Chapter 30

A few hundred yards from the Branche city gates, the large party of Stalyan sailors had adopted a defensive formation. Everyone stood in neat rows, the edges all facing outwards to repel attackers, while the officers stood in a small clearing in the middle, making plans.

"People are getting hurt," said Clunk, who was chafing at the inaction. "We must go to their aid!"

"Whose aid?" demanded Berry, which was a reasonable question given the all-in melee taking place on the other side of the field. "Personally, I cannot tell friend from foe."

"They might all be foes," added Runt. Then he peered between a couple of soldiers. "I don't believe it!" he exclaimed in delight. "That's Hurm!"

"Who?" said Hal.

"Not who… Hurm!"

"What's a Hurm?" asked Hal.

"He's a huge human with a hollow head." Runt pointed excitedly. "And look, it's Father M, the other member of my party!"

"Which side are they on?" asked Berry.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"It depends which side has the bigger purse." Runt paused. "Or the bigger weapons."

"Mercenaries," spat Borosin. "There is no honour in one so low."

"Don't call me low, lanky legs."

"Cease your insults," said Borosin loftily, "or I will shorten you even further."

"I'd like to see you try."

"SHUT UP!" shouted Clunk, at full volume. Everyone recoiled, and the sailors standing nearby winced. "We must—"

What they must was never revealed, for at that moment the elves opened fire with their catapult. There was a whistle as a huge boulder sailed into the sky, and a thud as it came down near the city walls. There was a second shot, and then the dwarves turned from the city, charging towards elves and humans indiscriminately.

"Now we know who to fight!" exclaimed Borosin, and he drew his sword and elbowed his way through the defensive formation. There, he brandished his weapon and goaded the sailors on with a fearsome Methusian war cry.

"Ready, steady… charge!"

Everyone ran for the enemy. All, that is, except Hal and Runt. They watched the sailors, the two officers and Clunk running full tilt towards the dwarves, then exchanged a glance.

"War's not really my thing," said Hal.

Runt concurred.

"I can't remember much," Hal continued, "but I'm pretty sure I've never held a sword before."

"It's much easier when your enemy stands alone, looking the other way," said Runt. "For my money, this hand-to-hand stuff is way too dangerous."

They stood there together, watching the heroic charge. The elves had abandoned their catapult, and while a hundred or so loosed arrows, which travelled about twenty yards before landing ineffectually in the grass, another fifty stumbled towards the humans and dwarves, barely able to lift their swords.

"They look tired," remarked Hal.

"Easy pickings," Runt agreed.

Then, just when it seemed things couldn't get any more confusing, the militia who'd been defending Branche took up their weapons and ran into the fray as well. It was bedlam, and Hal winced as he saw humans, elves, dwarves and more humans trading blows. Clunk was in the melee too, giving friend and foe alike a good talking to.

"Dragon," said Runt.

"Yeah, that's all we're missing," agreed Hal.

"No. DRAGON!"

The halfling pointed, and Hal saw a winged shape high in the sky. At first he thought the halfling was mistaken, because to him it looked like a giant eagle. But no, he realised that was too far-fetched, and it was much more likely to be a fire-breathing dragon.

The creature was rapidly getting bigger, since it was heading directly for the battle, and as Hal watched its approach he realised things were about to get really exciting.

— ♦ —

By now, all the combatants had been swinging their heavy weapons for some time, and it wasn't just the elves who were getting tired. Even the mighty Hurm, still batting dwarves and elves with his big wooden beam, was thinking about a jug of ale and a nice sit-down in some quiet little tavern.

The battle limped along for another ten minutes, before the participants realised they were getting nowhere. Slowly, the red mist cleared, and the dwarves, elves and humans lowered their weapons.

In the sudden quiet, the groans of the wounded came to their ears, and more than one combatant looked a little shame-faced as they realised what they'd done.

"Father?" said Stonesmasher suddenly. "Father, is that you?"

It was indeed Rugbeard, lying on his back with his beard askew, a dented metal helm on the ground beside him. "Son, I'm proud of you!" he said. "I saw you fighting like a true dwarf. I choose you to succeed me!"

"Wait just a minute," said an aggrieved dwarf with a cut above one eye. "He was fighting against us, not for us!"

But he was too late, for Rugbeard had just closed his eyes for good.

Stonesmasher laid the fallen helm on his father's chest. "He deserves a proper burial."

"Indeed," said another dwarf. "We will not feed his body to the—"

"DRAGON!"

"I mean the gorblins," said the dwarf. "But I suppose I could have meant—"

"DRAGON!"

