The dragon shifted his great bulk, his hind leg kicking aside an offending crown. Life is good, he thought complacently, though there is much yet to be done. What should we do to slake our thirst for blood? Attack the castle itself? No, too many paltry humans live there. We would be overcome by their hordes. The orcs east of here? No, we may need them intact for later. The little village south of here? Ah, now there’s a thought! Or perhaps one of the logging camps nearby…?
The dragon smiled and his eyes clouded over with dreams of blood and heat and rending flesh. Rising to his feet, he leaped once into the air. With a sudden roar of wind through the cracked walls, the massive dragon disappeared, and in his place floated a tiny bat. His eyes glowed red with hunger, and his leathery wings bore him to the ceiling. Squeaking once, the bat flapped into a hole in the cave vault. The papery noise of his wings filled the narrow tunnel beyond as he flapped and crawled toward the surface. Within moments, the tiny bat emerged from the hole into the chill air of late afternoon.
Instantly Verdilith reverted to his true form. He had learned early on to shapechange as fast as possible, for once a sharp-eyed sparrow hawk had almost eaten him before he transformed. He surveyed the snow-covered knoll above his lair and the surrounding jagged hills. No tracks showed in the snow, and nothing moved upon the hills.
The great green sat back on his haunches and scented the air, his tongue flicking in and out, tasting the winter afternoon. Horseflesh! And a scent of pine! With a single bound he leaped into the air. His great leathery wings beat once, twice, a third time before they finally lifted the weight of the dragon. Powerful wing strokes hurtled him into the silver sky, over the hilltops and the twisted copses of the ravines. Rising to a comfortable height, Verdilith turned and soared southward, following the smell of horseflesh. Below him, the treacherous hills of the Wulfholdes whirled past. A small herd of deer froze as the dragon’s shadow flashed overhead, then scattered into a deep patch of woods nearby. Verdilith dived after them, but pulled up short. Why hunt deer one by one in the forest? he asked himself. I can eat horses by the tens in their corral. The sweet scent of horseflesh grew stronger on the wind, intoxicating his already excited senses.
Verdilith screamed his hunger. Blood would soon be his! His heart pounded in time with the surge of his awesome wings. The scent filled his scaled nostrils. Verdilith extended his wings and soared silently, outracing the clouds.
In time, the dragon’s eyes glazed over. The setting sun cast a red pall over the trees below. His excitement grew. His breath became fast and shallow. His wings turned effortlessly, dropping him low above the ground. A hideous anticipation pounded in his heart. The desire to rend flesh flooded through him.
It had been so long since he had eaten.
Then, below, the dragon spied a small loggers’ camp. Only one tiny light glimmered inside the wooden structure. Out back, in a large corral, horses stood, champing nervously. The dragon circled once, then screamed again and plunged earthward.
The terrified horses below neighed shrilly in return. Verdilith descended on them. He swooped low, his talons clamping around three of the beasts. He rose into the air, his laden claws smashing into the side of the stable. The wood splintered, and the dragon dropped the broken beasts at the base of the bam.
Verdilith rose on the wind, wheeling around in the blood-red sky. Again he fell on the corral. The horses reared and kicked, trying to avoid the sudden claws that raked their backs, the wicked teeth that snapped mercilessly around them. They galloped along the fence, their eyes white with fear. Foam hung from their gaping muzzles. The horses’ screams rent the air, but no one came to save them.
The dragon ripped great chunks of flesh from the beasts, not heeding the few hooves and teeth that found their marks. Verdilith left the flesh; he was bent on carnage first, not feeding. He would not eat until all lay dead. Only one beast escaped: a bay mare. Her lathered skin shuddering in fear, the mare somehow clambered over the corral’s high walls. The horse ran blindly into the woods, and night swallowed her up.
Verdilith slaughtered the remaining horses, delighting in the blood and the dung and the flesh. It was a beautiful carnage, worthy of a dragon such as he. The blood was hot and charged with fear, and it slaked his thirst.
Chapter V
Flinn had found abelaat tracks in the deep snow during his latest check of the trap line, and he and Jo now rode the griffon to the spot. A light dusting of snow had fallen since Flinn had found the tracks, but he had notched a tree so as to find the area again. Flinn searched the ground for fresh tracks, hoping the abelaat was a creature of habit.
