What about this one, Mallik?” asked Nock from the post of a nearby dragon pen.
Mallik looked at the dragon and raised his eyebrows. “That is Splinter—a nasty one, she is. I tried to saddle her, but she knocked me aside like swatting a fly. I say we leave her.”
Nock took a closer look. The dragon sleeping within the pen appeared black or dark gray in the moonlight. She was large and muscular; her wings stretched lazily at her side. Nock noticed the four ivory-white spikes protruding from her tail, and six more from the bony ridge on the back of her head. So that is why you are called Splinter.
“Kaliam said every dragon in Alleble was to be saddled,” Nock called to his friend.
“Then you do it!” Mallik yelled. “I will be content with this dragon here. Butterwing, yes, now that sounds like a dragon for me!”
“You see, my rigid friend . . . ,” Nock said, opening the pen. The dragon stirred slightly, but did not open its eyes. “There is an art to saddling a raw dragon. You cannot break them in with the same method you use to break rocks with your hammer!”
Nock laughed and put the saddle down inside the pen. He walked slowly up to the creature, and still it did not seem to awaken. “You must show them respect,” Nock continued as he slowly approached the creature. “Show them tenderness.” Nock brushed his hand along the creature’s neck. This earned Nock an ominous low growl.
“Easy, Splinter,” Nock said, slowly letting his fingers tickle close to her folded ears. “You see, Mallik, all you have to do—”
Suddenly, Splinter’s right foreleg unfolded, and the dragon backhanded Nock so hard that he flew out of the pen and landed with a crash ten feet away. The saddle, torn in two pieces, landed with a WHUMP beside the fallen archer. Splinter snorted and went back to sleep.
“Nock!” Mallik yelled, racing to his friend’s side. “Are you all right?”
“Uh . . . ,” Nock said, steadying himself. “Nothing is broken, if that is what you mean.”
“Well, I would not say that nothing is broken!” Mallik laughed, holding up the two jagged pieces of the saddle.
“You were right,” Nock said, finally getting to his feet. “We need to leave Splinter behind.”
“I will seek another steed!” Mallik said, patting his friend lightly on the back. “I think maybe you should take Butterwing.”
Although the glow of dawn already shimmered in the east, the stars still peeked out. Swarming about were the combined dragon riders from Alleble, Yewland, Acacia, and Mithegard. The ten legions of winged beasts swept low to the ground across the hilly terrain just south of their destination.
Queen Illaria led their airborne attack, for there was no one who better understood battle tactics in the air. With her flew Baldergrim, Trenna Swiftfoot, Nock, Farix, Mallik, Sir Oswyn, Sir Rogan, King Ravelle, and Lord Sternhilt. The others remained in Alleble with Kaliam to plan the defense of the city should the enemy attack while the riders were away.
The Blue Mountains, nestled in great climbing forests, loomed ahead. Nock readied his bow and rehearsed their battle plan in his mind. It was time.
The riders split into two teams at the base of Pennath Rugar, the first of the Blue Mountains. Queen Illaria led half the riders around the base to the left. Nock led his team around the base to the right. They continued to stay as low as they could, and the treetops swayed as so many creatures whooshed by overhead.
Nock gasped as he rounded the base and caught sight of Ludgeon, the capital city of the Blue Mountain Provinces. The walls, great angled panels of stone, were not broken, but within those walls, the city burned.
Paragor’s forces had placed dozens of catapults outside the many sections of the city walls. The fiery enemy projectiles arced through the night sky and fell unchecked among the inns and cottages.
And worse still, huge, broad-winged dragons brought immense carriages full of Paragor Knights and dropped them on the other side of the city’s walls. Mallik had told Nock that in the event of an attack, most of the women and children of Ludgeon would have found refuge in the great caverns of Pennath Hastor, the stony mount behind the city. But still, Nock wondered how many might not have gotten to safety in time. He urged his steed forward and she responded.
Great waves of dragons glided in on both sides of the enemy’s ranks. Paragor’s forces had no warning.
Led by Nock, the first wave of dragons dove down into the masses of troops nearest the city walls. They grabbed enemy knights, plucking them off the ground or right out of their saddles. And then the dragons rose to great heights and let their cargo fall, screaming back to the ground where they smashed into their comrades.
The large, broad-winged dragons of the enemy were groomed to carry heavy burdens over great distances, but being weighed down with troop-filled carriages made them terribly slow. When Queen Illaria’s team of smaller, swifter dragons came after them, they could not escape. Her long black hair trailing behind her like a scarf, Trenna drove her steed beneath one of the huge transport dragons. She kicked her legs against her dragon’s flanks, and it responded with a burst of flaming breath. The fire streaked out and melted the cable beneath the transport dragon, and its cargo—a carriage full of fifty knights—plummeted to the ground far below. It practically exploded on impact, sending pieces of debris scattering in all directions.
