humans, who needed his efforts. He could not allow it to be so easy for them.
The Witch-King slipped back into his shadow form and slid into a crack in the wall.
“Fire, this time,” Fisticus the wizard told his two companions. “When the wyrm lifts high its head, engulf it.”
All three wizards readied their spells, watching intently as Fisticus determined the pattern of the dragon’s movements.
“One …” he counted, “two …”
“Do say ‘three,’ ” a raspy voice behind the trio interrupted.
Zhengyi watched the trio stiffen, and he grinned as he imagined the expressions on their faces. He didn’t let that distract him, though, as he began casting his favorite spell.
The wizards whirled around, right in the face of a sudden burst of intertwined multicolored beams of shimmering light.
Fisticus threw his arm up before his eyes while the wizard to his left was bathed in blue. That unfortunate man, blinded by the brilliance of Zhengyi’s spell, tried to scream, but his skin hardened to stone, and he froze in place with his mouth agape.
Purple light engulfed Fisticus and he was gone, just gone, removed from the Prime Material Plane and launched randomly through the multiverse, though at least his abrupt departure allowed him to avoid the blast of lightning that jolted and seared the man to his right. The bolt arced through where Fisticus had been standing and crackled against the wizard statue across the way. The solid rock he had become exploded under the pressure of the lightning, sending finger pebbles and elbow rocks flying.
And a second hue washed over the wizard who had borne the initial shock of the lightning strike. Already down and near death, he mustered all of his remaining energy for one final shriek of agony as a red glow washed over him and he erupted in flames. He couldn’t even manage to roll on the floor, however, so he just lay there burning.
Zhengyi gave a raspy sigh and shook his head.
“Appreciation, dear Urshula?” he whispered as he turned his attention back to the dragon and the larger fight, to find that his intrusion had not gone unnoticed.
“The Witch-King!” one man yelled.
At the dragon’s side, Sir Donegan grimaced at the thought that such a foe had come against them at so desperate a time. He could only pray that his soldier was wrong and could only hope that they could be done with the beast quickly.
“Fisticus, finish it!” he yelled as he struck his great sword again against the dragon’s flank.
He managed a roll as he completed the strike to gain a view of the wizards-or of what remained of them. Donegan took note of a shadowy figure against the stone, but he couldn’t pause long enough to consider it at any length.
“Fight on, my warriors! The wyrm is failing!” he cried, rallying his troops and throwing himself with abandon against the great beast.
Urshula heard that claim, and couldn’t rightly dismiss it. The wizards’ strikes had wounded him badly, and he could feel the tip of a lance rattling around beneath his scaly armor, tearing up his insides.
“Zhengyi? My ally?” Urshula grumbled in the course of his continuing growl, and he was glad indeed to see one of the wizards smoldering on the floor, and the remaining piece of a second standing as stone, blasted to nothingness from the waist up.
But where was Zhengyi?
A sting in Urshula’s side brought him from his contemplation and reminded him of his immediate concerns. He thrashed and stomped a man flat with his hind leg then battered down with his wing, knocking aside several others. His tail whipped out the other way, driving back yet another group of the stubborn warriors.
Zhengyi watched patiently from within a crack in the stone, the material components for several spells ready in hand. He silently applauded Urshula’s ferocity as the dragon scooped up a man in his jaws and crunched him flat. Then the dragon snapped his head and let fly the human missile, bowling several men over.
In that instant, Zhengyi thought the dragon might prevail.
But Urshula lurched to the side, and Zhengyi spied the great knight who had struck the devastating blow. Urshula tried to turn at the man, too, but a second warrior, the same female scout Zhengyi had first seen enter the dragon’s lair, had cunningly made her way to the dragon’s back and up his neck. When the distracted wyrm focused on the knight, she drove a slender sword under the back of the dragon’s skull.
Zhengyi shook his head and produced the dragon skull phylactery.
Then the wyrm reminded Zhengyi and all of the others exactly why dragons were so rightly feared. Urshula leaped up, snapping his head back, forward, then down. The motion flipped the female warrior right over the crown of the dragon’s head spikes so violently that she could never have held on. The fall from twenty feet to the stone might have killed her, but the dragon never let it get that far. Biting out, his maw covered her so that her head, feet, and one flailing arm fell free from her body.
And through all of that, the dragon continued his leap and mid air roll. Urshula’s size became his primary weapon as he crashed down atop the bulk of the remaining force, crushing them under his great weight.
Zhengyi grimaced as the black dragon’s eyes tightened in pain, for that crushing attack forced weapons and ridges of armor through the dragon’s scales, injuring him badly as he crushed and thrashed the life from many of his enemies.
But not from the resourceful and valiant knight with the huge sword, Zhengyi saw, as that man danced out from under the tumbling wyrm and spun, slashing hard at the dragon’s flailing foreleg then moving past the limb to stab hard at the beast’s torso.
He tried to, at least, before an invisible force grabbed at the knight, the hand of telekinesis. As he leaped at the wyrm, he rose up over the beast and kept climbing into the air.
Zhengyi, quite pleased with himself, kept the man climbing.
Sir Donegan whipped around with great ferocity, trying to break free of the magical grasp. Rage gripped him as surely as the dragon’s spell as he saw again and again that image of the great wyrm biting Maryin apart. He went up twenty feet, fifty feet, and more, helpless as the dragon continued to slaughter his warriors, many of whom stared up at their flying leader, mouths hanging open, hope flying from their widened eyes.
Donegan slashed his great sword, as if trying to cut through some physical hand, but there was nothing to hit.
The knight turned his attention to the ceiling, which he fast approached. He braced himself for the impact, but never quite got there.
The invisible force let him go.
Screaming and cursing as he dropped, Sir Donegan refused to accept his fate. His startled cry became a roar of defiance, and he twisted himself around, lining his sword up with the head of the dragon, who did not see him coming.
Donegan’s blade drove in against the beast’s skull, cracking through the bone. Donegan held on until he, too, smashed into the wyrm, head first. His helmet jolted down, cracking his collarbone at either side. His neck compacted so forcefully that his spine turned to powder. He crunched into place and held for a moment, twisted over backward.
Then he rolled away, off the wyrm, whose great head was held suspended in the air, Donegan’s sword quivering in place like a third horn.
“Witch-King?” Urshula bellowed again, in a voice bubbling with blood. He peered at the wall where the wizards had been felled, and red filled his vision. “Witch-King!”
