by W. D. Newman
CHAPTER 14
A NARROW ESCAPE
Jonah raced down the snowy path alongside the river with ease, but the crossing at the ford proved to be very precarious. Thick crusts of ice were forming around the river’s edge and the rocks were becoming dangerously slick. A couple of times the elfin horse actually slipped, but true to his nature, he kept his footing and delivered his rider safely across the dark icy waters. Once on the other side and upon safer ground, they increased their pace to a fast lope. Jonah knew the horse could run much faster, but he wanted to conserve the animal's strength until they were out on the main road.
When they arrived at the cross roads, Jonah leaned forward in the saddle and spoke a word of encouragement into his horse's ear. Already, four inches of snow had fallen and the wind was beginning to mound it up into deep drifts along the banks of the road. The elf pulled his hood down and wrapped his cloak tightly about him. Elves can withstand the bitterest cold, but this storm was absolutely miserable. The snow was not a dry, powdery snow, but a wet, heavy, wind-driven snow that clung to everything. He had to constantly shake his cloak and brush the snow from his horse. This slowed him down tremendously, but if left unattended the snow would melt against the horse's warm flesh and then the arctic-like wind would freeze it solid.
As Jonah turned his horse down the main road, toward the Twilight, the shrieking wind took on two distinct voices. The elfin horse neighed loudly and danced nervously in the road. One of the shrill voices in the storm's wind was becoming louder. The horse began chomping at the bit and stood up on its hind legs, pawing the air with its hooves. Jonah could barely control the animal now. Something had it completely terrified.
The elf turned in the saddle and stared into the darkness. To anyone else, visibility would have been limited to a few feet within the storm that raged about them, but to the keen eyes of an elf, the snow illuminated the night with eerie shades of grey. The noise was getting louder and it was not the wind. Shielding his eyes from the stinging snow with one hand and trying to maintain control of his horse with the other hand, Jonah spied a dark shape hurtling down the road toward them. It was Zoltan.
Jonah whipped the reins across his horse's neck and dug his heels into its flanks. The terrified animal needed no encouragement to flee and, like a speeding arrow, the elfin steed raced down the main road with the dragon in pursuit. Jonah had cursed the storm earlier, but now he thanked the Gods for the wind and snow, for the weather was apparently keeping the dragon grounded. Even so, Jonah could tell that Zoltan was steadily gaining ground and would soon be close enough to blast them with fire.
Somewhere to his right, across an open field, stood a forest that ran parallel with the main road for several miles. Since Zoltan could not take to the skies, and since his horse could not outrun the dragon, the only chance they had of surviving was to make it across the field and into the trees. Once inside the forest, the large dragon would not be able to maneuver between the trees as quickly as the horse, and there, Jonah hoped to put some distance between them.
The dragon roared and Jonah jerked the reins hard to the right. The great horse shot off the road and leapt across the snow cover bank without a missing a stride. It was just in time too, as heat spewed from the dragon's mouth and rolled down the road in great billows of hot ash and fire. Zoltan roared again, this time in anger at missing his prey. He scrambled madly, trying to find traction as he slid through the mud and slush created by his fire. This bought the elf some precious seconds. The horse sensed it too and lunged forward with an unexpected burst of speed. They were getting away.
When the forest loomed into view, Jonah stood in the stirrups and leaned down over his horse's neck. They were almost there. They were going to make it! And then Zoltan crashed down to the ground in front of them. He had taken to the skies after all.
When the dragon landed in front of the horse and rider, the storm's wind filled the creature's wings, like a sail, and spun the beast around. Jonah thought for a moment that the storm had saved him again, but as the wind spun the dragon, his long tail whipped about and smacked the horse. The powerful blow struck Jonah's mount broadside, sending both horse and rider hurtling sideways, away from the jaws of the beast.
The horse tumbled end over end through the snow, but Jonah nimbly flipped and twisted through the air and landed lightly on his feet. He sprinted into the woods and quickly ducked behind a tree. Pressing his back into the icy bark, he became still as stone, all of his energy focused on hearing over the howling wind. The snow was now mixed with icy pellets that stung his cheeks and rattled the stubborn dead oak leaves that refused to let loose from their trees. Then, over the sounds of storm, he heard his horse scream. Knowing this might be his only chance to escape, he bolted deeper into the forest.
Zoltan devoured the horse and began searching for the rider. He was hungry. The game in these parts was scarce and the weather was making it harder to hunt. The only place the elf could have fled was into the wooded area along the edge of the field. He was probably terrified and running blindly through the forest now. It should be easy to overtake him. Zoltan's stomach rumbled noisily. He licked his lips and slowly, meticulously cleaned each of his talons. The prospect of a hunt excited him. Now, he was hunting an intelligent creature, not a dumb beast. With eager anticipation, Zoltan sprang from the field into the woods. The trees, no match for his powerful limbs and armored scales, only slowed him a little as they bent, snapped, and gave way before him.
Jonah had run through the forest and came out into a small clearing. The wind was beginning to die down a bit, but the snow and sleet were still falling fast. Behind him, he could hear Zoltan crashing through the trees. No time to think. He sprinted across the clearing and back into the trees. Up ahead the land became rocky and began to rise sharply. Soon, he found himself before a steep embankment, with no apparent way to the top. Near the base of this dead end, a tall hemlock, its dense green boughs gilded with snow, towered high above the sheer rock wall. Jonah scampered up the tree.
