Historical notes for Chapters XXV to XL are at ldhenson .livejournal .com /214145 .html (remove the spaces). But please read the chapters first.

It crashed through the round skylight at the top of the the ornamented dome, glass shards falling to ping and smash on the patterned tile floor three stories below. Jack heard their destruction only distantly. The dragon had thrust the entirety of its head and long neck into the aperture, and its glittering orange-yellow eyes were fixed directly on him.

Before he could do more than register its presence it let loose a torrent of flame, and it took all of Jack's willpower to jump not back but toward it. There was no cover along the featureless, bricked-up wall of arches he had been standing against; his only hope was to throw himself behind the leg of one of the open archways across the lobby corridor instead.

He pressed his body against the white stone pillar as fire rushed by on both sides to splash against the brick wall beyond. This close, the heat was awful, and only the coldness of the stone made it even bearable at all. He shut his eyes and dug his fingers into the carved horizontal grooves that ran partway across the face of the pillar, forcing himself to stay still and wait it out.

By the time the assault ceased, sweat was rolling freely down his back, and he'd opened up the scrapes on his elbow again. Blood dripped sluggishly from his sleeve to form little crimson dots on the floor. There was a snuffling sound from the rotunda, then a hissing, like an entire nest of vipers. Jack knew without looking that its nostrils were flared, searching for the distinctive scent of organic ashes that would be the dragon's meal. He wadded up his sleeve and pushed it hard against his wounded elbow, wondering vaguely if it would be attracted to the smell of blood as well.

Fortunately, the jet of fire had not caught, other than a few stray bits of lumber, quickly dying away. There was nothing substantial in the marble lobby that would burn.

Nothing except for him.

The already dim light, blocked by the dragon's bulk, darkened even further. Leaning out no more than an inch, he dared a quick glimpse at the room beyond. The dragon had pushed itself in up to its shoulders. Past that its wings would not fit through the opening, unless it backed out and forcefully cracked the top of the dome. But it didn't need to: its triangular head hung down on its flexible neck like a python gliding from a tree branch. It could not span the hundred-foot height of the rotunda, of course; its head extended just past the tops of the columns that ringed the second floor, but it could rotate in any direction, take aim from any angle.

He was trapped. Good and trapped, behind a pillar barely wide enough to shield him, and with open space on either side.

There was no chance of making a run for it, not even to the next pillar. The dragon knew exactly where he was, alert to the slightest shift in his position, and it could not possibly miss. But if he couldn't move, then maybe he could wait it out. Keeping still...shouldn't be so hard. The dragon might give up eventually, might even be distracted by prey elsewhere. A bird, a dog, something. Anything.

Only...only not his boys, please god. He hoped like hell that they were staying right where they should, deep down in the quiet earth, like they'd done before every time a dragon had passed overhead.

One last hiss, and flames struck the other side of the pillar again. It lit up the interior of the lobby like a lightning flash that went on and on forever. Pulling his shirt tightly about him in case a stray flicker found the fabric, he breathed as shallowly as he could, trying not to take in too much of the overheated air.

Finally, it stopped--and he now he knew. He could not simply stay here in hopes that the dragon would at some time withdraw. The marble pillar, thick as it was, was growing alarmingly warm. Mausoleum-cold when he'd first laid his hand on it, now it was well above room temperature.

The dragon didn't need to touch him with fire to burn him. It would only be a matter of time.

The thought sent him staring wildly around at the lobby. There had to be some way out, something he could use. Had he been closer to the east side of the room, he would have taken his chances and bolted out the reshaped front door. He wouldn't have been in the least bit safe; the dragon would track him easily, but it would have had to move itself in order to find him again outside. And while it was doing so, he might just might be able to slip back in again, and make a dash for the east wing.

No matter. He wasn't close enough to the door to try. He blinked, focused instead on the geometric carvings adorning the arches. Most of the middle of the pillar's face was smooth, a wide vertical ridge rising slightly above the center of the face, but that ridge had horizontal grooves running to either side of it, almost like the rungs of a ladder. Heart pounding, he looked higher. About ten feet up, where the straight supports ended and the semi-circular arches began, the pillar flared out slightly into a small lip. And though the wall above the arches was flat, curving along the top of each arch's opening was a thin ledge, no more than an inch wide at the most. If he couldn't run across the floor, maybe there was another way. It would take some hard climbing, and hanging on for dear life, but he just might be able to follow the arch up and over from this pillar to the next. And maybe to the next...

Unable to get a running start, he jumped to grab a handhold as high as he was able, catching the pillar two feet below the lip with his fingertips, digging his boots into the grooves. He pushed up with his legs just as the dragon, reacting to the sound, spat fire in his direction again. In the past it would have been an almost easy climb, at least to the top of the pillar, but not today. His left arm would not take any weight; his right protested the sudden strain. Sweat slicked his grip as he pulled himself higher, making it another four feet. Clamping his knees against the center ridge, inching his hand upwards, he reached sideways for the shallow ledge just at the start of the curve--

--and let go to land hard on the tiled floor as the dragon shifted its aim just a few degrees so that the stream of fire curled ceilingwards, flames rising as flames always do, to scorch the top of the archway he'd been reaching for. He only barely kept his feet as he hit the ground in the same spot he'd started his climb, only barely kept from tumbling out from behind the pillar's protection.

The dragon knew. It could pinpoint his location just by listening. Any move he made, it would always be one step ahead of him.

