B4 Chapter 6: Snow Warning
The dragon bore down on the camp once more, its jaws opening wide. A quick scan of the battlefield revealed that the trainees were not in the best state. Their shields resembled pincushions for all the holes and icicles that marred them, and the first couple of passes had done their numbers no favors. Already, most of the men who’d borne the brunt of the attack were out of commission from either wounds or stamina drain.
Without the shared stamina pool of a full Legion, the men using [Shield Wall] were left to rely on their own reserves—meaning that a strong or relentless enough attack could still manage to open a hole. As the attacks changed focus from structures to more effectively culling the men themselves, those losses would only accelerate.
Quintus ordered the few Legionnaires not helping with the ballistae toward the section of the line nearest the dragon. Hopefully, they’d be able to reinforce and defend it from the worst of the attacks. As for the rest of the trainees, they formed a thick perimeter around the camp, linking up in a single line to maximize their benefits from [Shield Wall].
They braced for another pass. Yet rather than a repeat of the previous times, the dragon pulled up and began winging high above. A few men shouted out mockery at the beast, but Quintus merely frowned. This was no retreat.
“Hold your fire! Legionnaires, defend!”
The massive white form briefly obscured the sun before diving back down toward one section of the line with alarming speed. He barked out another order, and the formation broke, splitting down the middle to press back against the camp’s palisade for shelter. Those wielding slings and so-called “firearms” managed to duck back just in time. The tall wall of sharpened timbers buckled under the dragon’s breath weapon, splintering under the force but deflecting a portion of the force before it struck the men’s shields.
Quintus watched as the breathing specialists danced weightlessly atop the shields of the trainees and other Legionnaires, their palms a blur as they struck ice from the air. A secondary, smaller beam diverted into a nearby tree and shattered it. The men weren’t able to deflect the entirety of the attack—they weren't strong or stupid enough to put themselves at its epicenter. But his efforts managed to greatly reduce its radius.
For a moment, it looked as though the dragon would continue its dive to slam into the earth and crush the men. But it did not. Instead, it snapped its jaws shut and pulled up, aiming back toward the sky. From this close, Quintus could see the scattered patches where individual scales hung loose, and daylight shone through tiny perforations in the beast’s wings. Perhaps their own assaults hadn’t been entirely ineffective. Still, this was trouble. Dives like this meant that any ranged attacks aimed toward it would risk falling right back down on their heads. He needed to change tactics.
“Spears!”
The Legionnaires and trainees alike produced the weapons from thin air as Quintus had. They held the weapons ready and tense. Throwing spears at something directly overhead wouldn’t be particularly effective. But the dragon couldn’t hit everywhere on the line at once.
The next time it dove toward the line, the white monster was met with a wave of long, wickedly sharp weaponry hurtling toward it. Spears, empowered by skills, flew from all across the camp with inhuman speed and power. The dragon began to twist in midair, swiping with its claws and tail to knock a few particularly troublesome projectiles from the sky as others clattered harmlessly against its scales. As it turned away, Quintus added his own to the mix.
He charged forward with [Warpath], aiming at a particular spot where a pair of scales hung loose. He saw the angle of the dragon’s movement in his head, its speed, how quickly that speed was changing—all of it came into sharp relief as numbers. The practical kind.
He briefly considered throwing his sword. But decided against it. His skill would help with its effect, but he didn’t have a backup close at hand. He really needed to get around to getting some throwing swords. As stupid as the idea sounded.
A series of calculations flashed through his head as he aimed. At the last moment, Quintus activated [Sure Footing] to steady himself and push off the ground with renewed force. The weapon disappeared from his hand as though it had teleported.
A flash of red appeared at the spot Quintus had aimed for. Instantly, he detonated the spear. The dragon opened its mouth once more, not to attack, but to roar in earth-shaking rage. Quintus called his weapon back as soon as he saw the hit land. Sure enough, the fractured tip was speckled with blood.
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It wasn’t a severe wound. But it was a wound nonetheless.
The dragon whirled in midair, its icy eyes narrowing in his direction. Quintus felt the full weight of its ire descend upon him. The dragon wheeled into the air once more, sending most of the remaining spears scattering with a contemptuous flap of its wings. A few more exploded against its scales, but they, too, were ignored. Instead, the white tyrant continued to climb upward. And when it descended, Quintus had no doubts about its aim.
