Chapter 9
- Morgan -
I wake slowly, blinking against a ray of warm sunlight that filters through the dense leaves overhead.
For a few pleasant seconds I don't remember where I am.
Then reality catches up with me. I'm on an alien planet.
Dinosaurs want to eat me. A tribe is hunting me.
Praxigor might be somewhere nearby. And I've somehow ended up traveling through the jungle with an arrogant dragon who may or may not be slowly losing his mind.
Unfortunately, that isn't the first thing I think about. The first thing I think about is kissing him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan quietly.
The memory arrives with perfect clarity. Cleaning the grease from his hands. Pulling him down toward me. The feel of his warm skin beneath my lips. The way he looked at me afterward.
What must he think of me now? The look in his eyes was pure surprise. Damn it, I might as well have stripped naked and thrown myself at him. I’m sure that would have given me the same reaction.
I sit up quickly and decide I need to think about something else. Anything else.
The little Plood is next to me, standing in a thick nest of yellow leaves at my feet. That at least gives me a welcome distraction. The strange little creature has somehow collected an entire pile of them during the night. I have no idea where they came from.
A short distance away, Vyrathion is standing beneath another tree with his arms folded, much the way he was when I lay down.
But he doesn’t look like he had any sleep.
"Did you sleep at all?" I ask.
The dragon glances toward me. "Sleep?"
"Yes. It's a thing most people do."
"I am aware of the concept, but not the rationale.
Excuse me for not choosing to spend hours and hours unconscious, at the most dangerous time of the day, completely at the mercy of anyone who might pass by.
Any dragon with a weakness like that would have his hoard stolen and his life ended before his first nap was over. "
“A simple ‘no’ would have been enough. But thank you for elaborating.” Yeah, I was never a morning person. I brush leaves from my clothes and stand. The little Plood immediately blinks up at me.
I rub my eyes. "Good morning."
The creature radiates a burst of contentment through whatever strange telepathic sense the Plood use. Then it picks up one of the yellow leaves and proudly offers it to me.
"Thank you. Very nice. I was thinking that you should have a name. That other one is called Myron, Riley says. What shall we call you? I was thinking Clyde. What do you think?"
I don’t get any telepathic sense at all, so at least he’s not totally opposed to it. “Fine. You’re Clyde.”
Vyrathion watches this exchange with visible suspicion. "A name now? I continue to find your relationship with that creature deeply questionable."
"What relationship?"
"The two of you have clearly formed an alliance."
"An alliance? Well, he enjoys giving me leaves. Is that the basis of a good alliance?"
"I wouldn’t know,” Vyrathion drawls. “I’ve never been in one. You should be extraordinarily wary of a dragon suggesting anything like it.”
The confidence with which he says this almost makes me ask for details. Unfortunately, I suspect he actually has some. Before I can respond, movement catches my eye.
A Plood emerges from the undergrowth. Then another and another.
I straighten. "This is almost too much."
The newcomers waddle into the clearing carrying armfuls of yellow objects.
One has flowers. Another has fruit. A third carries what appears to be a collection of shells from some tablet-sized insect.
They march directly toward Vyrathion and the first Plood carefully places his flowers at his feet.
The second adds his fruit. The third deposits his insect shells.
Then all three stare up at him expectantly.
I glance at Vyrathion.
Vyrathion glances back at me. “This is your doing. And still no gold.”
Another Plood appears. And another, and another. Within minutes the clearing is crowded with Plood, bringing their offerings.
They emerge from every direction carrying tribute. Yellow stones. Yellow roots. Yellow leaves. Yellow mushrooms. One enthusiastic individual drags what appears to be a dead yellow dinosaur.
The offerings continue piling up around us.
"This is getting ridiculous," I say.
“Oh, you really think so? You really think this has a tinge of the farcical to it?” The sarcasm in the dragon's voice could cut glass.
A particularly large Plood approaches carrying a bundle of yellow flowers nearly as big as himself. He struggles across the clearing, reaches me and proudly drops them at my feet.
Then he bows.
Vyrathion slowly unfolds his arms. "At the very least," he says, "they realize that I am the dragon."
Another Plood arrives with a yellow stone. Then another.
Clyde waddles into the center of the gathering and begins inspecting the offerings.
I watch with growing amusement as he picks up a yellow fruit, examines it and sets it aside.
