He was only aware of the great quadruped’s bulk and the way the small, reptilian eyes glared down at him from a beaked head that snaked ever closer. Fear and fury filled those tiny eyes. It obviously did not like being amid the smoke and flames despite all its training and the shouts and prodding of its mahout.

Sardec wondered if his time had come, but the wyrm swept past him, and he heard the friendly cries from the infantry in the howdah, and saw the black dragon on a red background flag fluttering on the howdah's pennants. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was one of their own.

A group of men rushed out of a side alley. They slashed at the wyrm's ankles as it passed, trying to hamstring it, keeping in so close it was all but impossible for the men on its back to shoot at them. The wyrm danced frantically as it tried to avoid the sting of blades. The howdah came dangerously close to jarring loose.

"Get them," Sardec shouted. Some of the Foragers raised their rifles and muskets and fired. Others drew fighting knives or charged with fixed bayonets, sweeping forward to overwhelm the outnumbered Kharadreans.

Only as the fizzing fused grenade arced out of the alley mouth did Sardec realise that it was a trap. "Get down," he shouted, as the bomb exploded in the midst of the melee.

"Bastard," he heard someone shout, inside the alley. "You've killed our lads too." Moments later a green-tunicked Terrarch officer raced out of the alley pursued by enraged humans. He slipped on the blood of the men he had just bombed and looked up at Sardec with pleading in his eyes. He seemed very young, about Sardec's own age, and quite shocked, as if he had not expected his men to turn on him for his deed.

"Help me," the Kharadrean shouted. Sardec looked at the corpses of the men his fellow Terrarch had cold-bloodedly killed and shook his head.

"Kill him," he said to Weasel.

"With pleasure, sir," the sniper replied, putting a bullet through the officer's head. Sardec understood the dead Terrarch's logic easily enough. He had got a few of his men killed in exchange for a larger number of Sardec's humans. To him, it must have seemed a sensible trade and there would have been a time when Sardec would have agreed with that thinking. Now, he could no longer countenance it.

A moment later he realised he had more important problems. The wyrm, wounded by the grenade, and frightened by the explosion, was running amok, out of its mahout's control. Despite all of the rider's efforts it was turning on the men around it, uncaring of their allegiance. Turtle-beaked jaws, capable of shearing a man in half with one bite, descended inexorably closer.

 

Rik gazed up at the dragon in awe and wonder. His sword felt pitifully inadequate in his hand. He drew his pistol. If it tried to bite him he would try for the creature's eyes. There was a vanishingly small chance he could put a bullet through its brain. The dragon's jaws opened wider, revealing row upon row of razor sharp teeth. It seemed amused by his presumption. In the creature's place, Rik thought, he would probably feel the same.

Asea began to chant again. Rik knew she was too late.