He’d accomplished his aim. Quintus was now the sole focus of their enemy’s attention. The problem was, would he survive it?
“Time?” He shouted to the engineers as he backpedaled.
“Almost done, sir!” One of the mages answered for them. The familiar form of a massive ballista was already taking shape before him. “A few more seconds!”
He sincerely hoped they were right. Quintus began backpedaling, leading the dragon into the camp and away from the men. He wouldn’t have time to get it to open ground, so the best he could do was limit the loss of life if this didn’t work. He felt rather confident that even the combined force of every man here wouldn’t stand up to a focused attack by this thing—and he suspected that its next attack wouldn’t be quite like the rest.
Quintus stopped, turning to face the incoming threat when he felt the position was right. He drew his sword and held it in both hands. His heart thumped in his chest. Standing alone, without the support of his men to either side, was not a position he particularly wanted to find himself in. But he wouldn’t have more men perish if this gambit didn’t work.
The ivory beast swooped toward him, roaring defiantly at the puny human who dared harm it. More balls of lead and spears shot upward to harry the creature with mixed effectiveness. But none managed to draw blood that he saw. It continued its dive, a beam of frost preceding its advance with destruction.
At the last moment, Quintus slid to the side. His blade flowed to meet the dragon's great jaws and parry. Steel met fang in a resounding clash as he leveraged the contact to push himself out of the way.
The dragon bit down contemptuously. It shattered his blade with ease, sending shards flying in every direction. One of the dragon’s teeth managed to catch his forearm as though his enchanted armor as though it were expensive paper and nothing more.
Quintus tried to rip his arm free to no avail. His arm felt as though it would be torn from its socket as the dragon held on and began to drag him along with it. A mighty wingbeat buffeted him as it began to rise.
Gritting his teeth, Quintus put everything he had into [Sure Footing]. He focused on his connection to the ground, to the earth, digging in his heels. He would not be taken to the sky. He belonged here.
For a brief moment, he felt resistance. The massive beast slowed, and he saw a flicker of surprise in its reptilian eyes. But he was too small. His efforts were overpowered as he was wrenched bodily from the ground.
A loud crack split the air. A massive bolt as thick around as Quintus’s arm suddenly appeared in the dragon’s hindquarters. It screeched in rage and pain, both, and Quintus tore his arm out from its jaws. He fell a few feet back to earth as the dragon rose into the air again, but the maneuver no longer took it out of the Legion’s range. The next bolt came in quick succession and skittered harmlessly off its scales. But the third managed to tear a hole in the dragon’s wing.
Quintus looked toward the engineers. A massive ballista stood completed, its hastened engineers loading more shots with practically unbelievable speed. A second was already being built as he watched.
If he’d been uncertain about the effects of their previous attacks, this one clearly did bother the beast. Their foe continued to climb until bolts no longer assaulted it. Another icy beam of cold descended upon the camp. Still, this one was so far away that it manifested as a mere hailstorm rather than the deadly barrage of the original.
The others readied their weapons, tensing as the dragon flew high above. It circled once, twice, making rings around the brilliant sun in its place high above. Then, it came to a decision, it let out a final roar, and flew northward.
The men remained tense until it became clear the beast wouldn’t return. Then, the trainees burst into cheers. Celebration filled the remains of the camp as the men began to regale each other with tales of their own role in the conflict.
Quintus felt himself relax. He glanced down at the bloody mess of his arm. His hand still clutched the hilt of his broken sword. Both those would need tending to, though one sooner than the other.
“All right!” His shout cut through the din. “There’ll be time to celebrate later. Tend to the wounded and tear down the camp! We’re heading home.”
A medic ran up and quickly bound his wound, but he refused more aid than that. It could come after he’d seen to the other men. There was so much to do, and he wanted to be out of here before the dragon decided to circle back for another round. He’d heard reports of sightings and attacks before, of course, but those were mostly on unmanned guard posts or small contingents of men who ventured past the borders. Never before had one been so brazen, much less pressed into the empire’s territory.
The emperor would need to be informed. Perhaps their brief period of peace was finally coming to an end.
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