“Why didn't Corvad use the gully?” said Romaria.
Osric chortled. “I'd wager he doesn't know about it. That old map you he stole from the serpents? No doubt it shows the roads the old lords built in the mountains. But will it show the gullies and canyons and glaciers?” He grinned. “The lords of Dracaryl thought themselves too good to travel off the roads, and your Corvad probably thinks the same.”
“Corvad's trail doesn't go anywhere near the gully,” said Romaria.
Mazael nodded. They had made good time, but Corvad still had a two-day lead. How long would it take Corvad to get his hands on the Glamdaigyr? No doubt the old high lords had left potent magical defenses around Arylkrad, and those would slow Corvad. For that matter, once Corvad claimed the Glamdaigyr, how long would it take him to transform Lucan into a Malrag Queen?
“If we take this shortcut of yours, what's the risk?” said Mazael.
Osric shrugged. “Avalanches, mostly. And we'll be exposed on the mountainside. If a rogue Malrag warband sees us, they'll attack. And dragons fly over the mountains.”
“Will a dragon attack us?” said Circan, huddled in his long black coat. Like Gerald, the young wizard hated the cold. “I've never encountered a dragon, but I'm given to understand that they hate humans.”
“They don't hate us,” said Osric. “They think we're vermin. Like mice. You ignore mice until they get in your way or start eating your food. Then you kill them. We see a dragon, odds are that it will ignore us. Unless we interfere with its hunt. Or if it's hungry – they prefer hunting the mammoths and giant sloths on the eastern side of the Great Mountains, but they'll eat men in a pinch.”
“That is hardly reassuring,” said Circan.
Osric laughed. “They're dragons, wizard. Nothing about them is reassuring.”
“We'll risk it,” said Mazael. “If we catch Corvad before he finds the Glamdaigyr, we'll have a better chance of defeating him.”
###
The gully was steep and narrow, but both mules and men found good footing. The weather remained cloudy and cold, but Osric said the lack of sun would prevent the snow from melting, which would reduce the risk of avalanches. Mazael kept his hand on his sword hilt, but he saw no sign of any Malrags.
“So how does one kill a dragon?” said Kjalmir.
Osric scratched his beard. “One does not, generally. One gets killed by the dragon.”
“But is has been done,” said Gerald. “Lord Richard Mandragon has done it, along with his son Toraine. I've seen the dragon scales on their armor.”
“Aye,” said Osric. “Dragon scale makes for damn fine armor. Harder and lighter than steel, and immune to fire. But it’s more trouble than it's worth. I was with Toraine when he killed that black dragon of his.”
“You were?” said Mazael.
Osric nodded. “He wanted to surpass his father and slay a dragon of his own. So he hired me as a guide, and I led Toraine and his men into the mountains to find a dragon. The dragon found us first. Wiped out half of Toraine's men. But Toraine killed it. Damnedest thing I ever saw, but he killed the dragon. Not a man I would want for an enemy.”
They did not call Toraine the Black Dragon out of love, Mazael knew. “So how did Toraine kill it?”
“The dragon hit us with its fire from above, so we scattered and took cover,” said Osric. “It landed to hunt us down one by one. Toraine circled behind, sprang upon its back, and buried his sword to the hilt in the base of its neck. That killed the blasted thing, and Toraine claimed his dragon scales.”
“So they do have weak points,” said Kjalmir.
Osric shrugged. “Dragons are flesh and blood, like anything else. Hit them hard enough and they die. Their scales are as good as armor, so you have to strike their weak points. Behind the head, the mouth, the nostrils, the gaps between the scales on their spines. Not the eyes – they have a transparent inner eyelid that can stop an arrow. Wings are vulnerable, too – punch enough holes in them, and the dragon will have to land. Then you can hit one of the weak points. Ballistae would work best.” He grunted. “Pity we couldn't bring any siege engines into the mountains.”
“So if you can get the dragon to land,” said Gerald, “you can kill it.”
“Oh, aye,” said Osric. “But even on the ground, they're still dangerous. If you can't get it to land, you're finished, and even if it does land, it can still burn you away.”
“How many dragons have you seen slain?” said Mazael.
“Just one,” said Osric.
After that they walked in silence.
###
They encountered neither Malrags nor avalanches, and the next day the gully ended in a downward-sloping path.
