The arrow pierced the eye. From my position, I could see the attack had worked. Caliza was taking advantage of the pain caused to the dragon. His axe had given him protection, and now, a little vengeance. Added to the two fingers the dragon lost, two rather large cuts on the creature's belly. I doubted it could withstand the pain. That took one out of combat. But we still had five left! That was not counting the monster that eclipsed the few entrances of light.
The dragons had invaded the cave. Had it not been for Mr. Chapatrueno's foresight, we would be defenseless. But he had thought of everything. He assigned me to this observation post, wedged about thirty meters from the cave entrance, on a ledge where I kept my weapons ready—from arrows to the useless darts of the dwarves. I complained—why did they not let me use wood to prepare arrows? Even with the problem of wood dryness, I could have made truly useful projectiles. Instead, they gave me crude tips. Even with their vaguely aerodynamic shape, they were designed for medium-range attacks. Touching them, I could see they were sharp, but without something to launch them with enough force, they were only medium-range weapons, designed to pierce helmets or soft areas. But after a distance of no more than fifty meters, all you had was a crossbow with the utility of a club. Besides, anything you launched against those brutes with hard scales was destined to shatter. That was why I asked the Death Knight for advice. He taught me how to give distance to the darts—just create a wind tunnel.
My magic was much less powerful than the Blood Elves'. Mine was borrowed, from the Dark Forests, from the Overlord's magic. But I knew how to use it well. Only a few lines of wind were needed, enough to counteract air resistance and accelerate the stone. That gave it aerodynamics. The darts launched by crossbows became projectiles that pierced the earth dragons' armor. From my position, that was all I could do. In Rocaceleste, dwarves loyal to Chapatrueno were in charge of repairing my swords. But I was not used to using axes, so I discarded melee attack. But from here, I made a difference. Every time someone was cornered, I managed to land a few darts in the dragons' sensitive areas. These were still manageable. Truth be told, I did not know how we would face the great earth beast still struggling to free itself from the remains of Java's great mine. One dragon seemed obsessed with Caliza, and the other, I thought, some rich dwarf. But from the way he defended himself, he was a warrior—or survivor. This battle would decide it.
I had no more darts. Dark Forest arrows were scarce underground, so I could not waste them. But they were not wasted—one by one, they defended dwarves from all sides. Loading the crossbows made the string skin my fingers. The raw flesh bled the same color as those dying below. They had accounted for the five lesser beasts. But the largest was finally free from the rock debris. It rose and screamed its hatred at the filth who had killed its young. A stench began to flood the cavern. Even though I knew what was coming, I could not shout loud enough to drown out the death scream of that demon with scales.
I could see its mouth beginning to vomit. It was not flames—an underground dragon had no space, oxygen, or igneous matter. It was not ice—it was mud, a lot of mud. A torrent that knocked down nearby warriors, dragging them away with its force. I descended at free-fall speed—I had no time. They did not yet understand the terror, but once they realized, it would be too late. As soon as I touched the ground, my other leg went a step ahead. I had to reach Caliza! Step by step, I accelerated. I had my daggers in each hand. I doubted they would do anything, but it comforted me to know I would die defending myself.
I reached the two as the first screams and curses told me it had begun. Earth dragons consumed large amounts of matter to make their way, which made them fat. But they did not digest well, so their acids mixed with detritus. That was what we fled from. The reason I pushed them urgently to the wall was that all the acid it vomited, mixed with earth, would devour it again along with those in the process of disintegrating—armor, weapons, the lives of warriors who had no chance to fight.
Once I had them safe, I surveyed the devastation. Less than a third of both armies survived, clinging to rock ledges and rooftops. Now the dragon was at its weakest. The amount of acid it had used must have emptied it, because now it clearly looked like an unpleasant snake with wings, which had begun to lick its own vomit. I wanted to shout for them to attack, but I could not—they represented the little authority left on this battlefield. Only these two dwarves could do something. Caliza began giving orders, his mouth twisted in a gesture of hatred. The other dwarf said nothing. His soldiers seemed more inclined to flee than to follow. I had already taken a sword—the weapon was very heavy in my hands, but at least I was not so defenseless. Caliza began shouting at him. Apparently, the dwarf I had saved was called Chypher, the son of a mass of muscle coming out of the disemboweled dragon's throat—the king, who had died. Long live the king! But the new guild leader only looked at everyone, pale. It was clear his hatred was such that it rivaled that of the dwarf from Rocaceleste. Slowly, his hand went to an anonymous axe. His hand squeezed tighter and tighter. Just as a trickle of blood began from his hand—perhaps from some imperfection in the metal cutting his flesh—he shouted:
"Brothers! The blood of our people has been shed. Enough! Death is no stranger to our people, but shame is! No son of a lizard will kill my people while we debate who is the better dwarf. March! Over the rooftops, over the bodies of the fallen, raise the weapons of those who wielded them beside us or against us. Let us go to face death in the fullness of our lives. Let their claws not touch you. Let the edges of your axes find flesh. Let us go as one family! Dwarves! Kill or die!"
As one, they set out. No one asked why they followed him. No one cared. They had an enemy, they had allies, they had a common goal. I could not help but admire these bastards. That dragon might kill us, but we would not surrender! For the Dark Elves, for Chapatrueno! Kill or die!