Do something, Gorlee!
He charged with his sword and pierced the back of its hide.
It reared up and whirled on Gorlee with wary eyes. It wasn’t Gorlee it saw, but Nath Dragon, sword in hand.
Pilpin popped up out of the water and struck it between the legs with his mace.
Whop!
The draykis wobbled and fell to its knees.
Gorlee struck again, chopping it.
Pilpin hauled back and clobbered it in the head.
It splashed face first into the creek, unmoving.
The victory was hollow.
Dwarves cried out. Their short arms delivered biting blows with dwarven steel, but they were overwhelmed. The draykis were bigger, faster, and greater in number. The dwarves normally fought in tight ranks and circles that carved their enemies up, but here they were scattered. One on one, no dwarf was a match for a draykis, which fought like three lizard men in one.
Hivluum, the dwarf with a square helm and horn in the middle, had two draykis pulling his arms. Another dwarf was picked up and slammed into the ravine rocks. Devliik went down as three draykis pounced on him at once. There was blood. There was death. The dwarves were being slaughtered. Soon they’d all be dead.
Sultans of Sulfur! What do I do?
Gorlee held up his arms and cried out, “I surrender!” He dropped his sword. He summoned his magic and yelled louder. “I surrender!”
The woods shook.
Everyone stilled. A dwarven helmet slipped off one’s head and into the water.
“What are you doing?” Pilpin whispered.
“What must be done,” Gorlee said.
A voice spoke out from the forest.
“Bind his hands.”
“Let the dwarves walk away first,” Gorlee demanded.
“You are in no position to negotiate now,” the voice said.
The voice was that of a woman, husky. Gorlee assumed it was the satyr. His eyes scanned the ravine, but nothing noticeable was moving.
“You’ve revealed your location,” he said. “And I can get to you faster than any of you can get to me. I’ll give you a few more seconds, and then the fight will be back on.”
“And all of the dwarves will die,” the voice said.
“And all my vengeance will be on your head,” Gorlee growled.
Nothing was said for a moment. Only the air stirred and the insects hummed.
“Dwarves, depart from us, then,” she said, “and make it quick.”
The dwarves remained still, staring at Gorlee.
“Do as she says,” he said.
They grumbled.
“But, Guh—” Pilpin started to say his name.
Gorlee cut him off. “Do as I say, Pilpin.”
Pilpin shook his beard and stuffed his weapons in his belt. “As you say, Nath!”
One by one, the dwarves trudged out of the pool and up the banks of the creek. Their faces were battered and pride bruised. Blood streaked their beards and armor, and one spit out a tooth. Two carried one that was dead with a hard look in their eyes. Vengeance had been denied them once again.
Devliik was the last to pass.
“Ye should know better. It’s our right to die when and how we want to.”
The brown-bearded dwarf mounted up and led his men back up the creek, around the boulder in the bend, and out of sight. Gorlee listened until he could hear the horses’ hooves splashing in the water no more. When he turned around, the draykis had him surrounded.
“I don’t see any rope,” Gorlee said, shaking his mane. Got to be convincing. “Or was I supposed to bring that myself?”
A figure that was part goat and part woman appeared on one of the rocks nearby. Two small goat horns protruded from her head. She had a nasty look about her. A set of wooden pipes hung from her shoulder, and a dagger hung from her belt. Gorlee couldn’t help but think that she was the one who had murdered the dwarves in their sleep. One of them, at least.
“I must admit,” Gorlee said, “you’re more pleasant to look upon than expected, for a goat woman, that is.”
A draykis walloped him in the belly, lifting him on his toes.
“Oof!”
Ugh, that hurt! Try not to show it so much. He fought to stay on his feet and blocked the stars from his eyes. He patted his belly and said, “You don’t hit very hard. Are you a girl draykis?”
The draykis’s lips pulled back over its large, sharp teeth, and it drew back again.
“Enough,” Faylan said. “The high priestess wants him alive, every last piece of him.” She tossed a rope down that splashed in the creek. “Bind him with that. Its mystic tethers will hold him.”
