"In the old days," Grandfather used to say, "we didn't have to worry about fire."
Tebrun remembered his grandfather's words and thought about how much fire had changed things. He thought of searing flames and how they cascaded down around you, as if someone were pouring them out of a sack over your head. He thought of the blast of heat that washed over you when the fire struck someone nearby, and how you couldn't even turn to help without burning your lungs on the scalding air that engulfed them. Tebrun swallowed hard and shuddered. His pink and blistered face gave testimony to his knowledge of fire. He had been close to it, close enough to be burned inside and out, but he had never been caught in an actual blaze. He had been close enough so that now, as he remembered, he thought again what it would be like to die by fire.
"Long ago, when I was a boy," Grandfather would say, "there were no scales to get in the way."
But today, Tebrun knew, scales made all the difference. Nothing less than forged steel could penetrate a scale, and even then it took a combination of effort, skill, and luck to breach one. Tebrun couldn't imagine being able to use a spear as his grandfather's mentors had done. And as for arrows, they often embedded into scales, but they never went through them. Scales held the strength of stone in the shape of a turtle shell. Scales fit like armor, but left no gaps, no weaknesses. Tebrun shrugged beneath his own armor: a finely crafted suit of chain mail and steel plating that would protect him in battle, though not nearly as well as scales, which were too large and too heavy to wear.
"It's getting harder," Grandfather would tell his boys, "but as it gets harder, we must become tougher."
Humanity had gotten tougher. In the beginning, there had been no scales, so humans could use spears and arrows effectively. Through shear numbers they gained a steady advantage. Then, there came scales, and the advantage faded back into equilibrium. But when people began to use swords and other forged weapons, they regained their strong standing. Later, there came fire, and the advantage turned against them. When humans invented armor, things improved, but not drastically. Only recently, with newer inventions, had they turned the tide once again.
Tebrun walked with his compatriots along the mountain path. They walked slowly, with armor weighing down their backs and equally heavy thoughts weighing on their minds. The troupe never took battle lightly, not with all that was at stake. Miles below them in the valley, the town awaited their triumphant return. If they failed, their deaths would seal the fate of the town. It would die as they had, in the grip of an enveloping inferno, under the impenetrable breast of a scaled colossus that knew no mercy. These thoughts played in the minds of Tebrun and his companions, and many of the weary, haunted men had seen it happen before. So they trudged up the side of the mountain, encumbered by their steel and their nightmares. Each man held a sword and also a newly invented weapon. Each man prayed to hit his mark and end the life of the flame-wielding monster. No man wanted to be a hero, but all wanted to live and to kill the dragon.
Dragons, although reptilian, were not so different from humans. Dragons, like humans, were not inherently powerful creatures. They had greater size than humans, but humans had greater numbers. They had flight, but humans had weapons that flew. These stalemates led to many a bloody battle, and each side, in its own furious hatred of what was different than itself, became determined to best the other. Humanity took an early lead in the race, creating wood and stone weapons to kill its foes. Dragons learned quickly, though, and soon they equipped themselves with scales through which nothing could penetrate. But nothing soon gave way to forged steel, and the stalemate resumed. Then, after years more of savage, intermittent war, the dragons invented their fire. Theirs was not a normal flame, being nothing so fragile and elementary as the fire which humans used. Theirs burned hotter and longer, and it could not be quenched until it dissipated of its own accord. Against this new, horrible threat, humans created armor, but it proved to be only minimally effective in shielding its wearers from dragonfire. So humanity toiled on a new idea, a new weapon to once and for all end the menace of dragons.
The troupe stopped at a shallow plateau. Panting, Tebrun moved to a boulder and leaned against it. An older man, marked by symbols and trimmings as the leader, walked over to him.
"You don't need to go on if you're not well, Tebrun," the leader said. "You have nothing to prove. No other man here has five scales to his credit."
"I'm all right, Sir Khale," Tebrun assured him. "My lungs feel a bit heavy, but that is all. I can certainly continue on with you."
"Good. We'll move on in a few moments."
"I'll be fine by then."
"You do your father proud," Sir Khale said, and then he turned back to face the other men.
