"But what would need a tunnel this size? It's big enough for an eleph—"
She stopped abruptly and stood staring, wide-eyed. John felt his own eyes go wide when he saw what she was staring at.
The tunnel before them was filled with massive, scaly haunches and a spined tail. A great wedge of a head rested on the tail. The creature's skull was crowned with a pair of spiral horns. Many lesser horns formed a row from the base of each of the greater pair that joined at the eye ridge and marched down the long muzzle to meet a prominent nose horn. Teeth of varying sizes jutted from the closed jaws, and faint wisps of steam rose from its flaring nostrils.
There could be little doubt what this Faery creature was.
"A dragon," breathed Dr. Spae. "This is a dragon's lair."
The beast was curled up like a cat sleeping. Its slablike flanks heaved up and down, undisturbed by the doctor's voice. John hoped it would stay that way.
He pointed to a narrow space between the wall of the tunnel and the slumbering dragon. As silently as they could, they tiptoed past the beast. To their unspoken relief, it didn't stir. To their even greater relief, the stars of the otherworld soon appeared, framed by the tunnel's mouth. They hurried out of the hill.
They hadn't gotten more than ten meters when Faye appeared out of the brush. Without a word, she grabbed their hands and tugged them back the way she had come. She waited until she'd dragged them among the trees before speaking.
"Dr. Spae, you look terrible. Are you all right?"
The doctor gave her a weak smile. "I'm just tired, dear. I'll survive. I always have before."
Faye smiled encouragement and support, then turned to John. "Why did you take her in there, John? Don't you know what's in there?"
How was he supposed to know? This wasn't exactly his native turf. This was his father's turf. Speaking of whom... "Where's Bennett?"
"He couldn't come, John. I have help, though. Lesser folk, mostly, but willing to fight."
John didn't see anyone but Faye. "So where is this help?"
"They were afraid to come closer to Urre'shk."
"Who?"
"The dragon," said an elf, who might have appeared out of thin air. The newcomer was as tall as John, but dark where he was fair.
"Who are you?" John asked him.
"You haven't earned my name, changeling. I came to fight the wyrm lover."
"So did we!" chorused a medley of voices. Shining eyes peered from beneath bushes and around trees. Noses, some long and pointed, some stubby and shiny, others entirely more human, poked from hiding places among the greenery. The vegetation hid dozens of Faery folk, but John couldn't see all of any of them. A shy folk—but, to judge from the glints on teeth and claws and unsheathed weapons, a fierce folk as well. Even if they were afraid of dragons. The largest of all the folk gathered around them lurked where it was almost completely hidden from sight; John caught a glimpse of a bright red hat and heard the clink of metal on metal. From the hidden skulker, a deep voice rumbled, "We're ready to fight now."
"Quite the army," the elf remarked. "Are you ready to be the general?"
"There won't be any fighting," John said. "The battle's over."
The dark-haired elf said nothing; he turned and walked away. A rustling in the brush announced the departure of many of the other Faery folk as well. But some remained, their eyes glittering in the darkness under the leafy hiding places, their faces appearing fleetingly from behind the trees.
"Is it true, John? Quetzal is destroyed?"
"Buried beneath the mountain."
Faye threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Shrill, piping voices and froggy croaking raised a ragged cheer.
Conscious of Dr. Spae's presence, John hugged Faye back, but only for a short while. "Pretend I'm not here," the doctor said, but John couldn't do that. They had to go back. Besides, there were better places to celebrate than the middle of the woods with who knew how many Faery folk hanging about, watching.
Dr. Spae was right about the landforms being similar in the otherworld and in the sunlit world. John knew the hill was the hill, which meant that his slump was ...
He turned to find Faye already pointing in the correct direction.
She was smiling at him, and he had to smile back. They laughed.
John helped Dr. Spae up, but she refused his assistance beyond that, saying, "I'm not that—what's the current phrase? Oh, yes—whipped out."
They set out, to the accompaniment of thrashings and rustlings in the bushes and trees. A thin, reedy voice sang a chorus of a tune that John had never heard before, and instantly the woods erupted into song. It was a wild song and, for it, the lunatic mix of voices singing it was right. Their progress became a parade—as experienced by a blind man. For all the ruckus, the only marchers John could see were Faye and Dr. Spae.
But it didn't matter. They'd beaten Quetzal and saved the world from—from what, exactly? Maybe knowing the nature of the threat didn't matter, either. It had needed doing, and he had been part of the doing. And maybe—just maybe it wouldn't have been done without him.
At the riverbank John walked them back into the sunlit world; it was time to go home.
robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain Page 36