The draykis stared up at her while the rope sank into the water.
“I don’t think they know how to tie a knot,” Gorlee said. “Have you seen their fingers?”
The big clawed and scaly hands were more like paws than fingers.
“I’d be more than happy to do it myself.” He shrugged. “I’m really good with knots.”
Faylan’s face bunched up in fury. She jumped off the rock and into the creek right by him. The tops of her horns came up to his chest. She bent down and snatched the rope from the water.
“Not a move,” she said.
Gorlee lifted his brows and offered his hands. He noticed the satyr looked much better far away than up close. Hard lines and ruddy skin covered her face. Her eyes were dark and beady, and she smelled a little funny. No wonder she’s mean.
She coiled the rope around his wrists, made a full loop around his neck, and then wove around each leg. She knotted it around his foot, staring at his scaly toes for a few seconds. She looked up and eyed him again.
“I know,” Gorlee said, “they need clipping. You wouldn’t happen to have a file on you would y—ulp!”
The rope constricted around his neck, legs, and wrists like living iron. He was choking.
Guzan! What is this?
He tried to cry out, but the bonds got tighter. He sagged to his knees.
Now Faylan was looking down on him.
“Keep your tongue still,” she said in his ear. “You don’t want the rope to kill you. I don’t like your talking, and it doesn’t like it either. Do you understand me?”
Gorlee, purple faced, managed a nod.
“Good,” she said, lifting up his chin. “Get up now. Slowly. It doesn’t like much moving, either.”
Gorlee froze, and the draykis hissed and snickered. The rope that bit into his skin slackened but remained taut.
“Put him on his horse,” she ordered the draykis. “It’s time to go. I want to put as much distance between us and the dwarves as we can.”
A draykis spoke up. “Let us finish them.”
“Later,” she said. “First, we need to secure Nath Dragon.”
The draykis heaved him up into his saddle and took the reins. Gorlee started to speak, but thought the better of it. He could still feel his tongue in his throat. A sudden darkness took over inside him. The dwarves were on their own, and now he was as well. Maybe getting a closer look at my enemies wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Another draykis dropped a sack over his head. Now Faylan was laughing.
“We can’t hurt him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make him miserable on our long journey.”
CHAPTER 23
“What was that all about?” Ben said, scratching his head. “What’s a Dragon’s Ultimatum?”
Bayzog and Brenwar were silent, watching the night sky. Glum.
Ben turned his sights toward the sky and clouds in the air. Nath and the grey scaler were a black dot that disappeared into the distant hills. He felt empty and turned back to his friends. Their faces were empty.
“They’re going to fight, aren’t they?” Ben said.
Brenwar huffed and jumped off his horse.
Bayzog frowned. “It’s a battle that doesn’t end well for one or the other.”
Ben’s hand fell on Fang’s hilt. “But he d
oesn’t have a weapon. He needs Fang. That dragon will kill him!”
“Keep yer voice down,” Brenwar said. “You’re not some child anymore, and neither is Nath. He made his decision. He’ll live or die by it. As will the rest of us.”
“You always have the most spirited words, dwarf,” Ben said, walking over to Brenwar clutching his fist.
“Watch yourself, man.”
“The both of you watch yourselves. Nath is gone, and there’s no point in arguing about it now, especially with one another.” Bayzog left his horse and searched for wood. “Let’s make camp. Wait it out.”
“Pah,” Brenwar said, picking up a stick and snapping it. “Never listens.”
“I apologize, Brenwar,” Ben said, walking over. “I’m certain Dragon meant well.”
“He always means well. That’s the problem,” Brenwar said. “But it doesn’t always end well. That fight will be to the death. There’s no more Nath Dragon if he’s dead.”
“But why would he do that?” Ben said, shaking his head. “That’s a big dragon. As big as I’ve ever seen. And … Nath has no weapon. No weapon at all.”
Even though he was a hardened soldier, Ben hadn’t been able to help marveling at Nath’s prowess since he’d awakened. Fast. Powerful. Strong. He did things that even extraordinary men couldn’t do, but fighting a dragon five times as big with no weapon? That wasn’t a death match. It was a funeral.
