The Dragon Book (5 page)

A tremendous brazen roar drowned everything. She felt the waves lapping at her hands, and crawled up toward the dry sand, out of the way. Her back hurt, and blood ran down her side; she twisted her arm around carefully to feel behind her, but touched only her sodden dress. Whatever had hit her had glanced off. She sank down, gasping with pain. Then the dragon hurtled up out of the sea past her.

As he went, he shot out a green bolt of flame that scorched the ditch from end to end. When the few men who could raised their bows, he swept them up in his jaws. Some he ate, and some he cast aside to go after more. He crossed the smoldering ditch with a bound. Perla, crouched by the rock, heard the ping of the arrows striking his scales.

A horn blew. In a long single line, the knights charged down the beach. The Duke led them, his sword drawn. They swept in around the dragon like a surging wave, their swords hacking, the horses whirling and struggling against spurs and bits.

Then another green flame sizzled out and knocked the dark wave back, and, with a shriek, the dragon reared up, his head high, the Duke between his jaws. Even from the side, Perla could hear the armor crunch. A wail went up from the Duke’s men, and they scurried back, away.

The Duke’s son galloped forward. “Rally! Rally—”

The dragon hurled the Duke’s body down and went straight for the son, and the boy wheeled his horse and ran. The great jaws snapped shut at the horse’s tail. The knights followed in a stream. The dragon grabbed another as they fled, and ate him, spitting out the coat of mail and the helmet.

Perla rose, stiff with pain, and limped toward him. He was bleeding from a dozen places, a slash on his neck, a deep gash in his breast, arrows sticking into his scales. She held out her arms to him.

“Are you all right?”

The dragon turned to her, and she saw the first dawnlight glisten on the golden disk between his eyes. His voice was harsh. He said, “I am sore wounded, my heart’s blood flows on these sands. If not for your warning, they would have had me. I swore I would devour you, if I found you. But you saved me, and suffered for it.” He turned, swaying back toward the sea. “And I remember the stories.”

She said, “I want to go with you.”

He stopped, his neck arched, his head hanging down. His wounds dropped thick globs of blood that burnt a moment on the sand and then went out in a wisp of smoke. “I remember the stories. I do not know where these wounds and the sea will carry me.”

“Yet I will go with you, whatever happens.”

His head swung toward her. The great red eyes glimmered, brimming. The long tongue flicked out tenderly over her bare feet. She climbed up over his shoulder and onto his back, sitting astride, holding with both hands to the great spine before her. She had only enough time to draw a deep breath before he plunged back into the sea.

Here’s a demonstration that “Seize the day!” is often good advice, even if taking it gets you entangled with a dragon—in ways that you never could have anticipated!

Born in New York City, where she still lives with her mystery-editor husband and six computers, bestselling author Naomi Novik is a first-generation American who was raised on Polish fairy tales, Baba Yaga, and Tolkien. After doing graduate work in computer science at Columbia University, she participated in the development of the computer game
Neverwinter Nights: Shadows of Undrentide
and then decided to try her hand at novels. A good decision! The resultant Temeraire series—consisting of
His Majesty’s Dragon, Throne of Jade, Black Powder War,
and
Empire of Ivory—
describing an alternate version of the Napoleonic Wars where dragons are used as living weapons, has been phenomenally popular and successful. Her most recent book is a new Temeraire novel,
Victory of Eagles.

“WELL, Antonius,” the magistrate said, “you are without question a licentious and disreputable young man. You have disgraced a noble patrician name and sullied your character in the lowest of pursuits, and we have received testimony that you are not only a drunkard and a gambler—but an outright murderer as well.”

With an opening like that, the old vulture was sending him to the block for sure. Antony shrugged philosophically; he’d known it was unlikely his family could have scraped together enough of a bribe to get him let go. Claudius’s family was a damn sight richer than his; and, in any case, he could hardly imagine his stepfather going to the trouble.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” the magistrate said.

“He was a tedious bastard?” Antony offered cheerfully.

The magistrate scowled at him. “Your debts stand at nearly 250 talents—”

“Really?” Antony interrupted. “Are you sure? Gods, I had no idea. Where
does
the money go?”

