I had never gotten the hang of meditating - of clearing the mind. I was still considering the final composition of my spell.
Our quarry had lived in these mountains for years, so I knew its recent diet, but its prior nesting locations needed to be considered as well. I had already done all the research I could on the matter, all the preparation and memorization, and now, at the mouth of the smoking cave, I double-checked everything.
Next to me, still as a statue, the boss sat on a small rug. Meditating.
“I’m ready,” I said.
The boss did not flinch. He simply opened his eyes, stood up, and retrieved his spear from the saddlebags we had set down nearby. Stowing it over a shoulder, he looked at me and nodded towards the cave, so we headed in.
I followed close behind him. His hard shoes clicked on the hard stone, the noise echoing up and down the lava tube. There was no need to be stealthy, but I kept my own hoof-falls quiet out of habit as we approached the central chamber.
Inside, the air was warmer. Only that and the lingering smell of sulphur told us there was a living creature here. The deep purple expanse of its back, green spines, a great membranous wing, and one claw was visible from where we stood, the rest coiled and hidden. It was massive, but stout - perhaps only two or three hundred meters long. More of a wyvern than a wyrm.
This would only work if we had a target. I wondered aloud, “Where is its head?”
“It will show us,” the boss said, before kicking the floor sharply with his back hooves.
After the noise echoed and settled, nothing happened. The boss tilted his head curiously and kicked the floor again - still nothing. I thought for a moment that the dragon really was dead, that our task had been completed before we had even arrived, but a response came after the third attempt.
A low groan rumbled the air in my lungs and the ground under my hooves. The dragon stirred, uncoiled itself, raised its head into the high reaches of the cavern, and peered down at us.
The look in its eyes was disconcerting. I was used to seeing anger and rage. Fear was not unfamiliar either. What I got from this one was cold and detached. Complicated. Why? - I thought briefly.
But it was no matter. Not for long.
The boss reached back to take his spear in his mouth, committing us to battle, and charged towards the dragon’s nearest leg. He annoyed it by leaping at the last moment and kicking its leg with all his weight and momentum focused through a single hoof, before jumping away and into a safe position. The dragon responded sluggishly, swiping its left claw down to where the stallion had been, rather than where he was going, leaving deep channels in the cave floor.
Unfazed, the boss went in for another round, now aiming for the arm that had just come down. The dragon was faster this time, moving to slam its right foreclaw on top of him before he could make his second attack, but the boss simply dug his hooves into the cave floor and, with an unexpected burst of speed, lunged beneath the incoming claw and slammed into the left arm, around where the fetlock would be on a pony. The dragon grunted, shooting a burst of green flame from its nostrils.
The boss took this as his chance to get out of close range, nodding to me as he did so. I prepared my spell. The dragon had stood up fully and was trying to reach out to grab the boss - even better. It was not in a stable position.
It was originally a mining spell, meant to reduce the weight of ores to make them easier to transport. My contribution had been two-fold: first, to reverse the effect of the spell, to increase the weight of the ores significantly; and second, to apply this effect to an arbitrary material. Knowing the composition of the material ahead of time, from my research, it was easy to target and cast. Less than two seconds. More than enough time for the boss to get to a safe distance.
The yellow chroma of my magic surrounded the dragon for only an instant before its legs splayed out from under it and it slammed into the cavern floor. A gust of displaced air hit me, some squealing shrapnel flew by. After that, there was silence, followed by sharp, calm steps.
The boss aimed his spear carefully, its tungsten tip shining in the dim light. The dragon could not breathe in this state, and its emerald eyes bulged out, making them easy targets. I looked at its face one last time, and saw the familiar fear, and some anger and cold rage, but, mostly, resignation.
For all my study of dragons, I did not learn how they communicated with each other, or if they ever found occasion to. But when I saw this final dragon die, and thought back to all the others we had slain, I realized they must all have known, somehow, that their race was coming to an end.
The hoards were often damaged by this method, but that was hardly a concern in this case: its “hoard” was pitiful, the smallest we had ever seen while on contract. An iron ring pierced one of its spines and held a knot of rope - a monkey’s fist, the boss told me - which, when cut open, revealed the white horn of a unicorn, weathered by extreme age. It possessed nothing else.
“Disappointing,” the boss said.
I wasn’t so sure. Holding the horn to my chest, I looked up at the enormous corpse - all cracked spines and scales, and dark, shattered eyes - and imagined that it must have been a great treasure, so long ago, when dragons still roamed the world.
