Page 103 of The Last Dragon
Redsnout.
And it’s heading straight for the Stronghold.
Time seems to slow as the dragon cuts through the cloudy sky, wings beating like in silence as it slips back above the clouds. Mybreath catches, horror sinking into my stomach. And the silence doesn’t make it any better.
“There’s no warning bell,” I murmur to myself. They don’t know. They’re not seeing it.
“We need to warn them!” Nida exclaims, already ready to run. We’re only a few minutes away.
“We won’t make it back in time,” I say. Where did it come from? It appeared out of thin air. No warning, no gust of the wind, no Scouts, no hawks. It flew silently, like a Wingtail, using the clouds to stay out of sight.
I listen—hoping to hear a bell—but there is none. Nobody noticed it.
There’s no time.
I grab Nida’s pouch and take out two red smoke bombs tied with a rope, feeling the tension of the bombs in my hand.I have to warn them.
“Sarga!” I yell. “High!” I toss the two smoke bombs into the sky, and Sarga snatches them mid-flight. One thing I’m certain of—Sarga is the fastest flier of all the hawks.
I aim my bolt straight at the two dangling smoke bombs clutched in her talons and shoot.
Sarga plunges downward in a blur, releasing the bombs just as my bolt penetrates them—a loud explosion scatters red smoke in the air. The sound lingers, spreading amongst the trees, and I hope that someone—anyone amongst the Defenders on duty—will see it.
CHAPTER 36
My legs feel like they’re on fire, my lungs filled with water. I barely feel the ground beneath my boots as I run toward the Stronghold.
Half of the Stronghold’s soldiers are behind me.
Half of the soldiers that are not there to defend against a dragon laying waste.
My heart pounds like war drums in my chest. How many of them are dead already?
From behind a ridge of stone and soil, the Redsnout comes into view, whipping its tail around, the ground trembling under the force of each blow. It’s pissed.
The field outside the Stronghold is littered with safety barriers, large enough for several soldiers to take refuge. The ground ballistas are massive—there’s no way they can drag them out in time. The outer gates lie in ruins—jagged wood andsplintered posts strewn across the path, turning every step into a trap.
The Redsnout’s wings are clamped tight to its sides, head low, jaws locked shut. Every vulnerable spot—guarded. Its eyes sweep the field, hunting for someone to torch.
Damn it.
For now, crossbows and bolts will have to do. But what we need—what might actually stop this thing—are the ballistas. Defenders race past me, fanning out across the field, searching for solid ground to anchor the ballistas.
I signal for Nida to take cover behind one of the barriers and sprint off to locate the rest of our unit. The others who came with me have already done the same. I run as fast as I can, then drop behind the nearest barrier, whispering a thanks to the heavens that the beast hasn’t seen me.
But it sees the others. Their screams rip through the battlefield as the dragon’s tail whips wide—five soldiers gone in an instant.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe, voice trembling as I peek over the stone barrier. I look away from the beast and press myself against the warm rock, heart pounding. To my left, soldiers—new and experienced—cower on the ground, eyes wide. One of them isn’t moving.
The dusty ground is soaked with blood, forming dark puddles, as if it were days after heavy rain. The soldiers are all covered in dust and dirt, their eyes the only color one can distinguish them by. I lean away from the edge of the barricade and notice dark, frizzy curls and a pair of trembling shoulders peeking out from a trench.
“Eryca!” I gasp, relief crashing through my chest. She lifts her ebony eyes to mine, her face caked in blood and mud. A shaky breath escapes her as she peels her hands from her ears, the battlefield noise still ringing around us.
“Zel,” she breathes, fear shining in her eyes—something I never thought I’d see during battle.
“What happened?” I ask, crouching beside her, my hand settling on her shoulder in a useless attempt to calm her. “Where’s Ilian?” I glance around. He should be here.
“We were separated by the outer gates,” she says. “The dragon rammed straight into it.”