As the path drew closer to Red Valley, it widened into a proper road. Reliefs in the style of Old Dracaryl adorned the mountain slope, showing the robed lords of Dracaryl destroying their enemies with magic and dragon fire.
“Charming artwork,” said Gerald.
“The lords of Dracaryl were not kindly men,” said Osric. “Lord Mazael, we're about five miles south of Red Valley.”
“Corvad passed this way,” said Romaria, sweeping her eyes over the ground. “I'm sure of it.”
“Then let's find him,” said Mazael, hand resting on Lion's hilt.
He led them along the road. It sloped downward, and as it did, Mazael felt the air grow warmer. Where the devil was that heat coming from? It made Mazael think of dragon fire.
At last the road rounded the curve of the mountain, opening into Red Valley.
Mazael saw pools of lava bubbling in the valley's floor, the air overhead rippling. Yet trees and bushes grew elsewhere in the valley, dotted with bloom of vivid color. The hot air from the lava pools, Mazael realized. It kept the Red Valley warm enough for the plants to grow, even here amidst the mountains.
On a crag at the far end of the Valley stood Arylkrad.
Castle Cravenlock looked like the stronghold of a dark wizard from a child's story, but Arylkrad made Castle Cravenlock look like a hovel. The great black castle towered over the valley, an intricate maze of delicate towers surrounding an enormous dome. A thick wall encircled the entire castle, studded with massive bastions.
“Gods,” said Gerald. “Look at that place. It's larger than Knightcastle.”
“Corvad must be inside the castle already,” said Mazael. That was bad. If Corvad barricaded himself inside Arylkrad, he could hold off Mazael with ease.
“He's been this way,” said Romaria, pointing at the ground. “I don't see any sign of the Malrags in the valley. They must have reached the castle.” Her frown deepened. “Those trees look as if they were burned, recently.”
“A dragon?” said Mazael.
“Possibly,” said Romaria. “I don't know.”
Mazael looked from the castle to the valley. Perhaps Corvad had killed any dragons after his arrival. It would make it easier to catch him – but if Corvad was able to kill dragons with ease, defeating him would prove a challenge.
“Let's go,” said Mazael.
He led the way into the valley, a long line of men and mules following him. The strange, exotic smell of the valley's flowers grew sharper, along with the sharp, sulfurous odor of the lava pools. The road widened, a line of black basalt blocks marching to the base of Arylkrad's stony crags. Black steles stood amongst the trees, carved with scenes praising the glory of Old Dracaryl.
Twisted lumps of black char lay here and there along the road, the ground scorched to black ash beneath them.
“Are those burned trees?” said Gerald.
“I think,” said Romaria, tapping one with the toe of her boot, “I think that used to be a Malrag.”
“Dragon fire,” said Osric, unlimbering a short bow and stringing it. “Only dragon fire burns that hot.”
“Perhaps Corvad didn't get to Arylkrad after all,” said Kjalmir.
“No,” said Romaria. “The signs are...mixed.” She stopped, stooped, and scrutinized the ground for a moment. “Most of the Malrags made it to Arylkrad.”
“If Corvad slew a dragon,” said Osric, “we would see the carcass.”
A flash of light caught Mazael's eye.
“Wait,” said Timothy, sudden alarm in his voice. “My lords. That black diadem Corvad wears. It bestows the power to raise zuvembies?”
“I am certain of it,” said Circan. “When we fought Corvad's zuvembies, I sensed the magical power in the diadem. I think it is a relic of Old Dracaryl.”
Mazael looked at Arylkrad. A line of gold crowned part of the massive outer wall.
“The lords of Dracaryl could command dragons,” said Timothy. “What if the diadem also gives Corvad the power to control dragons?”
“Then he wouldn't need to fight the dragon to reach Arylkrad,” said Gerald. “He could take control of it...”
A horrible realization came to Mazael
“...and command it to destroy his enemies,” said Kjalmir.
The line of gold atop Arylkrad's wall uncurled, and Mazael saw the dragon.
The beast was enormous. It was at least a hundred feet long, its wingspan twice that. Its golden scales flashed as it turned to face them, and even across the distance, Mazael felt the weight of its burning red gaze.
Its roar boomed over the valley like a peal of thunder.
“Well, damn,” said Osric.
