Chapter 6
- Morgan -
Vyrathion’s voice has a dangerous flatness to it.
I shrug. “I don’t know how they think. He looked misshaped. Maybe he’s an unusual one.”
“Unusual on the outside and inside,” the dragon scoffs. “More of an idiot than the others. Come along.” He strides along the new thornbush.
But I hesitate. “Vyrathion, this may not be a good way to go.”
“Come along,” he says without turning.
Well, it’s not like I have a choice here.
But these thornbushes don’t look like they grew here naturally.
They look like someone placed them very carefully, so that they form a funnel-like shape.
It may be a hunting structure made by a tribe.
If so, we’re now inside the funnel, walking towards its narrow end.
“This could be a trap,” I call after him, because I’m not sure at all.
Vyrathion doesn't even look back. “This whole planet is a trap.”
I hurry to catch up. “No, I mean this specifically. Look at it.”
The dragon finally slows enough to glance around. Thornbushes tower over us on both sides, their branches woven together so densely that I can't see more than a few feet into them. The corridor between them is wide enough to walk through comfortably, but it narrows gradually as it stretches ahead.
“It looks deliberate,” I continue. “Like somebody planted it this way.”
He gestures with one hand towards the bush. “Obviously somebody planted it this way.”
I blink. “Then why are we walking into it?”
“Because it's in front of me. Blocking my way.”
For a moment I just stare at his back. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“Oh, for anyone else entering a trap like this would be unwise. For a dragon, it seems the arrangers of the trap were unwise.”
The passage continues to narrow. The deeper we go, the more convinced I become that this isn't natural. Some branches have been bent and tied together. Others have been cut. Somebody spent years shaping this growth. And why not? If you’re hunting raptors or those pig-like turkeys or any of the other creatures, this would be a smart way to force them into a killzone. And we’re getting pretty close to it.
My pulse begins to quicken. “Vyrathion.”
“What?”
“If this is a trap, shouldn't we go around?”
“We've already walked halfway through it and have come to no harm.”
I mutter something under my breath and keep moving.
The dragon walks as though he owns the jungle. He doesn't seem concerned by the possibility of danger. Maybe that's because he's a dragon. Maybe it's because he doesn't believe anything here can truly threaten him.
Unfortunately, I believe a lot of things can threaten me.
The walls of thorns press closer together. Ahead, I can see a patch of brighter sunlight where the funnel seems to end. That’s the killzone.
I hear voices. Deep male voices, trying to whisper. Right on the other side of this bush.
I peer through the dense foliage, but I can’t see anything.
Still I stop. “Vyrathion.”
This time, he stops too.
A spear shoots out of the thornbushes.
I barely see the movement. One moment the bushes are still and the next a shaft of wood is hurtling toward Vyrathion's head.
His hand snaps up and the spear strikes his palm with a crack.
For a heartbeat, everything is silent. Then cavemen erupt from both sides of the funnel.
There are dozens of them. Some carry spears, while most of them have swords. Their bodies have black stripes, and they pour out of concealed openings in the thorn walls with practiced speed. I don’t know which tribe this is. I can’t remember having seen black-striped men in the village.
My stomach drops. "It was a trap," I whisper.
"Remarkable deduction," Vyrathion says flatly.
The warriors spread out in front of us and behind us, sealing both ends of the funnel. One of them points directly at me.
"I told you!"
They all turn to stare at me. "The female!"
"Take her alive!"
I freeze. They're not looking at Vyrathion. They're looking at me. The realization hits almost as hard as the fear.
Vyrathion slowly looks around at the warriors surrounding us. He doesn't seem alarmed. If anything, he looks annoyed. "I assume that one of you has gold. There would be no other reason to disturb me."
Nobody answers, but one caveman swings his sword in a mighty slash.
Vyrathion easily steps out of the blade’s path, then grabs the man’s wrist and squeezes it until it cracks and the man screams. The sword drops to the ground and the man bends over.
Chaos erupts. The warriors charge and for a few seconds I can barely follow what's happening.
Vyrathion moves with terrifying speed. A spearman rushes him and immediately finds himself flying through the air. Another swings a sword and loses both the weapon and his footing. A third tries to cut the dragon from behind and ends up crashing through a thorn wall.
Men shout and weapons flash. The funnel that seemed narrow moments ago suddenly feels much too small.
I back against the thornbushes and try to stay out of the way.