The cry came from across the field, where Hal and Runt were standing side by side, waving to attract everyone's attention. Stonesmasher looked up at the sky, and blanched. "Dragon!"

There was a chorus of shrieks, and almost everyone ran for it. Some ran into the highly flammable woods, while others took shelter in the even more flammable city. Suffice to say, most hadn't thought things through.

Those who had, remained in a group.

Sur Loyne and Sur Pryze were supporting Sur Kah, who'd taken a blow to the knee. He was just glad it wasn't an arrow, because he didn't want to be the butt of endless jokes.

Oxley was sitting on the ground, nursing his bandaged head, while Wiltred and Wren were moving amongst the wounded.

Father M was moving amongst the wounded too, in case any happened to breathe their last. He'd already scored two coin purses, and was hoping for a gold ring or two.

Hurm was standing with one end of the wooden beam planted on the ground, the other pointing to the sky.

Tyniwon and Allyance were tending to a wounded, foul-smelling Slimbough, who'd been struck by a bucket of slops when he ventured too close to the city wall.

Queen Therstie stood wild-eyed and flushed, her dress in tatters and a long, sharp sword gripped in both hands. She wasn't even sure why she'd been fighting, since it wasn't her kingdom or her city, but she'd enjoyed herself very much indeed.

Tiera and Thonn stood together, the assassin with her bloodied dagger in one hand, Thonn swaying on his feet, having used up all his magical energy to protect her. Spadell was nearby, studying Therstie with a cold, determined look. Tiera noticed, and she crossed to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "I know you swore vengeance against the queen," she whispered, "but we cannot spend the rest of our lives together if you kill her."

Spadell looked at her in surprise, and then a slow grin lit up his rugged face. "You mean it?"

In reply, she kissed him.

Of course, their lives would only last as long as it took for the dragon to dive on the group and burn them all to a crisp, but everyone smiled and nodded and looked pleased for the happy couple.

Clunk was busy collecting swords, axes and bows, snapping them all over his knee before throwing the pieces aside. He was extra careful with the arrows, because he didn't want to be the butt of endless jokes either.

Of all the combatants, Berry and Borosin looked the freshest. Highly trained in the art of swordplay, they'd barely raised a sweat as they parried crude blows from primitive swords and axes.

Now, though, the large group of heroes faced an impossible task. The dragon was circling above, and they all knew it was going to burn them, and the city, and everyone trying to flee the destruction.

"Friends, I'm afraid we brought this fate upon ourselves," said Father M, in a rare confession. "We travelled into the rocky wastes of the west, and stirred up the dragon by leading its young from the nest. Now, clearly, they intend to wipe out every city in the land. When they're done, only cows, horses, and… other four-legged animals will remain," he finished lamely.

"Cows. It had to be cows," muttered Clunk, and he snapped a bow with unnecessary force.

"We are not done yet," said Thonn, his voice weak. "I have the power."

"He has the power," agreed Tiera.

"What power?" demanded Therstie. "I'm no stranger to willing farm boys, and I'm telling you now, this one's shagged out."

"Nevertheless, I drove the dragon away from the city once before," said Thonn quietly. "I will just have to do it again."

They all looked up at the huge dragon.

Then they all looked at the weak, semi-conscious farm boy.

Then they all looked extremely doubtful.

"We could try shooting arrows at it," suggested Slim.

Snap!

Slim looked round, and he realised Clunk had just broken the very last bow. "All right. Scratch that idea," he said.

"What about the catapult?" asked Oxley. "If we could hurl a boulder at it—"

"Never going to happen," said Wiltred firmly. "We could barely hit a stationary target."

"I don't know," said Tyniwon. "The elven queen was running around a bit, and I hit her all right."

For that, he got angry looks from the surviving elves.

"Sorry, but it's just not feasible," said Wiltred. "It's for knocking down buildings, not skeet shooting."

"Er… guys," said Hal, who'd been looking up at the sky. He pointed, and they all saw the dragon high above, already going into a steep dive.

"Thonn, do your best," whispered Tiera.

As the dragon hurtled towards them, Thonn raised his right hand and held it to the sky, palm outward. Meanwhile, Wren took his free hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know you can do it," she said quietly. "You're a true hero."

Thonn said nothing, since he was drawing on his power, but the tiniest smile flickered across his lips. Then he strained with every fibre of his being, his face red, his teeth gritted as though he were suffering every known agony.

Still the dragon dived on them, getting bigger and bigger. They could see its jaws opening, and they knew the jet of flame would soon follow.

"It's not working," muttered Tiera urgently. "He can't do it. We're all going to die!"