He studies a beetle shell and moves it into another pile.
When a newcomer arrives carrying a brown rock, the little creature immediately pushes it away.
The newcomer scurries off looking embarrassed.
Clyde turns toward the next offering.
Vyrathion stares. "He's organizing them."
"It looks that way,” I agree.
The dragon narrows his eyes. "He has authority."
"Maybe."
"He has followers."
I smile. "There appear to be dozens."
The little Plood points toward a pile of yellow leaves. Several other Plood immediately begin rearranging them.
Vyrathion tilts his head to the side. "My servant’s servant has servants. While amusing, it’s also more evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"Of the conspiracy." Vyrathion watches the gathering with profound distrust.
I have to hide a smile with one hand. “What conspiracy?”
"You may laugh now," he growls. "But when they turn on you, remember that I warned you."
“I don’t think there’s a conspiracy,” I tell him. “I just think they’re looking for someone to serve. They chose you, and then Clyde chose me. I really didn’t want that.
The Plood conspiracy continues for a while, with more and more rocks and leaves and useless items piling up. I squat down and quickly go through the rocks, but if any of them contain gold, I can’t tell.
“We have no time for this.” Vyrathion starts walking anyway, forcing the rest of us to follow.
The little misshapen Plood immediately falls into step beside me.
A surprising number of the others decide to come along as well.
By the time we're moving through the jungle again, we appear to have acquired an entourage.
I glance behind us and count at least twenty Plood following in a loose procession through the undergrowth. Some carry leaves. Others carry yellow stones or flowers. One proudly displays a collection of empty insect shells.
Vyrathion looks over one shoulder and scowls at the procession. The Plood continue waddling after us with cheerful determination, carrying their various treasures as though participating in some important ceremony.
"I don't think they need much encouragement," I try to explain.
"That would explain a great deal about their species," he replies.
We walk for a while. The jungle seems brighter than it did yesterday, though perhaps I'm simply becoming accustomed to it. The usual background hiss of the living woods is still present, but it doesn’t bother me.
Somewhere nearby, something large crashes through dense vegetation before apparently reconsidering its plans and heading elsewhere.
More Plood join the entourage, hands full of offerings and tribute, all in some tone of yellow. I suppose rumors travel fast in a species that seems to communicate telepathically.
I pick berries and fruits in passing, and I’m half tempted to command Clyde to get me some nuts and better fruits than the ones we happen to pass. But I don’t know how fragile this arrangement is, and the last thing I want is for dozens of Plood to heap up a huge pile of fruits.
After a while I start noticing something odd: Vyrathion keeps looking at me. He turns his head and stares while walking
At first I assume I'm imagining it. Then it happens again. A few minutes later it happens once more.
Finally I stop walking and look up at him. "What? Is there something on my face?"
"Not right now. I’m merely observing."
"Observing what?"
“You.” He resumes walking. “You sometimes mutter spells, and I see you collecting items.”
I hurry after him, pushing aside a branch that swings into my face. “Spells? They’re not spells. I just talk to myself, that’s all. And I get those berries because I have to eat something.”
“Ah. Because they may also be the ingredients of potions. But of course I wouldn’t know.”
“Neither would I.”
Potions? Is he losing his mind? I decide to not encourage him with more talk about that.
We continue walking through the jungle. The Plood follow. Birds shriek somewhere overhead. A minute passes before Vyrathion speaks again.
"If you were secretly allied with Praxigor, would you admit it?"
I nearly trip over a root. "What?"
"It's a simple question. And as yet, it has gone unanswered."
"I don’t understand the question."
He fixes me with that silvery gaze. "I think you do. It’s quite simple. And your attempts to stall are an answer as good as any."
I stop walking again. "You’re asking me if I’m an ally of Praxigor? No, but I do know him and I’m friends with his wife. That’s all. I’m not his enemy."
He keeps going. "The wife. Yes, that could be an avenue. You’re in an indirect alliance or possibly a servant arrangement with Praxigor through his wife.”
“If I am, I don’t know about it.” I have to speed up to not hold up the Plood entourage.
“Hm,” he ponders. “Some of the purpose of the alliance would seem to be lost if one party doesn’t know they’re in it. But again, I know little about alliances. It is possible that that is a hallmark of a particularly effective alliance.”