Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [80]
He knew he could travel quite fast on his own, fasting if necessary, but Elandra was not accustomed to such hardship. She must find the cold brutal. He told himself to take very good care of her, not let her grow too tired or too chilled.
A bugling sound came from overhead. Caelan froze, unable to believe his ears; then he looked up. Overhead sailed a shape that had haunted his dreams for years. He saw the black leathery wings, narrow head, and thin, flexing neck of a dragon.
Caelan told himself to move, to run for cover, but he couldn’t. It was impossible that this was happening again. Were the gods this capricious, this unkind? Was fate against him? Had the shadow realm tracked him down again?
The dragon wheeled high above him and bugled again. Its rider shouted something Caelan did not understand. Hatred boiled in Caelan’s heart, and he forgot both amazement and prudence as he drew his sword and brandished it aloft.
His field of vision narrowed until he could see only this one dragon and rider circling above him. He burned for revenge.
“Come down here and fight!” he roared.
The dragon lifted a wing tip and swung around, then plummeted in a sudden dive straight at Caelan. He heard the coughing roar from the dragon’s throat, and fire belched from the beast’s nostrils.
The flames scored two tracks through the snow, and thick gouts of steam rose into the air.
Caelan knew he should run. He was no match for an airborne dragon, and he knew it. But at that moment he was too furious to care.
For years he had dreamed of revenge. Now the chance had come to him. He was no untried boy this time. And he would be damned if he let this raider ruin his life a second time.
Screaming curses at the top of his lungs, he ran forward between the twin bursts of flame. The heat scorched him. He could smell his own hair burning, and one corner of his cloak caught fire. Without slowing, he leaped high in the air and swung Exoner overhead.
The tip sliced through the dragon’s wispy beard into its chin, and blood spurted. Screaming with pain, the dragon flung up its head and veered aloft even as its rider leaned dangerously over in an attempt to stab Caelan with a javelin.
Both men swore and yelled at each other, while drops of dragon blood splattered the snow. The dragon circled the treetops, squalling and slinging its head.
Only now noticing that his fur cloak was on fire, Caelan slung it off into the snow. The stink of singed animal hair filled the air. He bent a moment and scooped up a handful of snow to rub across the burns on his face.
In that moment of inattention, the dragon dove again, wings tucked, talons stretching out, head extended fully with fangs bared. It came right at him.
There was no time to dodge or duck. If the dragon succeeded in striking him, the impact alone could kill him. Caelan braced himself, bringing up his sword one-handed, and heard Elandra scream.
The impact was like being struck by a battering ram. The jolt was tremendous, knocking the air from his lungs and lifting him off his feet. He felt himself fly into the air. There was incredible pain; instinctively he severed it. He felt his arms still swinging; then Exoner bit deep, and the swing continued, slicing off the head of the dragon.
The dragon’s attack cry fell silent. Blood spurted in a great, drenching sheet, coating Caelan’s face and blinding him. The Thyzarene shouted something incomprehensible, while Caelan hit the ground with a numbing, bone-rattling jolt. Impetus sent him skidding across the ground before he struck a tree stump.
He lay there,