Near the top of the hemlock, Jonah could faintly make out the clearing he had crossed only moments ago. The dragon was crossing that clearing now and heading straight for him. Jonah could tell that the dragon did not know where he was hiding, so he remained motionless as the fearsome beast came closer and closer. With the wind blowing, it would be nearly impossible for Zoltan to pick up his scent. The piney aroma of the hemlock tree would help mask his odor too. The elf remained perfectly still and held his breath as the dragon passed by.
The creature, though terrifying, was truly beautiful and magnificent to behold. His long limbs were well muscled and armed with razor sharp talons. A double row of spikes protruded along his spine, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, and as he walked, his black scales glistened from the snow that melted on contact with his hot skin. Zoltan paused beside the hemlock tree. He stared northward, unblinking, into the wind and driving snow and then turned south and sniffed the air. Jonah was so high in the tree, that he was level with the dragon's head and could see the dark gold serpentine eyes from between the branches in which he was hiding. Zoltan sniffed again, then slowly turned and stared directly into the limbs of the hemlock.
The elf held his breath and stared straight back at the dragon. He was afraid if he blinked, the dragon would see him hiding among the branches. He was afraid if his heart did not quit beating so loudly, the dragon would hear him, even over the piercing winds.
Zoltan began searching the hemlock. His eyes flicked back and forth in short, jerky movements as he scanned the tree. Then, suddenly, his eyes locked onto Jonah and froze. Time seemed to stop too and Jonah tensed. The dragon's pupils narrowed to thin black slits and Jonah, with muscles coiled tight as springs, flung himself backwards, narrowly escaping the dragon's fire for a second time.
As the flames engulfed the tree, Jonah twisted in the air and tried to land on his feet at the top of the escarpment. Th
e rocks, however, were icy and extremely slick. His feet shot out from under him and he landed hard on his backside, driving the wind from his lungs. As darkness began to gather at the edges of his vision, he realized he was sliding down the other side of the rock wall on which he had just landed and, as consciousness slipped away from him, he felt himself falling through the air.
Zoltan had blasted the tree and the entire rock face with fire. The flames were scorching and the contents that he had spewed would probably burn for several hours. This forced him to find another way to the top and gave the elf more precious time to escape. Zoltan turned north and scrambled along the base of the cliff until he came to a spot where he could scale the wall. There were several small trees at the base of the cliff, blocking his way. In a fit of rage he snapped them off and flung them aside to clear a path for his ascent.
When Jonah slid off the back of the rocky mass that separated him from the dragon, he landed in a deep drift of snow on the other side. The wet snow found its way into his cloak and tunic and the icy coldness pulled him back into the waking world. He stumbled to his feet. Above him, he could hear the roar of Zoltan's flames and the crackling and popping of the hemlock tree as the fires consumed it. He knew he didn't have much time. He climbed out of the drift and started running south and parallel with the wall.
The strange rocky landmass that separated him from the dragon also shielded him from the storm. Because of this, Jonah realized, there would not be enough wind or snow to erase his tracks, and once Zoltan was on this side, it would be extremely difficult to hide from him. He was about to despair when he came upon a narrow stream that disappeared into a small cave in the rock wall.
Jonah ran to the cave and started to crawl inside, but stopped. He turned and looked at the tracks he had made through the snow and then he looked at the stream. The water ran straight for about fifty yards and then disappeared around a bend of dense river cane. He had an idea. If it worked, he could get back on the road to the Twilight. If it did not work, then he would die and, most likely, so would Amos and everyone else in their ill-fated party.
The memory of Amos lying on the cave floor, unable to transform and slowly dying, spurred Jonah into action. He sprinted down the stream, being very careful to stay in the center of the water and not step on any rocks or sandy shoals. As he rounded the bend, he heard another roar. This was louder and much closer; the dragon had made his way to the top.
Zoltan walked to the edge and stared down at the snow covered ground on the other side. He saw the place where the elf had landed and the tracks leading away from the drift would be easy enough to follow. His stomach rumbled noisily as he folded his wings tightly to his sides and leapt down between the trees. He followed the tracks in the snow all the way down to the stream. The tracks lead to a small cave, where the stream disappeared into the rock wall. Enraged that his prey had escaped into this narrow crevice, Zoltan blasted the entrance with fire and then began pulling great chunks of rock out of the wall. He was determined to find this elf.
While Zoltan was busy digging into the cave, Jonah continued down the stream. The main road crossed this stream several miles from where he encountered the dragon. He wanted to get back onto the main road and put some distance between them. Thank goodness he was alone when Zoltan attacked. He shuddered to think what would have happened if Louise and the children had been along.
When he finally reached the bridge, he scrambled up the bank onto the main road and started running. He was exhausted, but with his horse gone, he had no other choice but to run all the way to the Twilight. His life depended on it. Everyone's life depended on it.
As he trudged down the road, he thought to himself that things couldn't possibly get any worse. Then, the blizzard began to intensify and the temperatures started to drop even more. Cold, tired, and weary, Jonah pressed onward and vanished into the angry whiteness.
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