Outside the Dragonpit, the rain poured down in sheets.
The three young dragons and the riders on their backs were completely exposed within the watchtower garrison's field of vision and range.
On the tower, after a brief moment of confusion, the well-trained guards quickly showed their discipline.
"Ballista crews! Aim at the riders on the dragons' backs!"
"Archers ready! Disrupt them!"
"Spearmen, block them quickly—don't let them get close to the base of the tower!"
The shouted orders sounded broken in the wind and rain, yet the execution was astonishingly swift.
Three heavy ballista bolts were fired almost simultaneously from different heights of the three watchtowers, sweeping toward the three young dragons that had just rushed out and had not yet fully accelerated into the air.
"Duck!" Jacaerys shouted, pressing himself down against Vermax's neck first.
Arrows whistled past above his head and by his side; one even grazed his shoulder armor, scattering a trail of sparks. Vermax roared in fury, and several crisp clanking sounds rang from his scales—the arrows had bounced off.
Lucerys and Joffrey also hurriedly lowered themselves. Arrax was more agile, twisting its body to avoid most of the arrows.
But the young Tyraxes seemed nervous. A massive ballista bolt skimmed past the edge of its right wing, shaving off several scales and drawing a cry of pain from it.
Immediately afterward, a dense volley of arrows followed. Though their aim was poorer, in the stormy night they were especially conspicuous, interfering with the vision of the young dragons and their riders.
As the initial panic passed, the urge for destruction surged once more within Jacaerys.
Looking at the shifting figures atop the towers and hearing the shrill alarm bells, he patted Vermax beneath him and commanded hoarsely, "Attack! Destroy those towers!"
He guided Vermax into a sharp climbing turn, avoiding another wave of arrows, then dived toward the nearest watchtower.
"Vermax! Burn them all! Dracarys!"
Responding to his master's fury, golden-red light once again glowed in Vermax's throat. A jet of dragonfire—thicker and more blazing than it had been indoors—burst forth, lashing like a whip of flame against the watchtower's upper platform and wooden structures.
Boom!
Though the rainstorm was fierce, the dragonfire's extreme heat and clinging nature allowed the flames to burn stubbornly, spreading rapidly.
The guards on the tower screamed. Some fell as balls of fire, while others panicked, desperately trying to extinguish the flames or flee.
"Hahaha! Burn! Burn!" Jacaerys laughed wildly in the sky.
"This is only the interest!"
"Aemond! Come! Come and kill me!"
His roar mingled with the wind and rain, the flames, and the clanging alarm bells—excitement and madness intertwined.
Lucerys saw his brother's frenzy, saw the watchtower catch fire, saw the garrison falling from above.
He wheeled Arrax as well and unleashed dragonfire toward another watchtower.
The flames struck the middle of the tower. Though they did not ignite it immediately, the heat and impact threw the guards above into confusion, and their attack faltered.
Ten-year-old Joffrey gritted his teeth and tried to command Tyraxes to attack as well, but the young dragon's injured leg made it a beat too slow. Just then—
Boom!
A deep, muffled thunder far louder than the firing of crossbows erupted from below!
It was the heavy scorpion!
These massive engines, originally meant to defend against attacks from outside, had been turned under the garrison commander's orders, their aim fixed upon the young dragons rampaging in the sky.
A massive bolt—thick as a grown man's thigh, its tip sheathed in iron—tore through the curtain of rain at terrifying speed, racing toward its target: Vermax.
Jacaerys was still immersed in the thrill of destruction; by the time he heard the strange sound, it was already a moment too late.
Vermax's instincts reacted first, suddenly rolling to the right to evade.
The scorpion bolt skimmed along Vermax's left belly, tearing away some scales and flesh and leaving a bloody wound, but it did not cause a fatal injury.
Yet another scorpion bolt, fired from a different angle, viciously seized the instant when Tyraxes—slowed by injury—moved a fraction too late.
Thunk!
The sickening sound of a heavy weapon plunging into flesh.
The massive bolt drove brutally into the joint where Tyraxes's left hind leg met its body—where the scales were relatively thin.
"Wuuu—ROAR!!!" Tyraxes let out the most agonizing and desperate scream.
The young dragon's body lurched violently in the air, nearly losing its balance.
Blood burst from the wound like a fountain, spraying into the air and spreading into a shocking red mist amid the rain.
"Joffrey!" Lucerys cried out, his eyes nearly splitting with fury.
Joffrey felt a violent jolt beneath him and nearly got thrown off.
He clung desperately to the dragon's neck. When he turned back and saw the terrible wound in Tyraxes's hind leg and the blood pouring from it, his face went instantly pale.
"Tyraxes! No!"
The agony and blood loss made Tyraxes's flight unstable and staggering.
That bolt was like a basin of cold water poured violently over Jacaerys's mind, which had been burning with hatred.
He saw his brother's young dragon grievously wounded.
He saw the terror on Joffrey's face.
Farther away, he also saw countless points of torchlight surging out from within King's Landing, from the direction of the Red Keep, like a torrent rushing toward Rhaenys's Hill.
That meant the entire army of King's Landing had been alarmed—mustered, gathering, and rushing toward them.
If they delayed any longer, forget the wounded Tyraxes—even he and Lucerys, and their young dragons, would not be able to face the ever-growing forces assembling there.
"East!" He forced down the resentment and fury churning in his chest.
"We return to Dragonstone! Quickly!"
He cast one last glance at the Dragonpit blazing with flames and the chaotic watchtowers, then yanked Vermax sharply, forcing a turn, and flew with all speed toward the east of Blackwater Bay, toward the dark and surging sea.
Lucerys hurriedly guided Arrax to follow.
At the same time, he tried to move closer to the wounded and wavering Tyraxes, attempting to shield his brother from possible attacks from behind with his own body.
"Joffrey! Stay close to us!"
The three dragons, bearing wounds, smoke, and the heavy scent of blood, fled eastward through the storm.
Behind them lay the burning Dragonpit, the shrill alarm bells that would not cease, and a King's Landing fully roused.
Almost the moment the first blaze from the Dragonpit tore open the rainy night and the alarm bells began to spread, far north of King's Landing, beneath the clouds, two great dragons had already changed their course.
Each beat of Vhagar's wings in the rain shattered the falling water against the ancient beast's rock-gray scales, raising ceaseless white plumes of vapor.
Unlike young dragons, Vhagar was little affected by the weather. Nearly two hundred years of life had made her accustomed to every sky.
On her back, Aemond allowed the wind and rain to tear at his black leather coat and silver hair.
His gaze had already pierced through the curtain of rain, fixed upon the increasingly clear glow of fire in the direction of Rhaenys's Hill—and upon the faint, fleeing specks within the firelight, scrambling eastward in panic.
Aemond's expression was calm.
A calm that was almost inhuman.
Behind and somewhat to the side of Vhagar, Helaena rode Dreamfyre, struggling to keep pace.
She could feel the fury beneath Aemond's calm.
"Aemond…" she tried to call out, but her voice was torn apart by the raging wind and rain.
Vhagar could feel the killing intent suppressed within her rider's heart. She let out a thunderous roar, and all of King's Landing seemed to tremble in the rainy night.
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