Stealing them...and giving them to another stallion. Shana caught his image, and added an illusory scent of strange stallion to what Keman projected.
The stallion's head came up as he sniffed the air for what he thought he had scented...and he bugled a cry of maddened challenge. He reared and screamed again, his herd picking up his agitation, and now starting to mill. Keman sensed that Shana was holding him back, making him angrier.
Then he was plunging straight ahead, nothing in his mind but red murder, craving nothing more now than to destroy those who would dare to steal his mates, all earlier protests utterly forgotten. The rest of the herd followed, infected by his rage, with the scent of the humans now become the scent of the enemy, and blood-lust maddening them past all reason. Through the forest below Keman tumbled a frothing wave of black and silver manes and tails; the thunder of feet, the squeals and shrieks carrying clearly up to where he flew. In moments they had gained such momentum as to be next to unstoppable.
They hit the scouts and cut them down, pounding them to red dust, before they could even sound a warning.
Keman sped up, and moved ahead of the herd, reaching the oncoming army before the rage-maddened one- horns did. Below, the first ranks looked up at the sky, wondering if there was a storm coming in.
The herd encountered the leading edge of the army, and the real slaughter began.
Keman didn't wait to see more than the initial contact; he veered off and headed northwards, feeling sick to his stomach and a little guilty. And he wasn't certain which he felt more guilt over and sorrier for...the army of human slaves or the one-horns.
:I wish I hadn't had to do that.: came Shana's subdued thought.
:I know,: Keman replied, relieved that she shared his feelings of guilt. :Me, too.: He heaved a sigh that she echoed.: Well, if I know one-horns, at least half the herd is going to survive...and if the slaves have any sense at all, they'll run.:
:If they have a choice,: Shana reminded him glumly. :Their masters may not give them one. The one-horns are going to run right over the top of them. And I don't know if the one- horns are going to be so crazed that they turn and try to run down the entire army, or if they're going to scatter as soon as the humans start to fight back.: She sighed again. :At least we gave the rest enough time to seal as much up as they could, destroy the rest, and get out of there.:
:.Where are we going?: he asked. :And...how did this happen? How did the elves find out about us?:
: We're going north, to an old human fortress.: she told him, as he veered north at her direction, catching a rising thermal and gaining more height, ill's in ruins, but it has a well, it's on the top of a hill, and it's defensible, which the Citadel isn't; there are just too many bolt-holes and escape tunnels for us to block. The old wizards meant to use the new place for a second Citadel, but they never got the chance because of the plague.:
:Where did you find that out?: he asked.
It was in those old chronicles I found,: she replied. The ones back in the older tunnels.:
There was a lot about those old records she hadn't said much about; he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was just that she hadn't had time...
And they still didn't have time, not if they were going to follow the fleeing wizards.
That inability to defend the Citadel was what he had been afraid of when he'd first seen the place. Many ways to escape meant just as many ways for enemies to get in. That was the one aspect in which it was not the kind of home a dragon would have built...
Hopefully, this new place had fewer exits.
:As for what happened...: she continued, with smothered anger, :someone turned his coat. One of the older wizards. He was missing when you called in the alarm, and he hadn't turned up by the time I left. We have to assume he's told the elves everything there is to know about us...how many we are, what we can do. Since he was on the war council, even about you. Any edge we had because of surprise is gone.:
The feelings that came with her thoughts told him that she was not optimistic about this second refuge. He didn't much blame her; it didn't sound like anything other than it was...a last place to make a stand.
:Shana,: he said solemnly, :I want you to make my apologies to the others when we land.:
:Apologies?: she replied, startled. :For...:
:I'm going to leave for a little,: he told her. I can't do much for you now, since the enemy knows about me...but there's something I can do that he won't know about, and if I leave now, I can return in time to do some good.:
He took a deep breath, as she waited in expectant silence, her mind churning with unspoken speculations. :I can go get help,: he said. :From the Kin.:
Keman left Shana at dawn. He came winging in to the airspace above the Lair in the light of full day; tired, but determined to have satisfaction at long last. And desperately afraid for his friends. Desperation gave him extra strength to put up a good front.
:Who flies?: came the ritual question from the sentry, who had not recognized him.
:Kemanorell: Keman trumpeted back, following the thought-reply with a bugling cry of defiance. :I return to claim Challenge-Right!:
Chew on that a while, he thought with satisfaction, when the sentry's reply was lost in confusion. He circled for a moment, pondering the best choice of ground, then landed on the top of one of the cliffs overlooking the Lair. He settled there, clung to the rocks with claws and tail, and took an aggressive stance, head high, spinal crest up, frill extended, mantling his wings, and waiting for his answer.
Down below he watched as several dragons emerged from their lairs, and stared upward at him. He had, deliberately, sent his reply to the sentry in an 'open' mode for everyone in the Lair to hear...and it seemed that everyone had. More and more dragons either, appeared below, or poked their heads out of openings all along the sides of the canyon. Several of the Kin gathered in a knot...consulting, he supposed, on who was to deliver his answer. Finally it came.
:The Lair recognizes Kemanorei:
That voice he knew. Keoke.
The Elder launched himself laboriously into the air, then rose, slowly and with obvious effort, to hover just opposite Keman's perch.
Keoke should fly more often. Father Dragon moves better than he does.
:The Lair recognizes the Right,: Keoke said. :What is it that you challenge?:
Keman pulled himself even taller than before, getting all the height that he could, and spread his wings to the sun. :I challenge the old way of silence and isolation,: he replied. :I challenge the Law that is not written. I challenge those who would have the Kin bide in shameful sloth when there are those who need their help. That is what I challenge, Elder. Will the Lair hear me, or need I go elsewhere?:
That last was customary, but hardly needful. No Lair would ever want to admit to the shame of not having answered a rightful challenge to custom...even though that particular right was seldom exercised by anyone but a shaman. Alara could have issued that challenge over Shana...
But in the process, she might have lost her Lair if she had lost the challenge.
Well, Keman had already exiled himself. And not for nothing was he a shaman's son. This time the Lair, and the Kin, would at least see their responsibilities, even if they would not acknowledge them.
Keoke hovered a moment longer before answering, slowly and reluctantly, :The Lair will hear you.:
:Now,: Keman said quickly, before the Elder could name a later time. :There is need for haste in this.:
Keoke's wings missed a beat, as if he had not expected Keman's demand. But it was within Keman's right to