Several warriors notice me. "Get the woman!"
Three of them break away from the fight and sprint toward me. My heart nearly stops.
Before they reach me, Vyrathion appears between us. One of the warriors flies sideways and another doubles over with a choking sound. The third receives a backhanded strike that launches him into the bushes.
The entire exchange lasts perhaps two seconds.
The remaining warriors hesitate. For the first time, uncertainty appears on their faces. An older man pushes his way to the front. He carries a decorated spear and wears a necklace made from dinosaur teeth.
"Dragon!" he shouts.
The fighting slows and Vyrathion turns his attention toward him. "Oh, you finally noticed?"
The chief raises both hands. "You can leave."
Vyrathion raises one eyebrow. “How gracious.”
The chief points at me. "We only want the female."
Everything seems to stop. The warriors look at their chief.
I look at Vyrathion. The dragon looks genuinely puzzled. "You don't want to kill me after all? After all your efforts?"
"We will hunt and kill you later," the chief says. Then he points at me again. "For now, you may leave the woman and go."
A strange feeling settles into my chest. I know these tribes value women, but I don't think I truly understood what that means until now. They’d rather let a dragon go. And we’re pretty sure these guys are, in fact, dragon slayers. That’s their whole purpose. And still…
The chief takes another step forward. "Take your freedom and leave. We won't follow you right now. But we will defend our turf if you are spotted again."
Vyrathion considers this. For a moment, I think he might accept. And why wouldn't he? I'm definitely slowing him down, and I sure don't know where Praxigor's nonexistent hoard is. I've been with him for less than a day. The offer makes perfect sense. Heck, I would agree if I were him.
Then Vyrathion snorts. “You’ll rob me of my servant. I think not.”
The chief frowns. “You refuse our gracious offer?”
“Am I hard to understand? There’s no offer. You’re losing this fight, but you think you can gain a woman. But that woman is with me. For now, anyway. Granted, she’s not the most useful of servants. And yet I hope to turn her into one.”
The chief spreads his hands. "Why fight for her? She's only a woman."
"Exactly," Vyrathion says. "A very fragile woman. She finds gold poorly, attracts predators and slayers, asks endless questions, doubts my wisdom and requires constant protection." He sends me an evil little glance.
That isn't exactly flattering, but for some reason, it still makes my heart jump.
The chief looks equally bewildered. “Then… why not give her to us, if she’s so inept? We’ll make good use of her. And we will not harm her. Why risk your life for her?”
Vyrathion considers his palm where the spear struck him. "Oh, I’m not risking my life for her. I am risking yours. You’ll find the difference significant.”
The chief's expression hardens and he lifts his sword. "Then die with her."
The warriors charge again. This time they come all at once.
Vyrathion meets them head-on. The battle becomes a blur of movement, shouting and crashing bodies. Warriors fly into thornbushes. Spears shatter. Swords go flying. Men scatter.
A blade finally manages to slash across Vyrathion's side.
The dragon hisses as dark blood appears on his golden stripes. The next warrior who approaches is thrown so hard that he disappears into the jungle beyond the funnel.
The rest break off and flee wildly into the jungle. The injured men drag and limp away as fast as they can.
Silence slowly returns.
Vyrathion stands in the middle of the clearing, breathing a little harder than before. Golden blood seeps from his side. There’s not a lot, just one drop. But it’s the most shocking thing I’ve seen.
“You’re bleeding!” I exclaim.
He looks down. “Ah. They drew my ichor. I should kill them all for that sacrilege!”
I look around at a half dozen dead cavemen. “You nearly did.”
“Still, it’s remarkably uncomfortable,” he says, frowning at the wound. “Unpleasant, almost.”
“Isn’t it painful?” I ask, because a cut like that should be excruciating.
“Ah. Pain. That could be it. To think that I, Vyrathion the Wild, would ever experience pain! Can you even fathom the humiliation? Cut with a blade made from common iron, the dirtiest and lowest of metals! All because of his undignified form! How can you stand it? How can you live like this for the entirety of your pitiful existence?!”
“We do our best. May I see?” I point at the wound.
“You want to examine it?” Vyrathion seethes. “Is it not enough to see the ichor? Now you want to see the fullness of my degradation?”
“No, I just want to see if it might need cleaning.”
He sighs with exasperation. “Oh, do as you wish.”
