"I knew it!" Arthur bellowed. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted that slug! He's probably halfway back to the woods by now!"

  The roar came again, this time much closer; the sound of it made the hairs on Henry's neck stand on end. It sounded familiar, but from a very distant memory; he could have sworn he heard it before, from a time long past...

  "Should I cast the spell?" Rebecca asked frantically.

  "Not yet! We don't know what it is yet," Henry replied, raising his sword. "I've heard that sound before, though! I just can't remember where!"

  The three of them huddled together, back to back, as they faced outwards in each separate direction. Henry and Arthur had their swords at the ready, while Rebecca had her spell prepared in her hand. The two boys' mounts had bolted the moment they dismounted, while Rebecca's mount had dissipated into black smoke.

  "Well, remember faster, old boy." Arthur paled as a small torrent of rocks tumbled from an overhanging cliff above them. "We're about to have company."

  A wall of flame suddenly washed over the edge of the cliff and down towards the trio, racing towards them at breakneck speed.

  Henry only had time to instinctively turn away from the fire before his vision was flooded with light, as both flame and heat enveloped him and his companions. He couldn't feel anything at first, not the sword in his hands, not the ground beneath his boots, nothing; his first thought was that death had finally taken them.

  And yet, his vision returned after a moment, revealing that he was still standing. He looked around, seeing Arthur reacting with just as much confusion, before his eyes turned to Rebecca.

  She was lying on the ground, face up, her eyes closed; her left hand held a glowing orb that seemed to be projecting itself into a dome around the trio. Flames roared and danced around them, but the area within the dome was completely untouched.

  Henry hurriedly knelt beside her and checked her vitals; she was fine, but unconscious. "She's out cold. I think the spell knocked her out."

  "Tend to her," Arthur said, raising his sword as he looked upward. "I'll handle our new friend."

  Standing above them on the cliff was a beast, a creature with wings for arms and a long, scaly neck that held a lizard-like face and snout.

  Henry's memory kicked in just as the dome fizzled and gave out. "Wyvern!"

  The creature let out another roar, this time a deafening screech, as it spread its great wings and stood up on its hind legs. A whip-like tail snapped as it cracked through the air, a wicked-looking barb on its end.

  "Get her to safety!" Arthur cried. He leapt through the flames and began scaling the small rocky hill leading to the cliff before Henry could protest, dashing across the rocks with great speed. The wyvern, seeing Arthur's approach, let out another gout of fire in his direction, which the knight-apprentice managed to sidestep at the last second.

  With the beast distracted, Henry quickly scooped up Rebecca and carried her away, further back down the path they had come from. He found a small copse of pine trees and gingerly laid her against one of them, covering her with his cloak for warmth before he turned back to rush to Arthur's aid.

  By now, Arthur had closed the distance with the wyvern, and was hacking and slashing wildly at it with his sword while dodging attacks from its tail. He ducked and weaved in between hits, his blade scarcely cutting through the creature's thick scales; the steel glanced off of its hide with every slash and stab, serving only to further enrage the wyvern as it let out another roar.

  "The wings!" Henry shouted, clambering over the rocks and towards them. "Cut the wings, before it flies!"

  The wyvern turned its snakelike head to Henry, snarling through dagger-like teeth; driblets of glowing saliva dripped from its mouth, indicating its next flaming attack.

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  Arthur attacked again while its attention was on Henry, this time slicing through the thin flesh on its wings; the steel carved through the parchment-thin skin as easily as butter, creating a sickening sound as dark green blood began to pour from its wounds.

  The wyvern screeched in pain as it stumbled back, swiping out at Arthur with one of its winged arms; the knight-apprentice was caught square in the belly and was sent flying back against a rock face.

  Henry cried out and pounced on the creature, ducking beneath its sweeps as he searched for the organ Sir Gallant had shown him long ago.

  He spotted it: the ignition gland. It was a bubble-like protrusion underneath the beast's chin, the organ that allowed it to light the substances it spewed aflame and spit it at its foes. The wyvern's hide was thick as armor on top, but its soft underbelly was easily cut, and extended to the gland as well.

