the exo-skeleton on his back. The dragon howled.
It turned, furious, and pulled at Simon, dragging him off the horse with shocking speed. His crossbow tumbled.
The injured beast’s breath was laboured, but he had Simon in his grasp and was ready to crush his neck.
Suddenly, behind him the wall of flame tore open and Matiki went flying to the ground, wailing. Savagi’s huge armoured ebony head swivelled to see his brother dying.
“Deathspell …” the brother said, and red flames took him, bursting from somewhere inside the beast, killing it at last.
Aldric rode out behind him and jumped from his horse, slamming into Savagi. Simon was knocked loose and Savagi was so surprised by the move, he choked as Aldric drove his sword into his belly.
The creature struggled to hold Aldric back with his long arms as Simon dived back into the fray and shoved his hand upon the weak flesh at the dragon’s heart.
“Ordris africalla sadentiss ishkal,” said Simon, and the deathspell took instant effect: Simon felt his hand burned as the Serpentine heart burst into perfect red fire. The creature fell back away from Aldric in surprise at the quickness of its own death.
As the black-yellow flames around them dropped away, Simon could see lions, real African lions, running from the terrible inferno, and a group of stampeding giraffes alongside panicked hyenas, all trying to get away from the real king of the jungle…
Fire.
When Alaythia found them, Simon and Aldric had climbed up into a tree, having nowhere else left to run. The veldt was utterly blackened all around them. The tree itself was beautifully unscarred, a random survivor of nature’s supernatural wrath.
The brothers’ red ashes drifted past her, where their Serpentine bones had faded to nothing. Somehow the horses must’ve galloped fast enough to avoid danger, for Alaythia had their bridles in hand, bringing them back. Simon was always jealous of how she could coax them to her from anywhere by simply whistling.
“The sickness is gone,” she reported. “It left the village the instant you killed the dragons.”
Simon gave a sigh of relief. His stomach had been churning ever since the fighting stopped; taking action was always better than having time to worry.
“You could’ve waited for me, you know,” she added, brushing her long hair back from her face theatrically.
Simon smiled. Aldric squinted down at her from the tree. “You could’ve jumped in a wee bit faster,” he replied. “Then I could be the one down there, traipsing around, casual as a Bond Street shopper.”
She laughed at him. “It’s a deal then. I’ll take the lead next time.”
Simon groaned, for he knew there would be a next time. And soon.
CHAPTER THREE Of Serpents and Samurai
There were decorations in the steel-walled house, but very few things that did not directly reflect Najikko’s profession. What caught the eye would be the Samurai suits of armour that lined the halls. Always keep a little something of your enemy close by. It helps you to conquer your hate.
And how he hated the human warriors.
Najikko’s cold stare travelled past the suits of armour to a room where six new “visitors” awaited him. They had come seeking help, like many others. They were beautiful women and yet all he could see were imperfections. Ugly as sin they were to him.
Najikko looked out of the window at one of many cities that he owned and wondered how long it would be before a challenger came to his doorway.
CHAPTER FOUR The Dragonhunter’s Home Life
If anyone asked, Simon would say he lived in New England, but he was rarely there. He lived in a chilly, rundown, ex-British castle – a former fortress built in America during the Revolution and later modified to resemble a true baronial manor in the 1880s by a lord who wanted a touch of home in the States. And it must have succeeded in looking authentically English, for it was the only place Aldric could be convinced to make into a permanent residence. It was not yet a home in Simon’s mind, just a stand-in for one, though he welcomed the stone walls after the heat of Africa. In his first few months as Dragonhunter, he had been all over the map. Now he moped around the giant house, feeling snappy and tired, unable to sleep.
Simon felt fifty years old and wondered how his father managed all this travel. There Aldric was, clanging around the big kitchen with all of the energy of a cat, making some kind of sausage breakfast, and all Simon could do was stumble towards an old chair and hope his father remembered to make him something (sometimes he didn’t).
As Simon slipped past the stove, Aldric spun about taking some biscuits out of the oven, and bumped into him, dropping the biscuits on the floor.
“Simon!” his father barked.
“Relax, I didn’t mean to get in your way,” said Simon, sinking into the chair. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re always saying sorry,” grumbled Aldric.
“You’re always making me,” Simon sighed. They had grown into better coordination on the battlefield, but at home, they were all left feet and elbows and chaos. He watched as his pet fox Fenwick dived for the spilled biscuits.
Simon listened to the familiar sounds of Aldric chasing the fox with a flyswatter and looked out of the wide windows towards his old schoolhouse, the Lighthouse School for Boys. It was a rare, clear day and he could see the lighthouse tower and the Revolutionary War buildings in all their rundown beauty, and for a moment he wondered what the boys there were thinking of him. Crazy Simon St George, the hermit kid, who lived in the castle and studied at home behind closed doors. Little they knew.
“You’re up. I knew I heard some ridiculous tirade,” said Alaythia, entering the room with a plate of sausages and a basket of piping hot biscuits of her own. There was also the less appetising smell, Simon noted, of sulphur and ancient herbs. Alaythia often had unusual and interesting fragrances around her; Simon had found that her cooking would do that.
She strode past a surprised Aldric.
“What’s all this then?” Aldric stared.
“I decided to avoid the usual arguments – and the usual shortages, since you always forget me and Simon – and just make breakfast myself, in the alchemy lab,” chirped Alaythia, and she sat down to serve herself the meal. “Simon?”
“I’m going to skip breakfast,” said Simon, trying not to look disgusted.
“Not a great idea,” she said, but didn’t push the issue. She was good that way.
“Rancid stuff, smells of burned rats,” grumbled Aldric. “Just ’cause yours looks better doesn’t mean it’s good.”
“Simon
