Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,125

thuds coming from inside the cabin and a scaly fist punched through the roof once, twice, three times, until it shattered the wood completely. Then a creature, combining the features of both a man and a dragon, emerged from the cabin, forcing a passage with the help of its muscular shoulders. More than two metres in height, it stood up straight, screaming to the sky as it unfurled huge membranous wings. Stricken with panic by the sight, the coachman jumped from the vehicle. As for Saint-Lucq, he kept his wits. He understood that he was dealing with the product of an intermediate metamorphosis. The Alchemist was truly a dragon. It remained to be seen whether it was capable oi regaining its

primal form. For Saint-Lucq's sake, it would be better if it couldn't.

The creature looked down at the half-blood. If its features still evoked those of the Alchemist, the reptilian eyes blazed with a primitive, bestial fire.

It roared and abruptly took flight.

A riderless horse was still galloping alongside the coach. Saint-Lucq leapt towards it, managed to grab the pommel of the saddle with both hands, hit the ground with both feet together and bounced back up to straddle the animal, which he promptly urged off the road in pursuit of the draconic creature. Seconds later, the runaway coach tipped over as it came to a bend in the road and broke apart with a crash, the team of horses whinnying as they fled.

Saint-Lucq's horse jumped a ditch, then a fence, and galloped through the fields. He kept his eyes on the creature whose scales glittered beneath the moon and the stars. He feared that he would soon be outdistanced. His horse was tired, not to mention the obstacles he was encountering on the ground. But he still had a pistol, the one he had snatched from the saddle holster as he passed and tucked into his belt.

Which meant he had one shot left.

One last hope.

Sensing it was being chased, the creature turned back and as if suspended in mid-air, it lingered for a moment, beating its wings and considering this miserable mortal determined to hunt it down. It hesitated. But a proud and ferocious instinct had already taken control of its mind, banishing all intelligent thought. It let out a great warlike scream and then dove towards the rider.

The creature and Saint-Lucq rushed at one another. The hybrid being came from above with great flaps of its wings, displaying vicious fangs and extended claws. The Blade was riding flat out, controlling his mount with his knees in order to hold the pistol with both hands. Neither of them was willing to turn aside. The creature gave another menacing scream. Saint-Lucq took careful aim.

He needed to hold on until the last moment before firing.

To wait, hoping that his horse would not suddenly veer off . . .

To wait, just a little longer . . .

One shot. One hope.

Now!

Saint-Lucq pulled the trigger. For an awful instant, he was convinced it had misfired, but the gun went off just before the hybrid collided with him.

The impact was tremendous. It threw the half-blood out of his saddle and he rolled across the ground as the creature crashed a short distance away, and his horse continued its mad gallop.

Nothing moved and the nocturnal silence returned, disturbed only by the fading hoof beats of the fleeing steed.

Saint-Lucq opened his eyes, spitting out blood and dirt, and stood up painfully on trembling legs.

Drawing his sword, he turned around seeking any sign of danger and almost tripped over.

He saw the form lying on the ground and limped over to take a closer look.

It was the creature who, unconscious and bleeding from a pistol ball in the shoulder, was recovering a more human appearance. As Saint-Lucq watched, its size diminished, its wings atrophied, the scales were absorbed into smooth skin and its features once again became those of the Alchemist.

The latter came to his senses and saw Saint-Lucq standing over him with a sword at his throat.

Bare-headed, Saint-Lucq was covered in dust and blood. A long lock of hair hung down before his bruised face. One of the lenses of his spectacles was missing, revealing a bloodshot draconic eye.

He was struggling to remain on his feet and kept his left elbow tucked against his side to protect his damaged shoulder.

But his determination was made of the same steel as the blade of his elegant rapier.

'It's over,' he said.

*

With Leprat supporting Mirebeau's weight, the two men returned to the surface by