the village.”
De’Rain took another drink. “Commander Lyle is in Nahka now, awaiting orders. He wanted me to tell you that he was prepared to go into the marsh after the Choska, if necessary.
“No,” King Mikahl said flatly. “I want him to meet with the soldiers King Jarrek sent to help establish the eastern marsh patrol. Strongholds and outposts will need building. I want his assessment of that situation. Tell him that the threat at the Dragon Tooth’s Spire is being handled.”
“Is that all, King Mikahl?” De’Rain asked.
“Aye,” Mikahl said with a smile. “I think it is.”
The High King stood and glanced down at the chunk missing from the floor. “If you would, ask Lady Able to find a mason who can repair that. The queen was ill this morning and I must check on her.”
“As you command, Majesty,” De’Rain said. Then, as Mikahl was leaving, the mage added, “Congratulations.”
Chapter 40
Bzorch was getting hungry. The huge flock of dactyls that had roosted on the side of the Dragon’s Tooth Spire made it almost impossible for him to leave his place up in the wormhole. He tried to climb back down in daylight but they tried to give him away. If he stayed where he was, he would starve to death. Already, he was contemplating using his dragon gun to kill one of the pesky swamp birds for food. He was so hungry he would risk setting the flock off to get one. He was just waiting for the sun to sink below the western horizon to do it.
The eastern side of the fang was bathed in evening shadow and would be perfect for him to get a clear shot at a dactyl, but the shape of the tooth made it almost impossible. The wormhole on that side opened up on thin air. The face of the rock below the opening scalloped inward in an inverted curve. His hunt, as well as any attempt to descend, would have to be carried out on the western face.
Bzorch decided to try to feed in the night, then climb down in the early morning shadows. The last two mornings, the dactyls had woken at dawn with a cacophony of shrieks and screeches. He hoped to be able to hurry down amid the noise. He didn’t feel hopeful, though. Even if he defied the flock of dactyls, he had hundreds of miles of snapper-filled marshes to traverse. Even if he could find and salvage one of the safety boats from the barges, he would have little chance of making it to Westland to warn the High King. Bzorch was determined, though. He was a survivor. He didn’t understand the concept of giving up, and he didn’t acknowledge fear. He was half beast, and that primal side of him was starting to take over.
He’d been observing the Zard encampment below and knew that the Choska’s lair was somewhere at the southern base of the island. Every bit of movement indicated that much. Whether it was the Choska or the Dragon Queen running things, he couldn’t say. He was half determined to take matters into his own hands and try to kill them all before they started moving toward Westland. He figured that it was too soon to think about that. He still had to climb down without getting shredded by the dactyls.
As the sun finally crept down from the sky, Bzorch took up a position lying with his upper torso hanging out of the wormhole. He carefully placed the coil of line at the edge so that it would unravel easily. He tied the loose end securely around a chunk of broken rock. He lay as still as he could manage and held the dragon gun aimed and ready to fire. The nearest nest he could see was too far down to shoot at accurately. So he lay there for a long while hoping that one of the restless creatures would fly within his range. None did.
He pulled himself back into the wormhole, brimming with frustrated anger and feeling the fatigue of not eating for several days. With a growl of determination he gathered up a pile of fist-sized pieces of rock, placed them near the edge of the wormhole and resumed his position. He held the dragon gun loosely with one hand and with the other threw one of the rocks down into the nearest flock. Just as he hoped, the dactyl roosting there leapt from the cliff face into panicked flight. Three of them flapped out away from the rock, squawking in distress, then after circling around a moment, they returned to their nest. None of them flew close enough for Bzorch to loose a shaft at, but it gave him hope. After all, he had quite a few rocks to throw, and sooner or later one of the agitated dactyls would make the mistake of getting too close.
