Chapter Thirty-One
The sun was beginning to dip toward the tips of the pine trees that lined the valley, and still there had been no sign of the beast. I risked a run to the farmhouse and back to fetch some water, which the trapper accepted gratefully, although he was having difficulty keeping his head up to drink it. The air was growing crisp and cool, so Jackaby started a small campfire with a few dry logs and the wooden markers that had once surrounded the find.
“Which way do you think it’ll approach?” I whispered to my employer over the crackle of the wood. He scanned the horizon with a frown.
“Mimic or not, a chameleomorph becomes a fully realized corporeal incarnation of its quarry, aesthetically, anatomically, and biologically. A dragon of that magnitude must be producing enough incendiary enzymes to exceed containment.”
“What?”
“Smoke.” Jackaby’s eyes panned from one end of the valley to the other. “There should be smoke. This valley should be alight with all the wildfires a dragon that size would produce. We should see crackling flames and burning branches. At the very least we should see trails of smoke.”
I glanced around us. The sky was beginning to redden as the evening grew older, but the only sign of any fire was our own.
“Do you think it’s left the valley?” I whispered. It was difficult to decide if this was a dreadful notion or wishful thinking. I dared not imagine what destruction that beast’s rampage could wreak on a populated city, but I was none too eager to see it for myself, either. I did not have long to ponder the possibility before my question was answered.
Jackaby froze, his eyes locked onto the forest across from Brisbee’s field. I followed his gaze. Down the foothills, across the far side of the pasture, the tall trees shook and the earth trembled. A dark figure crested the treetops for just a moment and then thudded back to the ground. Jackaby drew his rusty machete, and I held tight to my climbing axe. The instrument grew smaller and feebler in my hands as I watched the shadowy form push through the wilderness. The valley fell silent for several impossibly long seconds, and then the dragon leapt into the sky.
There was no mistaking the figure as it lurched upward. The wings were enormous, leathery like a bat’s and billowing slightly as they caught the wind. The hulking colossus caught the tops of a couple of pine trees roughly against its chest, and the crack of wood echoed across the valley like gunshots as the trees toppled. The blow cost the creature momentum, and it flapped awkwardly into the center of the field, kicking off into a shallow glide for a moment, and then landing again. It had more than doubled in size just since the attack on the barn, and as its feet touched the ground, I could see it was easily four stories tall. It loomed over the rooftop as it passed Brisbee’s farmhouse.
Jackaby was muttering, mostly to himself. “The raw material from the latest bones seems to have accelerated the growth process. Fascinating, though—its instincts are clearly slower to manifest. See how it moves . . .” With another powerful leap, the dragon was suddenly airborne, the broad expanse of its wings blotting out the setting sun as it coasted directly toward us. Its movements may have been clumsy and imprecise, but it had enough control to direct its glide toward us, and Jackaby and I both leapt to the dirt as it dove, its talons clacking and whipping the air just over our heads.