“We should be there to help him,” Ben mumbled. His fingers toyed with Fang’s hilt. “You should be there to help him. Why don’t you like him, Fang?”
Brenwar’s brows furrowed with a grunt. “Fang’s got sense. There’s still too much darkness in Nath, I fear. Though he does seem to be getting better.”
Bayzog dropped some wood in front of them.
“What are you doing, elf? We aren’t building a fire,” Brenwar said, “not with our enemies all around us.”
“It’s become a habit, I suppose.”
Thunder and lightning cracked in the sky. All eyes went toward the distant hills.
“Why don’t you make a tent?” Brenwar said. “It’s going to rain. Heavy.”
“I didn’t think the rain bothered you,” Bayzog said.
“It doesn’t. I’m just giving you something to do.”
“Do you think the battle will last long?” Ben said. “What if Dragon loses? How will we know?”
“We’ll know,” Brenwar said, “because if that grey scaler finishes Nath, he’ll be coming for us next.”
Ben punched his fist into his hand. He’d been fighting hard alongside Nath for months, and losing him didn’t seem possible. He was a grown man. A veteran. Tried. Tested. Tough. He’d let those things keep a wall between him and Nath. Not getting as close as he once was long ago. Now he wished he’d taken the time to say a few more kind words to him. To let Nath know that even though he’d lost his wife and children, now he had hope. A distant flicker caught his eye.
“We’re going to have visitors.”
Brenwar and Bayzog turned their attention to the great bridge. Soldiers with torches were coming their way. A squad of a dozen, by the looks of them.
“Let’s ride,” Brenwar said, going to his horse.
Bayzog met him at the saddle and said, “I’ve a better idea.” He patted the small chest hitched on Brenwar’s saddle.
“Oh no,” Brenwar said, pushing Bayzog back. “I’m not taking any potion.”
“Time is fleeting, dwarf. It’s probably this or a dive into the burning waters below.”
Brenwar peered over the chasm, grunted, and shook his head.
“All right, then. Get it down.”
Bayzog untied the chest and handed it to Brenwar, who popped it open.
Ben leaned over Bayzog’s shoulder. He’d only gotten a couple of peeks inside the chest over the years and was always fascinated by it. He shielded his eyes from the illumination within the chest that was filled with many colors.
Quickly, Bayzog rummaged through the potion vials. His slender fingers pulled out a vial filled with a sparkling blue liquid. He closed the chest, and Brenwar set it down.
“Drink a third,” the elven wizard said, handing it to Ben. “Just a sip.”
Ben did. Its taste was wonderful sliding down his throat and into his belly. Everything tingled. He blinked his eyes. “What does it do?” It seemed funny that he’d taken a drink of it without giving any thought to what it was.
Bayzog sipped his portion.
“A moment,” he said to Ben, turning to Brenwar, “Now you, dwarf.”
Brenwar grabbed the vial with his stubby hands, eyeing it.
“Hurry,” Bayzog urged.
“Dwarves don’t hurry,” Brenwar said with a frown. He sucked the vial down and pitched the bottle into the chasm. “And it better not turn me into an orc. If it does—”
“Would an elf ever turn himself into an orc?” Bayzog admonished.
“They’re almost here,” Ben said. He looked at the torches and then at his hands. Nothing was happening. “Am I supposed to turn into something?”
“You’re already something,” Bayzog said. “You’ll just be turning into something else.” A wart sprung up on the elf’s nose.
Ben stiffened. His feet and ears had a burning sensation. His knuckles became hairy and his skin ruddy. Across from him, Bayzog’s body contorted. The slender elf shrank and widened. His garments changed from robes to roughly hewn clothes. The Elderwood Staff became a walking stick of sorts.
“What have you done, elf?” Brenwar exclaimed. His fingers clutched at his beard that was shrinking into his face. Sharp ears with little knots in them popped out on his head, and his wide features became more slender and hairless. A yellow gleam painted his eyes and teeth as well. He looked between Ben and Bayzog. “A goblin? I’m a stinking goblin. Horn-blasted potions!”
