Dragons bellowed, and knights shuffled out of their bedrolls, cursing and grunting as they hastily slapped on their weapons. The blue dragons were gathered at the hilltop, and they huffed and snorted impatiently. All of their attention, as far as Porthios could tell, was focused on the fires that were now growing to encompass an arc around a third of the base of the hill.
The slain dragon crashed to the ground in the middle of a bivouac of the army’s brutish warriors, and these blue-skinned creatures bellowed and howled in fury and surprise. Some of them even turned on the corpse, stabbing with monstrous spears or hacking with swords, obviously unaware that the creature was dead.
Then the griffons plummeted like deadly hailstones into the middle of the dragon camp. Abruptly the night was split by the flash of lightning, though the first bolt missed the attackers to cut deeply into the flank of another blue dragon. Porthios wielded his sword from Stallyar’s saddle, striking down a knight who tried to raise a massive, two-handed sword. The silvery griffon galloped forward, ripping into the wing of a dragon with his sharp beak and claws. The elven captain slashed the keen steel blade, cutting another rip out of the wing.
The griffon pounced quickly away, just a hairbreadth of space before the wyrm’s massive talons smashed into the ground. Instinctively Stallyar darted to the side, and a moment later a blast of lightning scored through the night, streaking past, crackling through the air and sizzling the skin on the back of the elf’s neck. Porthios ducked, already feeling the imminent, killing blast of the next lightning bolt, but now the dragon was distracted by other griffons and whipped about to slash at new attackers that worried its wings, flanks, and tail.
Stallyar spread his wings and leapt high, while Porthios had a sickening impression of another griffon’s wing, torn from the bleeding body and floating grotesquely in the air. An elf screamed, the sound hideous as a dragon bit down and gored the unfortunate warrior in two. But dragons and knights were howling, too.
Another man stood in the griffon’s path, and Stallyar reached down, tearing away the fellow’s scalp with a single, vicious bite. Another knight charged in from the right, and Porthios chopped hard, feeling his sword cut through a steel helmet to gouge deep into the skull below. The man screamed and tumbled away, dropping his sword to clasp both hands to his bleeding head.
Flames flickered across the hilltop, the lingering effects of lightning sparking through the air, while other sparks, scattered from campfires and fanned by frantic wings, tumbled across the ground and ignited tufts of dry grass. Dragons still roared, and here and there griffons shrieked in pain as they were caught by massive talons or reptilian jaws. Bodies twitched, and men and elves moaned in pain. The scene was nightmarish, a chaos of horrible sounds, garish fires, and gruesome injuries whirling across the dusty hilltop. Out of nowhere, a hot breeze arose, fanning the little fires into furious blazes, swirling the thick dust through the air until it clogged mouths, eyes, and nostrils.
A dismounted elf tumbled past Porthios, and a blue dragon head lashed like a striking snake in pursuit. The prince’s sword chopped down, gouging the flaring nose, but the wyrm bit down and the fleeing elf was cut in two. The dragon shook its head like a dog worrying a rabbit, and Porthios stabbed upward, carving deep into the blue-scaled neck. Now the serpent reared back in surprise, bloody jaws gaping for another strike.
From the flank, another griffon dived in, tearing at the monster’s face, and Porthios saw Samar slip from his saddle, sliding down the dragon’s side, stabbing deep with his lance. The two elves charged in as more griffons clawed and snapped at the wyrm’s face. With a powerful stab, the prince thrust his blade through the scaly breast, twisting with all his strength. A gout of chill blood soaked him as, with a convulsive shudder, the great serpent tumbled forward.
Porthios tripped, falling on his back as tons of slain lizard pressed him down. He felt strong hands on his shoulders, and he kicked frantically, barely squirming free before the monstrous form crashed to the ground.
“Thanks,” he gasped as Samar let him go and turned to face the attack of a charging knight. “That’s twice you’ve save my life.”
The other elf had no time to reply as he parried the human’s savage blow. The knight’s face was twisted in an expression of grief, and Porthios wondered for an instant if this man had been the dead dragon’s rider. If so, his sorrow only increased his fury, for his second blow knocked Samar’s lance from the elf’s hand. As the loyal Silvanesti fell backward, Porthios lunged in from the side, piercing the man’s flank and then pushing the blade upward to cut the blood vessels around his heart. Soundlessly the knight fell across the foreleg of the dragon, his own warm blood mingling with the cool fluid that still gushed from the blue’s torn chest.
A bolt of lightning crackled through the air, knocking Porthios flat and blasting a griffon and its rider into charred flesh. Stirred by the dry wind, white feathers whirled past, bright in the firelight and deceptively gentle as they settled to the ground. Another dragon pounced, shaking the ground with its weight as it bore an elf and his mount to the ground. With savage bites and tearing claws, it instantly reduced its helpless victims to gory flesh.
“Fall back!” cried Porthios, realizing that the dragons had recovered from their initial surprise and were now making a methodical attempt to eradicate their elven attackers.
The cry was repeated from every elven voice within reach as the warriors leapt into their saddles and griffon wings pulsed, aiding the powerful legs in vaulting the creatures into the air. Some of the elves flew overhead, and these shot arrow after arrow at the dragons, aiming for the sensitive eyes, desperately trying to hold the pursuit at bay long enough for the attackers to take to the air.
Porthios found Stallyar, seized the reins, and then heard a groan of pain from underfoot. He looked down to see an elven warrior, missing one of his arms at the elbow but desperately trying to push himself to his knees. The captain grabbed the fellow by his good arm, pulled him across the griffon’s withers, and silently urged Stallyar into the sky.
Burdened by the extra weight, the griffon didn’t try to leap straight up. Instead, he raced across the hilltop, hurling himself into the air at the edge of the crest, straight into the teeth of the hot wind. Immediately white wings spread wide, catching the air.
Then, with the keen instinct that had so often saved his own and his rider’s life, Stallyar banked hard to the side and dived. Porthios leaned flat across his mount’s shoulders, clinging to the wounded elf with both hands as a lightning bolt hissed through the air over his head. He felt the searing heat on the back of his neck, sensed the world canting crazily as the griffon leveled out his flight, and then the hilltop was behind them. Another bolt spat outward, but sizzled into nothingness before it could reach them.
Laboring hard to gain altitude, Stallyar banked through a wide circle, and then dived into a thick column of smoke that was rising from the woods at the base of the hill. Ignoring the searing heat, blinking the tears from his eyes, Porthios looked down as the flier broke from the other side of the massive cloud.
He saw that the Kagonesti attack had ignited a great conflagration. Like his griffon riders, those elves were falling back but leaving chaos in their wake. Bellowing brutes raced back and forth, batting at flames that singed their skin, striking at shadows that seemed to move with living purpose in the light of the dancing, shifting plumes of fire. Casks of oil exploded with billowing towers of roiling heat, and from a stack of burning crates came the stench of charred beef as the army’s food stockpiles were incinerated.