After he threw the third rock, several of the creatures went fluttering away. They all came extremely close and Bzorch took a chance. His arms had grown tired and he missed, but the prospect of a well-needed meal, and the rush of nearly having one on the end of his line, kept him from giving up. Finally, about halfway through his second pile of rocks, when the moon was high overhead and bathing the fang in an eerie yellow light, Bzorch shafted one of them. Like hauling down a kite in a gale, he pulled the loud, screaming swamp bird into the wormhole. Once the flopping, flapping creature was inside, Bzorch got hold of its neck and snapped it. During the struggle the dactyl managed to slice Bzorch’s chest open with its razor-sharp beak. At that moment the breed giant didn’t care. Using his bare hands, he ripped open the reptilian bird’s leathery hide and devoured its bloody flesh. When his hunger was sated, he recoiled his rope, and rewound the dragon gun. After that, he leaned back against the rocky wall and waited for the moon to get low so that he could start his climb down through the dactyl roosts.
When the time came, it was as black as pitch outside. The sun would reach the horizon in the east soon and set the dactyls off on their morning tirade of noise. Bzorch hoped to be well among them when it started.
He put the coil of line over one shoulder, instead of across his body, and he used a bit of the line to sling the dragon gun over the other. The wound on his chest had stopped bleeding, but he knew the freshness of it would attract predators once he was in the water. Since there was land at the southern base of the fang, he decided to ease that way as he descended. He still hadn’t decided whether he would try to kill the Choska or not. He remembered vowing to pike its head at the gates of O’Dakahn where it had killed all of those people. He didn’t want to break his word, but the short-haired Dragon Queen down there was probably a greater issue. Since he had a wound that would make him little more than bait in the marshes, he was weighing the matter in his head as he started down the rock face in the dark.
He climbed to his right as much as possible while moving down the rock face. As he went, he considered his chances of surviving the swamp. He wasn’t afraid of pain or death, only of failing his people and his king. What would King Mikahl do when Bzorch told him about the Choska and its rider? Probably send another party into the marshes to hunt them down. The way his men had been devoured by the denizens of this fiend-infested swamp was something he would never forget. In a matter of moments, the entire party of three hundred men had been eliminated. Even the barges were gone, either resting at the bottom of the swamp, or being overgrown by the thick vegetation. The next group would meet the same sort of fate. The Choska, or the woman who so eerily resembled that bitch Shaella, had retaken control of the life out here.
A thunder of wings, accompanied by a horrendous screech, startled Bzorch out of his reverie. He had descended into the roost and a glance upward told him that he had made thrice the progress easing to the south that he had downward. Clinging to the rock face, he held still, waiting to see if the dactyls would become aggressive toward his trespass. He was glad to find that, while they screeched and flapped in protest, they didn’t attack.
As he continued downward, still easing to the south as he went, a few of the bigger dactyls did become aggressive. He was forced to hold himself to the wall like an insect traveling the trunk of a tree full of hungry birds. As big as the dactyls were, even a larger one with a twelve- or thirteen-foot wingspan couldn’t hope to pull him off the wall. He was just too big. They could, however, pick and lash at his exposed back with their long, sharp beaks. And they did.
The harassment didn’t last long, and didn’t do any serious damage, but Bzorch felt fresh blood trickling down his back and knew that he had no chance in the water. The sky was lightening and the dactyls were filling the morning with a fever-pitched racket. Bzorch had to hurry and he knew it. He kept moving as much to his right as he did down. Another dactyl pecked at him as he found a shelf wide enough for him to stand and rest on. He threw a wild, battering blow at its head and connected. The stunned creature went semi-limp and half-glided, half-twirled down into the swamp. Its fall reminded Bzorch of a big leaf floating to the forest floor. In the light of early morning, yet still in the shadow of the fang, he watched the swamp bird splash down into a grassy shallow. He wasn’t surprised a moment later when an explosion of water erupted around the flailing form. After that, it was gone.
Seeing that he’d moved far enough south that he could climb down the rock face and step off onto land, he began to gather hope. When he started the descent, he didn’t see the Choska and its beautiful rider as it swept
