Page 104 of The Last Dragon
“Rammed?” I ask, eyes wide. Why would a Redsnoutraminto something? It prefers its distance.
Eryca nods, taking a deep, shaky breath. “We did everything we could to prevent it from coming any closer to the Stronghold’s inner gates, but distractions only went so far. This thing’s smart. It’s barely giving us any openings. Hunters are completely vulnerable, and no Tracker managed to force out a behavior.It’s ignoring us.”
Is it the same dragon? Is it female?
“Alright,” I say, thinking through all the possibilities. I gently rub Eryca’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”
She nods, taking another breath, and slowly rises.
“Can you get yourself back to the inner gate? I’ll cover you.” I dart my eyes to the rest of the soldiers hunching and cramming themselves in the trench. Crying. Scared.
“What are you thinking?” Eryca wipes sweat from her forehead. “You can’t fight this alone.” Her voice is firm—this time more determined, having had a moment to steady herself.
“You need to get to safety,” I snap.
“And you don’t?”
“Eryca, you need Ilian.”
She doesn’t argue—she knows without him, she’s only half a soldier.
Another blazing screech shreds the battlefield, followed by soldiers’ shouts swallowed in an instant. They’re burning.
I hug the barricade, crossbow strap tight in my hands, gaze drifting down to the trench where Eryca’s head peeks up at me. A first-year presses himself closer to Eryca, squeezing his eyes shut as he hugs a water bucket to his chest.
“Hey!” I yell, snapping him out of his pathetic trance. His eyes find mine, body tensing as a few drops spill onto the soldier beside him, drawing a curse. “Why aren’t you making the water bombs?!”
He stammers, unable to get a proper word out.
I point to a third-year. “Empty glass vials, soaked dirt, damped cloth—anythingis a water bomb. Make them.” He nods and takes the water bucket from the first-year, spilling some on the dirt, shaping the resulting mud into small balls.
I peek from the barricade and scan the battlefield, searching for an opening—anything to rally the soldiers back into formation. But the lines were shattered long before I arrived. This dragon is vicious. It doesn’t just burn everything—it tears through obstacles with claws, leaving us no chance to strike. Its head stays low, shielding the nostrils and eyes, and its wings tuck tight, hiding the joints.
I press my lips together. Sweat runs down my temples, stinging my eyes. My heartbeat drums louder in my ears, drowning out the world around me.
To my left, I spot Nida waving, with Ilian beside her huddled against the second barricade, a wide open gap separating us. She signals to aim for the throat. I peek again, noticing a small cut on its neck—and it’s fresh. That’s my shot. My only shot.
“Keep track of it,” I say to Eryca.
She looks up. “Track it?”
“Distract if necessary, I’m going in.”
“Now?!”
“Yes, now,” I grunt. “Get back to your brother the moment its eyes are on me, alright?”
Eryca stares at me, blinking, her lips pressed tight as if trying to find an argument. But she doesn’t say anything. She nods and quickly climbs out of the trench, the barricade her only cover.
I grab my bow from my back, uncock the string, and prepare a bolt. I shake it under my nose and catch the acidic smell of the tranquilizer. It’s laced.
I wait for another burst of dust to lift into the air, then I’m running—running until my feet feel on fire, as if I’m digging them into embers left by the Redsnout. Running until my lungs fill with dust, but I don’t have time to stop and cough it out. Running until I am face to face with what I hope is thelastdragon—the dragon whose death will mean freedom. For all of us.
It’s agile, aggressive, and seething with rage. Its sharp eyes narrow on me, black slits becoming more prominent—like a cat on the hunt. The clicking sound of its tongue cuts across the loud battlefield, an attempt to ignite. And that’s when I see it.
It cocks its head.
Male.
