A few hours into the night, Sam’s eyes opened to the first sound that had made it to his ears since he’d crawled up here. A faint scratching echoed through the pitch black room, and Sam shot to his feet, his eyes wide and searching for the source.

He zeroed in, and… There. In one of the spyholes, a small object obscured the faint light that spilled into his conical stone prison. Sam squatted down, and when the object didn’t discharge a poisonous gas or shoot him, he pointed his flashlight at it.

Tucked into the spyhole was a rolled-up sheet of paper. There was no movement from the other side, so Sam approached. He took the paper and unrolled it, still cautious of a trap. He brightened the paper with his flashlight and began to read.

Hi Sam, it’s Faera. Imagine my surprise when I cast my tracking spell and found you at the top of the most heavily guarded tower in the city. Did it not seem heavily guarded to you? Imagine my exasperation when you brute-force your way in, causing them to be on high alert the entire night. You do know you got there a half hour early, right?

Anyway, I spent yesterday and today gathering info on the dragon. He seldom makes public appearances, but there’s going to be one tomorrow at sunrise on the east stage. He likes to have the rising sun behind him, I hear. Asshole.

He’s the one who orchestrated the kidnapping of the elves, I’m sure of it now. He’s got them building jeeps and artillery for him in factories far removed from human habitation, guarded by a handful of his most zealous followers. He doesn’t want humans to know that they’re the ones who invented the most powerful weapons of war, not the elves, so he calls them ‘elf-relics’.

The bastard actually has these people convinced that all magic flows from him, and that only the blessed can use it, and that elves are using something different. It doesn’t matter. After tomorrow, he’ll be dead, and his plan for my people and yours will fall apart. Be ready, tomorrow at sunrise.

After he’s dead, go to this location and disable some of the guards. A minor disruption will be all the elves need to win their own freedom. I assume that they’re locked in some kind of anti-magic field, so if you see weird-looking writing in gold or crystal on the ground outside the factory, breaking that should be all the help they need. The situation will be a little trickier if the prisoners all have suppressing collars on.

Sorry I can’t go there with you. I think you’re a pretty good guy, even if the elders piss their pants around you.

Sam read the end of the letter, checked the map, and frowned. He shuffled up to the spyhole. “Why can’t you come with me?” he asked with his mouth up to the hole. Sam shifted to his ear and waited for a response.

He heard nothing but the faint sounds of the city below and the wind whistling against the sharp edges of the spyhole. Faera had already left.

Sam tucked the letter into his vest and checked the east stage. In the dim light of the moon, he could barely make out the stage, with its raised dais and pillars sporting banners with stylized symbols of dragons. He got a good idea of where the dragon would be positioned, at the obvious center of attention on the raised platform, where he’d glitter with the light of the rising sun.

Sam made a little hole that would allow his VAMPR a clear shot of the dais from the back of the room, propped on the ammo bag. Then he got into position, focused on his breathing, and let time slip away.

The horizon behind the dragon’s perch began to lighten, and Sam’s tension rose. After another fifteen minutes, he began to hear cheers wafting from the spyholes around him, coming from the east. The sun edged above the mountains behind the dais, making a burning gold crescent above the stage. The cheers redoubled, and a red dragon came into Sam’s narrow view.

Sam’s heart rate jumped and his scope jittered as the dragon began to speak.

“My people, my most beloved possessions…”

Sam took deep breaths and calmed his heart, allowing the scope to settle. It followed a gentle pattern as his heartbeat slowed.

“There are elves among us.”

Sam’s closed eye opened. Did he mean…?

“They have gone so far as to disguise themselves as human, infiltrating our most sacred places under the pretense of being one of us. But make no mistake, they have nothing but hate for you, for the true inheritors of the earth.”

“This one here.” The dragon motioned to his left.

There was only one elf Sam knew who was disguised as a human. This was most likely an execution. That’s why she said she wouldn’t be going with him--Faera didn’t intend to survive this exchange.

“This one was caught trying to infiltrate my chambers. It was discovered carrying a lethal poison!” The stage was rocked with jeers, aimed at someone outside Sam’s vision.

