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Authors: Stephen Deas
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dragons flew straight at the cave. Meteroa gritted his teeth. They can’t reach me, they can’t reach me . Beside him, Gaizal calmly cranked the scorpion a little to the left and a little up. He fired. The recoil was vicious, rattling Meteroa’s bones as he tried to watch the bolt to its target. The air tasted of iron.
Scorpions. Meteroa had hundreds and hundreds of them. Tichane had destroyed dozens, and it simply didn’t matter. Meteroa was more likely to run out of people to shoot them.
‘You missed.’
‘Hit the dragon,’ said Gaizal calmly. ‘Now he’s an angry dragon. These scorpions are really hurting them. Bolt please.’
Meteroa handed him another bolt. Together they put their weight behind the cocking mechanism and levered it open again. In steady calm movements, the way we always trained. Paying as little attention as we can to the dragon that’s about to kill us.
The mechanism clacked into place and the new bolt dropped home. Gaizal spun wheels that turned the scorpion back to the right and up some more. The dragons were a few hundred yards away now and closing fast. Any moment now.
The bolt fired. One rider on the closest dragon lurched as a six-foot rod of sharpened steel struck him in the hip and speared him to his mount. Meteroa had just enough time to see a second rider have his head torn clean off by another bolt before the dragons opened their mouths. He must have sensed it coming, somehow, because he was already pulling the fire shield down over himself and the scorpion and cranking the lever that propelled them away from the light and towards the back of the cave. It took us an hour of being slaughtered to realise how to do that. He cringed and muttered a prayer to his ancestors.
Prince Lai built these scorpions . The realisation reached him at much the same time as a wall of fire shook the cave, scouring its walls. Each cave had three scorpions. Each scorpion was on an iron rail that ran from the front of its cave to the back. At the front, it had an open field of view and a wide arc of fire. When a dragon came close, the scorpion withdrew to the back, out of reach of tooth and claw.
But not out of reach of fire. For that there was the shield. It hadn’t taken long at all to discover those – hinged slabs of dragon-scale that wrapped the scorpion in a fireproof cocoon. Meteroa had never seen scorpions as big as these. Big enough to make a dragon scream.
The stifling scorched air drained away. Meteroa was vaguely surprised to find that he was still alive and in fact unhurt. Cautiously he lifted the fire shield up. The cave entrance was clear.
Prince Lai got it right. Meteroa couldn’t help but smile. You’ve got more dragons out there than I have riders. I’m really supposed to have lost already. Yet here I am in an impregnable fortress armed with the weapons designed by the Prince of War himself. Here I am, Tichane! Come and take me, if you can. Vishmir and Prince Lai had fought the first Valmeyan here, around the the Pinnacles, during the War of Thorns. The most famous battle in history, between the greatest dragon-knights the world had ever seen. And here I am, with another Valmeyan outside, gifted these presents by my ancestors . . .
‘Bolt please.’ The scorpion was already riding forward on its rail. Meteroa lifted another bolt – they were surprisingly heavy – from the crate slung at the back of the weapon and started on the arming lever. That took both of them with all of their strength to crank back ready to fire again. Two dragons flashed across the mouth of the cave right in front of them. The scorpion shook as Gaizal fired. Missed. In the middle distance another dragon bucked and screamed and veered towards them. The other two scorpions in the cave fired in unison. The noise was like a thunderclap.
‘Missed.’
‘Are you sure?’ Meteroa felt his skin tingle. The dragon-fury was like lightning in the air.
Gaizal shrugged. ‘Bolt.’ Meteroa reached for
Scorpions. Meteroa had hundreds and hundreds of them. Tichane had destroyed dozens, and it simply didn’t matter. Meteroa was more likely to run out of people to shoot them.
‘You missed.’
‘Hit the dragon,’ said Gaizal calmly. ‘Now he’s an angry dragon. These scorpions are really hurting them. Bolt please.’
Meteroa handed him another bolt. Together they put their weight behind the cocking mechanism and levered it open again. In steady calm movements, the way we always trained. Paying as little attention as we can to the dragon that’s about to kill us.
The mechanism clacked into place and the new bolt dropped home. Gaizal spun wheels that turned the scorpion back to the right and up some more. The dragons were a few hundred yards away now and closing fast. Any moment now.
The bolt fired. One rider on the closest dragon lurched as a six-foot rod of sharpened steel struck him in the hip and speared him to his mount. Meteroa had just enough time to see a second rider have his head torn clean off by another bolt before the dragons opened their mouths. He must have sensed it coming, somehow, because he was already pulling the fire shield down over himself and the scorpion and cranking the lever that propelled them away from the light and towards the back of the cave. It took us an hour of being slaughtered to realise how to do that. He cringed and muttered a prayer to his ancestors.
Prince Lai built these scorpions . The realisation reached him at much the same time as a wall of fire shook the cave, scouring its walls. Each cave had three scorpions. Each scorpion was on an iron rail that ran from the front of its cave to the back. At the front, it had an open field of view and a wide arc of fire. When a dragon came close, the scorpion withdrew to the back, out of reach of tooth and claw.
But not out of reach of fire. For that there was the shield. It hadn’t taken long at all to discover those – hinged slabs of dragon-scale that wrapped the scorpion in a fireproof cocoon. Meteroa had never seen scorpions as big as these. Big enough to make a dragon scream.
The stifling scorched air drained away. Meteroa was vaguely surprised to find that he was still alive and in fact unhurt. Cautiously he lifted the fire shield up. The cave entrance was clear.
Prince Lai got it right. Meteroa couldn’t help but smile. You’ve got more dragons out there than I have riders. I’m really supposed to have lost already. Yet here I am in an impregnable fortress armed with the weapons designed by the Prince of War himself. Here I am, Tichane! Come and take me, if you can. Vishmir and Prince Lai had fought the first Valmeyan here, around the the Pinnacles, during the War of Thorns. The most famous battle in history, between the greatest dragon-knights the world had ever seen. And here I am, with another Valmeyan outside, gifted these presents by my ancestors . . .
‘Bolt please.’ The scorpion was already riding forward on its rail. Meteroa lifted another bolt – they were surprisingly heavy – from the crate slung at the back of the weapon and started on the arming lever. That took both of them with all of their strength to crank back ready to fire again. Two dragons flashed across the mouth of the cave right in front of them. The scorpion shook as Gaizal fired. Missed. In the middle distance another dragon bucked and screamed and veered towards them. The other two scorpions in the cave fired in unison. The noise was like a thunderclap.
‘Missed.’
‘Are you sure?’ Meteroa felt his skin tingle. The dragon-fury was like lightning in the air.
Gaizal shrugged. ‘Bolt.’ Meteroa reached for
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