At the hall’s main doors, one elf went down in a heap, fatally wounded. Morven and the other elves had nearly finished killing the remaining mercenaries, but one leapt over the body, charging ahead to strike down the legendary Soliander, who recoiled and fumbled for words or items to block the raised sword about to end him. The blow somehow stopped just inches from Matt as if striking an invisible barrier. With a shriek, the man fell over dead, bearing a wound just like the one he would’ve inflicted. The wizard gaped in disbelief.
Anna knelt beside the fallen knight. “Ryan,” she started, hands on him, “where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” he moaned.
Anna tried to block out the approaching dragon and laid her hands on him, trying to call to Kiarin. The blood from Ryan’s illusionary death still darkened her robe.
Perndara saw the white-robed figure trying to heal the Dragon Slayer and swept her claws through the air. Anna never saw them coming, but Lorian did. He shouted words and thrust out his hand, sending shards of ice into the dragon’s neck. Perndara flinched, the motion changing her claw’s path so that it struck only a glancing blow that still nearly ripped Anna’s arm off, sending her tumbling into a heap where she lay unmoving.
Ryan saw the flash of golden scales remove Anna from above him, a shower of awful red blood splattering his visor. He bolted up despite the pain, screaming her name and seeing a pile of white robes stained with fresh blood. He rose, favoring one leg, and started for her when an enormous growl made him turn, for the limping dragon loomed overhead, triumphant, ferocious eyes ablaze. He stood defenseless.
Watching this, a visibly livid Matt gripped Soliander’s staff in both hands and closed his eyes. Moments later, a forked tongue of lightning burst from the crystal to strike each of the dragon’s eyes, boring into them. The enraged dragon flung her head side to side, trying to escape, but the twin beams followed her every move. When they stopped, only two scorched holes remained of Perndara’s orbs, and no amount of magical healing would ever bring them back.
A deafening howl shook the walls, drowning out the sound of the lance sliding under Perndara and across the dusty floor. Eric had retrieved it and now sent it right up to Ryan, who stopped it with his foot. The knight lifted the lance, concentrating on the black scorch mark on the dragon’s chest. Perndara never even knew he had it back when the Dragon Slayer took two quick steps and slammed the lance’s tip into the bull’s eye Lorian had given him.
The blow went deep into the dragon’s chest. She reared up as if startled, a small puff of smoke curling up from her nostrils, jaws agape. She paused there as if to collapse would acknowledge Death had come for her, but finally she crashed to the floor with a great rumble that knocked loose stones from the broken ceiling. The body twitched and slowly the weight of her giant corpse settled. After a moment of silence, the great lungs expelled a final breath that washed over him.
Ryan let out a deep sigh, unsure how to feel, but the dragon didn’t matter now. His reluctance to do harm had gotten yet another person hurt, and worst of all, she was the one person who could save Daniel. The dragon wasn’t the only thing that had just died, for something in Ryan had, too, and yet it set him free like he hadn’t been since the day of the accident so long ago. The man who had recently stood in horror over the body of the slain assassin was gone, replaced by a man who could look at something he’d just purposely killed with little regret.
Ryan looked about the room, so preoccupied with the dragon that he only just now saw the bodies everywhere, most behind the fountain and some on the balconies. Many survivors bore blood. Everything about this mission was so important to everyone that they were willing to risk their lives either to keep the dragons away or assist in their return.
He went to Anna, seeing Rognir leaning over her, soft light fading from his hands as the priest finished healing her. “How is she?” the knight asked the dwarf, seeing her eyes opening.
“She’ll be fine, lad,” replied the dwarf, watching as Nola and Cirion emerged from hiding to take aim at the remaining archers, who’d been standing in shock. Now they fell lifeless one by one until some realized the battle was lost and fled. “A better question,” began Rognir, “is how are you? You took a mighty blow.”
Ryan had almost forgotten, the adrenaline having kept the pain at bay. He was about to reply when Morven came up to them, looking grim. Two elves had died and another lay badly wounded. The dwarf started to rise sluggishly, weakened by all the healing he’d done. He could only do so much before his own strength gave out.
“Maybe I can help,” began Eric, having clambered over the dragon to reach them. He gently pushed the dwarf back down and went over to the wounded, using the last of his ring’s spells on the more gravely hurt. One elf still had a broken leg, so the rogue had Matt come over and do the same. Ryan gathered his sword and lance, Eric retrieved his knives, and Lorian slid down from the balcony on a tattered tapestry. The sounds of men fleeing
