Whatever the cost, he would have her.
Chapter 9
It didn’t take long for Duranix to discover he was being followed. This did not mean Pa’alu and Pakito were clumsy stalkers, merely that the dragon’s senses were far more perceptive than any normal prey. He heard their footfalls behind him within a league of leaving Karada’s camp. Once he knew they were there, it was easy to spot them. The warm blood in their veins gave their silhouettes a dull luminosity against the cooler background of trees and grass. After ascertaining his trackers numbered only two, he moved on.
Duranix could have reverted to dragon shape and taken to the air, leaving the humans far behind, but that wouldn’t have been nearly so interesting. Instead, he began to walk faster and faster until he was covering ground in huge bounds. His pursuers faded in the distance. Once his lead was comfortable, Duranix searched for a convenient spot to turn the tables on the plainsmen.
He found what he wanted in a field of boulders. Hundreds of upright stones littered the grassland, most of them slabs of black granite. Their regularity, and the fact that no other outcroppings of similar stone occurred in the vicinity, puzzled the disguised dragon. The stones appeared to have been arranged purposefully, but who could have done such a thing? They were well outside elf territory, and the backward local humans lacked the means to move so many heavy boulders.
Duranix stopped at the edge of the field of standing stones. His run across the savanna hadn’t winded him. A quick glance behind failed to reveal Pakito or Pa’alu in sight.
The dragon entered the outer circle of stones. He trailed his fingers over the rough surface of one angular boulder. His senses tingled strongly. Surprised, he pressed first his palm, then his cheek against the cold granite. The stone fairly hummed with contained force. There were hundreds more stones around him. He touched those nearest him and found them charged as well. Much power had been expended here in the distant past — power greater than a hundred dragons. The stones radiated it invisibly, like heat stored up from a hot summer day.
The deeper he went into the formation, the more disturbed Duranix became. He’d been looking for a spot to stage a playful ambush. Instead, he’d stumbled across a place of vast, captive spiritual energy. It was neither benign nor malign in flavor, but the sheer amount of power pent up in these stones made Duranix’s mock-human skin crawl.
He’d wasted enough time with these savages. He resolved to get out of this strange forest of stones, resume dragon form, and fly back to his lake. On his way out, he heard movement among the standing stones — a jingle of metallic links, the flex of heavy leather.
A tiny blue spark appeared in the air before him and rapidly grew into a spinning globe of light three spans wide. It was harmless, Duranix knew, merely a source of illumination, but it meant someone mortal was drawing on the power of this place.
Folding his arms, Duranix said loudly, “You’ve made yourself known. Who are you, and what do you want?”
Two-legged figures emerged from behind the stones — more than a dozen in all. Duranix readied himself to fight or flee. Some of the hidden watchers gathered under the blue light, and he saw they were elves, not humans. They surrounded Duranix with a ring of bronze-tipped javelins.
Eleven were dressed in warrior garb. The twelfth was visibly older than the rest, wore a long blue robe embroidered with arcane hieroglyphs, and had a feathery mustache and beard. Duranix was intrigued by this last detail. Elves did not possess facial hair. They regarded beards as a bestial human trait. Sparse though it was, this bearded stranger could not be a full-blooded elf and, surprisingly, he chose to flaunt the fact.
He leaned on a tall, stout staff, studded with raw, unpolished gems. “I am Vedvedsica, high sage to my lord Balif, first warrior of the host of our great master, Silvanos.” Vedvedsica raised his staff, pointed it at Duranix, and declared in ringing tones, “You are not what you appear to be!”
“Who is?” said the dragon pleasantly. “What brings you so far from your native forest? Aren’t you afraid of the plainsmen?”
“I am well protected,” the robed elf replied, with a nod to his escort.
Piercing the night with his dragon’s eyes, Duranix perceived each of the armed elves was weighed down with a pair of hide bags draped across their shoulders. The bags were obviously heavy and clinked when the elves moved. Vedvedsica himself had a small drawstring bag around his neck.
“You’ve been prospecting,” Duranix surmised, “chipping fragments from the standing stones.”
One of the warriors shifted nervously, saying, “He knows our business, Master. Shall we silence him?” The other elves tensed, ready to strike with their javelins.
“No!” the priest said sternly. “This is no wandering barbarian! Keep still, or he may slay us all!”
Duranix had to smile. “You’re wise for one so small.”
A shrill whistle split the air. Half the elves turned about, scanning the ill-lit stones for the source of the noise. A similar whistle rose from the darkness on the other side of the stone field. The senior warrior snapped commands, and four elves ran off into the shadows to investigate.
Duranix stood very still. He detected motion above and behind him. His peripheral vision discerned someone jumping from the top of one standing stone to another. The elves hadn’t noticed.
“What will you do with them?” Duranix asked as the drama unfolded around them.
“Do with what?” Vedvedsica asked, frowning. There was something unnatural about his eyes. With those whiskers under his nose, he had the face of a panther.
“Those stones.” A second shadowy figure leaped across the high rocks on Duranix’s right. Still the elves saw nothing. “The ones you and your retainers carry.”
The priest fingered the little bag hanging down on his chest. “These will make powerful amulets,” he said. “The high lords of Silvanost will reward me richly for them.”
Just then a fist-sized rock hit the warrior nearest Duranix in the face. He went down hard, blood spurting from his nose.
The rest of the elves exploded into uncoordinated action — running, yelling, trying to minister to their fallen comrade. One angry elf ported his javelin and tried to shove Duranix back against one of the boulders.
The dragon felt he had been more than patient, but his forbearance was wearing thin. He grasped the offending javelin with one hand and snapped it in two places with a twist of his wrist The astonished elf leaped back, clawing for his bronze short sword. Duranix blew lightly in the warrior’s face. The elf dropped his sword and ran screaming into the outer darkness.
Duranix turned his attention to the priest’s light orb. With a sweep of his hand he shattered the fiery blue ball into ten thousand sparks, which winked and went out. Night engulfed the scene.
Someone large and heavy landed in front of Duranix. He grabbed the intruder by the front of his buckskin shirt.
“It’s me — Pakito!” his captive said.
“So it is.” Duranix hoisted Pakito off his feet and flung him at the group of elves guarding Vedvedsica. They all went down in a flailing, cursing heap. Pakito recovered first and laid about him with his massive fists.
“Pa’alu! Brother, I’m here!” he shouted. Duranix couldn’t tell if he was calling for help or asking Pa’alu to join the fun.
The priest, seeing his guards scattered, turned to run. He was preternaturally fleet, but Duranix was on him in two long bounds. The disguised dragon snagged the elf priest by the back of his robe. Suddenly, there was a choking aroma of flowers, as if Duranix had been buried under a mountain of roses and lilacs, and he found himself holding an empty robe.
The smell was overwhelming. Coughing, Duranix threw down the robe and tried to find the fleeing priest. His eyes swept the horizon but saw nothing.
Pakito had subdued five of the elves by sitting on them. When one struggled to escape, Pakito whacked him with the butt of a javelin. One brave elf charged out of the dark with his weapon leveled. Duranix stepped in front of him. The bronze spearhead struck the dragon square in the chest, and the elf thrust hard. His javelin bent double, leaving Duranix unharmed. Uttering a terrified oath, the warrior dropped his weapon and fled.
