By Christopher Rowley
THE 109TH DRAGONS
The so much dependable bunch of dragon warriors and human attendants ever to march on crusade had simply been reformed whilst Bazil Broketail and his human boy, Relkin, back from a fruitless look for Bazil's cherished eco-friendly dragoness. longing for motion opposed to the evil enemy forces, the dragon and his boy have been overjoyed to find that in their absence a brand new sword have been crafted for Bazil by means of the elves, a sword much more strong than the single he'd formerly misplaced. So armed, how may perhaps they in all likelihood fail to defeat the entire foes who awaited them?
But there has been one hazard neither Bazil nor Relkin might be able to expect - the forces of the Goddess of loss of life had marked them either as her selected sufferers for seize and sacrifice...
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Additional resources for A Sword for a Dragon (Bazil Broketail, Book 2)
Dot moved ahead of me down to the bottom, where she stopped. When I got there I saw why. The stairs let out into a large, dark room. The ﬂoor ended halfway across it, and beyond that, at either side, to the left and right, under the arching roof, were open tunnels. From one tunnel opening to the other ran a pair of gleaming rails. We were standing on a subway platform. Dot walked to the end of the platform and shined the ﬂashlight up the tunnel. The rails gleamed away into the distance. “This doesn’t look like the safe,” I said.
50 s John Kessel That’s the story of my life: me trying to save the rest of you—and the rest of you ignoring me. On the other side of Almond it was all mountains. The road twisted and turned, the headlights ﬂashing against the tops of trees on the downhill side and the cut earth on the uphill. I kept shifting and drifting over the double yellow line as we came in and out of turns, but the road was deserted. Occasionally we’d pass some broken-down house with a battered pickup in the dirt driveway and a rust-spotted propane tank outside in the yard.
They would break every bone inside his bruised body if this continued. Barrow saw his doom and still could not make his body rise off the dusty earth. How had he come to this awful place? He couldn’t remember. He sat upright, waiting for the next misery to ﬁnd him . . but a new voice was shouting, followed by the odd, high-pitched report of a very different gun. The dirt before him rose up in a fountain and drifted away, and left lying between his legs was a single purple Claw of God. Damn, somebody had a dragon-buster gun.