“Left, Dragon!” Inzashu screeched. “Sorry –”
“Don’t be sorry, keep calling!” Loading his second quarrel, Dragon let loose from a distance of less than thirty feet. Thwock! Dead centre in the chest.
Then he furled his outer wing, throwing them sharply aside and straight through the illusion. Two smaller bowstrings sang. The winch squealed as a wave of orange fire and heat billowed toward them. He threw up his other wing, shielding his Riders as he took them rapidly past the deeply wounded enemy Dragon, angling for a second Green, who repeated the dividing manoeuvre. The acrid stench of dark magic burned his nostrils as he closed in. The third enemy climbed higher. No time to worry about him as yet.
“Inzashu, which one?”
“He’s … oscillating! Switching … left, now right …”
Cursed dark magic! Lifting his bow, Dragon aimed deliberately and shouted at Azania, “Shoot the right on my mark, Princess!”
His quarrel spat forth with an ugly whurr! At the same time, he pursed his lips and summoned a deathly stream of fire, targeting the image on the left. A flicker of the magic warned him as the Dragon leaped somehow into that incandescent space, and screamed as the searing white fires immolated him. Two arrows plunged into the fires; he could not have told if they hit home, but his Riders were doing their best.
“Now, Princess!”
The green oscillated into his other form again, only to be instantly spitted in the neck by Azania’s quarrel.
“Left and below!” Yardi cried.
The archers fired again as the first green closed in, orange fire gushing from his throat. The instant the arrows sped away, he rolled, presenting his belly and paws to the blast. A tail-lash kept the green away as they corkscrewed apart, but a quick talon tore a six-foot rent in his wing. Dragon cursed in pain.
The middle Dragon was done, falling limply toward the river. A lucky shot; it must have severed the spine or pierced a major artery.
He circled this wounded beast, trying to keep the right distance as well as looking out for the third green, somewhere above. Learning drummed through his mind, issues he knew of only from study. Taking the height was a dominant position in aerial combat, a statement of aggression and danger for the lower creature. Would they attack simultaneously? They must.
“Loaded,” Azania said.
“My shot’s the feint,” he called.
“Go!”
Surging forward in the air, Dragon fired immediately. Whurr! The Terror Clan green blurred away once more. Handy trick, that, but the second he stabilised, Azania fired a second quarrel and he wore it in the thick muscle of the left shoulder. It did not even penetrate more than three feet. Closing the gap as the other Dragon whirled sideways under the impetus of the shot, he opened his jaw and thundered:
I AM DRAGON!!
The sonic attack stunned him for a vital half-second. Smashing into the other Dragon’s left wing, he yanked it sideways with his forepaws and sank his fangs up to the gums into the upper wing joint, delivering a deep, disabling bite to the sinews.
Azania screamed, “Dragon, above –”
KERBLAM!!
They all rattled together like seeds in a pod as a massive weight smashed into his hindquarters. Pain ripped through his lower back as the third green stabbed his talons deep, hanging on as he dragged Dragon off his fellow marauder.
Brown traitor! You will die like the dog you are! he snarled, sinking his claws in a second time, this time in the lower belly.
He bellowed as the weight dragged him through the sky; he tried to tumble to throw the other off, but the Talon Clan beast was cunning, hanging on with his hooked forepaws and great strength. Pain pulsed through his body as the Dragon ripped at his flanks and tail.
Two greens plummeted helplessly. His wing-bite had been near-perfect, severing the major sinews and nerve bundles serving the wing – still, the Dragon might recover and come to a safe landing, if he did not splash down in the river. Even for a Dragon, that would be fatal. This third one, however, had him in a talon-lock that could easily lead to mortal injuries. He must shake him off or face being disembowelled or having fangs chew down into his spine. Dragon lashed his tail and tried to claw upward with his hind paws, but the wrestler’s lock-pawed grip on his lower belly region was inch-perfect.
Terror Clan traitor! he bellowed.
The green roared, There is no dishonour like bearing Humans upon your back!
Struggling and writhing, he fought to throw the other off. No good. Think, Dragon. Think! Twizzling his neck, he peered over his shoulder. What do you even want with the Skartun, you fools? Don’t you see that they will enslave you, too?
The other Dragon just grinned malevolently, raising his paw. Only a witless slave of Humans stands against the Terror Clan. We will rule all the Dragonkind after this! So tell me, brown slug, which shall I eat first – the little black Princess, or the other one?
He roared the first thing that came to mind. “Princess, cut loose and jump!”
Inzashu screamed as the green’s talons raked her back. She was the hindmost rider, the one in the most danger from this Talon Clan thug. Orange fire surged behind his fangs, but in that instant, Azania’s talon dagger flashed, severing her sister’s saddle belt. Grabbing her about the waist, she dived overboard, bouncing off his flank before falling free.
White fire thundered across his own back, singeing the Dragon’s face. Blinded! The grip released and he fell away, tearing at his eyes and screaming a Dragon’s lament.
“Princess!”
Folding his wings, Dragon rocketed in steep vertical dive toward the river, which was far closer than he had imagined. Air, water, clouds, mountains blurred before his gaze. Not going to make it. The