Tebrun watched Sir Khale walk away. The old knight had been taught by his grandfather and had served with his father. In those days, dragonfire had been a new and terrifying scourge. In those days, humanity had thought itself on the verge of extinction. But people like Khale had fought back and dedicated their lives to destroying dragonkind. And people like Tebrun's father had given up their lives doing the same. Now, because of the efforts of those people, humanity had gained time, and a new chance had arisen. Tebrun held one such chance in his hand. He squeezed it tightly as Sir Khale ordered the troupe to resume its march.
As they neared the top of the mountain, Sir Khale halted the men once again. He stood before them, appraising them and gathering his thoughts.
"I must tell you something," he said finally. "I am not supposed to, but I feel that if I don't, I will be doing you a great disservice."
The men murmured to one another curiously.
"If we fail today against the dragons," Sir Khale continued, "all is not lost. There is another chance. The alchemists in Shevenny are working on something now that might forever end the threat of dragons. I am not telling you this so that we can run away from our battle, because if we don't face the dragons today, and if we don't defeat them, hundreds of people--our friends, our families, our loved ones--will soon lose their lives under their hellish attack. I am telling you this so that you know there is hope. Even if we should suffer defeat, there is hope."
Within the ranks of the troupe, the backs of the men straightened. Their eyes gleamed, and they gripped their weapons with new strength. Sir Khale sighed contentedly, knowing he had done the right thing in telling them. He ordered them to march, and they did so with new vigor.
A few minutes later, Tebrun noticed that a humming in his ears had grown far louder than that of just a passing insect. He looked around him and grew quickly nauseous as his mind recognized the sound. He looked above him and saw in the far distance two silhouetted wings beating rhythmically on either side of a dark form. Several of his companions, also hearing the vibration of distant air, raised their own heads skyward.
"Dragon!" Tebrun shouted. "From the west! Dragon!"
The call went out.
"Dragon!"
"Dragon!"
"Fire alert! Watch out," warned Sir Khale.
The dragon descended upon the men and disappeared. It disappeared behind a growing mass of blinding, burning fury. Before a single man could initiate attack, the dragonfire exploded down on top of them. Men dove in all directions to escape the immutable flames. One brave soul sacrificed himself to shove Sir Khale out of the fire's reach, but everyone else managed to survive the onslaught.
The sky went dark as the great serpentine form rushed by overhead. It circled once and issued forth a bellow which shook rock and rattled bones, then sped off toward the plateau atop the mountain. The men raised their heads. Many cursed. Others swore vengeance, and still others prayed. Sir Khale stood shakily. He said for nothing for a time as he surveyed his men. They stood, checking over themselves and each other.
"Gather your wits, men," he called out finally. "We knew this might happen. Be sharp! Be ready! We're almost there. Soon, we'll take down the beast and all its brethren. Let's go!"
The men shouted in readiness. They began to move.
"Where's Tebrun?" someone asked.
"What?" Sir Khale said. "Where is he?"
"Wait a minute..."
"What's that there?"
"Over there?"
"I see him!"
"Yes, yes, down there!"
Sir Khale pushed past the men to stand at the edge of a small cliff that dipped sharply down off the side of the path. He looked down and saw Tebrun laying some thirty feet below them. The younger man was sprawled upon a ledge barely five feet wide.
"Tebrun!" he yelled down.
Tebrun opened his eyes and stared up at his companions. His burnt face bled through open blisters. Grunting, he stood and leaned against the rock face.
"Are you all right?" Sir Khale called to him.
"I'm okay," Tebrun yelled back. "But I don't think I can make it up to you!"
"Get some rope," Sir Khale told the man beside him, "and we'll pull him up."
"Sir Khale!"
"Yes, Tebrun!"
"Go on! Don't wait for me! The attack on the dragons is more important!"
Sir Khale said nothing.
"I'm all right here!" Tebrun assured him. "With my weapons, I can defend myself, and the rock should be good for some protection! Please, don't waste time with me! Go!"
"Very well," Sir Khale decided, "we'll come back for you when we've finished! Take care, Tebrun!"
First Sir Khale, then the rest of the men, pulled back from the cliff's edge. Tebrun sighed, wiping at his bloodied face. His wounds, though painful, seemed superficial. He would do better to occupy himself with his defense, knowing how quickly and efficiently a dragon could strike. Drawing his sword, he stuck it down between two rocks. It stood there, secured but within easy reach. Then he went to where his other weapon lay upon the ground. He picked it up, looked it over to make sure it wasn't damaged, and moved back to his place against the mountain side. He wielded the weapon much as his grandfather once wielded a spear, holding it in two hands at chest level, thrust out at an angle from his body.
