Never Deal with a Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  The serpent landed, surprisingly quiet. Its length coiled about the Chevy and it placed its head on the hood. The truck’s suspension groaned. From the reek of blood on its breath, she knew that the Dragon had fed on its way back. It exuded satisfaction.

  “It is done.”

  “He’s really dead this time?”

  “The machine is destroyed. There was no life within it.”

  “Where did you catch them? Were there witnesses?”

  “Three hours to the northeast. It was good land, wild. There are none to talk.”

  “That’s wiz. No one to tattle to Mr. Drake about our little clean-up operation. If he knew Verner was running around this long, he’d pay handsomely for our hides.”

  “He could do a lot more with mine than yours.”

  “He’d still want them both.” She pushed at the feathered tail that barred her from the Chevy’s door. “Come on, let’s get back to civilization.”

  The furry lump didn’t stir until the the Dragon and the Elf had passed from sight. Then she stood, occasionally repeating the call for “Change?” as she shuffled away in the opposite direction. After a dozen blocks, she turned down an alley and approached a car. It was an expensive model, totally out of place among the debris of the alley. Showing uncharacteristic awareness for a being enslaved to alcohol, she scanned the area quickly. Satisfied that no one was watching, she palmed open the car’s lock and slipped inside.

  The door closed, hiding the sasquatch from prying eyes. She stretched with a growl, working out the kinks left from her role as a drunk. She reached into the back and opened the refrigerator compartment, from which she fished a foil-wrapped package of meat. She munched on the contents while reflecting on what she had heard.

  Once the hunt had gone up from the Sioux Wildcats encounter, it had become a distinct possibility that the Dragon would achieve its lethal results. Still, her master would be disappointed, and if one was to be the bearer of disappointing news, it was preferable to have proof positive. She was always very thorough and that was good, for thoroughness was a survival necessity for her kind.

  How to locate the kill? The Dragon’s report gave her a general vector and an estimate of distance. She would still need to cover a bit of ground. A helicopter or a tilt-wing craft would be the most suitable search vehicle, allowing her to land in tight confines if necessary. Such a craft must be fast, though, with a higher cruising speed than the Dragon’s. She wanted to get there first in case Hart decided to check the site. There was also the matter of Sioux patrols. Not to mention the weather. Forecasts called for scattered thunderstorms. If the Sioux arrived before her or if one of the storms hit the area of interest, she might lose valuable evidence from which to draw her own conclusions. She picked up the telecom headset to make the arrangements.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sun on his face finally woke Sam. He was stretched out on his back, snugged into a mold of his own body formed when the mud had dried to a hard, lumpy shell. At his first movement, a snake slithered away from the side of his body still in shadow, fleeing the formerly quiet heat source.

  He tried to sit up, but the sharp pain in his side and the blaze in his skull stretched him out again. He lay gasping, trying to recall how it had come to be. Flashes of the wild ride in the storm came back, and he knew that the Little Eagle must have crashed, though he couldn’t actually remember it. Raising his head gingerly, he looked around with his good eye. The wreck was nowhere in sight. Only sun and shadow, mesas and hoodoos, sage and rock and sand.

  The back of his head felt cool and damp. Fearing bleeding, he reached painfully back to touch it. But it was only water. His soaking from the night had been preserved under his body. He realized that what was left of his clothes were damp on the underside as well. Carefully and slowly, he rolled over onto his side, but his arms gave way. Sam fell face-down into the dirt, as waves of agony and nausea wracked his body. He retched emptily, then lay panting on his side, trying to recover some strength.

  The sun had already climbed well into the sky, and his movements had put him fully in its light. At first the heat and dazzling brightness felt good, chasing away the chill and easing stiffened muscles. Before long, the sun became too hot for him to lie there much longer.

  Rising dizzily to his feet, Sam pointed himself in the direction he happened to face and started walking. He limped awkwardly to favor his injured ankle but each step brought new pain from his side. He had to keep moving, though. The hotter he got, the more he perspired and the salt in his sweat stung as it ran over raw wounds. Desperately wanting water, he plodded on, his holster slapping against a bruise that matched its shape exactly.

