The dragon lay on its side, its back half out of sight around a curve in the tunnel. Its body was covered in scales the color of decaying bronze, with shades ranging from deep brown to copper to the pale, putrid green of corrosion. Its front legs were grotesquely, disproportionately long, forming the arch of the wings, which were currently folded in close against its thick body. The neck was long and serpentine, and its head rested on the ground, pointed squarely at Gwen. One of its eyes was a mess of scar tissue, the marks of ancient blades etched into the ridge of scales forming the upper edge of its eye socket.

The other eye was closed.

Slowly, Gwen backed up, moving along the wall until she found a place to wedge the torch. Then she gripped her sword, breathing in the bitter scent of latent dragonsfire, and moved in.

Carefully, she stepped between the taloned toes of the monster. Her armor scraped the tiniest bit, the articulated plates at hip and knee whispering against each other, and her boots tapped a soft, irregular patter against the stone. She was close enough now to feel heat radiating from the creature, not from its body, but from the base of its long, curled neck—the place from which it brought forth its flames, a burning forge above its heart.

The scales there were long and thicker than Gwen’s arm, impenetrable, but they overlapped much like the articulation on the joints of Gwen’s armor. If the beast stretched its neck back far enough, it might be possible to thrust a sword or a spear between them. But not while it lay curled up this way.

Gwen crept instead toward the head, approaching the closed eye. Even these scales on the dragon’s eyelids were thick, but if she struck at the seam and managed to drive her blade deep enough, she might reach the creature’s brain before it could react.

Gwen caught her breath, wrapped both hands around the hilt of her sword, and raised it over her head.

The eyelids parted. They were followed by the wet slide of a second cloudy membrane sweeping back from the outer corner of the eye. A gaping hole of a pupil rolled down from the top of the eye socket, wandered a moment, and then narrowed into a wicked slit, pointed directly at Gwen.

Neither of them moved. Gwen could see her armored reflection, sword raised, in the huge eye. Its irises were the color of molten gold and seethed like cauldrons of liquid fire. The slitted pupil trembled, adjusting its focus as the creature clawed its way out of sleep.