QueQoa grunted, his form shaking as the wounds healed slowly. He pushed himself to his feet.
The alpha landed in the center of the flat top between Naatos and QueQoa, its gaze sliding between the two of them as if to ensure it had chosen the right one. A long growl gurgled in its chest.
Naatos broadened his stance, driving his claws into the rock hard and deep to intensify the sound and effect. A clock ticked in his mind, counting down how long he could hold this incredibly taxing form. Lactic acid already burned through the entirety of his body. But every second counted.
The alpha postured, thrusting out its chest and snapping its jaws in the air.
Each move the alpha made, Naatos countered but made bigger and more threatening without directly attacking. They circled one another, keeping the space between them broad and empty.
The lightning reservoir in his chest filled slower and slower, practically dripping rather than flowing now. Tedious.
On the other side of the canyon, the dragons kept WroOth and AaQar pinned. But without the constant attacks, AaQar had sealed more than half of the toal wound. WroOth stayed near him. No more smoke slipped from his jaws.
Heal.
Heal fast.
Then run.
With a deafening shriek, the alpha charged. Naatos waited until the alpha had nearly reached him before he lunged forward.
They struck one another in a clash of teeth, bone, and scales. The alpha's fangs pierced his shoulder as its claws ripped through his side, but he inflicted his own grievous wounds across its chest and in its face. With a crushing swing, he brought his tail around and struck it in the softest part of its side. The heavy venom-tipped spikes pierced deep.
Blood spurting from the wound, the alpha ripped away. It snarled as it turned its injured side away.
Naatos pounced again, attacking the opposite side. The fire in his lungs and veins spread through every inch of his body. Six minutes.
The lightning churned within his chest, building with each passing moment. Almost enough.
Enraged, the alpha snapped at his throat but caught his forearm. It twisted and clenched, the bone coming near to snapping.
The pain nearly drove Naatos to move simply to relieve it. But that put him at a greater disadvantage. Pulling back, he braced and drove his tail spikes into the alpha's side once again.
The alpha released his arm and then slammed its head against Naatos's. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as he fell back. The world spun and turned, the vision of his left eye going murky. Each step was like walking on blades, each breath a dagger through his chest.
But the full sensation in his chest stood out above all others. He had enough. Roaring, he drove his shoulders down. The lightning erupted from his chest and exploded in multi-pronged arcs.
The alpha lurched to the side and collapsed against a boulder.
Naatos seized the alpha by the throat and used his weight to crush its body farther down. As the paralysis faded, the alpha twisted its head back, kicked and flailed. Its wings shot out as it sought to gain traction.
His own flesh burned more than it should, the energy ripping open several of his veins. Some organ or two as well as his stomach had started bleeding. Time was running out for him. Best make it run out for the alpha too.
He bit down harder.
* * *
The massive scorpion rose up out of the sand. It had to be every bit as large as one of the dragons, maybe bigger. She fell back.
The scorpion dragged its claw over its head. Flattening herself beside the growth, she held as still as she could. This was not what she had planned for.
The base of the claw narrowly missed her. The scorpion's jaws clicked open, fine hairs near its mouth waving about as it sought some sign of her. The whoosh of its breath made her skin crawl.
Think.
Think!
Scorpions on Eiram had pectines, comb-shaped teeth behind their walking legs. They drew the air in to smell prey. The wind blew against the scorpion's face. It shouldn't catch her scent from up here. But if she moved—
The scorpion dragged its claw back over its head again. The shining black claw was thicker than her whole body and lined with short teeth along the thinnest portion. This monster could crack a bus open as casually as she could open a half-cracked pistachio.
It wouldn't have any problem fighting the dragon. She'd planned on antagonizing a small horde of scorpions to come up and serve as cannon fodder. But these—these could actually fight the dragons. Even if this was the only one down here.
But how to get it up? She turned her gaze up to the top of the canyon. The crevice itself was barely sixty feet wide at the broadest point, but the swath of moonlit sky above seemed impossibly far away.
More bellowing snarls assaulted the air above. Chaos ruled. Naatos's roars echoed off the walls. She recognized QueQoa's as well though his were far weaker, as if he struggled to get a decent breath. WroOth's and AaQar's voices were too distant or weak for her to catch. If they were still alive at all. That thought sent a cold stab of fear through her.
The scorpion shifted about the space, testing the air with the chemoreceptors in its deadly jaws.
Something crashed above, sending down a rain of silt and pebbles. The vibration of the impact reached all the way down here.
The scorpion shook its head again, its eyes starting to blink shut.
No! She lifted herself up.
No, it was going back to sleep.
Maybe if she climbed back and then shot down at it she could get out of the way in time it would be high enough to decide it was worth it to attack the dragons. But—
A dragon corpse crashed from one wall to the next, at last landing in the sand a short distance away.
She froze.
A vibrating almost mechanical growling hiss rose from the arachnid. With its enormous right claw, it struck the cliff wall.
Thock.
Thock.
Thock.
