was seen, even if they were only small creatures, easily frightened lizards sunning themselves on the rocks, their emerald green and burnished gold hides sparkling in the bright light. Foliage reappeared: stunted cedars, creosote bushes, thorny creepers, and a type of grass so wiry that even their hungry horses wouldn’t eat it. Still, the presence of plant life was a welcome change from the unrelieved sand of the High Plateau. They had passed out of the deep desert into the only slightly less hostile lowlands of the mountains.
Kerian sent an advance party forward to reconnoiter the way to the valley mouth. According to Gilthas’s map, the lone entrance to the Inath-Wakenti was a nondescript pass that gave no hint of its importance. They had to find the right one, the exact one, or their journey would be in vain.
The troop topped a small rise, carpeted with shards of gray slate. A startlingly cool breeze struck their faces. The wind coming down the mountains hadn’t yet acquired the desert’s desiccating heat. The Lioness gave word to halt.
Water was dispensed. Kerian removed the bowl-like bottom from the gourd, poured water into it, and let her horse drink. Then she squatted in the shade cast by her mount and drank from the leather-wrapped gourd herself. The water inside was so warm that she could have brewed tea with it.
A distant, loud cracking sound rent the air. Everyone paused and looked to the mountains, the apparent source of the sound. Thunder? It had been a long time since any of them had seen rain.
Favaronas, resting like the Lioness in the shadow of his horse, asked, “Will we get a shower, do you think?”
It seemed wishful thinking; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. “Probably just a rockfall,” she muttered.
Another boom echoed down from the gray peaks. Hearing it more clearly this time, the Lioness stood quickly, facing the desert. The sound actually was coming from the direction of the desert and echoing off the mountains. Yet all any of them could see was a stony landscape dotted with twisted cedars and spiky brown grass, and beyond that, a shimmering expanse of sand and mirage water.
When a third peal of thunder broke over the slate hill, Kerian ordered everyone to horse. The cooling wind had died away, and to the south a plume of dust rose straight into the air. The cloud was sizable and compact, indicating a tightly knit group of riders. The nomads were following them.
The Lioness sent Favaronas out of harm’s way, over the crest of the hill, then distributed her weary warriors in a wide, crescent formation, with the tips facing the approaching dust cloud. From her place in the center of the formation, she shaded her eyes with one hand and stared south. The column of dust dispersed in the wind as it rose higher into the air.
The elves glimpsed movement at the bottom of the hill. Something burnished and bright flashed between the bushes. The Lioness squinted. It was a single object, larger than a man on horseback, and not a group of hard- riding nomads. She wondered what it could be.
The answer appeared the next second. In a blur of preternatural motion, the approaching creature leaped from the foot of the hill and landed in front of the elves, barely a dozen yards away. Its rapid motion generated a sound like thunder. Horses reared, neighing shrilly in fright. Elves throughout the formation shouted with shock and dismay.
Standing before them was a terrifying apparition. It had four short powerful legs, a long tail studded with ivory barbs, a compact body four times larger than a bull, and a thick, upright neck. The creature’s head caught every elf’s attention. Long, angular, and covered with burnished green-gold scales, it was the head of a monstrous reptile.
“Dragon!” someone cried, but Kerian didn’t think so. Squat and wingless, this was an earthbound creature. A crown of vertical horns encircled the monster’s head from one earhole to the other, and a single thick horn erupted from its nose. Except for its unnatural size, it could have been a desert lizard.
“Archers!” the Lioness called. “Aim for its head!”
A hundred bowstrings twanged, and a hundred arrows arced through the air. The beast’s eyelids slid over its slanting green eyes with an audible click, and the missiles bounced off its metallic hide. Eyes opening, the monster launched itself into the center of the elf formation.
Its speed was terrifying. With great sideways swings of its head, it mowed down horses and elves right and left, ripping them apart with its horns. When a horse fell directly in front of it, the creature opened its jaws and snapped the living animal in two.
“Break! Break formation!” the Lioness cried. Like quicksilver under the blows of a hammer, the elves flew apart. The monster dashed after the slowest riders, knocking them off their mounts with its horned snout. Several dismounted elves ran upon the creature’s blind side and attacked it with swords. Their blows rang ineffectually against its hard scales.
At the Lioness’s command, the bugler sounded retreat. She tried to restore some order to her ranks, but every time a sizable body of elves formed, the creature dashed at them, ripping them apart and trampling them under its clawed feet. In a quarter of an hour it slew more elves than the nomads had in a morning’s combat.
Archers sniped at its eyes, and one succeeded in lodging a clothyard shaft in the right one. Grunting, the beast stuck out its blood-red tongue, snaked it around the offending arrow, and yanked. This procedure diverted the beast long enough to allow the elves to re-form and gallop for the crest of the slate hill. The monster caught up with them in two bounds.
The Lioness didn’t see the beast coming. One moment she was astride her horse, the next, she lay sprawled on her back, sliding over the rough, stony ground. Her horse, decapitated by the creature’s horns, was flung aside by one powerful clawed foot.
The beast advanced until it was standing over her. Dazed, she saw its wide, pale green belly blotting out the sky. She drew her dagger. With both hands, she rammed it into the creature’s underside. It felt as if she was stabbing an anvil. Her point skidded off and the dagger twisted out of her grasp. The monster’s right hind leg came forward, caught hold of Kerian’s leg, and threw her several yards.
She rolled over and over, coming to a halt against the carcass of her dead horse. Her hands and forearms sang with pain, and her head pounded. Around her, shouts and screams resounded, but sounded faint and far away. Even the searing light of the sun seemed dim.
Is this any way to fight?
The calm voice echoed in her head-her conscience, she supposed-sounding very like Gilthas. Why not? In most ways he was her conscience. She could see his face before her, his eyes full of disappointment. Get up, he told her. Don’t just lie in the dirt beside your dead horse.
Laboriously, she pushed herself up on her hands, uttering an obscenity. Her leg ached where the creature had grabbed her, and she was certain she’d broken a rib.
The annoying voice in her head went on, telling her how stupid it was to fight such a beast with sword and bow. What else did they have?
This time the voice in Kerian’s head belonged to Sa’ida, high priestess of Elir-Sana. Her words rang clear as mountain ice, cutting through the pain and the fog of exhaustion. She realized she had indeed been tossed back onto the body of her own horse. She tore open the small saddlebag, thanking the gods who live that the poor animal had fallen on its right side. Groping through the dried leaves, she drew out the odd stone.
Sa’ida’s mysterious gift, the beautiful opal
Now what? The priestess had given her no instructions, no explanation of how the gemstone was supposed to help her. Should she touch the monster with it? Daunting prospect! Perhaps if she tied it to an arrow and loosed it at the beast.
The elves had scattered, trying to keep out of the monster’s reach. It made sudden, blindingly fast rushes at the small groups.
Her face scratched and bleeding, hair standing wildly around her head, the Lioness stalked the creature. It saw her. Its eyelids clicked together, and the soulless reptilian visage never changed as it advanced. No dizzying rush this time. Instead, it came on slowly, raising one foot at a time like a prowling cat preparing to pounce. When it was ten yards away, the Lioness held up Sa’ida’s gift.
“Here’s a present for you, monster!” she shouted.
So saying, she leaned back and hurled the opal. Her aim was true. The orb hit the beast in the center of its chest, stuck there briefly, then fell to the ground. The creature’s forward motion halted abruptly. It froze, one foreleg lifted off the ground, for the space of two seconds, then its legs unaccountably collapsed. It struck the