Tapping his fingers, the magistrate said, “Do you know, I would dearly love to send you to the arena. It is certainly no less than you deserve.”

“The son of a senator of Rome?” Antony said, in mock appall. “They’d have you on the block, next.”

“I imagine these circumstances might be considered mitigating,” the magistrate said. “However, your family has petitioned for mercy most persuasively, so you have an alternative.”

Well, that was promising. “And that is?” he said.

The magistrate told him.

“Are you out of your mind?” Antony said. “How is that mercy? It’s twelve men to kill a dragon, even if it’s small.”

“They did not petition for your life,” the magistrate said patiently. “
That
would have been considerably more expensive. Dragon-slaying is an honorable death, and generally quick, from my understanding; and it will legally clear your debts. Unless you would prefer to commit suicide?” he inquired.

Dragons could be killed, guards might be bribed to let you slip away, but a sword in your own belly was final. “No, thanks anyway,” Antony said. “So where’s the beast? Am I off to Germanica to meet my doom, or is it Gaul?”

“You’re not even leaving Italy,” the magistrate said, already back to scribbling in his books, the heartless bugger. “The creature came down from the north a week ago with all its hoard and set itself up just over the upper reaches of the Tiber, not far from Placentia.”

Antony frowned. “Did you say its
hoard
?”

“Oh yes. Quite remarkable, from all reports. If you do kill it, you may be able to pay off even your debts, extraordinary as they are.”

As if he’d waste perfectly good gold in the hand on anything that stupid. “Just how old a beast are we talking about, exactly?”

The magistrate snorted. “We sent a man to count its teeth, but he seems to be doing it from inside the creature’s belly. A good four to six elephantweight from local reports, if that helps you.”

“Discord gnaw your entrails,” Antony said. “You can’t possibly expect me to kill the thing alone!”

“No,” the magistrate agreed, “but the dragon-hunter division of the ninth is two weeks’ march away, and the populace is getting restless in the meantime. It will be as well to make a gesture.” He looked up again. “You will be escorted there by a personal guard provided by Fulvius Claudius Sullius’s family. Do you care to reconsider?”

“Discord gnaw
my
entrails,” Antony said bitterly.

ALL right, now this was getting damned unreasonable. “It breathes
fire
?” Antony said. The nearest valley was a blackened ruin, orchard trees and houses charred into lumps. A trail of debris led away into the hills, where a thin line of smoke rose steadily into the air.

“Looks like,” Addo, the head of the guards, said more enthusiastically than was decent. Anyone would’ve thought he’d won all the man’s drinking money last night, instead of just half. There hadn’t even been a chance to use it to buy a whore for a last romp.

The guards marched Antony down to the mouth of the ravine—the only way in or out, because the gods had forsaken him—and took off the chains. “Change your mind?” Addo said, smirking, while the other two held out the shield and spear. “It’s not too late to run onto it, instead.”

“Kiss my arse.” Antony took the arms and threw the man his purse. “Spill a little blood on the altar of Mars for me, and have a drink in my memory,” he said, “and I’ll see you all in Hell.”

They grinned and saluted him. Antony stopped around the first curve of the ravine and waited a while, then glanced back: but the unnaturally dedicated
pedicatores
were sitting there, dicing without a care in the world.

All right: nothing for it. He went on into the ravine.

It got hotter the farther in he went. His spear grip was soaked with sweat by the last curve, and then he was at the end, waves of heat like a bath furnace shimmering out to meet him. The dragon was sleeping in the ravine, and
merda sancta
, the thing was the size of a granary! It was a muddy sort of green with a scattering of paler green stripes and spots and spines, not like what he’d expected; there was even one big piebald patch of pale green, splotchy on its muzzle. More importantly, its back rose up nearly to the height of the ravine walls, and its head looked bigger than a wagon cart.

The dragon snuffled a little in its nose and grumbled, shifting. Pebbles rained down from the sides of the ravine walls and pattered against its hide of scales lapped upon scales, with the enameled look of turtle shell. There was a stack of bones heaped neatly in a corner, stripped clean—and behind that a ragged cave in the cliff wall, silver winking where some of the coin had spilled out of the mouth, much good would it do him.

