Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [142]
"So passes Gwennath, Lady-Lord High Marshal of Cormyr," a knight beside Ilberd murmured. "Who rode all the way from High Horn to win this battle for us-and lose her own life."
"Win it?" someone else growled. "Forgive me if my eyes fail, but I seem to see a dragon…"
The Devil Dragon turned in the air with indolent grace and plunged down upon the cavalry, taking them in the rear just as they had done to the goblins. She skidded along, shaking the ground in fresh thunder with the force of her passage, and snapping her jaws like a dog ridding itself of stinging flies. A bloody cloud trailed from her as she swept her foes in a terrible tangle down the battlefield, leaving a long, bloody smear.
When their heaped, shattered corpses brought her to a halt at last, she bounded aloft again, scattering those who tried to hurl lances at her with a sweep of a mighty tail. She circled, looking down at those she was going to slay at her next pass. Or the next one.
* * * * *
Gwennath may have been dead, but she'd left one last trick for her slayer. The great red dragon had barely begun her dive down at the cavalry when there was a flash from within its close-packed ranks, then another.
"That's magic!" someone on the hilltop shouted.
"Lord Wizard?" someone else barked. Vangerdahast peered, and kept peering, and said simply, "Aye. Magic."
They stood and watched as the dragon came down, large and terrible in the sky-unmoving, claws outstretched and mouth agape as the ground rushed up, her eyes rolling wildly at the last.
"It's spellbound!" someone cried excitedly, as horsemen scattered in the valley below.
The dragon crashed headfirst into the valley.
The ground shook, and many of the men on the hill fell as the ground quivered under them. Those who kept their footing saw men and their mounts cartwheeling helplessly through the air in the vale below, twisting in agony and despair, and vain attempts to catch hold of something in the roaring chaos that engulfed them.
The ground shook for a long, groaning time. The stiff-winged wyrm slid along like a giant plough, choking out a cry that sounded very like a human woman sobbing, as it helplessly hurled a great cloud of dust and dirt at the sky in its wake.
Clods of earth rained down on the hillside, and men swore in awe and threw up their hands-too late-to shield their eyes. The earth itself seemed to groan and echo its complaint back from the hills around, as at last the Devil Dragon came to a halt.
A horn sounded even before the great wyrm stopped moving, and lancers in the valley below spurred their mounts forward in a charge that ended at those curving scales as they milled around, thrusting and hurling for all their might.
The dragon surged as her assailants raged around her, heaving herself up once, twice, then twisting and rolling over on her side among screaming horses and sprinting men. She thrashed, flailed, then shook herself all over, hurling bodies like broken dolls in all directions, and righted herself.
Ilberd could have sworn the Devil Dragon was wearing a grim look as she flapped her wings, bowling over men and horses like so many toys and clearing a wide area around herself. She reared up and beat her wings in earnest, then, faltering only once. When she took to the air, she was not quite free of the magic, and her wavering flight was straight to her hilltop, to a crashing, heavy landing.
The beast lay motionless, but for her heaving sides, for some moments. The men on the hill saw many spears moving up and down with her scales.
"Blood to us," a war captain growled in satisfaction. "Now let's get over there and finish the task."
They were already moving forward when a lancelord pointed and snapped, "Gods above! More of them!"
Up into view from the far side of the dragon's hill were coming more goblins-a steady stream of fresh faces, shields, and waving blades.
The men on the hill came to an