Farix flew high above the transport beasts and then dove down. He pressed his heel against his dragon’s left side, telling it to extend one leg. His dragon responded and trailed its razor-sharp talons across the leathery membrane of the enemy dragon’s wings. The shredded flesh could not maintain lift, and the great beast spiraled out of control, slamming into the ground.
Nock put Blackwood shafts into the eyes of several other massive dragons and sent them to their destruction far below. Again and again, Paragor’s troop transports fell from the sky until there were none. The enemy’s ground forces scattered when the onslaught began, but most rallied around the catapults. They seemed intent on burning Ludgeon to the ground at all costs. Mallik, who preferred to fight on foot, brought his dragon to a hilltop above the catapult nearest the city walls.
“Watch my back!” Mallik yelled to his dragon steed as he leaped out of the saddle. He raced over the crest of the hill and gathered speed down the slope toward the catapult. His hammer crashed into the enemy, sending them flying backward. One of them landed in the basket of a catapult just as it was released. The Paragor Knight flew high into the night sky and disappeared over the city walls.
Other enemy soldiers raised their swords and charged at Mallik. Usually, strength in numbers can overwhelm an opponent, but not Mallik. Mallik’s blunt weapon shattered their swords to splinters, crumpled and imploded their plate armor, and smashed their bones. In great bunches the enemy fell until Mallik was left all alone with the catapult. He spun around, looking for opponents, but they had all been slain. Then Mallik noticed a tarped wagon parked near the catapult. Beneath the tarp were dozens of barrels. I know what those are! Mallik thought. And then he had an idea.
Mallik pushed with all his might on the back wheels of the catapult until it turned away from the city and out toward the legions of the enemy. Then he grabbed one of the barrels from the wagon, and with the flammable oil sloshing inside, he waddled over and dropped the barrel in the basket of the catapult. He grabbed a torch, lit the fuse on the barrel, and released the catapult’s trigger.
The flaming projectile soared into the sky and came down in the center of one of the enemy’s legions. It exploded with a blinding flash. Hundreds of Paragor’s soldiers fell immediately. Still more were mowed down by the heat wave from the explosion.
Mallik roared, “This is my city! Go back to your dark hole while you can!”
But in his clever designs to use the catapult against the enemy, Mallik had laid down his hammer. He turned to get it, and found it in the hands of one of the biggest Paragor Knights he had ever seen. This giant towered over Mallik and wore black plate armor on his chest, but none on his huge shoulders or arms. He wore no helmet either, and his big eyes flashed red and widened with delight. He looked down at the hammer as if he had just found a new toy. Then he stared at Mallik and grinned.
A full squad of enemy knights, no less than twenty-five, came up behind the gigantic captain. They quickly spread out and encircled their weaponless prey.
Mallik found himself alone at the base of the hill, surrounded by the enemy. He berated himself for leaving his hammer unattended, and he wondered what his dragon had been doing while the enemy sneaked up behind him. “Never trust a wyrm,” Mallik grumbled, and then he felt a sudden, urgent need to duck. He dropped to the ground and covered his head with his hands. Not a second later, he heard the swoosh of dragon wings, followed by many wet-snapping sounds. It almost sounded like someone sloshing through a puddle of mud, all the while snapping branches as he went—the only difference was that the sound came from above.
“Try not to lose your weapon next time, hammer-meister!” came the deep voice of Sir Rogan.
Mallik stood just in time to see his axe-wielding friend fly off. Mallik then watched as one by one the enemy soldiers who had surrounded him swayed and fell headless to the ground like toppled dominoes.
“That is most unsavory!” Mallik exclaimed. He grabbed up his hammer and turned to leave. But from the other side of the hill came the calls of angry voices and the pounding of iron-shod feet—the sound of a great charge. He turned and saw Paragor Knights racing over the hill like a swarm of ants.
Mallik glanced at the wagon, then back at the enemy. Then he grinned. “Come on!” he yelled, swinging his hammer in wide arcs. “Come and have a taste of the hard stone of the Blue Mountains!”
But Mallik did not use his hammer against this onslaught. With the Paragor Knights just fifty yards away, Mallik grabbed a torch and lit the fuse of one of the barrels in the wagon. Then he ran with all the speed he could muster.
He sprinted along the bank of a small stream, glancing back just in time to see the enemy reach the base of the mountain where he had stood only moments ago. Then, he tripped and fell into a drainage culvert.
Seconds later, a sound like thunder shook the valley. Harsh orange light flashed, and a searing wave of heat overcame every living thing within a hundred yards of the wagon.
The dragon force from Alleble that had been diving into the enemy ranks below relented their attack at the sound of the explosion. Sir Oswyn saw the flash from across the battlefield, and raced off to see what had occurred. He found a burned-out hollow and, within, the charred frame of a catapult and the blackened remains of numerous soldiers. Sir Oswyn hadn’t seen destruction like this since witnessing the aftermath of the Wyrm Lord’s attack on Clarion. He looked up at Ludgeon’s walls, wondering what weapon the Glimpses of the Blue Mountains might have that could cause such devastation.
