The Shadow Companion - Laura Anne Gilman [51]
The chime sounded again, rising as the echoes of the first peal faded, and the dragon’s entire body convulsed, the twitch beginning in its gut, working all the way up its massive torso. Newt could almost see each scale bulge and ripple as something terrible happened within the dragon’s body, rising all the way up the dragon’s long, sinewy neck.
“He looks”—not even the glory of the sound could stop the comment from coming out of his mouth—“like he’s going to throw up!”
The dragon shook its head, swinging its neck back and forth, as though trying to deny whatever was happening. A third chime sounded, this time more insistent, and Ailis gasped. “It’s coming from inside the dragon!”
Even as they both realized the origin of the sound, the dragon’s mouth opened, and a blast of flame emerged.
Cold flame. Newt realized even as he shielded Ailis with his body. Constans rose up on his shoulder, its neck stretched out to greet the fire, a smaller, more slender version of the dragon. His tongue flicked out in anticipation.
The flame broke over the salamander like water flowing around a sword, and flowed past them as formless and gentle as a mother’s kiss.
Newt dared to look over his shoulder, and his jaw fell open. Whatever shocks, whatever surprises he had dealt with until now were nothing compared to the sight of what was being belched from the dragon’s gut.
It landed a few paces from them, the glow dissipating from around it as it fell. The dragon’s body folded in on itself, the great neck coiling back down onto its shoulders, torso and tail curling into a sleeping pose. The glaring eyes flickered shut.
Newt held his breath. The dragon did not move.
The last remnant of the chimes faded entirely, leaving behind nothing but a patient silence.
“Ailis.” Newt’s voice was hoarse, as though he had been screaming for months. He cleared his throat, wincing at how much it hurt, and tried again. “Ailis.”
She opened her eyes, pulling away from Newt’s protective hug, and looked around, visibly bracing herself for the sight of Gerard, sprawled lifeless and bloody on the cavern floor.
He was bloody, yes, but still breathing. At least until he looked up and saw the dragon, no longer any threat to him. His skin flushed, then went white, and he fell back to his knees, wincing in pain as he did so.
“We did it,” he said in awe. “We found the Grail.”
“From the body of the last dragon left in England,” Newt said, getting to his feet and walking over on wobbly legs, looking down in wonder.
It was such a simple thing: a plain wooden goblet, scratched and battered from use and age. The wood was dark, with a purple-tinged grain.
“Olivewood,” Newt said, then blinked, surprised that he had known it.
Gerard reached out to touch it, then stopped. It was just a cup, a thing that would have looked totally ordinary next to any knight’s trencher back in Camelot. But there was no doubt among them what it truly was.
“I wonder if the dragon swallowed it, thinking it was treasure…or if someone put it there, for safekeeping.” Ailis had gone directly to Gerard, checking his leg, then his arm. She tried to pull strips off her skirt in order to create a bandage. The fabric was tough to tear, so she pulled Gerard’s dagger from his belt without him even noticing, using it to slice at the fabric.
“For safekeeping? Ow!” He complained as she tied the makeshift bandage around his leg.
“It makes as much sense as hiding it in a forest,” she retorted, taking refuge in arguing. “Maybe…maybe the dragon’s being magical itself, by its very nature, hid the magic of the Grail…”
“How?” Gerard asked.
“Things magical. They feel different.” She didn’t know how else to explain what she could see so clearly. “I can feel it now, coming off the Grail. I couldn’t sense it before, like the dragon blocked it. But what made the dragon give it up? And why is it sleeping now?”
“Who cares?” Gerard’s pain and defeat was forgotten as he stared at the prize. “We did it. We won the Grail!”
Ailis pulled the second bandage