Maylie and Cressyda exchanged glances.
‘I need to go,’ said Cressyda. ‘Now.’
Cressyda
‘OTTONE!’SHE SHOUTEDover the echoing chime of Sanctuary bells.
Their heavy peal vibrated through the valleys and hillsides around her, filling the mountains with an urgent, tolling warning. Cressyda had heard the first soft peal like a quiver in the air just as she swung herself up on to Alinore’s horse and kicked its sides, charging blindly down a slope in what she prayed was the right direction. Then came another bell, louder and closer, rising from a nearby village. And another. And another. Each new voice joined the last until the mountains rang with a frantic, metallic choir. Their clanging chorus bounced from valleys to ridges and up to the very snow-capped peaks. It was a sound meant to carry, to stir hearts into action and rouse even the deepest sleeper. Cressyda knew why they were ringing – the Mountain folk had seen the Great Dragon.
‘Ottone!’ she shouted into the darkness.
Cressyda had never been a skilled rider and Alinore’s horse was half exhausted, half terrified by the events of the night, buttogether they had managed to skid and stumble their way back to the Maiden’s Path. Cressyda had kept herself steady in the saddle by clutching fistfuls of dark mane and jamming her muddy bare feet into the stirrups. Her knuckles were scraped raw and her hair was plastered to her face, soaked through with sweat and fog. But she kept her eyes alert, scanning the dark ridgelines and rocky hills for any sign of her brother. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him.
They cantered into a tangle of trees, branches reaching low and wet. Twigs scratched at her arms and leaves slapped her cheeks. Then they burst free of the woods and on to an open slope strewn with boulders and heather. Moonlight spilt in silver puddles across the ground, and Cressyda’s pulse quickened. Just beyond a rise of broken stone, she could see shapes moving in the gloom: a cluster of riders, their silhouettes hunched and shifting as they picked their way down the steep incline.
It was the royal party.
She could scarcely believe it – she had managed to catch up. Cressyda had no weapon and no idea what she would do if the guards tried to attack her; she only knew that she must warn Ottone of what was coming. He needed to get away before the Great Dragon returned.
She gathered up the reins, about to urge her horse forward. Her bare heels hovered just above the gelding’s flanks when something shifted. A sudden stillness and pressure swelled in the air. Cressyda paused. Whipping her head right and left, she peered through the darkness, anticipation curdling in her stomach.
The Sanctuary bells still rang, echoing like a thousand panicked voices, but beneath their din, there was something else.
A roar cracked the night.
The trees trembled, stones shifted beneath her horse’s hooves and a flock of birds exploded from the nearby trees.
Out of the sky, a shadow swooped.
Two wings stretched from its back, vast and powerful, beating the air like thunderclaps. They sent gusts that dragged the group of riders in the royal party from their saddles and hurled them across the stony ground. Heat poured across the mountainside like thick smog, singeing the long grass and bushes to feathery ash.
The horses bolted. Screaming, wild-eyed, they tore down the slopes or disappeared into the forest, their reins trailing behind them. The fallen guards scrambled away in panic, some crawling, some staggering, their cries lost beneath the storm of wind.
Cressyda’s own mount reared in terror, shrieking and thrashing beneath her. She clutched the reins and mane, barely managing to keep her seat. She could feel the gelding’s fear beating – raw and frantic – and she knew it wanted nothing more than to flee.
The Great Dragon soared above, throwing back its long neck. It raised its snout and released a stream of fire that lit the sky like red and gold lightning. The air sparked and crackled, illuminating two curved, pointed fangs and a pair of yellow serpentine eyes that burned with ancient fury.
Then, with terrifying speed, it dived.
Claws outstretched, it plummeted downwards and landed in a screech of air and power before one, lone figure. The ground quaked and dust spiralled.
‘No!’ shrieked the unmistakable voice of Samsel, high, desperate and stripped of all command. ‘Why’re you here? I left you the girl! Get away from me!’
Cressyda caught sight of him through the swirling grit, scramblingbackwards on hands and knees, face contorted in a mask of pure terror.
‘You can’t attack me!’ he cried. ‘I – I’m the King!’
The life of a King in payment,growled the Great Dragon in a voice only Cressyda could understand.
Then it all happened in an instant: Samsel turning to run, throwing his arms over his head. The Great Dragon’s shadow looming closer. The creature’s huge jaws springing open, its fangs glinting with the firelight in its throat, lunging forward. Then Samsel lifted off the ground, legs kicking once, twice, before the Great Dragon’s teeth sank deeper. A human scream that was high and sharp, cut short. Then a strange sound, a wet, squelching crunch that echoed louder than it should have across the mountainside.
Cressyda’s stomach clenched.
The Great Dragon surged upwards, and in its jaws dangled something limp – something human-shaped, limbs swaying. In one gulp, it was gone. With a final roar that seemed to shake the stars loose from the sky, the Great Dragon wheeled and vanished back into the clouds.
It was over.
The wind died and the trees stood motionless. All that remained was the stench of scorched earth, heat dissipating in the air, and the distant sound of horses galloping away.
