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was on one side now； with one set of wheels spinning in the air； and the team still struggling hopelessly to pull it。 Meanwhile what was left of the cavalry thundered past； rounding the wagon on both sides； charging on into thickets along the roadside just ahead。 Mark could catch just a glimpse of people there； who looked like Ben and Barbara； fleeing on foot。
The dragon was still keening； inside its upended but unbroken crate beside the wagon。
On all fours； Mark scrambled back into the thick of the spilled contents at the wagon's rear。 He went groping； fumbling； looking for the sword。 He let out a small cry of triumph when he recognized Townsaver's blade； and thrust a hand beneath a pile of spilled potatoes for the hilt。 He had just started to lift the weapon when he heard a multitude of feet e pounding closer just behind him。 Mark turned his head to see men in half…armor； wearing the Duke's colors； leaping from their mounts to surround him。 A spearman held his weapon at Mark's throat。 Mark's hand was still on the sword； but he could feel no power in it。
〃Drop it； varlet！〃 a soldier ordered。
And overhead； out of the mist； great wings were sighing down。 And the caged dragon's continuous keening was answered from up there by a creak that might have issued from a breaking windmill blade。
Another inhuman voice interrupted。 This one was a basso roar； projecting itself at ground level through the mists。 Mark's knees were still on the ground； and through them he could feel the stamp of giant feet； pounding closer。 A shape moving on two treetrunk legs； tall as an elder's house； swayed out of the fog； two forelimbs raised like pitchforks。 Striding forward faster than a riding…beast could run； the dragon closed in on a mounted man。 Flame jetted from a beautiful red cavern of a mouth； the glow of fire reflecting； resonating； through cubic meters of the surrounding fog。 The man atop his steed； five meters from the dragon； exploded like a firework； lance flying from his hand； his armor curling like paper in the blast。 Mark felt the heat at thirty meters' distance。
Without pausing； the dragon altered the direction of its charge。 It snorted； making an odd sound； almost musical； like metal bells。 Once more it projected fire from nose and upper mouth。 This time the target； another man on beastback； somehow dodged the full effect。 The riding…beast screamed at the light brush of fire； and veered the wrong way。 One pitchfork forelimb caught it by one leg； and sent it and its rider twirling through the air to break their bodies against a tree。
All around Mark； men were screaming。 He saw the Duke's men and their riding…beasts in desperate retreat。
The dragon changed the direction of its charge again。 Now it was ing straight at Mark。
Nestor； at the moment when the wagon tipped； had tried to save himself by leaping as far as he could out from the seat； to one side and forward。 He did get clear of the crash； landed on one leg and one arm； and managed to turn the flying fall into an acrobat's tumbling roll； thanking all the gods even as he struck that here the earth was soft。
Soft or not； something struck him on the side of the head； hard enough to daze him for a moment。 He fought grimly to stay free of the descending curtain of internal darkness； and collapsed no farther than his hands and knees。 He was dimly aware of someone； Ben； he thought it was … bounding past him； into nearby thickets promising concealment。 And there went a pair of lighter； swifter feet； Barbara's perhaps。
In the thick fog； cavalry came pounding near。 Beside Nestor in the muck； partially buried in it even as he was； there was a log。 He let himself sink closer to it； trying to blend shapes。
The cavalry swept past with a lot of noise； then was； for the moment； gone。 Nestor scrambled his way back toward the tipped wagon。 He had to have the sword。 Whatever else happened； he wasn't going to leave that for the Duke。
When he reached the spill； he found the sword at once； as if； even half…dazed； he had known where Dragonslicer must be。 With the familiar shape of the hilt tightly in his grip； and the sound of the returning cavalry in his ears； Nestor moved in a crouching run back toward the thickets。 He hoped the others were getting away somehow。
Once among the bushes； Nestor crouched down motionless。 Once more； in the fog； cavalry went pounding blindly past him； towards the wagon。 He jumped up and ran on again。 A moment later； a hideous； monstrous bellowing filled the air behind him。 It sounded like the grandfather of all dragons； and the noise it made was followed by human screams。
Nestor ran on。 He had his dragon…killing sword in hand； but he wasn't about to turn back and risk his neck to use it to save his enemies。 Now； with the dragon providing such great distraction； he could calculate that his chances of getting away were quite good。 Behind him the sounds of panic and fighting persisted。 Possibly the Duke's patrol could be strong and determined enough to fight a dragon off。 Nestor kept going； angling away from the direction he thought he'd seen Ben and Barbara take … time enough； later； to get his crew back together if they'd all survived。
In the fog； the bank of the creek appeared so suddenly in front of Nestor that he almost plunged into the water before he saw it。 He hadn't been expecting to encounter the stream right here； but here it was； across his path； and maybe he was getting turned around again … small wonder； in this pea soup。
Now Nestor deliberately stepped into the thigh…deep water and started wading。 He wanted to put some more distance between himself and the fighting。 If the soldiers drove the dragon off or killed it； they might still e this way looking。 The uproar slowly faded with distance。 It was peculiar； because this wasn't the country where you'd normally expect to find big dragons。。。 any more than you'd expect a fog like this。。。
。。。wings translucently thin； but broad as a boat's sails； were ing down at him from above； breaking through puffs of low pearly mist … what in the name of all the gods？
For a moment Nestor； still knee…deep in water and gazing upward； literally could not move。 He thought that no one had ever seen the like of the thing descending on him now。 Those impossible wings had to be reptilian； which meant to Nestor that the creature they supported had to be some subspecies of dragon。 The reptilian head was small； and obviously small of brain； grotesquely tiny for such large wings。 The mouth and teeth were outsized for the head； and looked large enough to do fatal damage to a human with one bite。 The body between the wings was wizened； covered with tough…looking scales； the two dangling legs all scales and sinew； with taloned feet unfolding from them now。
It was ing at Nestor in a direct attack。 He stood his ground … stood his muck and water rather … and thrust up at the lowering shape。 With any other weapon in hand he would have thought his chances doubtful at best； but with Dragonslicer he could hardly lose。
Only at the last moment； when it was too late to try to do anything else； did he realize that th