The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (22 page)

“I fear you’re right in that, Your Grace,” the wizard agreed.

“Load the other arrow in the bow!” the duke said, fear seeping into his voice. Everyone knows the only thing worse than a dragon’s anger is its sense of vengeance, he thought. “Make it flawless; it’s not likely we’ll have a third shot at the beast.”

Many heard the screams and rushed to see what happened. They froze, staring into the sky. As the initial shock wore off, they realized the wound wasn’t fatal. The people scrambled for any passage into the mountain’s solid rock.

“Magwaddle will want to smash the entire city,” the wizard mumbled, not taking his eyes off the flailing beast.

“Wizard, can you make the arrow lethal in any way?” the duke asked, hoping for a miracle.

“I’m using all my strength to hold the arrow in the wound, but it isn’t fatal. He’ll eventually pull it out.” The wizard held his wand pointed at the dragon, but his head turned to the duke. “Dragons can seal their own wounds with fire,” the wizard said. He was now visibly straining, casting his staff back and forth repeatedly to make the arrowhead dig deeper into the wound. The wizard and duke looked at each other. “The dragon will return and soon.”

“Everyone not essential to this battle will go below and take refuge in the fortress,” the duke ordered. “Those of you remaining to fire the second arrow must strengthen your resolve and make sure this arrow finds its mark, or we’re all dead men.”

Magwaddle thrashed about in the clouds, tugging at the arrow with his snout between screams of pain. The clouds whipped and swirled in the wind currents trailing the dragon. Grey smoke from the beast mixed with the white clouds, and the day darkened above the mountains. Acidic blood rained down on Hador, splashing here and there, burning whatever it landed on. No one dared show his head so long as dragon screams pealed overhead.

Then came an equally unnerving silence. It was broken by a loud crack as the arrow, falling from the sky, smashed into a tower roof and fell, clunking onto the stone plaza. The ominous sound of dragon wings swooshing drew all eyes back to the sky. The red-eyed dragon’s head first broke through the clouds, searching the city for any movement Magwaddle could attack. His nostrils smoldered. He meticulously searched the castilyernov’s every opening, his yellow eyes streaked red.

“He knows somewhere in one of these parapets is a bow and men that fired the arrow at him,” the duke said.

“Yes,” the wizard said. “Magwaddle wants to devour anyone associated with that act of defiance.”

“Steady men,” the duke ordered, his voice controlled to steady his soldiers but his stomach heaved. “Be very careful; this is our last chance to kill the beast. A nervous hand could shoot the arrow accidentally. That would bring the dragon down on us in a flash.” A bead of sweat ran down his forehead into his eye; the salt water burned momentarily.

“Magwaddle is circling the city, tightening his loops in on the Hadorhof itself, where he knows we hid the bow,” the wizard said. “We won’t surprise him this time.”

“A dragon in prime condition like Magwaddle can dodge an arrow if he sees it coming,” a general said, standing by.

The men’s nerves are wearing thin; only my resolve standing next to them keeps the men from bolting and fleeing down into the dungeon’s solid rock, thought the duke. He looked out again at the dragon. Magwaddle’s confidence grows with each completed circle above the castilyernov. I hope he’s thinking we haven’t fired another arrow and should have by now if we have another one. If that was our best attempt to kill him, it will only ensure our total destruction. Maybe he’ll get overconfident again and make a mistake.

*

Finally, the great dragon turned in on the Hadorhof and dove at the towers. His bronze body straightened out, his wings cupped in, increasing his dive speed. He targeted the highest tower overlooking the plaza. Flames sparked from the dragon’s snout as it came within range. Then Magwaddle snorted flames at the turret. His rage increased the flames’ heat red to yellow to blue. He held the fire stream on the tower until the whole upper story turned red, then glowed white. Finally, the stones fused and crumbled to powder.

I’ve incinerated the bow and all those associated with it, thought Magwaddle. He thrust out his wings with a snap, flapped them thrice, swooping back, then up, and turned around to glide again, circling over the city. I’ll reduce everything here to ash on barren rock.

