The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(62)

The lamp freezes. His eyes are wide open, but not seeing anything. Mulcent’s shirtsleeves wick the flames along his arms, which spread as if to grab Barad. His hands drip fire. Mylla charges out of the darkness and bulls her candlebox into Mulcent, knocking him aside.

Barad doesn’t see Mulcent stagger past him and, brought to his senses, head for the water. Barad turns to her. His lips pucker. She looks him straight in the eyes as they recall how to focus and says, “No.”

Solet and the dragon watch Mulcent collapse into the waves. “We are going to make a great marriage, you and I,” Solet says, rubbing its head. “I will call you Thea, after my sister. She is a ferocious woman.”

The gray wrenches its neck out of Solet’s hands. It sees something huge sliding behind the Gamo. It glimmers green in the firelight coming off the Pyg. Solet says, “It can’t be.”

Mylla and Barad hear a splash, a scraping of wood on wood and the rattle of chains as the bulk heaves through the shallows. They swallow their breath and slowly step away from the water.

Bodger and Gibbery bolt for the harpoon cannons.

Another concussion of wood on galley draws Sumpt from his cabin at last. He slams open the door. He coughs, his cheeks bulge, then he staggers to the larboard rail, where he bends deeply and vomits into the eye of the green dragon.

5



* * *



The green must have only been stunned by the iron sticking out of its face. Its skin has swollen around it, half-closing one eye. Pus oozes over its snout, dripping off the arrows still stuck there. It’s clearly exhausted from paddling to shore with its tattered wings while towing the buoy, its anchor, and an expanse of foredeck from the Kolos by the chains still harpooned to it. It gazes at Sumpt with the contempt reserved for clerks presiding over long lines.

Sumpt gapes, attempting to breathe, and vomits again. The dragon grabs the larboard rail with a wing claw to stand in the shallows. The Gamo tips alarmingly. Sumpt falls to his knees and hugs the rail. With its free hand the dragon peels him off and carries him onto the beach toward Mylla and Barad. Its eyes are locked on the gray. Barad wants to run, but Mylla grips his wrist. “Don’t move,” she whispers, “and it won’t see us. It’s not thinking food or enemy.” Barad moves only to slide his hand into hers. A lock of her hair flops free of its binding and drapes her eye. She doesn’t dare push it aside.

As the dragon scrapes past them, Sumpt says, “Help me!” Barad bows his head. Mylla shakes hers slowly.

Sumpt looks to Solet, who’s abandoned the bucking gray dragon and crawled beside Bodger, Gibbery, and their reloaded cannons. “Shoot it!” Sumpt says. “What are you waiting for?”

The harpooners hold their firing rods to a piece of lit charcoal in the sand and wait for the word. Solet holds up his hand. “Wait,” he says. “This operation is about to get infinitely more profitable.”

When the harpooners pause, the dragon drops its head to its chest. The men from the Gamo scatter. A gob of acid splashes over the cannons. Bodger and Gibbery follow the other men who’ve decided, despite their officers’ orders, to cede the beach to the dragon. Solet crouches behind a tree. Ynessi never cede anything.

The green drops to all fours and slams Sumpt to the beach. There’s a horrid snap. Sumpt screams. His head lolls back so he can see Solet. “Shoot me,” he sobs.

Solet doesn’t move. The gray says, “Eeee!” which captures the other dragon’s attention. The green finds its last reserve of strength, lifts Sumpt up to show him to the gray, then chews his head off and lays the body before her.

The gray hisses. You just can’t please some women, Solet thinks. He slides farther into the woods to give them some privacy. A stick pops behind him. He checks whether the fire is getting closer. It’s dying out instead.

Almost tenderly the green bites apart the net around the gray and pulls it off. Half freed, the gray rolls onto her belly, breathing heavily. The green pins her with a hand between her shoulders. With his other he rips away the rest of the net and lifts her tail.

Mylla releases Barad’s hand. The gray is small beneath the thrusting, snorting green. Mylla looks to see if Solet’s out of harm’s way. It takes her a moment to make him out in the woods, then to make out the leaves moving deliberately behind him. She says, “Come on!” and pulls Barad’s sleeve. They circle far around the dragon to reach her cousin. In her other hand a small, thin knife appears.

Bodger stops to watch the green from the woods. He says, “We should go back to help. One more shot should do it.”

“Help who?” Gibbery says, “Solet? The Shield? I think it’s time we took a break from the sea. Let me show you the ways of the woods. I’ll start you off with simple snares. Soon you’ll be able to feed your whole family.” They pick their way around the fire and into the night.

With the green distracted, the Gamo pushes out her oars. The ship digs its blades into the shallows and heaves itself off the beach. Solet is incredulous, the rowers are commanding themselves, and he doesn’t hear the leaves whisper behind him. A rock slams down on his head. His knees fold.

A voice says, “You don’t deserve to get off so easy.”

The rock falls again. Solet falls onto his side. He waves feebly with his finger blade. Another blow goes through his temple and lets the tide into his head. It fills him up and rushes over him.