“Two of my traps were damaged,” Flinn said in the silence as Ariac waded through the deep snow, his crippled wings fluttering now and then to maintain balance. Ariac wasn’t accustomed to carrying double weight. The trail they followed was an old and familiar one, however, and the beast moved ahead with confidence.
“Do you think the creature got caught in the traps and escaped?” Johauna asked. She shifted in her seat behind the saddle, trying to get comfortable with Flinn’s bow and quiver and her sword strapped to her back. Jo rubbed her nose, then returned her hands to Flinn’s waist.
“No, I think it’s too smart for that,” Flinn replied. “More likely it tried to eat whatever was in the trap. I think it succeeded, too. The two traps wouldn’t have been so badly damaged otherwise. There was blood around each.” Rounding a break in the woods, the trail curved down around the side of a large, frozen pond. The sky was gray and laden with snow. Flinn felt the girl shudder behind him. “Cold?” he asked, a grim smile forming on his lips. “Scared,” she replied quietly.
The warrior stroked her hand at his waist. “We’ll get the beast, Jo, have no fear,” he said gruffly, his voice low with emotion. “If not for your sake, then for mine. I’ll get more sleep once you stop waking up screaming.”
The girl turned aside, then said, “I am not the only one who wakes up screaming, Fain Flinn.”
Flinn drew in a breath and released it slowly. The old nightmares still dogged him, but over the years he had learned to accept them, albeit reluctantly. “But your nightmares can be dispelled, Jo.” He nodded once and then clasped her hand. “We’ll kill the beast today.”
Unexpectedly, Jo leaned forward and embraced him. “Flinn,” she said, “you are a good man.” Just as quickly, however, she leaned away.
Flinn cocked an eyebrow and looked ahead along the trail. He said nothing and gave Ariac a little squeeze of his legs. The griffon continued at a walk.
The former knight and the would-be squire continued their trek in silence, Flinn pointing now and then to a few landmarks. When they reached the spot where Flinn had seen the creature’s tracks, he didn’t bother to dismount. His keen eyes traced the remains of some creature’s trail. The abelaat’s? Flinn wondered. The outline of the tracks was too decayed to tell for sure.
Ariac clicked his beak, sending a small puff of breath into the breeze. Flinn shushed the griffon immediately, then turned the beast up the incline to their left, following the line of tracks. He patted the sword strapped onto the saddle’s pommel, secure in the knowledge that it was close at hand.
It had been impossible to wear it with the girl riding behind him.
“Be quiet,” Flinn said softly to Johauna. “I think we may be in the abelaat’s territory now.” He fidgeted a little in the saddle, shifting the breastplate on his chest. He had grown accustomed to not wearing armor over the years, and he’d forgotten how cumbersome it was.
The girl nodded, checking the weapons strapped to her back.
They climbed slowly through the rugged, wooded terrain. The brush grew thicker and the trail grew more obliterated. Ariac slowed. Flinn began to wish he had left both the griffon and the girl behind. But Jo needed this kind of experience to prove herself to the council. The woods deepened. Flinn gazed dubiously at the trail. Is it a false track? he wondered. Or perhaps a trap?
The trail led him to a tiny valley,
no more than three hundred paces long by fifty wide. There the trail ended, leading into a small stream—not yet frozen over—which ran swiftly through the bottom of the valley. Animal tracks of all sizes and shapes littered the snow-covered ground of the valley’s bottomland. Flinn dismounted and Jo did the same.
“Well,” said Flinn, “we’ve lost the trail. I won’t be able to pick up the abelaat’s tracks through all this. If, indeed, we’ve been following the abelaat. Those tracks were pretty obscure.” He knelt and studied the hopeless muddle of tracks on the ground. Looking up at Jo, he sighed, his breath curling away in white tendrils. “We’ll water Ariac, rest a bit, then make our way back up to that ridge—” he pointed to the northwest “—where we’ll find a little higher ground and maybe easier going.”
“Do you think we’ll find the creature today, Flinn?” Johauna asked, her voice edgy.
Flinn glanced up at the clouds. The breeze had grown stronger and had shifted behind them. A heavy storm was moving in from the southwest.
He shrugged, the breastplate rising up, “Maybe, maybe not. I’m going to water Ariac. Stay here.”
