Chapter Dragon Fire

Two days later we pass by an empty town. A lone wagon, stripped of wheels and decorated with bits of torn fabric, sits in the middle of the street covered in wind-blown junk. Plastered onto the walls of every building are yellowish flyers featuring cross-shaped lizards.

Every house is abandoned, their swinging doors dancing to the rogue bells atop the village chapel, which is only a stone’s throw from the highway. The chapel’s walls are splattered with what looks like green paint; someone had scribbled onto it two big white lines of profanity, declaring in colourful language the end of the world.

I shrink back from the window. The scenery has triggered thoughts that have so far been suppressed by the day-to-day busywork; they are very loud now, and louder yet they will get. There is no variety to them, only ’

and ’

repeated a thousand times with differing levels of panic. They are cowardly, embarrassing, shameful…not to mention cowardly…and shameful…

But what am I supposed to do, with a steel toothpick and armour of leather?

Kathanhiel hasn’t said a word about how we’re going to proceed. Every time I ask her this she just taps Kaishen on the scabbard and tells me to stay safe.

The lack of reassurance is nerve-wracking, and every day the nerves get worse.

During that afternoon’s training I land a hit on Haylis – for the first time ever – and in return she punches me on the nose hard enough to make it squiggle sideways. Her horrified face looks comical, and I laugh at her all high-pitched and out of breath while choking on my own blood.

She sounds high-pitched too. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to swing so hard I didn’t realise what I’m doing –’

Later, as I pour boiling water into Kathanhiel’s cup I empty half the kettle onto my own hands. She takes it away before I could empty the other half, and says nothing.

Then, for the third time that day, I end up in the horses’ room before remembering that Arkai had taken Killisan away. Bobby is not the same; a great white stallion is not a creature one could casually approach, never mind having a conversation with.

By night my hands are shaking again.

Another day, another morning with nothing to fight; despite having passed three abandoned towns now there is still no sign of dragons. We are alone in the vast plains, running north on a highway that seems to go on forever.

This waiting has to be the worst part. It has to be.

Otherwise I’m more of a coward than I thought.

Yet another day of dreadful waiting later, we reach the crossroads. Here the highway intersects with a narrower road that runs east to the Ford.

Smoke is rising on the eastern horizon.

After two minutes of gazing at it from the roof, Kathanhiel announces: ‘That is no dragon fire – too cool and too scattered.’

‘Are the riots still going on?’ asks Haylis with her face pressed up against a window.

‘No reason for it to cease. There are too many scared people in one place and they have nowhere else to go,’ Kathanhiel says as she climbs down. ‘A shame. I’d hoped that…’

‘Kastor was going to tell you that he’s staying no matter what.’

I briefly consider roleplaying Arkai and telling Haylis to mind her own business.

Kathanhiel smiles. ‘Perhaps I was foolish to suggest the ferry in the first place.’ She comes close and takes up my hands. ‘Are you certain? Our road ahead will be…hurtful, and you may be asked to give more than you could.’

‘I won’t run away when you’re still here. I’ll not be Talukiel.’

‘But your hands tremble so.’

‘They do what they want.’ Shaking my head like a tambourine doesn’t make the stutter go away. ‘But I’ve made my decision and you can’t make me leave – I mean, you can but – I’d p-prefer that you don’t.’

‘What will you do when the dragons come?’ she asks.

There is only one answer allowed: ‘I don’t know.’

Her fingers, so supple and strong, give my hands a firm squeeze. ‘I do. I chose you for a reason, Kastor.’

That night, the dragons come.

Kathanhiel, who has sat on the roof since sunset, suddenly calls out, ‘Haylis! HAYLIS!’

She comes running out of her room in a lacy nightgown. ‘What is it? Are they here?’

‘Tell the little giants that they’re not to stop, no matter what.’

Ah, finally. My cuirass, my sword – they are right here, already warm from being hugged so close.

‘Kastor, fetch my bow, then bring over every barrel of water we have.’

Moving. Barrels – no, bow first. It’s in her room. Here it is, leaning against her table and already strung – what a relief; those steel sinews are beyond my strength. The bow is solid obsidian and heavier than a suit of armour.

Where are the arrows?

Have-have I even packed arrows? They weren’t in the quartermaster’s list of inventory. That means -

‘Kastor, my bow!’

‘I-I can’t find the quiver! I must have left it some-some-no I forgot to-this is not happening –’

‘I don’t use arrows. Just bring the bow, hurry!’

I run out, shove the bow to her through the roof hatch, then proceed to hunt down those pesky barrels with renewed vigour.

Water barrels. In the back, in the room with the horses. By the Maker these are heavy – come on you measly biceps!

‘Haylis, is everything secured?’ Kathanhiel yells, her voice riding above the wind.

‘Yes!’ ‘Cover yourself with shirts from my wardrobe, the ones treated with tundra essence. Kastor you do the same. Stay down, no matter what!’

I hear it as I secure the last barrel under the hatch.

The roar of dragons.

That is the sound they make.

I dive under the pile of shirts and almost shove out Haylis. She instantly grabs my arm and clings to it as if that’s going to help. Her burning breath puffs onto my neck three times a second, and even the howling dragons couldn’t drown out the clatter of her teeth.

‘Kathanhiel is here!’ I grab her trembling hands with my trembling hands. ‘She’ll beat them! This isn’t even her final –’

Something huge slams into the side of the carriage. The steel walls buckle, and the cacophony of grinding claws overwhelms my own screams.

Another, from the opposite side, SLAM, shattering two inner walls and a cabinet full of expensive teacups.