The golden dragon jumped from the wall, its wings beating. The great beast moved with terrific speed, faster than Mazael had thought something that large could move...
“Scatter!” he roared. “Beware the flame! Scatter! Scatter now!”
The men ran in all directions, trying to take cover behind the steles and trees.
Some did not move fast enough.
The dragon's mouth opened, and a lance of hot-white flame erupted over its fangs. Mazael saw a dozen mules and half a dozen men vanish in the flames, the flesh burned from their bones in an instant. Four more mules caught fire and ran in terror and pain, braying piteously.
“Arrows!” yelled Mazael, drawing Lion. “Aim for the wings! Force it to the ground!”
His men scrambled to obey, the Arminiars loading their massive crossbows with barbed quarrels. Yet Mazael doubted it would be enough. Those heavy crossbows took time to load, and the dragon was deadly quick.
Already the dragon banked over the entrance to the valley, coming around for another pass.
###
Romaria raised her bow, the string drawn back.
She had seen dragons before. In the passes of the Great Mountains, during her journeys to the barbarian lands of the east. In the peaks of the Old Kingdoms, far south of Knightcastle and Castle Dominus. But she had kept a wide berth, and took care to avoid the dragons.
One did not fight a dragon and live.
But now she had no choice.
The dragon spun, and unleashed another blast of flame. Most of the men scrambled out of the way, but two were not fast enough, and died as dragon fire turned their flesh to ash and their bones to glowing coals. Another caught the edge of the blast and went up in flames and collapsed to the ground, shrieking in agony.
He would not live much longer. A mercy, that.
Osric loosed arrow after arrow, short bow thrumming in his hands. Mazael's crossbowmen and Kjalmir's Arminiars fired, sending a storm of bolts at the dragon. Most struck the dragon's golden scales and bounced away. But some punched through the taut leather of the dragon's wings, tearing holes in the membrane. Romaria loosed her own arrow, the shaft burying itself in the base of the dragon's right wing. The dragon roared in fury and rose higher, its injured wings pumping.
It flew slower, but not by very much.
Given enough time, the crossbowmen could damage the dragon's wings, force it to land. But the dragon would burn them to ashes long before they had the chance. And even if they forced the beast down, it could still tear them apart.
Angry. She had to make it angry.
The dragon circled and swooped down for another attack. The knights and armsmen hastened for cover, the crossbowmen trying to reload their weapons.
Romaria did not move.
She heard Mazael shouting, felt the dragon's crimson eyes fix on her.
The beast plunged towards her, mouth yawning wide to drown her in its flames.
In one smooth motion, Romaria snatched an arrow from her quiver, raised her bow, and fired.
The shaft buried itself in the dragon's tongue.
###
The dragon twitched when Romaria's arrow disappeared into its mouth, a shudder going through its golden body, and loosed a scream of astonished rage. Mazael watched as Romaria fired again, her arrow plunging through the dragon's wing.
“Human insect!”
The dragon's voice thundered like a collapsing mountain.
“You will suffer for this! You will scream!”
The dragon spun, lining up to loose its fire upon Romaria.
“You will beg for mercy! You will fall on your knees and...”
Another of Romaria's arrows buried itself in the dragon's tongue.
“You'll have to catch me first!” shouted Romaria.
The dragon's scream of fury pressed against Mazael's ears like a living thing.
Pride, Mazael realized. The dragon might not have any physical weaknesses, but it still had the weakness of pride. It regarded humans as insects, as vermin, and for human vermin to cause it even the slightest pain was an intolerable insult.
The dragon turned in pursuit of Romaria, ignoring the crossbow quarrels that plunged into its beating wings.
###
Romaria ran.
The dragon pursued, still bellowing threats, lining up for another blast of fire. She let herself slow, and the dragon's mouth yawned wide. But instead of loosing another arrow, she reversed direction, diving to the ground. The dragon shot overhead, moving too fast to change its course, fire blasting from its maw.
Its left foreleg smacked against one of the black steles, putting a wobble into the dragon's flight. It tried to turn, but it was flying too fast, and smashed into the hillside, its claws digging furrows into the earth. Its wings folded as it tried to regain its balance, and Romaria seized the opportunity, firing one, two, three arrows into its right wing. Her arrows plunged into the folded wing like knives, pinning it in place.