If she were a fool, she would have been so blinded by the prospect of catching her prey that she would send all her forces into that deathtrap, but she was not that foolish at least. She could not afford to ignore the report in case it turned out to be true, but she could at least minimize the risks. She only sent Captain Helstrom's flight into the gorge to accompany their guide while the other three flights followed at a safer distance.

The gorge ended in a basin with a small lake in the center, surrounded by the same steep cliffs as the rest of the gorge. There was only the one way in or out, unless there was some route in the caves, which made it an unlikely refuge for fugitives. As a fortress to make a last stand, however... Was that their plan?

Cray was expecting an ambush before the gorge opened up into the basin and that was exactly what she got. Less than a kilometer from the basin's entrance, right when someone might be tempted to lower their guard a little, Captain Helstrom's flight came under fire, apparently from inside the cliffs. If Cray had taken the entire squadron down there, it would have been a total slaughter.

It threatened to be a slaughter anyway because Captain Wiburn foolishly led his flight in to go to Captain Helstrom's aid. She could appreciate the sentiment, but Wiburn recklessly leading his men into the line of fire was only going to result in more dead Dragoons. Captain Gernot at least had the sense to hold back and it was a good thing too, because more of the enemy revealed themselves atop the cliffs, emerging from under camouflage to fire on the Dragoons below. So that was their play.

Cray flew down to Gernot's level and signaled for him to sweep the enemy on top of the cliffs. He would take the left and she the right. She then signaled for her flight to pair off and attack by twos. They would hit the enemy with successive waves rather than go for a wider spread.

The average Dragon could maintain a constant stream of fire for three to five seconds three times in quick succession before needing about a minute to recover. The natural philosophers could not properly explain the mechanism that made it work, but a Dragoon did not need to concern himself with why it worked. They just needed to know how it worked.

About the only thing that could withstand dragonfire was dragonscale. Dragonscale was not easy to come by, though. You could not simply go about plucking them like chickens. For one thing, there were few Dragons to be found outside of Zadok. Also, more importantly, the virtue of dragonscale would decline as a Dragon aged past its prime—as no sensible person would sacrifice a young and healthy Dragon to harvest its scales—and even more so when removed. Nevertheless, dragonscale made the best armor for its weight in the world and shirts of dragonscale mail were among the most prized treasures of the great houses of Zadok. The point was that the enemy had no effective defense against Dragons.

Their offensive options were little better. Musketballs would bounce off the Dragons' hides harmlessly and if you could somehow get close enough, swords and spears would only hurt if you could get up under the scales. There were not many who could do that and fewer still who lived to try it more than once. It was a moot point so long as the Dragon remained airborne, but the air was not free of danger.

A direct hit with a cannonball could knock a Dragon out of the sky, but it was nearly impossible to score a hit because of how much they moved. One of the more effective techniques Colonel Cray had observed was using grapeshot to tear up the webbing of the Dragon's wings. Once they were grounded, the Dragons were more vulnerable to attack, easier to hit with cannons and such. It would cost a cannon crew or two, but that was a small price to pay to bring down a Dragon. Speaking of canons...

The enemy on top of the cliffs uncovered dozens of cannons the moment Captain Wiburn's flight came in range. Cray should have known from the start that they were not dealing with Adomites. They did not have access to this kind of hardware and would never have set up an ambush like this. It had to be the Ostivaris. If there was anyone who knew about taking down Dragons, it was them.

She had to hope that she and Gernot could disrupt them enough so that as much of Helstrom and Wiburn's flights as possible could get out of the gorge. They would have to retreat after that. The were outnumbered, outmaneuvered. The Ostivaris had moved into Adom. Bringing back that intelligence might be enough to save them from being shot as cowards. They would probably be branded in punishment at very least, but they would live to fight another day.

Cray was hoping the Ostivaris would have most of their attention fixed on the gorge as she was lining up her attack run, but the Ostivaris were not so careless. They were all too aware of the flights above them and already positioning men and cannons to meet the oncoming Dragons. There was not much choice short of abandoning Helstrom and Wiburn and that was no choice at all as they would most definitely be shot for abandoning comrades in the field without so much as an attempt to rescue them.

Once she had committed to her attack run, she had to see it through to the end. No matter how bad it seemed, it was better to push through than to break off an attack. You might take losses, but if you sacrifice your momentum, you give the enemy the advantage. Dragons inspired fear and that fear was often a more potent weapon than even dragonfire. It took nerves of steel to face down a Dragon and no matter how brave one man may be, he can do little when everyone around him succumbs to panic. Unfortunately for Cray, the Ostivaris were known as a people with nerves of steel and that reputation did not seem to be an exaggeration.

While plenty of cannons were aimed at the gorge, more than enough were positioned to meet any threat from the air. They were on these swivel mounts she had only heard reports about. Somehow a designer figured out a way to scale up the swivel guns you might see on some ships to full-sized cannons. It was not that practical as field artillery, but for anti-air purposes, which basically just meant anti-Dragon, it was a real threat.

The Ostivari cannoneers held their ground fearlessly. If there was only one or two cannons, it would not be so bad, but there at least twenty. What was worse, they used the very strategy Cray feared. The air was filled with lead and smoke. Vidor stopped breathing fire to shriek as his wings were torn to shreds. Unable to control his flight, he was sent hurtling to the ground. He was nevertheless able to right himself and land on his feet, but because he could not slow himself down first, his legs buckled under him by the force of the landing. Vidor's body skidded several meters, but he did not roll over on his side and trap Cray's leg. That was something.

Cray knew Vidor was hurting and on the verge of going into a frenzy, but she had to rein him in. They would both have a better chance of surviving if they went on the offensive. Even grounded, a Dragon was worth a hundred men.

When it came to the fight or flight instinct, Dragons always would rather fight and unless they went completely blood-mad, they knew exactly who they were supposed to go after. Vidor let out a fierce screech and charged at the enemy formation. Lesser men would have broken ranks and fled, but the Ostivaris simply wheeled around their cannons while the common riflemen laid down some fire to harass the oncoming Dragon.

Several cannons fired and Cray was nearly thrown from her saddle as Vidor collapsed. Vidor's shrieking was even worse than when he was hit earlier. He was thrashing around so much that it was taking everything Cray could do just to stay mounted. She did not have time to tell that he had just lost one of his forelimbs, apparently to chain shot.

The cannons fired again and this time the chain shot tore through Vidor's neck. If the reins had not broken free of her grip, Cray could very well have had both arms yanked out of their sockets.

She cried out to him futilely.

Vidor's neck tensed before slumping limply on the ground, gushing blood all the while. Cray just sat there stunned for a moment until a musketball grazed her breastplate, snapping her out of it. There was no time to mourn her fallen companion, or all the other men under her command who were dying around her. She quickly unstrapped her legs, then drew her pistol with one hand and her blunderbuss with the other.

The Ostivaris were already moving on her position. This was the end for her, but she was not going to die alone.