Grelb frowned. He did not want the Whiphids to complain. He needed their loyalty. “How about a bet?” he suggested. “See who can blow off his boot.”
“Excellent!” the first Whiphid cried. “Bet you five I can knock off his boot in one shot!”
“In one shot?” his companion hooted. And the bet was on.
To sweeten the deal, Grelb bet against the Whiphid at two-to-one odds. Eagerly, he watched the Jedi make his steady progress up the cliff. The two Whiphids who made the bet brought their guns to rest on their shoulders. He waited breathlessly for the first Whiphid to take his shot. Lightning flashed, thunder roared.
There was a blast of wind at Grelb’s back.
The Jedi had his right foot on a tiny ledge. He reached out for a handhold above. He was precariously balanced. One shot in the foot would probably bring him down.
“Shoot already!” Grelb shouted.
Behind him, there was a strange noise. Something like an urp.
Grelb turned to look at the Whiphid marksman, and there standing hugely at Grelb’s back was a draigon. It had landed so silently, he had not heard it.
It was the first he’d seen up close. The draigon had tiny silver scales over all of its body, and huge yellow eyes like those on a fish. It had no front legs, only a single huge claw on each wing. And its mouth had the strangest teeth — like enormous needles that arced down from its gums. The monster vaguely reminded him of an Ithorian razor shark.
The huge reptile had half of the Whiphid marksman in its mouth.
“Aaagh!” Grelb screamed as he slithered towards the nearest crevice.
The Whiphids all turned and began to fire at the draigon.
Qui-Gon pulled himself up the last three meters, then wedged himself into the small cave. There, he paused, panting for a long moment, clutching his sore right arm. The acrid scent of sulfur and ammonia assaulted him. He peered farther inside the cave. The dactyl crystals had been thrown on the smooth floor of the cave, and were giving off a dull yellowish glow.
Th blaster fire was coming fast as ever. The guns made a steady boom boom boom. But the shots were no longer directed at him. Instead, the Whiphids had hidden in the rocks, firing at draigons. The blaster fire attracted them by the score, and draigons roared in the sky, flocking down from the cliffs. Several of the huge beasts had collasped around the Whiphids, but others were wheeling from the skies in a feeding frenzy.
Qui-Gon looked down from the cliff, watching the struggle. He had traveled all morning without attracting the attention of a draigon. Now, by shooting their blasters, the stupid Whiphids were drawing them in droves.
Draigons screamed, a great shrieking cry, and dove out of the clouds on leathery silver wings. They soared over the stones and swiveled their heads. Teeth gleamed under the strobe of lightning flashes.
The Whiphids scattered and tried to hide beneath huge slabs of stone. One Whiphid roared in terror as a draigon dropped from the sky and plucked it from its hiding place.
Qui-Gon used the diversion to load the dactyl into the cloth sack he had brought. For several moments the Whiphids fought and screamed and died as dozens and dozens of the huge draigons plummeted toward them.
Suddenly, a great shadow blocked the light to the cave. A draigon shrieked, a cry so piercing tht the rock around qui-Gon trembled. He pressed himself against the side of the cave.
Outside the mouth of the fissure, the draigon clutched the rock with its wing talons. It let out the piercing cry again, and Qui-Gon knew it was no use.
He had been seen.
As draigon hurtled from the skies, Grelb slithered quietly away.
The huge hairy Whiphids danced among the rocks, shooting their blasters and bellowing war cries. They made quite a diversion.
Fortunately for Grelb, young Hutts — like certain kinds of worms and slugs — are adept at squeezing through tight holes and wedging themselves between rocks.
Thus Grelb moved quickly away from the huge Whiphids, and let them battle the draigons alone.
He was half-way down the mountain when he finally dared to stick his head up enough to gaze off toward the vast ocean. Even then, he held his heavy blaster rifle close to his chest. The tide had indeed risen and now lapped against the hull of the Monument. But it looked as if Jemba had fled the ship in vain. It would not be swamped today. Grelb felt relieved to know that he might still make it off this rock alive.
Behind him, on the mountain, the Whiphids were issuing fewer war cries, and had quit firing their blasters. Grelb should have shivered in terror to think what had happened to them.
The draigon’s shriek had alerted others from the flock. They vied for position as the first draigon wedged its long silver head into the cave opening. Lightning streaked through the sky behind it. Teeth longer than knives flashed near Qui-Gon’s face, and he could smell the scent of dead fish on the draigon’s breath.
Suddenly, in the middle of his desperation, Qui-Gon felt something odd — a faint ripple in the Force. As he concentrated, it grew stronger. Someone was calling him, a Jedi.
Obi-Wan needs me! He realized.
Astonished, he pressed himself farther back in the cave. He needed to be calm, to think. The boy shouldn’t have been able to call him. Obi-Wan was not his Padawan. They were not connected.
But he had no time to wonder about the call’s meaning. It was urgent and must be obeyed. Hearing movement, Qui-Gon quickly glanced toward the cave opening. For a moment the draigon beat its wings against the stones, blocking Qui-Gon’s escape. Then suddenly it dropped from its clumsy perch.