The sound of shifting sand and heavy clicking carapaces rippled down through the cavern beneath the overhang as dozens and dozens of red and orange eyes blinked open. Her breath snagged in her throat. How many were there? She couldn't even begin to count.
She lurched backward as her scorpion strode forward. It struck its legs into the canyon wall, the ungues on its feet clinging to the coarse stone.
The others did the same. Soon the single foot strikes joined together in what sounded like a percussionist army from hell. An off-rhythm cacophony of advancing arachnids. She dug her fingers into the carapace as it advanced higher and higher, shocked at their speed.
Fast enough, WroOth! Fast enough for their size? These things were faster than ski lifts and express elevators!
She closed her eyes as she steadied herself. This could even be better than her original plan. So long as the brothers didn't get caught in the path of the dragon fight. Not that she was sure how to get off this creature without getting into even more harm's way.
WroOth wouldn't forgive her if she died? Well, if she died, she wouldn't get to yell at him for yet another mostly accurate yet highly inaccurate description of a deadly creature.
Of course Naatos was probably going to yell at her for doing this.
There was going to be a lot of yelling.
Everyone could yell if they wanted to if they all got out of this.
Please let everyone get out of this, she prayed.
She wedged herself tighter against the scorpion's carapace as it scaled the side of the cliff with incredible ease and speed. Reinforcements were coming.
What they would they do when they reached the top? How was she going to get off without endangering anyone else?
Her mind blanked.
But if she estimated correctly, she had maybe a couple minutes to sort out a new plan.
More than enough.
Hopefully.
* * *
Naatos kept his jaws clamped over the alpha's throat. His heart raged so fast
he could feel the vessels burning, the cells tearing apart inside him as his body now rebelled against the black storm dragon form. His healing couldn't compensate for the residual damage from the lightning.
He tightened his grip and dug his claws in deeper. His lungs raged, the angle constricting his ability to get a full breath.
His energy depleting, he collapsed the lightning reservoir and metabolized it. Less than a third remained usable.
Black dots distorted his vision as the edges collapsed, cutting out more and more of his sight. If he'd had just one more bolt, he might have finished this alpha. Just one more!
All that remained was brute strength. He twisted his teeth and claws in deeper, pushing harder.
The alpha let out a gargled gasp, its body starting to go limp. He dragged the neck back, intensifying the tension. But the armor prevented the clean swiftness of a full snap.
QueQoa roared out a warning.
A great tearing force struck him between the shoulders at the same time something tore between his ribs.
The black storm dragon form fell away. Pain erupted through him, so intense he blacked out.
The next thing he knew the ground was shaking beneath him and QueQoa was dragging him back. The alpha roared. Not with frustration this time. Triumph.
The wretched beast thought it had won.
Well, it hadn't yet.
Even if it ate him, he'd find a way to make it pay. All that burning, piercing, and crushing would make its insides even more vulnerable to stabbing.
He blinked, his vision murky. Consciousness dangled by a thread as his body struggled to mend his wounds. The major arteries had restored themselves, but his left lung and at least four ribs, probably his liver as well as a few others struggled to even push back into their proper shape.
The ground shook again. And again. The entire mountain shook.
The alpha scented the air, its nostrils flaring. With a coughing bark, it backed away from the edge of the canyon nearest Dry Deep.
The vinegar and sulfur scents intensified as the wind blew harder, driving the horrid scent into his face. Pebbles and stones vibrated with whatever attacked the mountain. "What monstrosity is this?" QueQoa demanded.
All of the dragons turned their attention to the outer wall and the relatively narrow crevice. Ink-black and charcoal-grey stingers and claws appeared over the edge, waving and bobbing. Scorpions. Mountain scorpions.
His eyes widened as a painful awareness slashed through him. Amelia—Amelia was riding one of the scorpions.
78
Flight
Amelia clung to the ridged carapace, shocked at the speed and ease with which the scorpion had scaled the canyon wall. The cool freshness of the night swept against her, the moonlight almost bright as day.
Dozens of dragons thundered in the sky above. The beads of sweat that formed on her face and neck dried almost at once.
Where was everyone? She steadied herself as she tried to see through the mass of moving predators.
Down below and almost to the edge of the broad wall, QueQoa dragged Naatos away, the satchel tucked under his bad arm. His whole left side had worsened, the damage now extending into his side. And Naatos—he wasn't conscious. Or if he was, it was just barely. His chest was a misshapen shredded mass of bone and flesh, struggling with uneven breaths.
Her breath snagged in her throat.
Please be all right. He could heal. He could heal something that bad, couldn't he?
Of course he could.
Both of them could.
QueQoa lifted Naatos up, then paused as his eyes fell on her. They widened until they were fully white rimmed. "Amelia!" She could barely hear him through the din. He looked from her to Naatos as if trying to figure out how to rescue both, backing away as the scorpions advanced.
"Go! I'm fine." She waved him off with one hand. "I've got a plan."
He shouted something back, but the deafening roar drowned out his words. Something about coming back most likely. The distress vivid in his amber eyes left no doubt about how hard this was. But he seemed to understand. He gave her a firm nod, then turned back to Naatos.
