Sir Pax roared with fury as the younger men scattered, casting aside swords, halberds and shields to flee the monstrosity that glided over the castle. Fear, strong and otherworldly, swept down from the dragon, turning stalwart men’s knees to water and their minds to thoughts of death. Only a few remained, among them ashen-faced Pax, and Aran, who watched the dragon with stunned amazement. In the courtyard, Winfrid was paralyzed by the wyrm’s baleful gaze. And even Derek, who had never buckled to fear, who had, in his younger days, stood with Aran and Brian Donner against ogres, sorcerers and worse, quailed and froze beneath the waves of magical fear that crashed over Castle Crownguard.
Only Edwin, standing with his men atop the North-east Tower, appeared to be unaffected. His back was straight, his stance firm.
The dragon circled. Derek tried vainly to make his legs move. Half of him screamed to get out of the beast’s sight; the other half wanted to charge up to the North-east Tower, to save his brother. Instead, Derek did nothing. Beside him, Sir Winfrid lost his own courage and bolted for the shelter of the gatehouse. Derek didn’t notice.
Finally, the wyrm pulled straight up, into the clouds, and vanished. Aran let out a tentative cheer. He fell silent as a horrific scream, loud as thunder, tore the air.
Mouth gaping wide, its wings folded back, the dragon dove down like an arrow. It streaked straight toward the Northeast Tower. Toward Edwin. He watched it, unflinching. And then Derek heard something strange. Something he couldn’t believe. His brother was singing!
“To Hanford came the Hooded Knight,
With cloak of gold and steed of bay,
His sword a-flashing silver-bright,
A-thirsting for a wyrm to slay.”
Edwin raised his sword. The great blue dragon sucked in a breath. A bolt of lightning flashed.
The levin-bolt struck Edwin’s sword. Sparks leapt from his armor, showering all around. A brilliant flash blew Castle Crownguard’s Northeast Tower apart.
“Edwin!” Derek yelled, throwing an arm up to shield his eyes. He heard the dragon shrieking, flames crackling, flagstones raining down into the courtyard. Then all of these were drowned out by the roar of the tower crashing to the ground. A stone chip slashed across Derek’s cheek, drawing blood, and he squinted furiously, willing his eyes to focus. He concentrated on a great blue blur-it had to be the dragon-as it soared above him and up toward the sky. The rush of air from its wings knocked Derek flat, sending him sprawling onto the cobbles. By the time he staggered back to his feet, the great blue blur was nowhere to be seen.
All was quiet. The air stank of ozone.
Derek stared up at the cloud rack. The dragon was gone, of that much he was sure, for the dragonawe no longer clutched at his heart. His gaze shifted to the ruins of the Northeast Tower.
All that remained was a heap of rubble, much of it turned to glass by the lightning strike. Through the gap where the spire had stood, Derek could see the Solamnic plains. The Crownguard banner-Azur, a crown d’or- lay smoldering atop the heap.
*****
Four of the young knights’ bodies were found amid the rubble. The fifth, and Edwin, were still missing, and the knights continued to dig. Falling rubble had smashed through the slate roof of the Great Hall, crushing Derek’s map table and all its carefully arrayed markers. Oddly, though, the old chapel, which had stood beneath the tower, was unscathed. The knights bore their slain brethren inside and arrayed them, mercifully swathed in white shrouds, beside the dead scout. They spoke no prayer, nor sang any hymns for the dead.
Derek stood alone in the chapel in the dim half-light, his eyes on the bier. The thought that his brother was dead worked its way into his brain. Though they hadn’t found the body, no one could have survived such a blast.
Behind him, the chapel door creaked softly open. Derek didn’t turn. Footsteps approached, and Derek recognized his visitor by the rattle of arrows in the man’s quiver. “My fault, Aran,” he said tonelessly. “I should have stopped him.”