*

Duke Jedrac watched the enraged attack from the neighboring tower. His stomach seemed to turn over. I might have been in that tower, he thought. When the stones crumbled and toppled down the side of the tower column, he jerked upright, fixing his stare on Magwaddle.

“He’s turned up,” Jedrac exclaimed. “I’m sure he’s going to soar over the fortress again; be ready! The fake soldiers and that broken down crossbow won’t fool him again. We won’t get another chance.” The duke turned to the tense crew. “You understand? We cannot miss. If he’s overconfident he vaporized the threat, he’ll still likely come over this tower. He’ll expose his breast again. Is the last arrow ready?”

Trembling from the threat of both the dragon and the duke, the archer merely nodded and rechecked the rearmed crossbow.

Magwaddle soared over the mountains to the west, turned and, flapping his wings, headed back, bearing down on Hador and the Hadorhof.

“Steady men!”

The great reptile soared lower, aiming straight for the duke’s tower. As he closed in on the parapet, the radiant lines of his individual bronze scales were clearly visible.

“Hold steady; I’ll tell you when to fire!”

Magwaddle rolled slightly to better his angle on the tower. One last wing flap for lift and his wings flew back, exposing his breast.

“Fire!” Jedrac yelled.

The huge timbered crossbow jumped off the floor from the power released by the bow. As the arrow fired, light exploded from the great crystal in the wizard’s staff. The last arrow shot out the window, straight for the dragon’s breast. The angle was perfect, and the arrow didn’t deflect.

The flash must have caught the dragon’s eye, as well. Magwaddle jerked his head down to locate the light’s source. His great head crossed his chest just as the arrow flew at him. The enormous shaft tore into the thick cartilage of the overhanging waddle on Magwaddle’s head, pinning it to his chest. In the tower, they could hear the crunching as the iron arrowhead tore through the massive scales. 

The arrow’s impact slammed Magwaddle back in the air, and he screamed. He flapped madly to recover from the blow, becoming a chaotic mass of spinning bronze, struggling to regain altitude. Blood spurted from beneath the waddle, where the arrow tore into his chest.

“We got him!” the archer yelled, jumping up, waving his fists in the air.

Jedrac looked back to see archer and wizard cheering, dancing around the room. He turned back to the window.

The great enraged dragon screamed, smashed into a rooftop slightly below but then recovered somewhat and flew up, thrashing into the clouds. Magwaddle jerked his head up, tearing the bloody arrow from his chest. The arrow protruded through his waddle like a battle trophy, still dripping blood. Smoke poured from his nostrils, mixing with the gray clouds in a swirling mass. Blood splattered on the tower roof, steaming with acidic vapor.

“He’s not dead,” Jedrac mumbled to the crew that wasn’t listening.

The instant he recovered from the blow, Magwaddle turned, fixed his red and yellow eyes on the tower, and dove straight for it with ever increasing speed. When the winged beast approached the mountain peaks, he slapped his waddle against a stone peak, shattering the arrow’s shaft. Wood fragments burst in a shower east of the city. Magwaddle again fixed his stare on the duke’s tower. His irises flashed scarlet.

“He’s seen us. Everyone below!” the duke shouted.

His men stopped celebrating and scurried down the tower’s spiral staircase.

“Move men; we only have seconds.” The duke and wizard were the last two to the staircase. There, the wizard pushed Jedrac ahead of him and turned back. The swooshing sound of the dragon’s wings so close now sounded like a gale force wind.

“Hurry, Your Grace, no time to lose. I must try one last thing,” the wizard yelled, rushing back to the window.

“Come back here!” Jedrac bellowed, but the wizard was at the window. There’s no time to argue, the duke thought. Seconds are critical. It’s too late to go drag the wizard to the stairs. The duke hurried down the tower after his soldiers, seeking refuge in the dungeon’s cold stone.

*

The dragon locked his stare on the tower, then window, then the wizard, standing defiantly, facing the dragon with robes flapping in the wind. The crystal in the wizard’s staff was radiant. Magwaddle smacked his lips, splashing sparks that streamed back beside his snout.

The wizard’s cold stare intensified with the rich blue glow of his staff’s crystal. His arm shot straight out with the staff, shooting blue bolts at the dragon.