His legs were shaking with exhaustion. He slid down to one knee as the flames shut off again, the marble now uncomfortably hot to the touch. The line of the arch overhead, the one he'd intended to follow, was now blackened with smoke. With something perilously close to disinterest, he noted that he'd left red smudges all the way up the pillar, showing stark against the white surface.

They were at an impasse, man and beast. The former could not escape while he was being so closely watched; the latter would not give up its prime position to smash open the dome for better access, lest its prey flee while it was doing so. And Jack had no misconceptions about which of them would be the first to succumb.

Another burst of flame, and he could only huddle behind the stone pillar until it was over, even as the heat from it stung his hands and cheek. The brick wall opposite him reflected back the too-thick air; it was like being inside an oven.

He'd never felt more alone in his life, not even in solitary at the Refuge. What was happening back at the tunnel? Were the boys tempted to come out and look for him, did they think he was dead? Were they licking their own wounds? His mind flashed back to the last glimpse he'd had of home--the upturned carriage's wheels alight, the frame beginning to give way. What if someone had been caught in the blast?

Mouth thinning, he pushed himself to his feet. He was not going to sit here and simply wait to die. Not while he didn't know what had become of his boys.

He stripped off his button-down shirt, now a sodden mess, splotched with blood and sweat. Gritting his teeth, he scrubbed the fabric harshly over his injured elbow, breaking the tenuous scabs that had formed. Fresh blood welled up quickly, and he soaked up as much of it as he could with the shirt, letting it seep into the weave of the cloth. He rolled it up--it was much too small--and pulled off his undershirt as well. The coolness was a welcome relief, but he didn't waste time savoring it, just bundled the two garments into a compact ball.

Still too light. A loose brick lay on the floor within reach; it was too hot to pick up with his bare hands, and he scooped it up into the center of the shirts instead. Even better. He knotted both sets of sleeves tightly, ensuring that the bundle would not come apart.

Then he drew back his arm, steadied himself, and pitched it into the rotunda as far as it could go.

He didn't hear it land, cushioned as it was by multiple layers of fabric, but the blaze of light that followed after it was impossible not to see. The sudden movment, the smell of fresh blood and worn fabric, the heat of the brick like a warm body inside, had been an irresistable distraction to the beast. It would not work for more than a moment, but a moment was all he needed.

He was already sprinting down the corridor, focused on nothing but making it to the end of the lobby. Just as he passed the final pillar he could see from the corner of his eye the dragon's head swinging back toward him, the fire from its jaws arcing across the floor like a river of flame. But he was already at the edge of the east wing, and with one final lunge he passed beyond the rotunda, fire snapping at his heels.

This part of the building was in a worse state that the other; old soot covered most of the surfaces, and charred remnants of cabinets and tables lay scattered about. The entire structure shuddered ominously as the dragon shrieked, battering the dome with its weight and claws, tearing a way in.

There were holes in the ceiling from past attacks where beams had given way, though thankfully no daylight shone through them. Jack plunged farther into the east wing, trying to find a more stable area as the walls shook all around him.

If it was coming in through the roof...he had to get to a window. It was the only way to keep an escape route close at hand, in case he got trapped again. There was one at the distant end of the hall, but it lacked any nearby cover.

The closest room was too clogged with debris to reach the windows easily. He backed out, tried the next. It was smaller, filled with the remains of army supply crates, long since broken into. They covered the floor but it was possible to climb over them. This looked like an outer office, with no windows, but there was a door in the far wall and he knew from the exterior of the building that there had to be windows beyond it.

He had just started to pick his way across the splintered crates when a deafening boom rocked the building like an explosive charge. He shot a glance back to see that out in the hallway behind him, the light had become noticeably brighter. A chunk of the dome must have fallen in beneath the dragon's assault.

Above him, splintered beams groaned in warning. He could do no more than take one step before the whole mass collapsed on him, punching the breath from his lungs and turning the room to black.

He tried to move, and could not; when his vision cleared, he discovered through the swirls of dust that filled the office that he was lying on his left side. A huge wooden beam, nearly two feet thick, pinned him to the floor.

He pushed at it, but was not at a good angle to get leverage with either his right hand or his left, succeeded only in awakening a hot, sharp pain in his ribcage. It hurt to inhale fully; it felt like the breath was being slowly crushed out of him. Panicking, he shoved at the beam again, straining until the bruised rib sent another punishing stab through his chest.

And then he heard it: the long dragging scrape of claws against the roof, the sound of powerful wings beating the air. Stunned, he lay still, certain he had heard wrong. The dragon was leaving--but why?

The tremendous force it had take to damage the dome--it had probably been too much for a dragon with an injured leg. He hoped it was as simple as that, but all the same he tried to listen for anything more, anything that might indicate another reason instead, that it had been drawn--or even chased--away. After all, if its hind leg really had been injured by another dragon, one might be coming in even now to take its place. But there was a buzzing in his ears that was growing steadily louder, and a midnight haze was starting to swim at the edges of his vision.

He'd been so close...so close. He'd tried so hard to get back home, and now he was abandoning his boys all for this final mis-step, this last twist of fate. He made an attempt to push at the beam again, stifled a sob when he hardly had the strength to even lift his arm.

Someone...someone was going to have to take charge. Snoddy, or...Race. It would probably be Race, but if it was him, then David...oh god, he hadn't thought about...then David...

And then, just like that, everything slipped away into darkness.

Here ends Book One of "The Dusk Descending."

To everyone who's stuck patiently with this story from the beginning, and shared their thoughts, reactions, and encouragement during the nearly four-year ride: thank you. Couldn't have done it without you.