  With a quick slash of his sword, he sliced through the gland, dodging the viscous orange liquid that poured out from his handiwork. The wyvern's furious roars turned to yelps of pain as it staggered back, still trying to swipe at Henry; the squire stayed low and dodged its attacks, running further underneath it with his sword ready.

  He stabbed at the creature's belly, his blade sinking deep into its flesh; more dark green blood poured out when he retracted it, before he stabbed again, and again, and again.

  The wyvern's movements were erratic now, its tail trying to flick at Henry, but the squire was out of its viable attack zone beneath its body, still hacking and slashing at its soft unarmored flesh underneath. When the wyvern's legs began to give out, Henry finally rolled out from its underside and clambered onto its back, running along its spine towards the bobbing head.

  The creature's eyes glared fiercely as Henry prepared the final blow, his sword raised to take the creature's head; just as Henry began to chop downwards, the wyvern suddenly bucked violently, throwing the squire off and tumbling to the rocky surface below.

  Henry barely managed to break his fall, his arms and hands cut by the sharp rocks on the ground; his sword clattered from his hands, sliding away from his reach. As he struggled to stand and retrieve it, the wyvern swiped with its wings again, this time catching him on his back. Sharp claws on the tips of the wings sliced through his clothes and left a burning, stinging sensation on his back; Henry screamed out in pain and fell back to the ground, rolling on his back.

  The wyvern towered over him, snarling; its snake-like eyes stared into his, the bright golden irises flashing as it opened its jaws and prepared to clamp down on Henry.

  Two arrows suddenly sailed out from somewhere behind Henry, embedding themselves right into the wyvern's eyes. The beast screamed and thrashed about, falling on its back as it arced wildly in pain. Henry managed to flip onto his belly and crawled away, spying a dark shape leaping from the cliff the wyvern had originally attacked them from.

  Praetorus loosed another two arrows as he sailed through the air, this time hitting the wyvern's bleeding wounds on its underbelly. As he landed, the archer swiftly drew his dagger from his belt in one smooth motion and fell upon the creature, running his blade down its long neck length-wise. The grisly trail spewed forth whatever blood the wyvern had left, as its thrashing quickly grew languid and lackadaisical; before long, it was completely still, its labored breathing growing more shallow.

  Praetorus calmly approached its main body and plunged his knife into it one final time. With a rasping rattle, the creature went limp.

  "Praetorus, you... you came back," Henry gasped out. He painstakingly pushed himself to his feet, trying to ignore the screaming pain on his back. "What happened? Why did you abandon us?"

  "I did not abandon you," the archer replied tacitly. "I stayed out of your way. I struck when it was most effective."

  Henry made to retort, but Arthur's limp form caught his eye. The knight-apprentice had still not moved from when he was thrown against the rock.

  "Arthur? Arthur?!" Henry pushed Praetorus aside and staggered over to him, feeling Arthur's neck. His pulse was present, but weak.

  "We need to get him some help, real help." Henry grimaced in pain as he pulled Arthur over his shoulders. "Get Rebecca and the horses. We should be a few hours away from the town of Winterfrost."

  Praetorus made to move, but then stopped. "He will not make it. He is heavily poisoned."

  "What?" Henry looked over at Arthur's face. Sure enough, the knight-apprentice's visage was deathly pale, dark veins popping through his skin; his breathing was labored and slow, and his skin was ice cold to the touch.

  "I see it now," Praetorus remarked, his face grim. "The poisoned blade held Soldier's Venom. It lies docile until one feels the exertion and adrenaline from combat, whereupon it will awaken and kill its host."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I have used it before."

  "How long do we have?!" Henry cried.

  Praetorus shook his head. "Not long. Not enough time to get him to the town." He stared at Henry pointedly. "I suggest we leave him. There is no point trying to save him so far from help."

  "I'm not going to leave him, damn it!" Henry shoved past him with Arthur on his back, staggering back down the rocky bluff. "If you're not going to help, then leave us!"

  Whatever Praetorus said or did, Henry didn't hear nor care; his mind was fixated on getting Arthur help as soon as possible.

  He was halfway down the path when he heard the clattering of hooves behind him; turning, he was surprised at the sight of Praetorus leading their horses to him.

  "I shall aid you," the archer asserted. "But it is useless. You will see."