  After a time, he found a place where the sun-baked clay of last night’s mud was disturbed and broken up. Pawprints in the dirt circled the spot. There were other marks as well, but the only other one he could make out were a trail of footprints, Human footprints. He stared at them for a time, his brain in a fog. More to rouse himself than because of any plan, he decided to follow the footprints.

  He had settled into a rhythm of gasps and winces when he felt a wetness running down his leg. Touching it left his fingers daubed with blood; the wound in his side had reopened. Well, he was following somebody. They would help him. He’d catch up soon.

  After a time, he came to a place where the sun-baked clay that had been last night’s mud was disturbed and broken up. Pawprints in the dirt circled the spot. There were other marks as well, Human footprints. He found himself staring at those prints, slowly realizing that they were his own.

  Losing it, he thought. Going to walk in circles ‘til I drop. Need to see where I am, find some way out of this maze before it’s too late.

  A rocky prominence dominated the landscape in front of him. Unlike most of the others he had seen, this one seemed to have a gentle talus slope. He might be able to climb it. From the top, he’d be able to see where he was going. He stumbled toward it.

  By the time he reached it, Sam had forgotten why he was headed that way. The crumbly talus made him stumble painfully but he pressed on, driven by the need to go forward. He reached the rock face. It rose tall and forbidding above him, no longer appearing an easy climb. As he tilted his head back to stare at its height, dizziness sent colors swirling across his vision. He grabbed the rock and hugged himself to it to keep from falling.

  Clinging to the stone and feeling rock dust work its way into the crusted blood and mud that matted his hair and beard, he realized that the shadow in front of him was not just an unlit strip of the cliff. The darkness was a hollow in the mesa, a runoff-cut chimney. He forced himself in.

  It was cooler out of the sun’s searing light. The rock had worn unevenly, leaving a series of projections and ledges. Above him he could see the sky, deep blue and inviting like a pool of cool water. He needed water, so he began to climb. It was hard work, painful work, but he persevered. At one point, he grabbed what appeared to be a convenient handhold and the stone betrayed him. Screaming in agony, Sam slid down several meters in a cascade of dust and rock fragments. He lay against the rockface, winded and coughing, willing the dust to settle.

  Beams of sunlight speared through the swirling motes, lending the tall hollow the air of a cathedral. Mineral flakes sparkled and flashed like fairy dust. Save for the faint noises of his own breathing, the world around him was absolutely silent. Suddenly ashamed that he had never once prayed during his recent trials, he did so now, asking first for forgiveness and only later for the strength to continue.

  Some time passed before he could think of climbing again. He didn’t really feel capable of anything other than pain, but he pushed himself forward anyway. He crawled again to the chimney’s edge to resume his ascent, and came face to face with a Dragon. Or rather face to skull. Embedded in the sediments of the wall, the huge skull leered a toothy grin at him from its prison of time and stone. As he reached out to touch it, the rock fractured and a whole fang came away in his hand. He stared blankly at the too
th for a moment, then shrugged and slipped it into his pocket. He had better things to do than play with old bones.

  He resumed his climb. If it had been hard before, it was more so now that he was even weaker. He was a few meters from the top when he realized that he had stopped perspiring. That meant something, but he couldn’t remember what. He pressed on, determined to cover those last meters before he collapsed.

  The heat struck him again as he crawled out onto the surface. Shakily, he stood to survey the reward for his effort. In every direction, he saw more badlands. He might have been on Mars. Distant features were blurred by heat haze shimmer, or perhaps it was his own vision that blurred. Defeated, he lowered himself slowly to the ground. Adding insult, he sat directly on a large rock. He shifted his position to the left, only to land on another rock.

  Sam wobbled to his feet, determined to kick the offending stones away. But he forgot about that as he struggled to make sense out of what he saw in the narrowing tunnel of his vision. There were more rocks. They were placed in a line. No, not a line, an outline—and a man-shaped one at that. He started to walk around it, trying to confirm what didn’t make sense, but his ankle, strained beyond further use from the climb, gave way. He hit the ground heavily, screaming out the torment at this latest abuse of his battered body. The sharp knives of pain cut his way into the darkness.