“I’d rather follow, if you don’t mind,” Jo said nervously. Flinn nodded and led the griffon over the stony ground to the open water. On the bank of the stream, caps of untouched snow marked the presence of boulders, the largest of which was half the height of a man. Flinn gazed toward the swift water that lay just beyond that rock. The warrior stepped cautiously forward, leading Ariac among the large, snow-covered mounds. After passing the first few, the griffon stopped and lowered his beak, his nostrils blowing puffs of white. He sniffed at the path Flinn had made.
Flinn, annoyed, turned to face the griffon. Tugging on the bridle rein, he called sharply, “Ariac!”
Suddenly, the rock behind Flinn moved. The bird-lion reared and screeched in fear. Ariac’s buff-colored wings flapped awkwardly, the tips stretched wide as though to bat back some unseen assailant. Flinn’s scabbard and sword, fouled by the flailing wings, flew to the rocky shore. The braided leather rein broke near the metal bit.
Flinn wheeled about. The “rock” rose up, its scabrous surface unfolding into a towering beast. Thin, almost skeletal arms swung out to its sides as razor-tipped fingers slowly unfurled. Snow dropped in clumps from its knobby back, and its eyes fastened on Flinn.
Flinn dived to one side between adjacent boulders. The corner of his breastplate caught upon one rock, somersaulting him forward. The abelaat lunged, its claws snagging the warrior’s pant leg. Flinn’s boots followed through above his head, striking the beast’s face and driving it back. The warrior rolled to his feet. The creature dived again, its claws arcing toward Flinn’s neck. Flinn fell back against a rock, unable to avoid the blow. The claws stopped short, however, and a blood-chilling howl erupted from the beast. Ariac had reared and sunk his claws into the monster’s shoulders, the leather balls dangled from the cuffs. The abelaat turned, its talons closing around the feathered forequarters of the bird-lion.
For the second time that day Ariac screeched, but this time the sound was terrible to hear. The griffon tore loose from the monster and then stumbled backward, shrill squeals filling the air. Ariac fell thrashing into the shallow stream, the pain in his forequarters driving him into a frenzy. He beat the rocks and water with his crippled wings and clawed at the snowy riverbed. Lunging frantically, he cleared the water and crashed away into the brush.
The abelaat turned and faced Flinn. Slowly it rose to its full height, baring its teeth and as if testing the air. The eight prominent canines dripped rust-colored saliva as the creature hissed.
Flinn eyed his sword, lying two paces beyond the monster. He side-stepped quickly, positioning himself behind one of the boulders. Whichever route the creature took around the large rock, Flinn would run the opposite way and retrieve his sword. Then he saw Jo, stealthily approaching behind the beast, her wooden sword gripped at both the pommel and the center. Flinn grimaced. She doesn’t even remember how to hold a sword! he thought.
Jo shouted “Flinn!” and threw her sword. The abelaat leaped to scramble over the rock. The wooden blade arced over the beast’s head as the first claw sank into Flinn’s left arm. In the breadth of a heartbeat, Flinn snatched the wooden sword from the air and battered back the bloody talons. Flinn stepped back from the beast. The monster lunged forward, but Flinn cautiously backed into the rocky streambed. The abelaat paused, then lunged again. Flinn pulled back once more, his eyes shifting from Jo to the sword she was searching for in the streambed.
“Hurry, Jo,” he muttered under his breath. The abelaat leaped onto the slippery rocks, its sickle-shaped claws scraping across Flinn’s breastplate. He spun, knocking the claws away, and brought the blade smashing down upon the beast’s arm. The creature pulled back, though its arm showed no injury. So much for ironwood, thought Flinn.
The abelaat roared, hurtling itself at Flinn. Tightening his grip upon the hilt, Flinn leaned into the attack, swinging the blade in wide swipes before him. The wooden edge struck the beast’s talons, and a line of blood started down its arms. Still it pushed forward, its claws slashing the side of Flinn’s head. The warrior staggered back, blood running warm down his neck. Apparently smelling the blood, the beast leaped onto the warrior and seized Flinn by the shoulders. The claws sunk in and Flinn shouted in pain. The bony arms lifted him from the ground. Flinn wedged his sword in the creature’s gut and thrust upon it, but it bit shallowly.
