Jeryon circles the walk, looking through the windows, remaining frustrated, and the look he gives Ject says the general won’t be passed by again.
Ject can’t go back the way he came. The door to the foyer is on fire, so is the doorway, and both are blocked by the roasting remains of his detail. So he waits until the dragon disappears around the east side of the tower, grabs a fallen crossbow, and runs to the door to the council chamber. It had been unbarred. That must have been how Jeryon got out here. He presses the latch. The door is unlocked, as he had hoped.
Ject hears the dragon coming back around. He gets down on one knee and presses himself against the tower so he has cover from the eave and balustrade. Forget the door. He’ll deal with Jeryon directly. He has one shot. And Jeryon is just a man. Ject lifts the crossbow to his shoulder.
The dragon’s wing appears. Ject’s finger tightens on the trigger. And the dragon tightens its turn, rises, and lands somewhere above him on the dome. Now the eave gives Jeryon cover. Ject will have to move out to the balustrade to have a shot at him, but revealed, he might be dead before he can fire.
Roof tiles shatter. Shards slide onto the walk, falling in a line that moves away from Ject, then comes back. The dragon must be coming back too. He hears it breathing. He smells its breath.
Ject aims at the sky in front of the eave. He listens for the whistle. As soon as the head appears he’ll fire. If he misses he should still hit the neck, a point-blank shot, and that might be fatal. The roof falls silent. Ject waits. The point of his bolt bobs with his breath. He can’t slow it. Skittering above him. Can Jeryon command the dragon to attack silently? More skittering, like a faulty step. A shield-sized expanse of tiles smashes onto the walk. Ject, startled, nearly fires. The dragon moves away south.
Ject exhales and his ears open to the din of the plaza. The walk blocks most of his view, but what he can see looks like a riot. Soldiers are plowing into a group of workers and driving them out of the plaza, while others flow to the west. They keep looking up to make sure they’re escaping the dragon. Where are his men? What a terrible day for the Guard.
Ject pivots to the south, aims again, and hears the thud of sandaled feet landing on the walk. So that’s his game: while the dragon waits on the dome, Jeryon will flank him. Ject will get the drop on him instead. He crouch-walks a couple steps and listens: sandals scraping on the stone. Another step: The scraping is just beyond the turn of the tower. Ject charges the last few steps and he can’t help himself, he can’t risk not doing it, he fires.
There’s no one there, just two sandals tied to a cord that extends up and onto the dome.
Ject hears three whistles behind him and after the first he’s running for the door. After the second, as quickly as they come, he has the door latch. At the third he pushes in. The door chunks solid against its bar. Why? Ject thinks. He watches the shadow of the dragon’s head and neck slither over the wall toward him. He’s wheeling around to brain it with the crossbow when his left shoulder explodes in pain.
The dragon shakes him until his weapon is flung away, then it lifts him half over the balustrade. Ject’s fingers briefly find a hold, which lets him jam his legs through the balusters and wrap his feet around them. The dragon shakes him more violently. He won’t be able to hold on for long, but the guards should arrive soon.
More tiles give way beneath the dragon, and it releases Ject before it tumbles off the dome. The general sits down hard on the balustrade. His sash, bitten through, plunges into the city, weighted down by so many medals. Ject tips backward, but catches his feet in the balusters and hauls himself back up as the dragon regains its footing.
“I only wanted justice,” Jeryon says. “I only wanted my due. Is that too much to ask?”
“I can get you that,” Ject says.
“Not after all this.”
The dragon snaps at Ject, but he’s just out of reach, so it rears its head in anticipation and glances at Jeryon.
Ject loosens one foot from a baluster. If he could get to the foyer door he could dive through the flames into the tower. With a wince, though, he realizes that his ankle’s broken. He can’t run. So he considers letting himself fall. He might survive. There’s a precedent.