Then another. SLAM. And another. SLAM. The back half of the coach folds in and the whole carriage rears like a panicking horse, suddenly running on two wheels.

The horses. They’re trapped back there.

‘Kastor? Wh-where are you going? KASTOR!’

Haylis’ grip is so strong I’ve no idea how I shook it off. Walking on this floor is like treading ripples. Nonsense! How does one tread ripples?! Why does that reedy scream sound like laughing and why is it coming out of my mouth?!

SLAM, and the door to the back snaps from its frame and misses my shoulder by an inch. Bobby and Haylis’ horse are tossed – hooves thrashing, mouths foaming – against the far end of the room, right on top of the only exit big enough for them to get out from. Got to move; one stray hoof smashes into my shoulder but the pain passes quickly. Thank you, overly large pauldrons.

Edging across, one step at a time. The lever is right there; pull it and the big door will open and the horses can try and run –

The opposite wall splits open with a metallic scream. A great jaw, filled with three gleaming rows of teeth and a purple snake-like tongue, shoves itself into the hole screeching and snapping at the air. Its incisors are brilliantly white, which makes no sense – shouldn’t they be charcoal black from all the fire that’s –

Ah, the fire.

A blue sphere appears in its throat.

Eyes won’t shut. Arms frozen stiff. I stare at the sun in its mouth and couldn’t move.

A spear of flame descends from the roof and runs clean through those jaws as if its iron scales are cotton. The scream that ensues is like a thousand long nails scraping across steel.

Kaishen. It withdraws as quickly as it came but the dragon is already dead and falling out of sight. A meaty crunch, and the carriage heaves dangerously.

The horses. Move it!

That gap is too ragged to fit the animals through, but noises are coming in just fine. Individual dragons sound like violent seagulls at the beach that snap food straight out of people’s hands, except louder, , and with a compulsive rage that keeps them screaming long after turning hoarse.

The lever is right there, pull it!

The big door snaps open and breaks off its hinges immediately, tumbling into the night. The highway is a blur; the horses might break some bones, but at least they’ll have a chance at living.

‘Hurry you two! Jump!’

Bobby is the first to get up. The night air must have encouraged him, for he doesn’t even hesitate before taking the leap, his mane fluttering in the wind as bravely as any king’s banner.

Ooph, that landing.

Haylis’ horse is backing up like a coward. Do I really have to kick you? Do I really – alright I kicked you now get moving!

The animal jumps for it; the moment it goes airborne a massive jaw swoops in from above and snatches it clean out of the air.

One blink and , gone.

I scramble from the doorway not a second too soon as a whip-like tail crashes onto that exact spot, shattering the floor and tearing steel from the wall like pieces of paper from an old tome.

Then the gleaming rows of teeth return, and the room fills with fire.

The hay piles flash in an instant, the wooden trough shatters into black bits, and the ceiling, made from triple-layered steel, glows white hot and droops like a piece of tarp.

But I’m still here, frozen, staring.

The wall of flames stands three inches from my nose, but instead of cooking the little human it sort of just hangs there, roiling waves of orange and red and slithering tongues of blue. Its heat is surprisingly tame. Something is holding it back –

SLAM. This one comes from the ceiling.

That’s no dragon’s head.

Long, thin, wreathed in fire, Kaishen plunges through the roof and into the room. Immediately the dragon fire doubles back on itself in a retreating wave, spiralling around Kaishen’s blade in ever tighter circles as if the sword is drawing it in.

It drawing it in. Every bit of fire is plummeting into Kaishen like water into an infinite hole.

What?

Got no time for this.

Stumbling, crawling, I make it to a front room filled with smoke. Where is – there she is, under the table.

Haylis is coughing and so am I. The smoke is purple-black and putrid, filled with the ash of things that are not supposed to be made ash.

‘Can’t – breathe –we have to – open the – ’

Front door. If we open it the tunnelling wind will clear this up.

But the dragons will also see us. Suffocation or incineration? For someone who is currently suffocating, being set on fire sounds like the best idea in the world.

Drunken footsteps, punctuated with hacking coughs; a moment later Haylis rips open front door, and the violent gust clears the room in seconds.

Eyes so hard to open – the smoke makes them bloodshot and painful – but I can’t just walk blindly into the middle of –

Horrors.

A swarm of small dragons, each the size of a pony, are clinging to Oon’Shang’s head and torso. These ones’ screeching resemble seagulls, shrill and violent and utterly berserk. Claws are flying, jaws tearing, orange plumes puffing between their teeth, wings bashing against one another – they are more vicious than rabid dogs.

Oon’Shang is running at full speed and pulling the coach with one hand. With the other she swats at the little dragons the way one would swat flies. One gets crushed against her back, all its bones instantly broken; two more are thrown to the ground and trampled.

One latches onto the back of her neck and bites into it just as she grabs its nail. A disgusting tearing ensues. Its body falls, but its head is still latched firmly onto her flesh, the teeth having sunk all the way through the muscle and into an artery. Blood starts cascading down her back in thick streams.

A burst of red explodes from above, sending what sounds like a small mountain into the ground. A severed tail, longer than the entire length of the carriage, falls out of sight.

Can’t pay attention to that right now, whatever Kathanhiel is keeping at bay.

Haylis has drawn her sword but there is no getting close. The tails of half a dozen little dragons are thrashing before her face, slowing reducing the front of the carriage to woodchips. They’re like iron-cored whips; a single hit could break an arm.

‘What do I do?!’ she yells.

‘What do I do?!’ I yell back.

Oh that’s not good.