Suddenly the creature dropped Flinn, who fell, splashing into the streambed. The abelaat arched its spine and hissed, its claws scraping at its back. Flinn struggled to his feet in time to hear the twang of an arrow. The abelaat fell to one knee. The warrior leaped toward Jo, catching a glimpse of two arrows in the abelaat—one in its shoulder, the other in its thigh.
“Good girl!” he managed to call out as he caught the other sword she threw. He dropped her wooden blade and whirled to meet the abelaat. His arm and the side of his face had gone numb. For the first time, he felt fear. The creature was back on its feet and rushing toward him. Was it unstoppable? Flinn gritted his teeth and raised the steel blade before him.
The warrior met the abelaat’s charge with a flashing flurry of sword strokes, his blade clashing fiercely with the creature’s wicked claws. Flinn drove forward, seeking firmer ground. He entrenched his feet in the rocky streambed, blood dripping into the water around him. The creature swiped at his chest, its claws leaving deep marks in the breastplate. Flinn held his footing, then continued to press forward.
He lunged with a pointed thrust to the abelaat’s chest, which he knew the creature would brush aside. He followed up with an overhead arcing swing, trying to beat past the bony arm and hit the vulnerable neck area. The abelaat deflected the stroke, flinging the blade to its side. Flinn allowed the heavy sword to continue on its new course, and the momentum swung him around. He spun into a crouch and then extended his arm. The stroke arced back, slicing deep into the abelaat’s knobbed knees.
The monster roared in pain as Flinn drew back his blade. The fetid stench coming from the creature’s mouth nearly overcame Flinn, but he stood his ground. Clutching its bloodied legs, the creature snarled, its tiny eyes glinting. Rusty spittle fell from its mouth, dropping into the running water beneath. As Flinn drew back slowly, the creature lunged. Flinn leaped sideways and ducked. An arrow flew at the abelaat, sinking with a solid thud into its bony back.
The creature roared, then advanced on Flinn, its claws whirling within inches of the warrior’s face. Flinn reluctantly backed into deeper water. His feet were numb from the icy water, and now the stream engulfed his calves as well. But he could feel his second wind coming, and his breath came in sure measures. The warrior laughed aloud—a deep, grim laugh that chilled the girl loading her bow with her last arrow. Flinn once again tried to press the attack; with two hands on his sword, he began a series of taxing, brutal blows.
The blade’s bite was keen, and the snow-capped rocks ran red. Yet the mo
nster was drawing blood, too. It caught hold of Flinn’s breastplate and tore it loose. The claws raked across his bare chest, and Flinn’s blood commingled with the abelaat’s. The cold water, the loss of blood, and the fatigue of battle began to take their toll. Bit by bit Flinn felt his strength waning, his reflexes failing. The abelaat, though bloodied, didn’t appear weakened. They circled each other. “Keep the arrows coming, Jo,” Flinn murmured as a shaft narrowly missed the beast.
The words had hardly left Flinn’s mouth when the creature lunged again. With a surge of reckless abandon, Flinn leaped onward to meet it. His sword tip found the beast’s belly and cut through the papery skin. Flinn drove forward, into the creature’s vicious embrace. He thrust his sword through the abelaat’s stomach and up into its chest. Hot blood poured out over his hand. The abelaat released a gurgling roar, its claws raking furrows in Flinn’s back. Flinn gritted his teeth. He twisted the blade, seeking the creature’s heart. The monster’s arms locked about Flinn and pulled him tight.
Blood sprayed between them, gushing into Flinn’s face. Blinking, Flinn saw Jo on the creature’s back. Her short knife shone in her hand as she dragged it across the creature’s neck. Shuddering violently, the creature tottered and staggered deeper into the stream. Its limbs spasmed with convulsions, and it toppled into the shallow water, taking Jo and Flinn with it. Gasping from loss of breath and the icy cold, Flinn and Jo struggled to untangle themselves from the feebly moving monster. Blood filled the water, streaming like crimson banners from the creature’s body. Its eyes grew glassy, and the jittering paroxysms of its limbs stilled.
Jo and Flinn stood and looked down at it, Flinn’s breath coming in great, ragged gulps. In death the beast seemed to have shrunk, and the cruel contortions of its face had eased. The cold water masked the beast’s foul odor and cast a sheen over its mottled skin. The maw lay open, and water circulated gently among the eight fangs.
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