"Fjǫlð yðarr kemr nú!"

Several seconds of perplexed silence followed Malfeazy's stentorian declaration.

"Um. Bless you?" ventured Alyx.

But then, there came a breeze. Gentle at first and surprisingly cool for such a balmy summer evening. No sooner was it noticed before it gusted a little stronger, as the temperature became decidedly chilly. And within moments, the gusts became a full-blown gale, biting, ice-cold and bearing actual flakes of snow, snow that made it clear the tempest was converging on a single point.

The point where Malfeazy stood.

A point, however, that was no longer visible. Where the Count had been, there now gathered a vicious maelstrom of ice and snow, a whirling, towering tornado that utterly obscured everything within.

Buffeted by the wind, bracing herself against the maelstrom's inexorable pull, Kayt staggered over to Alyx. "What do the magical texts say about this kind of thing?" she shouted.

He performed a micro-second-long mental review of Mr Magestic's Miscellanea. "Bugger-all," he shouted back.

And then, even more abruptly than it had begun, the storm simply...stopped. The wind ceased. The temperature returned to its usual non-icicle-inducing level. And the ice-tornado collapsed and vanished into nothing. Of Malfeazy, there was no sign.

And even if there was, it would have been hard to notice beneath the hulking form of the ice-giant who now stood in his place.

"In case you were wondering," rumbled the colossal figure, towering some thirty-feet high, "the incantation translates as 'Your destruction comes now.' I usually like to spice up my incantations a little, or"—like tectonic plates shifting, the icy planes of its face rearranged themselves into a sneer—"make them suitably humiliating. This one, however, felt right just as it was. Now, destruction, destruction...where shall I start? I know, stupidest first."

And without so much as taking a step, the ice-Malfeazy simply bent down and, with one hand, plucked Sir Crispin from the ground. He raised the struggling knight up to his frosted features.

"Given you were quite a useful pawn, I suppose I should thank you. I've never really been one for convention, though—you may have noticed. So, I believe I'll kill you inst—"

The giant was cut off by a piercing eagle's cry, followed in short-order by a face-full of avenging gryphon, as eight ice pick-like talons gouged deep furrows across his frozen cheeks. It seemed Sir Crispin's peril had been sufficient to rouse Tally from the stunned inertia brought about by the Count's betrayal.

Ice-Malfeazy staggered but stood his ground, watching with narrowed glacial-blue eyes as the gryphon circled for another pass. A perfect fusion of strength and grace, she climbed on her powerful wings, before tucking them in to dive like a falcon upon her prey, the perfect weapon made flesh, a lethal synthesis of sinew and bone and rage.

Which the giant simply batted aside, as if swatting some oversized fly. With a force that reverberated up through the feet of every onlooker present, Tally crashed to the ground in a tangled mass of limbs and wings and tail. Shem made to rise once, twice—and then moved no more.

"Now," grated ice-Malfeazy, in a voice like the grinding of a glacier, "where was I?" He smiled at Sir Crispin. "Ah, yes." And he began to squeeze.

The knight's armour was of the finest steel, yet there had been nothing in the commission provided to the armourer about the grip-strength of ice-giants—it was only a matter of a few seconds before it began to give way beneath the colossal pressure, with a rending sound audible across the entire yard.

"Rarg!," gasped Alyx, running over to the dragon. "You've got to flame them. Flame them, now!"

"What?" cried Kayt. "No, you can't! You'll kill Crispin."

And even in the extremity of the moment, a tiny, green-tinged part of Alyx's brain thought, Oh, so it's Crispin now? Really? But fortunately, only a very tiny part.

"No, don't you see?" he blurted. "He's got flame-proof armour. Rarg! can blast away at the big icy bastard all day long and Sir Crispin will be fine. Hit 'em, big guy."

Eyes wide, the dragon looked from the students to the bizarre, tragic tableau taking place in the centre of the yard and then back again.

"He tried to kill me."

"It doesn't matter," shouted Alyx. "He was tricked, it wasn't his fault, whatever. We don't have time for this, we'll sort out all that stuff later, you've got to flame them now!"

"But...but...I can't," stammered the dragon.

"Why not?" chorused Alyx and Kayt, with synchronised foot-stamps.

"Because I lied!" wailed Rarg!. "I lied about his stupid flameproof armour. I lied about it being flameproof, because I didn't want to flame him. I don't want to flame anybody! Even before my monk came along, I didn't much want to, but after he told me about love and compassion and forgiveness and read me all those books with friendship and bravery and selflessness and stuff in them, I didn't want to at all. I just want to get along with people!"

"Ah-ha-ha-ha!" Momentarily forgetting about Sir Crispin, the giant's laughter rolled like an avalanche across the onlookers. "Oh, that's rich. That makes it even better. To think, the last dragon you tried to kill—the dragon I'm going to kill—is a pacifist. Oh, it's delightful." And with that observation made, he resumed his squeezing.

"Rarg!!" demanded Kayt, fixing the dragon with a steely gaze. "It's admirable that you want to turn over a new leaf. And it's lovely that you want to get along with a people, it really is. But there is a time and a place. And here and now aren't them."

"Yeah," agreed Alyx. "And that"—he pointed at ice-Malfeazy—"is very definitely not people."

"No," replied Rarg!, eyes flashing. "No, he is not." And with that, for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, the dragon got his dragon on.

Incandescent, opaque, appearing almost as a solid column of pure heat, the flame lanced towards ice-Malfeazy—but at his feet, well below where Sir Crispin's figure dangled. Reacting with preternatural speed, the giant stepped out of the flame's path, tossing the knight away like a rag-doll, as he conjured in one hand a shield and the other a spear, both ephemeral in appearance, seemingly consisting of little more than mist and snow.

"Ah, so there is some fight left in the beast after all." With a look of mild annoyance, he wiped a rivulet of meltwater from his brow with the back of a hand. "Well, we can't have that. It seems the order of destruction requires revising. And you've just inherited top spot."

Rarg!'s only reply was another ferocious blast of thermal fury—which, despite its insubstantial appearance, ice-Malfeazy's shield absorbed without visible effect.

"Fire and ice, eh?" he rumbled. "The age-old duel. Which shall come out on top? Well, let's face it, there's not really much doubt is there? Time to die, dragon. And, for that matter, dragonkind." With a casual flick of his ice-slicked arm, the giant sent his spear arrowing towards Rarg!.

Who braced for impact but—with a blink of astonishment—watched as a desperate Sir Crispin flung himself into the spear's path and took it full to the chest.