Several minutes later, after the sounds of the troupe had faded into echoes and then silence, Tebrun became acutely aware of something. He tensed, testing his surroundings with all of his senses. But he could neither see nor hear anything out of the ordinary, and all he could feel was the abrasive wind against the burns on his face. He stayed tensed for a minute. He stayed tensed for a minute more. He steeled his body for an attack until he began to shake from the strain. Finally, still seeing and hearing nothing, he relaxed to a normal state of readiness.
The hum itched in his ear and grew in a instant from nothing to a throbbing beat. Tebrun screamed as the behemoth rose up from out of nowhere, its canopying wings batting down the air that resisted them. The dragon's head hung a stone's throw from his own. The great maw opened revealing stalactite teeth and a tongue that Tebrun could lay on. Back behind the horrific mouth, the scaled chest began to rapidly expand.
Tebrun knew as he thrust forward his weapon that the vacuum now pulling at him would momentarily become an outburst far hotter than any furnace. He had no desire to die by dragonfire. Screaming in rage as the dragon's colossal lungs filled to capacity, he pulled the trigger.
The bullets tore from Tebrun's machine gun with a fury unmatched by any beast, dragon or otherwise. Sounding like an indescribably fast, repeating thunderclap, they roared into the chest and head of the dragon, piercing the scales and exploding into the vital flesh beneath them. The dragon crumpled, surging back as if struck by a catapult charge. It bellowed smoke and spat blood. Violently flapping its wings, it strived to remain airborne.
Tebrun lowered the gun and surveyed his opponent. Panting out wisps of black smoke, the dragon glowered, its slitted eyes pinned on Tebrun. Despite the intensity of its glare, it was clear the behemoth had no real strength left. Tebrun took careful aim and fired another burst directly into the dragon's heart. With an agonized wail, the creature sagged and then toppled down out of sight.
The sudden quiet startled Tebrun. Regaining his composure, he walked to the edge of the mountain and looked down. Far below he saw the broken remains of the dragon. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight. He stepped back and looked first at his machine gun, then out at the sky. Slowly, envisioning the ultimate defeat of the dragons, he began to smile.
In the sky above the mountain top, a dozen dragons ceased their rhythmic circling and began a rapid dive toward the plateau. On the ground, Sir Khale stood in the vanguard position before his men. Some in the troupe took refuge behind trees and rocks, and others, like their leader, stood in the open, inviting the brunt of the attack.
"When they inhale," Sir Khale instructed, cocking his assault rifle. "You needn't wait for my order."
He watched as the dragons soared down to half their original altitude. They had begun their descent mere seconds before.
"Ready. Take aim."
Like a wave, the ranks of the dragons rippled, their lungs expanding with the rush of inhaled air. They dropped from the sky like hawks upon a field of mice. The men stiffened and depressed their triggers. Their bullets rose to challenge the diving horde. Fire met fire sixty feet above the ground.
Half of the dragons survived to exhale their fire. Two men died in searing agony under their flames. Another man whose bullets had destroyed the lead dragon fell prey to its plummeting mass. The remaining men lumbered about, trying to feint, dodge, or dive away as the swooping dragons rushed by, gaining momentum for their ascension. Laying on the ground where he had been felled but not injured, Sir Khale rolled onto his back and fired up at a retreating dragon. Others in the troupe also fired. Two dragons halted in mid-flight, jerking in spasms and shrieking out inhuman cries of pain, then falling back one final time to the earth.
The men cheered as the last four dragons retreated into the air. Sir Khale frowned as he watched them go. These creatures were not stupid, he knew. They would attack in a different way the next time. The great forms shrank into obscure shapes and then into barely visible dots. The dots circled beneath the clouds.
"Get ready, men," Sir Khale said. "They may move at any time."
Sobering quickly, the troupe readied itself. The men loaded fresh clips of ammunition into their guns and repositioned themselves for the coming attack.
"Here they come," one of the men called.
"Careful, now," Sir Khale warned. "We can finish them off this time, but we must be careful."
"There were only four!" another man shouted. "But look, now there are five!"
Streaking down toward the plateau, four dragons broke formation and curved around to attack from different sides. A fifth shape hovered farther back, barely identifiable as a dragon at that distance.