He couldn’t allow this to continue. If Faera wanted to die, that was all well and good, but if he could free her in the confusion following Tyranus’s assassination, that would be better. In any case, time was of the essence.

Sam fell into a murderous trance. He inhaled until his lungs were tight with air, and then began exhaling, relaxing his jaw and letting the air leak out of his mouth softly, softly. He could feel the rhythm between each heartbeat, and when he found the time between them stretching to infinity, Sam squeezed the trigger.

Tyranus exploded. A detonation rocked the stage and Tyranus’s form disappeared behind the wall of dust kicked up by the impact. The gathered crowd raised a wail as Sam watched through the scope, trying to spot the body through the cloud of dust.

A great red wing dispersed the dust, swirling it away in miniature tornadoes. The dragon pushed up off of its elbows, and fixed the tower with a murderous stare. Sam’s heart stopped for an instant as an icy hand clutched the back of his neck. A curveball.

It didn’t matter why the VAMPR didn’t work on the dragon; the only thing that was important was that it hadn’t. Sam took three shots at the dais to the dragon’s right, hoping the shrapnel would shake it up without hitting Faera on his left. The dais exploded into sharp bits of marble, sending the dragon reeling to his side.

The VAMPR was still working, so the dragon must be what caused the exception. The air between the two of them had compressed and impacted against his scales, but the flesh of the beast, which should have been torn out, remained in place. Maybe it was a magic thing.

Tyranus launched himself into the air with a roar of anger that sounded like twisting metal, but deeper, the sound resounding through the city and raising the hairs on Sam’s arms. Once he airborne, there were no buildings close enough for Sam to detonate in an attempt to damage him.

Sam leaned up to the hole, and sure enough, Tyranus was headed right for the tower. Sam had about five seconds to leave.

He grabbed his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He had changed the preset on the VAMPR to ‘ceiling cutter’ when each of the spyholes around the roof blazed with light. In a second, the heat became enough to cook meat. The walls turned cherry red, then white hot as they began to melt.

Sam didn’t stick around for anything after that. He pointed the VAMPR straight down, making sure to keep his legs clear of the gun’s range, and pulling the trigger. A cone opened beneath Sam, and he fell straight down just before the walls slumped in under the blazing heat of dragonfire.

He hit the next floor in a crouch, banging his knees against the stone. A dozen startled men with swords surrounded him and blocked the staircase, denying him every exit. Too bad for them. Sam pulled the trigger again.

Sam fell through each floor at a rate of half a second per, reaching the ground in about six seconds, leaving a ring of men and women gawking on every level. Sam could tell it was the ground floor because the room he landed in had wagons.

The smell of manure hit him, making him think there must be a stable nearby. Sam slung the VAMPR over his shoulder and ran toward the source of the smell. How hard could riding a horse be?

Sam burst through the gate, his head ducked down while the spinal column of the horse beneath him dug into his ass and balls. He’d figured out how to commit to getting on a horse after the first one had bolted, but before he’d discovered the need for saddles. Needless to say, they didn’t keep their horses saddled in their off time, resulting in his current predicament. At least the horse wasn’t giving him sass.

Sam didn’t have time to worry about the saddle, though. Around him, little black droplets of cooled stone fell down in a hail as the dragon tore open the roof of the tower. As soon as the morning light streaming between stone buildings flickered over the horse shooting down the street, the dragon’s head swiveled. A moment later, Tyranus leapt from the tower, lunging into the air with more force than grace. The dragon was chasing him.

“Shit!” Sam tugged the horse’s mane to the left, taking a turn eastward. If he could get to Faera, he might be able to slow Tyranus down long enough to get them both out of town. Sam dug in the duffle bag and fished out one of the jury-rigged RPGs, holding it beside his waist in his right hand while he held on to the horse’s mane with his left.

Sam’s thighs were beginning to get sore, being clamped around the horse’s ribs as he approached the stage. He felt a pressure close in behind him, and yanked the horse’s head to the right. The stallion shook its head and bucked sideways.

The dragon’s teeth cut the air, missing the two of them by less than a yard. Its massive body swept by, radiating a heat that curled the hair on Sam’s arm.

