It was a long way down. The head swayed uncomfortably, and Rughoi felt as if he had to tap-dance just to keep his balance. All around were angry rows of needle teeth, snapping at him from all sides. He raised his shield, only to have a head strike it with unnatural force. Still, by a miracle of Arda, he was barely standing. That was quickly challenged when Merat lurched sideways, and it sounds as if the battle cry ringing out from his soldiers was being joined by more. He tried to ignore the constant twisting of his innards as he peered over the end, to find that the dracons have joined the final push. Rughoi wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or angered by this action. He, on his perch, shakily drew his sword, and closed his eyes. If Arda could hear him, she would bless his hand to strike true. He slammed down his blade, entering Merat's eye. That is, the one on the very top of this particular head. It passed through, running down to the hilt. Merat made no noise, but the head slumped over, and Rughoi was now barely hanging on by his sword, stuck in the skull. 

The other heads went wild, no longer moving with any semblance of coordination. Rughoi waited for the moment, then pulled his sword from the eye. He dropped, and landed on a head below. Wasting no time, he began hacking at the head, this one not possessing an eye on top. Something changed. Merat was thrashing and shaking, and suddenly he stopped. His body began to teeter, this way, then that, until finally collapsing on the sandy floor. Rughoi leapt off and made a quick and rude acquaintance with the sand. He scrambled to his feet, sword in hand, looking up at the grim faces of the dracons surrounding him. This way and that he turned, but he couldn't find a way out. It would take a miracle of Arda's mercy to allow him to keep his life now.