QueQoa lifted Naatos up in his talons and leaped into the air. Despite the power of his jump, he struggled to gain height with his bad wing.
The dragons' attention had shifted almost entirely to the scorpions. QueQoa slipped through the gap.
Her breaths eased a little. Now to figure out the next part of her plan.
* * *
Naatos fought to retain consciousness. The agony of his body knitting together alternated between rousing him and silencing him. Each time he closed his eyes, they were farther away.
Farther away, and Amelia was back there.
On a scorpion.
In the middle of a death circle.
And he couldn't even lift his hand.
Crespa!
Another wave of pain shot him back into a tunnel of dark, crushing awareness.
QueQoa laid him down on the ground, then nearly collapsed himself. He removed the satchel and then released the pack of supplies as he fell back into his state of rest. His left arm remained twisted and disfigured, but the muscle had already started to regrow. Slowly. Much, much too slowly. He pulled out the canteens as well as the roasted meat.
"Can you fly, QueQoa?" Naatos stabilized his heart and lungs, evening out his breaths. Slow. So tediously slow. The tang of the mist remained in his mouth, unavoidable even with all the blood and dirt. His back was definitely broken. Neither of his legs responded to anything except an insistent announcement of intense pain. One finger twitched when he attempted to lift his arm.
"Soon." QueQoa sent out three sharp blasts on the whistle, then started rifling through the opi bags until he found the rels. He paced out and created a circle, far smaller than what they usually marked out. "I'll go for her as soon as AaQar and WroOth get to us. You're all but dead if I leave you here. You couldn't fight off a piranha right now."
"As soon as you can fly, get her. It doesn't matter if AaQar and WroOth are here."
"I won't leave you alone out here." QueQoa placed the canteen against his mouth and helped him drink.
"So you'll leave her alone up there?" he spluttered, almost choking on the water.
"At the moment, she's doing significantly better than you."
The dolmath crept out, testing the air with trembling care. It shook itself and fluffed its fur, then screeched as loud as it could.
Yes, dolmath. Exactly. Exactly that.
"Son of a marskelpt, QueQoa, you go back for her as soon as you can whether they're back here or not or I will kuvaste you—"
"I welcome that. Because that means you'll still be alive to be angry. Can you eat?"
"QueQoa—"
"Listen to me, brother. I saw her. She wasn't injured, and she got an army of scorpions out of there without getting killed. Those dragons haven't noticed her all night. She can last another ten or fifteen minutes. She's one of us. We trust her like one of us."
He rolled his eyes, willing himself to heal faster. Breathing still hurt.
A thousand curses boiled in his mind. She would survive. She had to. And when he got her back, he'd kuvaste her. Or kiss her. Or both. Wretched woman. Who even rode scorpions? All she had to do was hide. That was all he'd asked.
Could she do that?
No. Of course not.
"In a way, it's good you're mad though. You're still conscious, so you aren't in shock, so you heal faster. So you should be thanking her." QueQoa gave him a faint smile. "For that and the distraction. Those scorpions saved our pelts, and I'm assuming that since she was riding the first one, she's responsible. She isn't blowing the whistle either, so we can assume she's all right for the moment. Even if something tried to swallow her whole, she could probably get a blast out. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully." He sounded less certain with each word.
Naatos glared at him.
How was she not dead? She was the luckiest cursed soul he'
d ever known. She better not die. If she died—he shook his head, willing himself to heal faster. He could curl his fingers against his palm. For all the good that did.
The uneven beat of wings reached his ears. He tilted his head in time to see two dragon forms drawing close. AaQar—if his sight hadn't failed him too—struggled to stay in the air, the wound down the center of his chest open once more and leaving a bloody trail. WroOth flew beneath him, keeping pace despite AaQar's faltering speed.
They'd live though.
There was some relief in that.
There would be more if Amelia were there.
He swore again. This time at least he could drive his fist into the ground. More pain. Just what he needed.
AaQar collapsed on his side almost as soon as he landed, clutching at his chest and the jagged wound. QueQoa and WroOth picked him up and brought him next to Naatos.
"She was on a scorpion," QueQoa said. "I'll go—"
WroOth grabbed his wounded arm. The red veins and dark bruising hadn't healed yet, and it was still half the size of the other. "With this arm?"
"It doesn't matter who gets her as long as one of you does," Naatos snapped.
A long whistle cry pierced the night, rising over the cacophony of dragon roars and scorpion shrieks. Not over the canyon wall though. Over Dry Deep.
WroOth returned to his red fire dragon form and jetted off.
Naatos dropped his head back. The woman was enough to almost drive him to prayer.
* * *
Amelia remained crouched on the scorpion's back, spinning through her limited options and the utterly horrid facts.
The scorpion legs long and sharp, the feet sharper still, moved with terrifying grace and speed across the stone. The entire edge of the cliff top was now surrounded by an ever-moving ring of massive scorpions, the smallest over twenty feet in height from stinger to foot. Even if they didn't notice her, there was no way she could slide through all those stabbing legs without some injury.
Wilderness Untamed Page 85