The men cocked their guns. They took aim and tracked the dragons that loomed nearest to them. As each man saw the mouth gape wide and the chest expand, he opened fire.
One dragon dove straight down at its target and died in a face-off with a solitary machine-gunner. The other three dragons avoided the bullets which now came at them in less concentrated streams, strafing the plateau with their flames. Slowed immensely by their armor, men scrambled for cover. All but two, who sacrificed themselves to continue shooting, managed to hold onto their lives.
As the dragons passed, several of the men rose up from their cover and began firing again. One dragon lost its right wing to a ravaging torrent of bullets. It spiraled down to die upon impact with the mountain. Another suffered a tail wound which ultimately distracted it long enough to be brought down under another hail of bullets.
Sir Khale glanced up at the hovering shadow beneath the clouds. It had not yet moved to attack or flee, and the wise old knight could not conceive its purpose. Then, with a bellow that rattled him in his mail, the last attacking dragon charged a group of men near him. Sir Khale was just to the side of its assault path. He brought his gun to bear on it and fired on its flank as it passed him. Under the fire of all the remaining men, the creature lost control of its flight and bore fatally on into a boulder.
From above came the hollow echo of a mournful wail, cutting into the victory shouts of the troupe.
"Fall into position, men!" Sir Khale ordered. "This last one might do anything, and I'll not lose any of you to stupidity or unnecessary heroics. If it attacks, we'll kill it, and then we'll be done. But it hasn't attacked yet, so stay alert. And be ready for anything."
The men had hardly reloaded their weapons when the dragon showed its intentions. Seconds after Sir Khale had spoken, it stopped its idle circling and began to descend.
"Take aim," Sir Khale said, "and fire at will."
Come down to us, he thought, come down to us and die. Around him he heard the double-click of machine guns being cocked. Come on, he urged, let's finish this once and for all. Then he saw something wrapped in the dragon's tail. It gripped the object like one would grip something precious. It gripped the object like one would grip a weapon.
"Could they have guns, too?" he gasped in disbelief.
The dragon dove straight toward the middle of the plateau. Sir Khale watched as it drew closer and realized that it did not have a gun wrapped in its tail. In the next instant, it became clear to him what the creature did have. The dragon poised, seconds away from its attack. The men trained their guns on it, ever so slowly increasing the pressure in their trigger fingers.
"No!" Sir Khale suddenly yelled. "No! Run!"
And he himself, for the first time in his gallant military career, ran.
"Run! Run! Get away!"
Some of the men ran and some stayed. The dragon ended its descent a hundred feet above the ground and uncoiled its tail. The object fell from its grasp as the stalwart men below opened fire. With a desperate lunge forward, the dragon tried to fly past their attack. But it knew that it could not escape. It had known since the beginning. But still it flew on, and still the men fired, and still the men ran.
Then everything on the plateau--the dragons, the men, the corpses, the trees, the rocks, the air--went white.
The final roar had been immeasurable. Tebrun could not even fathom what had caused it. First had come the echoes of the battle above, then, minutes later, the sky had gone completely white. His hands had glowed so that his bones shone through them. Then, before he could give it a single thought, that final, hellish roar had thrown him off the ledge and torn the world asunder. He had landed in a short tree some way down the mountain, under a rain of fire and debris. He praised God for his very life.
Gently, favoring both new and old wounds, Tebrun eased himself from the tree. He looked up the side of the mountain. All he could see was rubble. His heart raced as he struggled to climb the rocks, his singed lungs wheezing with the effort.
After a time, he came across a number of bodies, burned almost beyond recognition. Then he heard a groan. He swallowed back bile and made his way to another charred form.
"Made it...made it..." Sir Khale croaked through blackened lips.
Tebrun bit his lip, wanting to turn away from the grotesque visage that was his leader.
"Made it...made it off before..."
"Yes," Tebrun said through streaming tears, "you made it."
"Made it...to warn you...warn someone..."
Tebrun stared at the knight, horrified.
"Tell them...at Shevenny...tell them..."
Closing his eyes to block the sight, Tebrun leaned closer.
"Tell them what?" he whispered.
"They have it too..."
Tebrun shook his head, not understanding.
"Go," Sir Khale pleaded. "Tell them...the dragons have it too...the dragons have it too..."