“Sweet Venus, you’ve left me high and dry
this
time,” Antony said, almost with a laugh. He didn’t see how even a proper company would manage this beast. Its neck alone looked ten cubits long, more than any spear could reach. And breathing fire—

No sense in dragging the thing out. He tossed aside his useless shield—a piece of wood against this monster, a joke—and took a step toward the dragon, but the shield clattering against the ravine wall startled the creature. It jerked its head up and hissed, squinty-eyed, and Antony froze. Noble resignation be damned; he plastered himself back against the rock face as the dragon heaved itself to its feet.

It took two steps past him, stretching out its head with spikes bristling to sniff suspiciously at the shield. The thing filled nearly all the ravine. Its side was scarcely an arm’s length from him, scales rising and falling with each breath, and sweat was already breaking out upon his face from the fantastic heat: like walking down the road in midsummer with a heavy load and no water.

The shoulder joint where the foreleg met the body was directly before his face. Antony stared at it. Right in the armpit, like some sort of hideous goiter, there was a great swollen bulge where the scales had been spread out and stretched thin. It was vaguely translucent, and the flesh around it had gone puffy.

The dragon was still busy with the shield, nosing at it and rattling it against the rock. Antony shrugged fatalistically and, taking hold of the butt of his spear with both hands, took a lunge at the vulnerable spot, aiming as best he could for the center of the body.

The softened flesh yielded so easily that the spear sank in until both his hands were up against the flesh. Pus and blood spurted over him, stinking to high heaven, and the dragon reared up, howling, lifting him his height again off the ground before the spear ripped back out of its side, and he came down heavily. Antony hit the ground and crawled toward the wall, choking and spitting, while rocks and dust came down on him. “Holy Juno!” he yelled, cowering, as one boulder the size of a horse smashed into the ground not a handspan from his head.

He rolled and tucked himself up against the wall and wiped his face, staring up in awe while the beast went on bellowing and thrashing from side to side above, gouts of flame spilling from its jaws. Blood was jetting from the ragged tear in its side like a fountain, buckets of it, running in a thick black stream through the ravine dust. Even as he watched, the dragon’s head started to sag in jerks: down and pulled back up, down again, and down, then its hindquarters gave out under it. It crashed slowly to the ground with a last long hiss of air squeezing out of its lungs, and the head fell to the ground with a thump and lolled away.

Antony lay there staring at it a while. Then he shoved away most of the rocks on him and dragged himself up to his feet, swaying, and limped to stand over the gaping, cloudy-eyed head. A little smoke still trailed from its jaws, a quenched fire.

“Sweet, most-gracious, blessed, gentle Venus,” he said, looking up, “I’ll never doubt your love again.”

He picked up his spear and staggered down the ravine in his blood-soaked clothing, and found the guards all standing and frozen, clutching their swords. They stared at him as if he were a demon. “No need to worry,” Antony said, cheerfully. “None of it’s mine. Any of you have a drink? My mouth is unspeakably foul.”

“WHAT in stinking Hades is that?” Secundus said, as the third of the guards came out of the cave, staggering under an enormous load: a smooth-sided oval boulder.

“It’s an egg, you bleeding
capupeditum
,” Addo said. “Bash it into a bloody rock.”

“Stop there, you damned fools; it stands to reason it’s worth something,” Antony said. “Put it in the cart.”

They’d salvaged the cart from the wreckage of the village and lined it with torn sacking and, to prove the gods loved him, even found a couple of sealed wine jars in a cellar. “Fellows,” Antony said, spilling a libation to Venus while the guards loaded up the last of the treasure, “pull some cups out of that. Tomorrow we’re going to buy every whore in Rome. But tonight, we’re going to drink ourselves blind.”

They cheered him, grinning, and didn’t look too long at the heap of coin and jewels in the cart. He wasn’t fooled; they’d have cut his throat and been halfway to Gaul by now if they hadn’t been worried about the spear he’d kept securely in his hand, the one stained black with dragon blood.