The stallion reared up in fright, wanting to do anything but run toward the enormous red beast that had just passed them by. As the horse pranced, Sam leveled the RPG at the dragon, led it by an inch per hundred meters, and squeezed down on the trigger. The firing pin slid past its safety, and the rocket shot forward.

Tyranus was banking, coming back around for another swipe, when the air beyond him exploded. The dragon’s flight wobbled as the concussive blast of air and shrapnel hit. Bits of steel lightly peppered the surrounding area. Sam quickly checked himself for blood and didn’t see any on his fingertips. Shrapnel could kill you before you knew it.

Sam tossed the spent body of the RPG away and pulled out another one. He kicked the stallion into a gallop, nearly falling off its back as it lunged forward.

A line of men in shining steel formed a wall around the crowd, but their purpose was to keep people from leaving, rather than to keep people from getting in. That and their gawking admiration for their god king gave Sam the opportunity to run them over. This was where Sam learned the hard truth that even a horse that can’t talk has a mind of its own, and this particular draft horse had no intention of contending with a line of infantrymen, even as disorganized as they were.

The stallion skidded to a stop on the stone street, and Sam was flung over its head, five billion dollar gun and all. He landed on a pair of infantrymen toward the back of their formation, and managed to disentangle himself and keep running. He dove into the crowd of terrified onlookers. Some of them tried to lock arms with each other and stop Sam, and he had to encourage them to move with the butt of the RPG to their faces. Don’t mishandle explosives, kids.

Over their heads, he saw a bloodied form tied to a post on the left side of the stage. He was down a horse, so getting out of here would be tricky. Sam might be able to cut a way into the sewers and escape the same way as last time, but he had a feeling Tyranus wouldn’t allow him to do that again.

Sam was dealing with another reticent citizen when he heard the rush of flame. He spun around and saw Tyranus had landed and was laying down a blanket of fire across the crowd, enveloping hundreds of his adoring citizens. Sam leveled the RPG at the dragon and squeezed off another round.

Sam was in luck. The dragon’s own fire had blinded it to Sam’s action, and the RPG shot through the flames far too quickly to absorb much heat. The RPG impacted against the dragon’s chest, rocking it to the side with a spray of blood. Tyranus’s breath was shut off like someone had turned a valve, and the flesh-liquefying fire evaporated, leaving a swath of blackened bodies.

The unity of the mob fractured as the remaining people saw what their god had done to them, while others had seen him bleed. A metallic screech filled the air as the dragon pawed at his wounded shoulder, and people started fleeing in every direction. The ones who’d been so staunchly trying to stop Sam from moving through the crowd scattered, alternately weeping and screaming with terror as they fled. One man did both.

“You fucking ape!” Tyranus’s voice echoed from the mountains.

Sam turned and ran, wading through the chaotic courtyard. The humbly-dressed people parted around him like he was the wrong pole on a magnet, trying to shove and jump over their fellow citizens to get a little bit farther away.

Behind him, Tyranus’s claws made a peculiar squealing, crackling sound as they sunk into stone and sent dozens of hairline fractures through the street.

Sam discarded the RPG and fished in his duffle bag as he sprinted toward the upper stage that held Faera. He pulled out the last one and spun toward the dragon that was rushing toward him on three legs. He was closer than Sam’d thought.

Sam wasn’t an expert on dragon expressions, but he could have sworn Tyranus sneered as Sam aimed the RPG. Tyranus waved his unwounded arm to the left, and the RPG wrenched itself out of his hands to skitter across the empty stone of the plaza.

“Wound me twice, ghost from my past, shame on me. There will not be a third.” Tyranus lunged forward, and Sam jumped back. He felt the solid marble stage behind him and kept as low as possible against that ledge as he darted right.

Tyranus’s claws swung down and dug into the marble, slowing the swipe down just long enough for Sam to get clear.

Sam needed an offense…What else did he have in his bag? He leapt onto the stage, juking the opposite direction to dodge the dragon’s next strike.

“Stay still!” Tyranus shouted, his neck craned down.

Sam dug in his duffle as he ran and felt a cold cylindrical something against his fingers. Another weapon? Sam didn’t have the luxury of inspecting it thoroughly--he needed something now or he wasn’t going to last another five seconds.