  When he came to, Sam was staring at the sky as it darkened to evening. He was weak, almost beyond caring. He felt forsaken and would have cried, but there didn’t seem to be enough water in his body. He must be near the end, because most of the pain had faded into numbness, tamed by his acceptance of its all-pervasive presence. He felt calm, detached from his body. The world around him seemed at once blurred and more sharply defined then he had ever known it.

  “Is this where I die?” he asked the first star to appear in the deep blue to the east.

  “That depends.”

  He looked around for the voice, but saw no one. He was alone on the mesa except for a scrawny dog that looked a little bit like his abandoned Inu. But that couldn’t be. There were no dogs out here in the badlands. The animal must be a coyote. In any case, it couldn’t talk. He must be hallucinating.

  “You’re an illusion,” he told the animal.

  It grinned doggishly at him. “Sure of that, are you?”

  Sam decided to play along with his dementia. What harm could it do? “If you’re not, what’s going on?”

  “You are lying in a dreaming circle.”

  “A what?”

  “A dreaming circle. A place to have visions of power. The Indians who used to come here thought it was a potent place. You gonna lie there all night?”

  Sam rolled over to see the animal better. There was no pain, which wasn’t surprising. He was in the midst of a delirium-induced fantasy. Removing the pain was the least his brain could do for him. “Just who or what are you?”

  “Call me Dog. You and me, we’re going to be good buddies. I’ve got a strong feeling about that.”

  “I don’t believe in you. You’re an impossibility.”

  “What’s impossible? You’re talking to to me and I’m talking back. How can you not believe? Don’t your ears work?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Dog cocked his head in such a way as to convey a shrug. “Or nuyen either. But we’re not talking price. ...Yet.”

  This really was impossible. Sam flopped over onto his back again. “Go away. Can’t you see that I’m dying?”

  “Do you want to die?”

  “No.”

  “Then I can’t help you.” Dog trotted a few meters away and sat down with his back to Sam.

  Sam felt annoyed. How could this figment of his own imagination turn its back on him? Hadn’t it been hard enough getting this close to death?

  Dog looked at Sam over his shoulder. “Dying is easy. Happens all the time. It’s the next part that’s tricky.”

  “Guess I’ll find out for myself soon enough. My brain’s baking in this sun. It must be.” Sam rolled to a sitting position and caught his knees within the sweep of his folded arms. “I’ll be completely dehydrated before long.”

  “That’s the spirit. I knew you’d come around.” Dog trotted back and sat down facing Sam.

  Sam stared into the animal’s eyes. The soft brown orbs seemed very old, filled with an alien wisdom. Those eyes were compelling, begging trust and encouraging the sharing of his deepest concerns. “After I die, my sister will have no one to help her. And no one will look for Hanae’s murderers.”

  “You’re still mixed up, using the wrong preposition.” Dog shook his head. “The word you want is unless, not after.”

  “What does it matter. I’m dying.”

  “Right on both counts. But I’ve got a word for you that will count more than anything else in your life.” Dog grew as he spoke, expanding upward and outward and growing insubstantial as he did. Deep night, not the growing twilight around them, dwelt within his shape and Sam could see the stars in unbelievable numbers. The dog shape grew to encompass the sky from horizon to horizon. It lowered onto the earth and Sam was swallowed up by the shape. A word rang in his head and echoed across the landscape, soundless but loud. Magic.

  He was afraid.

  Turning, he ran. And ran. For kilometers, it seemed, certainly further than the limited surface of the small tableland should have allowed. A Dragon reared up before him, its form flickering and melting through diverse shapes. Sometimes it was covered with feathers like the serpent Tessien; at other times, it was an Eastern Dragon, a long, sinuous shape with a pair of legs instead of wings and long barbels drooping like a mustache over its toothy jaws. Mostly it was the powerful, scaly bulk of a Western Dragon. Its wings arched up over its back and shadowed him as it stood back on its hind legs and reached for him with its forepaws. It was terror and power and the unknown, and it wore the mantle of death.