Magwaddle’s rage intensified. He shot flames at the wizard.

Where the red flames smashed into blue wizard-fire bolts, sparks exploded and thunder reverberated. The exploding dragon-fire and wizard-fire bolts lit up the sky in a shower of flame and sparks that could be seen as far away as Graushdemheimer in the south.

A blue bolt burned through the skin on Magwaddle’s left wing. The dragon bellowed. He shot his head forward and sent a stream of fire at the wizard that neutralized the next three wizard-fire bolts hurled at him. This continued as the dragon strained his smoldering wing to fly up and dive at the tower. The wizard countered with a powerful defense, but the wizard’s crystal grew paler and paler with each surge of the staff’s fire.

With the staff’s power rapidly depleting, the exhausted wizard chanted a new incantation as he swirled the staff in a circle. The metallic thread runes on his long robe glowed. Magwaddle watched as the wizard pulled magnetic energy from the mountain’s core, spinning it into a warbling energy disk to deflect the dragon. The beast continued to dive and smash into the swirling disk. Shooting sparks flew each time. Eventually, the wizard exhausted his reserves faster than the enraged and wounded dragon. The spiraling energy warp shrank in intensity and resistance.

Despite his wounds, Magwaddle sensed time was his. Finally catching the wizard exhausted and off-guard for a moment, the dragon dove at the tower and, snorting his reserve of fire, completely surrounded the wizard in flame. In an instant, the staff’s crystal fell to the floor and shattered amid the falling ash of the wizard and his staff. The tower was coated with soot and silence. Magwaddle had extinguished the last defiance. He turned north, flapping his burned wing and still dripping blood from his chest and waddle.

* * *

Memlatec was in council with Saxthor at Helshian Court Palace when the hawk arrived from Hador with his grim message. The exhausted bird landed on the balcony’s balustrade where the wizard could see him. The wizard retrieved the message, read it, and for the first time Saxthor could remember, Memlatec sank into a high back chair at the conference table.

“What is it, Memlatec?” Saxthor asked. 

“A substantial portion of Dreaddrac’s eastern army has successfully passed under the Hador Mountains.” He handed the message to Saxthor.

“While the castilyernov can hold out for a long time, Dreaddrac’s army, now in Hador, is large enough to control the dukedom, create havoc in Graushdem, and threaten the very capital of Graushdemheimer,” Saxthor said to the assembled advisors.

“Dreaddrac’s king has his two pincers loose on the peninsula. There is little to thwart their movement south,” Memlatec added, looking up at Saxthor.

“We must send word to all the military commanders, bringing them up to date on the threat in the northeast. Alert them to prepare for an attack at any time,” Saxthor said, his tone grim. “The Dark Lord has moved even more swiftly and successfully than we anticipated. If he’s circumvented Hador, none of the eastern cities will be safe.”

“Graushdem is all that stands between Dreaddrac and Neuyokkasin,” a general added.

“I had hoped King Ormadese could flood the tunnels before the Dark Lord’s army moved through them,” the wizard said, looking down at the table. “Hador was the strongest defensive point on the peninsula. Neutralizing it will demoralize the southern states’ armies.”

“Your majesty must move quickly to take the initiative and bolster your troops’ morale,” a general said, leaning forward.

“We’re in grave trouble, Memlatec,” the king said.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the wizard replied. The old sorcerer rose slowly with a reassuring smile on his usually stern face. The violet eyes that intimidated everyone else cast a blue hue. The king instantly regained his composure and self-confidence. “We’ll have to be more clever and gain time to prepare a stronger shield.”

“Yes, of course,” Saxthor responded, his tone stronger. He was ashamed he allowed his momentary lapse of resolve to show. “We’ll not let this demoralize the troops. Defense for now, but only offense will subdue Dreaddrac.”

Delia, the king’s faithful dog, silently moved around the table and licked the wizard’s hand. The wizard looked down at her and smiled. Delia lifted her right upper lip in a smile, put her paw in Memlatec’s hand, and then returned to Saxthor’s side. Saxthor knew that, though no words passed between them, Delia offered the genuine thanks the king couldn’t.