I examine the wound. Up close, it looks even stranger.
The flesh beneath isn't quite human. Neither are the scales. They shimmer faintly beneath the surface of his skin. The ichor has stopped coming. On any human, a slash like that would have cut inches deep. On the dragon, it’s only a fraction of that.
"Well? Have you sated your curiosity?”
For some reason I touch the drop of liquid blood with my fingertip.
I stare at it as it runs down my finger, warm and glittering. For some reason, the fact that he can be injured makes a strange heat spread through me.
Vyrathion frowns at me. Something about his expression makes me suddenly aware of how close I'm standing. Very close.
I take a careful step backward. “I think you’ll survive.”
The dragon clears his throat. "That was never in doubt. Now we shall leave."
I look at the dead warriors. “Yes, let’s get away from here.”
He looks the way the tribesmen ran. "Those morons are bound to bring friends."
That sobers me immediately. The chief's words come back to me: We only want the female.
"It was me they wanted."
"I heard that they said." Vyrathion starts walking.
For a while neither of us speaks. We’re out of the funnel and the killzone. The jungle closes around us again. Somewhere in the distance, a dinosaur roars.
I keep replaying the ambush in my head. They weren’t trying to kill Vyrathion. They wanted me. A woman. A resource. A prize, something to be owned. Just like the Borok tribe. Except these guys wouldn’t find it necessary to marry me before they’d… The thought makes my skin crawl.
I look at the dragon in front of me. "You could've left,” I call to him.
He turns. "What is it now?"
"The chief offered to let you go."
Vyrathion snorts. "An absurd offer. I was winning."
"It would've solved several of your problems."
"It certainly would. I wouldn’t have to answer your endless questions, I wouldn’t be held back, I wouldn’t have someone witnessing my degradation from up close and wallowing in my pitiful state, gawping at my ichor in fascination. But it would've created a new one."
I arch my eyebrows. "A new problem?"
He glances at me. "I would've lost my servant. Was there anything else you wondered about? Why the clouds are white, for instance? Why the ocean is blue? Why water is wet and fire is hot?”
He kept calling me a servant. He made it sound ridiculous and inconvenient. Yet when given the chance to walk away, he didn’t.
“No,” I reply. “I think that was–”
Something small emerges from a patch of ferns. The misshapen Plood, the little one. One eye sits slightly higher than the other. One leg is shorter, giving him a lopsided waddle. He carries something in both hands. The little alien walks directly toward me.
Vyrathion groans. "Not this again."
The Plood ignores him completely. He reaches me and raises his hands. A collection of bright yellow leaves rests in his palms.
I smile despite myself as I accept the leaves. "These are very nice."
The little creature blinks with his huge eyes.
"Thank you.”
Vyrathion folds his arms. "I am standing right here."
The little alien doesn't even look at him.
I bite my lip.
The dragon notices. "You find this amusing?"
"A little."
The Plood reaches out and carefully pats my hand. Something about the gesture makes it impossible to dislike him, despite his Plood-ness. The poor thing is odd even by Plood standards. Maybe that's why I like him.
"Hello," I say softly.
“Keep up,” Vyrathion says as he turns and strides off.
“See you,” I say to the little Plood. “Run along now. Get some gold.”
But as I follow Vyrathion, the Plood turns and starts waddling after us as though the matter is settled.
I turn my back and walk on, because that thing may be cute, but he can’t keep up with us with those short legs and his ungainly body.
For the first time since entering the jungle with a dragon, I feel something almost resembling optimism. Then I remember there's an entire tribe looking for me, and the optimism vanishes like a spark in rain.
We walk on for a while, but the sun is about to set and I’m not keen on walking all night.
Before I can say something, Vyrathion turns and looks behind us. “There’s- oh, you must be joking.”
I turn to check what he means. And there is the little Plood, still keeping up somehow.
“I guess he wants to come along.”
“I seem to be attracting followers left and right,” the dragon growls. “And there are more coming.”
I stare into the darkening jungle. “More? Tribesmen?”
Vyrathion doesn’t answer, just slowly lifts his face until he’s staring up at the dense canopy of trees. “Probably,” he finally says. “And, it seems, a dragon.”
I look up, too. And through the tiny openings in the treetops high above, I spot movement against the red evening sky. A long, sleek shape, blue as the ocean, with huge wings and a long, flowing tail.
Damn. “I think that’s Praxigor.”