Chapter 93: Gaul
Chapter 93: Gaul
The low, thundering clouds didn’t affect Gaul’s mood. He whistled while walking Tuen’s city walls. Pierre had changed everything. He had authority, that kid, he knew what to do, he was practically a mystery. Looke at that! Tuen and Chambert united, Olivier far away, fleeing. Gaul stopped whisstling when he thought of Maurice, of Joanna cleaning the Plume as though the mayor’s blood was in the wooden veins of the inn’s pillars. Not even Pierre could avoid Maurice’s death. The times we live in.
What other times were there? Gaul didn’t realize everything was out of place until he met Pierre. That is, he thought things were wrong, but he couldn’t see beyond the surface. Darkness was thick and Franária had lost its feet long ago. Pierre helped him to see that, but Gaul did not despair. Pierre exposed the horrible truth, the disease that consumed Franária, but Pierre was also the antidote, like a deep cut made by a surgeon.
Pierre was the cut and they would defeat Fulbert. Not one of the kings of Franária had a chance against Pierre Frontierman. Gaul leaned on the battlement and saw Pierre riding up from Chambert. There was a future with Pierre. A future for Tuen; a future for Franária.
That morning, the sky was a slow avalanche of clouds. The horse reared when Pierre tried to mount it. Neville held the reins.
‘Easy, my friend,’ Pierre petted the horse’s neck. ‘It’s just a storm.’
Neville helped Pierre get on the horse. (‘I’m not much of a rider,’ said Pierre, ‘always did everything on foot.’) and went up Chambert’s walls to watch Pierre ride almost as slowly as if he had gone on foot. He saw Gaul on the city wall, waving to Pierre. Neville looked up to the clouds. Which would reach Tuen first: Pierre or the storm?
On the road, Pierre’s horse reared, screamed and darted back to Chambert. Pierre jumped down and ran to Tuen. Why was he running? Why was the horse running? The clouds in the sky moved as though they’d been sucked in, then bloated out and exploded in red. Gauls curly hair turned to smoke. The fire didn’t touch him, falling directly on the city behind him, but his hair burnt just from the heat.
The fire flooded Tuen like water. Gaul couldn’t feel his own head burning. He saw a man melting and disappearing below the wall. He didn’t feel the smell of ash or burnt meat. The fire burnt even the scents.
Then the wind blew powerful and the thunder rolled lazily, following the rhythm of powerful, gigantic wings beating. The clouds tore apart and Gaul knew, even before he looked at the dragon, that his death came on wings of pure white. His eyes fled the dragon and searched the road. There. Pierre was coming to save him. Come on, kid, you can make it.
Pierre saw Gaul moving his mouth. He seemed to smile, he seemed to encourage. Then the dragon landed on Tuen, crumbling the wall and Gaul of Tuen under his claws.
Neville ran to Chambert’s gate, past Pierre’s terrified horse, and saw Pierre running toward the implosion of clouds. Neville also ran, shouting Pierre’s name and:
‘Come back! Pierre, come back!’
The clouds swelled in grey, exploded in red. Like blood from a wound, fire poured over Tuen. Powerful wind, lazy thunder; white wings tearing the clouds, red scales reflecting the flames now higher than the walls of Tuen.
Pierre running, always running — in the wrong direction. Neville shouting, ‘Pierre, come back!’
Then Neville gave up shouting, he just ran. But he was far, so far away, and Pierre was practically beneath the dragon. Even so Neville ran, because not running was giving up and Neville had already given up so much. Not Pierre. Not Pierre! If he reached Pierre, he’d just die with him. Even so, Neville ran.
The dragon took flight again, opening his giant mouth. Pierre, so small, waved his arms. At the gates of Chambert stood Vivianne.
‘So this is what the Caravan saw,’ she said. She saw what the Caravan had seen that day: a man running toward the dragon. Two men running toward the draggon.
Then she saw fire, pouring down like a waterfall on top of Pierre. He was so small.