“Well, we all have something in common,” Ben added, fighting the queasiness and funny taste in his mouth. “We’re all pretty ugly.”
“Ugly yerself,” Brenwar said. He shook his fist at Bayzog the goblin. “Tricky elf.”
“It’s no trick, Brenwar. Now settle yourself. They come,” Bayzog said, running his fingers through his ratty hair. “They come.” He tossed the Cloth of Concealment over the chest.
“Who does the talking?” Ben asked. He noticed his voice sounded strange, and his words were too.
“I’ll do that,” Bayzog said, stepping forward to greet the oncoming soldiers. There were twelve of them. Heavily armed. All lizard men, but led by an orc with neck muscles up to his ears. He towered over Bayzog the goblin.
Ben found the moment surreal. This is madness. His fingers rubbed the hilt of a knife behind the back of his belt. How long do potions last, anyway? His stomach gurgled.
“What are you doing out here?” the orc growled, eyeing them all with suspicion.
“Camping,” Bayzog said, sounding every bit like a nasty goblin. “We cross the bridge tomorrow. Make camp tonight.” He wrung his hands. “Problem, orc?”
The orc made its way over to the horses. Checked the saddles.
“Where’d you come by these horses, goblins? Fine steeds they are.”
“Stole them,” Bayzog said. “We cross the bridge and sell them to the Clerics of Barnabus in the morning.”
“Is that so?” The orc eyed Ben. “And who’d you steal these horses from? They don’t look like easy pickings for goblins such as you to come by.” It towered over Ben with its hands on its hips. “Well, goblin?”
Ben swallowed.
“Er … we stole them from an awful dwarf and two humans.” He pulled out his knife. “And now they be dead.” He licked the blade. “The blood of dwarves tastes awful.”
The orc laid a heavy hand on Ben’s shoulder and snickered. “Aye, but not as awful as the ale they drink. Har. Har. I hate dwarves.”
Brenwar stiffened.
The orc turned its attention back to the horses. “Hmmm … we could use these horses. And I don’t like
seeing those Clerics of Barnabus getting the first offer at everything.” It grabbed the reins. “Come with me.”
“But,” Ben stammered, “where are we going?”
“Across the bridge to barter for your horses.”
Ben’s eyes went to Bayzog. Think of something, wizard!
“We already have a buyer,” Bayzog said, “that expects us.”
“Well see about that. Now come on.”
“But,” Ben started.
The orc poked him in the head. “I could just kill you all,” the orc grinned, jangling a necklace of bone fingers around his neck. “You know that, don’t you?”
Ben nodded.
Away they went toward the bridge, leaving the chest and the hope of Nath Dragon’s return alone in the darkness.
Ben rubbed his forehead.
How much longer will this potion last? Once it wears off, we’re done for!
CHAPTER 24
The dwarves’ shoulders were heavy. Pilpin rode behind Devliik with the others and the dead behind them. It was the grimmest Pilpin had ever felt. Not only had another brother dwarf fallen to the hands of their enemies, they’d lost Gorlee as well.
“Why do we go this way?” Pilpin questioned Devliik.
The thickly thewed dwarf didn’t turn but went on steadily back the way they had come.
Pilpin looked back at the nearest dwarf, who shrugged in return. He ground his teeth. All the dwarves were banged up in one way or another. A bloody sling held up a wrist that dangled. Ears and teeth were missing. Eyes were swollen black under heavy brows, and a couple of dwarves were coughing with a nasty rattle in their chests. It made Pilpin realize something.
Gorlee had made a sacrifice.
Otherwise, they’d all be dead.
We should go after him. Perhaps I can convince Devliik.
They made it all the way back to the place where the tracks of the satyrs split. Devliik climbed off his horse, adjusted his dented helmet, and limped through the woods. Pilpin did the same. When he caught up with Devliik, the brown-bearded dwarf kneeled in the pines.
“These tracks are still good,” Devliik said.
The Chronicles of Dragon Collection (Series 1 Omnibus, Books 1-10) Page 71
