was crawling towards the rocks, sideways, like a huge, iron crab.
‘Staggering,’ Dorregaray whispered. ‘Staggering…’
‘Hey!’ Dandelion struggled in his bonds, making the wagon shake. ‘What is it? Over there! Look!’
A great cloud of dust could be seen on the eastern side of the gorge, and shouting, rattling and the tramping of hooves quickly reached them. The dragon extended its neck to look.
Three large wagons full of armed men rolled onto the plain. Splitting up, they began to surround the dragon.
‘It’s… Dammit, it’s the constabulary and guilds from Barefield!’ Dandelion called. ‘They came around by the source of the Braa! Yes, it’s them! Look, it’s Sheepbagger, there, at the front!’
The dragon lowered its head and gently pushed a small, green-greyish, mewling creature towards the wagon. Then it struck the ground with its tail, roared loudly and shot like an arrow towards the encounter with the men of Barefield.
‘What is it?’ Yennefer asked, ‘That little thing? Crawling around in the grass? Geralt?’
‘It’s what the dragon was protecting from us,’ the Witcher said. ‘That’s what hatched some time ago in the cave, over there in the northern canyon. It’s the dragonling from the egg of the dragon that Sheepbagger poisoned.’
The dragonling, stumbling and dragging its bulging belly across the ground, scurried unsteadily over to the wagon, squealed, stood on its hind legs, stretched out its little wings, and then without a second’s thought clung to the sorceress’s side. Yennefer, with an extremely queer look on her face, sighed loudly.
‘It likes you,’ Geralt murmured.
‘He’s young, but he ain’t stupid,’ Dandelion twisting in his fetters, grinned. ‘Look where he’s stuck his snout. I’d like to be in his shoes, dammit. Hey, little one, run away! That’s Yennefer! Terror of dragons! And witchers. Well, at least one witcher—’
‘Quiet, Dandelion,’ Dorregaray shouted. ‘Look over there, on the battlefield! They’ve got him, a pox on them!’
The Barefield wagons, rumbling like war chariots, raced towards the attacking dragon.
‘Smack ’im!’ Sheepbagger yelled, hanging on to the wagoner’s back. ‘Smack ’im, kinsmen, anywhere and anyhow! Don’t hold back!’
The dragon nimbly eluded the first advancing wagon, flashing with scythe blades, forks and spears, but ended up between the next two, from which a huge double fishing net pulled by straps dropped onto it. The dragon, fully enmeshed, fell down, rolled over, curled up in a ball, and spread its legs. The net tore to shreds with a sharp rending noise. More nets were thrown onto it from the first wagon, which had managed to turn around, this time utterly entangling the dragon. The two other wagons also turned back, dashed towards the dragon, rattling and bouncing over bumps.
‘You’re caught in the net, you carp!’ Sheepbagger bawled. ‘And we’ll soon scale you!’
The dragon roared and belched a cloud of steam into the sky. The Barefield constables rushed towards him, spilling out of the wagons. The dragon bellowed again, desperately, with a thundering roar.
From the northern canyon came a reply, a high-pitched, battle cry.
Out from the gorge, straining forward in a frenzied gallop, blonde plaits streaming, whistling piercingly, surrounded by the flickering flashes of sabres, charged…
‘The Zerrikanians!’ the Witcher shouted, helplessly tugging at the ropes.
‘Oh, shit!’ Dandelion chimed in. ‘Geralt! Do you understand?’
The Zerrikanians rode through the throng like hot knives through a barrel of butter, scattering their path with massacred corpses, and then leaped from their horses in full flight, to stand beside the dragon struggling in the net. The first of the onrushing constables immediately lost his head. The second aimed a blow with his pitchfork at Véa, but the Zerrikanian, holding her sabre in both hands, upside down, with the tip pointing towards
‘Staggering,’ Dorregaray whispered. ‘Staggering…’
‘Hey!’ Dandelion struggled in his bonds, making the wagon shake. ‘What is it? Over there! Look!’
A great cloud of dust could be seen on the eastern side of the gorge, and shouting, rattling and the tramping of hooves quickly reached them. The dragon extended its neck to look.
Three large wagons full of armed men rolled onto the plain. Splitting up, they began to surround the dragon.
‘It’s… Dammit, it’s the constabulary and guilds from Barefield!’ Dandelion called. ‘They came around by the source of the Braa! Yes, it’s them! Look, it’s Sheepbagger, there, at the front!’
The dragon lowered its head and gently pushed a small, green-greyish, mewling creature towards the wagon. Then it struck the ground with its tail, roared loudly and shot like an arrow towards the encounter with the men of Barefield.
‘What is it?’ Yennefer asked, ‘That little thing? Crawling around in the grass? Geralt?’
‘It’s what the dragon was protecting from us,’ the Witcher said. ‘That’s what hatched some time ago in the cave, over there in the northern canyon. It’s the dragonling from the egg of the dragon that Sheepbagger poisoned.’
The dragonling, stumbling and dragging its bulging belly across the ground, scurried unsteadily over to the wagon, squealed, stood on its hind legs, stretched out its little wings, and then without a second’s thought clung to the sorceress’s side. Yennefer, with an extremely queer look on her face, sighed loudly.
‘It likes you,’ Geralt murmured.
‘He’s young, but he ain’t stupid,’ Dandelion twisting in his fetters, grinned. ‘Look where he’s stuck his snout. I’d like to be in his shoes, dammit. Hey, little one, run away! That’s Yennefer! Terror of dragons! And witchers. Well, at least one witcher—’
‘Quiet, Dandelion,’ Dorregaray shouted. ‘Look over there, on the battlefield! They’ve got him, a pox on them!’
The Barefield wagons, rumbling like war chariots, raced towards the attacking dragon.
‘Smack ’im!’ Sheepbagger yelled, hanging on to the wagoner’s back. ‘Smack ’im, kinsmen, anywhere and anyhow! Don’t hold back!’
The dragon nimbly eluded the first advancing wagon, flashing with scythe blades, forks and spears, but ended up between the next two, from which a huge double fishing net pulled by straps dropped onto it. The dragon, fully enmeshed, fell down, rolled over, curled up in a ball, and spread its legs. The net tore to shreds with a sharp rending noise. More nets were thrown onto it from the first wagon, which had managed to turn around, this time utterly entangling the dragon. The two other wagons also turned back, dashed towards the dragon, rattling and bouncing over bumps.
‘You’re caught in the net, you carp!’ Sheepbagger bawled. ‘And we’ll soon scale you!’
The dragon roared and belched a cloud of steam into the sky. The Barefield constables rushed towards him, spilling out of the wagons. The dragon bellowed again, desperately, with a thundering roar.
From the northern canyon came a reply, a high-pitched, battle cry.
Out from the gorge, straining forward in a frenzied gallop, blonde plaits streaming, whistling piercingly, surrounded by the flickering flashes of sabres, charged…
‘The Zerrikanians!’ the Witcher shouted, helplessly tugging at the ropes.
‘Oh, shit!’ Dandelion chimed in. ‘Geralt! Do you understand?’
The Zerrikanians rode through the throng like hot knives through a barrel of butter, scattering their path with massacred corpses, and then leaped from their horses in full flight, to stand beside the dragon struggling in the net. The first of the onrushing constables immediately lost his head. The second aimed a blow with his pitchfork at Véa, but the Zerrikanian, holding her sabre in both hands, upside down, with the tip pointing towards
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