Sam wrenched the object free and his eyes widened with dismay as he recognized one of the sticks he’d stolen from Maria two nights before. The wood formed a smooth shaft about two feet long, with a fine polish and inlaid script.

Sam didn’t have more than a fraction of a second to get a look at the rod in his hands before a red snout the size and shape of a bullet train with teeth shot toward him. Sam, off balance and confused by the non-weapon, jerked to the side, but not fast enough to get the rod-holding arm out of the way.

There was a sickening pop as his bone was severed by the dragon’s teeth. His right arm tore away as easily as a Band-Aid, albeit more painfully.

Sam swallowed down a scream and dashed away. He reached into the bag with his intact left hand, looking for Faera’s shotgun. Maybe if he got the dragon in the eyes… He groped for the feel of actual steel and not polished wood as he backed away, keeping his eyes on Tyranus.

Tyranus looked down at him, Sam’s arm-stump hanging from the corner of his mouth. The dragon’s blood dripped, boiling on contact with the air. Suddenly a chuckle rose up from his chest.

“That’s what I find most amusing about your kind, Sam. You’ve been designed to fight until the bitter end.” Tyranus crunched down on the severed arm in his mouth. “It’s so boring when they start pleading for their lives after a scratch.”

Sam kept backing away, the loss of blood making him dizzy. An S4M’s severed arm would stop bleeding after a few seconds, but the artery sprayed up until that point.

“Guess I better end this, though. Can’t have you going all diehard on me, can I?” Tyranus crunched on the last of Sam’s arm with an exaggerated chewing motion.

Tyranus’s jaw exploded, sending a shower of molten blood spraying off to the side, sizzling on stone. Sam could see a hint of bone where the left side of his jaw had completely separated from the dragon’s body. It hung beneath his chin.

Sam and the dragon stared at each other for a moment. Then Tyranus teetered to the side, rocking the entire courtyard with the force of impact as he fell.

Sam looked at his bag. Those wooden sticks must have had a lot more juice to them than Sam had thought.

He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around. The courtyard was empty. Except for the hundreds of charred mummies, the civilians had all escaped.

The army, on the other hand, was moving in. A thousand or so men wearing white-and-gold advanced from the streets with sabers drawn. Leading them was a man in a red cloak.

They needed to get out of here, fast. Sam needed to get Faera somewhere safe and have her heal his stump. An S4M unit could go without a major limb for a while, but eventually the veins in his arm would begin to relax and he’d bleed out.

Sam jogged toward Faera, where she was tied naked to a pole. Underneath her was an assemblage of dry wood waiting to burst into flame. Faera was covered with bruises and cuts, and three of her fingers were missing. All-told, not a good day for either of them. At least they got the dragon.

Sam got behind Faera and yanked her knots loose, unable to practice subtlety with one hand.

“Breathing…” Faera muttered, her chin against her chest.

“What?” Sam tugged another knot loose.

Faera inhaled painfully and tried to raise her head, letting her neck drift to the left in an attempt to look at him. “Still breathing.”

Sam looked past her at Tyranus, and saw the dragon’s chest rise and fall. Shit. From what Sam had seen, magic could fix up some pretty serious damage. All it would take was one well-intentioned zealot to heal their god-king, and then everything would be in vain.

“I see it,” Sam said, tugging the last of Faera’s knots loose. He tried to catch her, but she slipped away from his outstretched hand and fell to the floor, shuddering. “We’ll do something about it, but right now we gotta get out of here.”

“You’re still breathing!” Faera shouted. Her skin began to ripple, and fur burst forth from her upper body even as her face elongated into a snout. Twin horns erupted from her head, curling behind her--no, his--ears as the demon grew in size, dwarfing Sam.

“Kein’Maddal,” Sam breathed.

“Sam! Run!” Sam heard Faera’s voice coming from behind Tyranus’s dais.

The demon lunged off its hands and knees and swept Sam up off the ground with one hand. “I go free now, human,” Kein’Maddal said.

Sam felt his ribs cave in. He tried to punch the demon, maybe damage its elbow. Swing your left arm. Swing your left arm…

The world went dark, and beneath the triumphant roar of the demon, Sam thought he heard Faera shout.

Swing your left arm.