet as the shield was wrenched from his arm. He felt as if his arm would be pulled from his shoulder, but the shield's leather straps snapped like bull-whips cracking.
Tate tumbled to the ground yards from where he had been standing. Miraculously, he still held his sword, but he knew his shield arm was dislocated at the shoulder and broken at the wrist. Already his hand was turning black and blue around the burns. More splattered acid seeped through the armor on his legs, devouring leather straps and cotton padding and eating into the flesh of his calf.
The dragon loomed over him, leering with orange eyes that bespoke evil beyond the human's understanding. Yet
they were hauntingly familiar. An unusually barbaric neck shy;lace, made of swords and animal skulls, hung around her thickly muscled neck. The rancid mouth opened to reveal teeth like spear points fouled with human flesh. Tate waved his sword feebly at the dragon.
Instead of the painful oblivion he expected, the knight heard the dragon's inhuman bellow and felt the ground shudder as the beast thrashed away. Tate opened his eyes and saw the monster scraping its injured claw down its flank, snapping off more than a dozen arrow shafts that protruded there.
Tate felt hands slipping under his shoulders and lifting him up. He gazed into a human face again, the face of a sol shy;dier whose name he didn't know. Then he heard the strong voice of Wolter shouting commands to archers, followed by the solid twang of bowstrings and thunk of arrows hitting their target.