  An icy chill cut through Sam, making him shiver deep inside. He dodged the Dragon’s grasp and darted past its lashing tail. It turned and followed.

  Questions tumbled through his mind, a mind curiously detached from the racing body that somehow managed to stay ahead of the ravening beast. Had he died and gone to hell? Was he condemned to flee pursuing fiends for eternity? Could he run forever? Did he want to?

  In his pocket, the fossil tooth beat the rhythm to which his mind sped. Questions. Questions. He needed answers. He had held an answer when Dog first spoke to him. What was happening was not real, it was the dream of a dying man. He had no need to run.

  As that thought came, the Dragon overtook him and its claws ripped through his body. Sam screamed and tumbled bonelessly to sprawl flat on his face. No dream had ever caused him that kind of pain. On the other hand, he seemed to be intact.

  He stood, watching as the Dragon turned and started back toward him. His legs felt too weak to carry him, but he wanted to run. Had Begay felt like this when Tessien had swooped in for the kill?

  Pushing back the desire to flee, Sam reached for his gun, only to find that it was not there. The Narcoject and its holster were gone. The only thing on him that approximated a weapon was the tooth. He fished it from his pocket and brandished it at the approaching Dragon.

  “Come on, Wizworm. I’m not running anymore. Come and get me, if you can.”

  The Dragon swooped low, its jaws open wide. Flame burst forth to wash over Sam. He felt the pressure and smelled the sulfurous foulness of the Dragon’s breath, but he did not burn. Nor did he smell the burning as he had when the sorcerer Rory had fireballed him in the Tir forest.

  Halting its forward rush, the Dragon pulled up before him, hovering as it slowly beat its wings. It seemed to be waiting. Sam lowered the tooth.

  “What’s the matter?,”he jeered. “Can’t hurt me if I face you?”

  He got his answer as the beast lashed out with a paw, digging triple furrows of agony across his chest. In reaction, Sam struck the retreating claw with the tooth. The Dragon rose
in a booming thunder of wings, and wind tore at Sam, almost knocking him from his feet.

  The Dragon began to circle him. With each widening pass, its shape altered, becoming less reptilian and more bird-like. By the fourth revolution, the beast had become a giant eagle, its feathers sparkling in the starlight. Lightnings crackled around the great bird as it circled overhead. It banked toward Sam, dipping its head in acknowledgement, before banking again to turn away. The bird rose higher and higher, dwindling from sight at incredible speed. Sam watched until he lost the dark shape among the stars.

  The tooth was heavy in his hand, so he returned it to his pocket. As he did, he saw it was true that he stood within the dreaming circle. Had it all been only a fever dream?

  “Good start.”

  Sam turned to find Dog sitting at his side. He sat down next to it. If it was a dream, apparently it wasn’t over yet. “Start? I thought I was...destined, or something, to die.”

  Dog performed his curious canine shrug. “All mortals die, but you’re done with it for a while. You’ve got things to do. You’ve already started down the path.”

  “And I suppose you’ll be right there beside me.”

  “Let’s just say we won’t be strangers anymore.”

  “Or any less.”

  Dog cocked his head and stared quizzically at Sam. “Maybe you should hook up with my cousin instead.”

  Sam laughed. Dog seemed to be laughing, too. He put his arm around the animal, who snuggled close, a warm and comforting presence that filled Sam’s nostrils with a familiar doggy smell. Feeling more at ease than he had in more than a year, Sam settled back with his arm still around Dog and was soon fast asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  As soon as he showed signs of stirring, she put away her meal and bent to check his vital signs. His pulse was steady and much stronger now, and his pupils normal. He winced when she raised his eyelids; that was a good sign. He’d be awake before long. She settled down, out of his immediate line-of-sight. Awakening bandaged and under a sun shade would be disorienting enough without her furry image being the first thing he saw.