Though his grip withstood the intensity of the impact, Gideon’s breath was taken away. Worse still, he didn’t have time to recover before Godrad fought back and Ilargo was forced to shift his weight.
Move! Ilargo warned him.
The old master leapt from his saddle as Godrad’s tail hammered down across the green dragon’s back, eliciting a pained roar from him. Still trying to catch his breath, Gideon landed and flowed into a roll to avoid the grappling dragons, their every movement crushing more Reavers.
Keep him this side of the valley! Gideon instructed, fearful of the rebel forces who could get caught beneath the winged titans.
Ilargo speared his head upwards and clamped his jaws around Godrad’s neck. With the weight of his body behind him, the dragon shoved the undead beast further west, away from the clashing armies. In their absence, the Reavers quickly moved to swarm Gideon Thorn.
As they closed in, the old master held his hands close together. He called on the limited magic he had at his disposal and let it build in the gap between his palms. Then, when the fiends were within a few feet of him, he swept both hands out wide and unleashed his spell. The Reavers were tossed back and high in an arcing wave, their armour crumpled into their bodies and their bones shattered.
In the space it afforded him, Gideon took Mournblade in hand. He had seconds to prepare himself for battle. Quietening his mind, he heard his breath fall away, then the sound of the wind, and the rain hitting his leathers. All that remained was the rain striking the steel of his Vi’tari blade. The elven scimitar had been by his side for years - it was the only sword he had ever wielded. They were one.
The first group of Reavers to descend on him took the old master through forms one to three of the Mag’dereth. When they lay still on the ground and the next wave fell upon him, he was moving through form four to the most violent form five. This was a dance with Death. His scimitar flashed in every direction, cutting in at every angle, while his body moved like a snake, coiling in and out of encounters. His feet barely touched the ground as he weaved through the Reavers, dropping them with single strikes of precision.
To his left, a light as bright as the sun banished the night when Ilargo’s fiery breath blew in the wind. Their positions had reversed now, with Godrad’s jaws locked under Ilargo’s neck and manipulating the direction he faced. Gideon could feel Ilargo’s frustration and rage mixing together. His front claws came up and sank into Godrad’s face, tearing and shredding what there was of the dragon’s rotten features. When the tendons between his jaws were severed, Godrad lost some of the strength in his bite and Ilargo was able to free himself from the fangs.
Gideon knew what was coming. Do it! he urged, ducking under an incoming spear.
Ilargo needed no encouragement to destroy his undead kin. With Godrad’s head still under his own, Ilargo used his front claws to prize open his enemy’s mouth, stretching it beyond any dragon’s natural capacity. Then, with unrelenting fury, he lowered his own head towards the open maw and exhaled a jet of fire. The hungry flames spread throughout Godrad’s innards and escaped through the jagged holes that marred his body.
Only when Godrad’s body grew limp did Ilargo release the flaming beast. The ground shook, the last impact Godrad would have on the realm.
Emerging victorious, if bloodied, Ilargo roared into the night and unleashed his fiery breath on the surrounding Reavers. It was the light of his flames that revealed Vilyra only a second before she brought her twin swords down on Gideon. Through his eyes, Mournblade felt the incoming attack and shot up horizontally to intercept them.
Vilyra’s boot spear-headed her second attack and slammed into Gideon’s chest, taking him clean from the ground. His spine protested against the impact, but the knock to the back of his head dulled its intensity.
He naturally rolled onto his front in an attempt to get up, but he saw Vilyra dashing towards him out of the corner of his eye. It was instinct that caused him to raise his hand towards her, the spell echoing from long ago into his mind. Only his level of power held him back, though the telekinetic blast still succeeded in pushing the Dragon Rider back several feet.
It was enough to give him time, a precious thing on a battlefield. On his feet again, Mournblade gripped tightly in his hand, Gideon had nothing but a grimace for Vilyra. She was the last on a short list of ancient heroes who needed putting back in the grave.
Her leaping attack appeared frenzied, her blades coming in at wild angles, but Gideon could see the fighting style emerging through it all. Maintaining the fifth form of the Mag’dereth, he kept up an aggressive response and pushed her back step after step. Soon, the area was beginning to flood with dwarves, humans, and elves as they took advantage of the hole Ilargo had punctured in the Reavers’ line. Gideon welcomed them, thankful to have his back protected.
We must return to The Bastion! Ilargo insisted, his tail sweeping through hordes of Reavers.
Gideon cried out in pain when one of Vilyra’s blades stabbed into his shoulder and the other sliced along his thigh. Spinning on his heel, the old master flourished his scimitar behind his back and deflected her next attack while positioning himself to face the Dragon Rider in form four, a style that balanced defence evenly with attack.
Would you like me to intervene? Ilargo enquired, snatching a Reaver from his shoulder and spitting it back onto the battlefield.
Gideon responded by countering Vilyra’s low strike with a twist of his own, a flick positioned just right to send the weapon flying from her hand. He then advanced with a strike to her left and
