The supple plates on the dragon's belly glimmered like wet emeralds, catching the morning light that seeped through the branches. The scales on the rest of its body were shaped like elm leaves and ranged from a drab olive shade to a dark, bright blue-green that nearly matched the needles of the tall spruces nearby. The dragon's eyes gleamed dully yellow, and were cut through by black catlike slits. A large crested ridge the color of new ferns ran from the top of her head down her neck, disappearing in the shadow of leathery wings. She had one horn, on the right side of her head, black and twisting away from her, misshapen like an accident of birth. There was no nub where the second horn should have grown.
The few mercenaries left were backing away, mesmerized by the sight of her, afraid to turn their backs to her.
"Fight her!" Dhamon heard himself scream. "Don't back down! Don't run!"
The mercenaries paused for just an instant, looking to Gauderic, who was still standing. "No," he mouthed to Dhamon in disbelief. But Dhamon furiously shook his head at his second-in-comand and gestured for them to move forward.
"Fight her!" Then Dhamon charged, his feet churning over the ground, then flying out from under him as he slipped in a muddy puddle.
In the same instant, the dragon darted forward, brushing against the forest giants and somehow not harming them. Her tail cracked out like a whip, striking the trio of elven women who were advancing on her, swords shining and wet from the chlorine that still hung in the air.
Dhamon's lungs burned. The chlorine threatened to suffocate him. He made a move to rise, but stopped, watching from his prone position the horrifying tableau that was playing out before his eyes. The sounds were overwhelming-the moans of the men, the shrill cries of the birds, the pounding of his heart. Louder still was the sharp intake of the dragon's breath. The tingling warmth of the scale on his leg was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Not nerves, he realized. Something else.
He saw one of the elven women leap at the dragon, swinging her sword wildly. The dragon exhaled, a second whirling gout of the chlorine gas. Dhamon managed to avoid the brunt of it, rolling behind a dead mercenary and feeling the caustic mist settle on his clothes and chain mail. His skin stung harshly.
But the elven women were not so lucky. The sickly yellow-green cloud billowed and enveloped them. As one they screamed, a horrid chorus that made Dhamon gag. The thumps of their bodies hitting the ground was soft. The cloud continued to drift outward.
"Damnable beast!" Dhamon heard Gauderic cry. His second-in-command drew in close to the dragon's belly and struck out with his blade. The weapon bounced off the plating and Gauderic nearly lost his grip on it. He redoubled his efforts and struck harder, putting all of his strength into it and this time meeting with more success. The dragon issued a tremendous roar that momentarily deafened everyone.
Only a dozen of the mercenaries had survived the dragon's last onslaught and had angled in close enough to strike. As far as Dhamon could tell, those brave ones were trying to follow his orders.
"Stay away from its mouth!" Gauderic was shouting. "Stay close to its body. Hit it low and keep moving! Circle and strike!"
The dragon was sweeping her tail through the foliage, brushing the corpses into the river. Out of the corner of his eye, Dhamon saw blood trickling down the dragon's green scales. Gauderic had opened a wound inside the beast's rear leg, and its blood ran freely, pooling on the ground. One of the elven mercenaries had managed to plunge his sword between the large scales on its front leg. Not able to pull the blade free, he reached for twin daggers at his side and continued the attack.
Suddenly the dragon reared up and roared. Hope swelled in Dhamon's chest. There was a chance! However, the scale was becoming increasingly painful. He gulped in the caustic air and tried to move forward, but a knifing pain shot up his leg and rooted him to the spot.
The dragon's roar changed pitch and faltered. Gauderic cried jubilantly. Through a haze of pain, Dhamon realized his second-in-comand was practically covered with the dragon's blood, and brave Gauderic was continuing to worry at the dragon's wound.
The dragon thrashed about, head twisting this way and that. Then eyes locked onto Dhamon, and her great, mottled lips pulled back in a sneer. For an instant Dhamon's heart froze. He managed to scuttle to the side, leaning behind a tree and trying to blot out the burning sensation on his leg.
"Can't fight like this," Dhamon spat. "Worthless. I'd be throwing my life away. No help to them." Then, though a part of him knew better, he turned away from the battle and from Gauderic and hobbled off through the ferns. "No hope for them."