He brought his dragon steed to land and began to search for answers. Most of his findings were burned beyond recognition, but at last he found a half ring of charred wooden slats connected loosely to a thin iron band.
Of course! Sir Oswyn thought. This is not a weapon of the Blue Mountain folk! He leaped upon his dragon and went for a closer look at one of the other catapults. It was just as he suspected. The Paragor Knights kept their barrels of oil very close to their catapults. And that gave Oswyn an idea. An idea, he thought, that might end the battle far quicker than they might ever have hoped.
He wheeled his dragon steed about and searched the skies for the leaders of their teams of dragons. He found Queen Illaria and many of the Yewland Braves first because their white dragons were easy to spot. He flew close to each of them and told them of his plans. And in turn, they each responded, “Clear the skies? Are you mad, Sir Oswyn?”
“Trust me,” was all he could say in reply.
Oswyn drove his dragon till he thought it might simply fall out of the sky from exhaustion. Back and forth across the sky he went until he was convinced that he had connected with enough of the leaders to get their forces out of the air.
He flew to a hilltop to watch, and behold, it did seem that the skies were clearing. The Paragor Knights cheered and created an intolerable clamor. They thought their ferocity had driven Alleble’s forces away. They had no idea what was about to occur.
Finally, Oswyn spotted Nock, so he drove his dragon steed to intercept him.
“Hail, archer extraordinaire!” Oswyn sang out as he steered his dragon as close as he could to Nock’s. “I see that Butterwing has put up with you so far!”
“You laugh in ignorance!” Nock yelled back. “She has bore me well into more victories than I can count!”
“Make haste then and follow me,” Oswyn yelled. “And you shall triple your victories!” Oswyn pointed to the enemy catapults, many of which were still bombarding the interior of Ludgeon with fiery projectiles. Then he explained his plan to Nock.
Oswyn reined his dragon steed and was about to take flight. He turned to Nock and warned, “You will have to be swift and your shot sure, for I do not have enough for a second try.”
“I will not miss,” Nock said with one eyebrow raised.
Oswyn took off and raced his dragon steed toward one of the catapults. The Paragor Knights saw his approach and unleashed a barrage of arrows. One bounced off his shoulder armor. Another stuck in his saddlebag. Ducking and dodging, Os steered his dragon through the storm, for he had to get close for his plan to succeed.
At last he was within range of one of the catapults and their supply wagons. Oswyn reached down to one of the saddlebags and removed a long corked tube. He yanked the cork out with his teeth and began to pour out a fine white powder. It drifted down on the air like a fine mist as Oswyn encircled the barrel-filled wagon below several times. The enemy archers finally chased Os away, but he kept pouring the white powder out as he flew from one catapult to the next.
“Fly, beast!” he yelled, and he spurred his dragon. He needed the creature’s top speed. He had used up five tubes of the powder when he came finally to the last catapult. He looked back at his work; the white powder hung in the air, crisscrossing the battlefield like a spider’s web. He just hoped that Nock was able to get in range and fire quickly enough.
Nock had gummed an arrow with a substance that would burn and not go out, even when fired with the great force of a Blackwood bow. He saw the target, a white cloud floating down toward one of the tarped wagons. “Go, Butterwing!” he cried, and then Nock was aloft. He drove his dragon toward a fire burning in the midst of the battlefield. Then he leaned over precariously in the saddle and thrust the point of the arrow into the fire as they flew just above it. “Please, King Eliam, let it light!”
The arrow came out of the fire smoldering, but not alight. Frantically, Nock pulled it up to examine it. It smoked and sputtered. Nock wasn’t sure why it didn’t kindle to a flame. But he was out of time. He fitted the arrow to the string, aimed at the falling white cloud of powder, and let the smoldering arrow fly. Then he wheeled his dragon about and raced away.
The arrow sliced through the air, and the air fed the arrow, which ignited in full flame just before entering the white cloud of falling powder.
Sir Oswyn’s fire powder erupted in a swirling inferno around the tarped wagon. The barrels of volatile oil exploded immediately, incinerating the enemy knights who stood near. Instantly the catapult became a charred black skeleton of what it once was. And so began what the Glimpses of the Blue Mountains described as the greatest fireworks display in the history of The Realm.
Fire streaked overhead this way and that, punctuated every few seconds by deafening blasts as the wagons full of oil barrels ignited and went off. Heat washed over the dragon forces of Alleble as they watched from a safe distance upon the foothills of Pennath Rugar.
“I would say we passed Paragor’s test!” Sir Rogan said, slapping Oswyn on the back. Cheers erupted, but one voice was not among them.
“Where is Mallik?” Nock asked.
