The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(100)

Jeryon yells at Ject, fire dancing in the lenses of his goggles, “Why did you do that? Why?”

“Whoever fired that bolt,” Ject says, “that wasn’t my man.”

“This one is,” Jeryon says. The dragon turns on Ravis.

Ravis crawls to his sword. It was a mistake to strike the top of the neck. One good sweep to the throat and the dragon will be finished. He grabs the sword and starts to roll, and a massive weight lands on his back. The gnashing heat of the dragon’s fire envelops him. The cries and commotion of the city dissolve into the simmer of waves receding. He feels weightless. Over the balustrade he floats and over the plaza, and when the dragon lets go he feels like he’s rising away with it.

When the first body splashes on the terrace, the plaza goes silent. Hundreds of faces look up and see the dragon. Differences are forgotten. A few say what many think, “There was a dragon. There will be no war.” When the dragon grabs a second man, dives, and flings him at the plaza, everyone thinks, There is a dragon, and it’s coming for me.

The crowd tries to drain into the nearby streets, but they’re blocked by the guard and the tanner’s cohorts. In the center, many people stand like rocks amid the breakers, and that’s where the trampling begins.

At the north end, people crash against the shields of Pashing’s squad, which drives the soldiers against the wagon. The horse whickers and dances, alarmed. As Birming tries to control her, Pashing says, “We have to get the money out of the plaza.”

Rego, standing on the seat, watches the woman in the old tunic crouch over the dead painter, protecting him from the dragon and the crowd.

“No,” he says. “We have to let these people out. Sergeant, your horn. Order the Guard to fall back and open up those streets.”

Husting puts his hand over the horn hanging from his belt and says, “No. The Guard doesn’t retreat.”

As if in agreement, several guards fire, but in haste. The dragon kicks right and up, avoiding them. Rego sees the man on its back, but his brain rejects the notion, and after the dragon circles out of sight east around the tower all he remembers is gray hide, spikes, and teeth.

“Pashing,” Rego says, “take half your men and break up that clot on the east side. Focus on the tanner. He’s the ringleader.”

“But they’re for us,” Pashing says.

“And you’ll expose us,” Husting says.

“This city has too many uses,” Rego says.

The dragon rises over the dome, a shimmering fleck of sun, and Husting realizes they’re trapped by the masses flowing around them. He jumps onto the wagon so he can be seen and blows the command to pull back.

As Jeryon circles the cupola, apparently aggravated at not finding what he figured he must, Ject wonders who fired the bolt. The girl? Jeryon wouldn’t have left her armed. Or untied. From what little he knows of him, Jeryon would be too scrupulous for that.

Ject figures the tower guards must be on their way—a falling body’s worth a dozen horns—but they can’t have run up here so quickly. It would take five minutes at least. He’ll have to do for himself or play for time.

Jeryon circles the walk, looking through the windows, remaining frustrated, and the look he gives Ject says the general won’t be passed by again.

Ject can’t go back the way he came. The door to the foyer is on fire, so is the doorway, and both are blocked by the roasting remains of his detail. So he waits until the dragon disappears around the east side of the tower, grabs a fallen crossbow, and runs to the door to the council chamber. It had been unbarred. That must have been how Jeryon got out here. He presses the latch. The door is unlocked, as he had hoped.

Ject hears the dragon coming back around. He gets down on one knee and presses himself against the tower so he has cover from the eave and balustrade. Forget the door. He’ll deal with Jeryon directly. He has one shot. And Jeryon is just a man. Ject lifts the crossbow to his shoulder.

The dragon’s wing appears. Ject’s finger tightens on the trigger. And the dragon tightens its turn, rises, and lands somewhere above him on the dome. Now the eave gives Jeryon cover. Ject will have to move out to the balustrade to have a shot at him, but revealed, he might be dead before he can fire.

Roof tiles shatter. Shards slide onto the walk, falling in a line that moves away from Ject, then comes back. The dragon must be coming back too. He hears it breathing. He smells its breath.

Ject aims at the sky in front of the eave. He listens for the whistle. As soon as the head appears he’ll fire. If he misses he should still hit the neck, a point-blank shot, and that might be fatal. The roof falls silent. Ject waits. The point of his bolt bobs with his breath. He can’t slow it. Skittering above him. Can Jeryon command the dragon to attack silently? More skittering, like a faulty step. A shield-sized expanse of tiles smashes onto the walk. Ject, startled, nearly fires. The dragon moves away south.

Ject exhales and his ears open to the din of the plaza. The walk blocks most of his view, but what he can see looks like a riot. Soldiers are plowing into a group of workers and driving them out of the plaza, while others flow to the west. They keep looking up to make sure they’re escaping the dragon. Where are his men? What a terrible day for the Guard.

Ject pivots to the south, aims again, and hears the thud of sandaled feet landing on the walk. So that’s his game: while the dragon waits on the dome, Jeryon will flank him. Ject will get the drop on him instead. He crouch-walks a couple steps and listens: sandals scraping on the stone. Another step: The scraping is just beyond the turn of the tower. Ject charges the last few steps and he can’t help himself, he can’t risk not doing it, he fires.