As the lightning flared and thunder crashed, two hundred slaves took to their heels. Beramun watched them go with immense satisfaction, rain streaming across her broadly smiling face.
She watched too long. The gray line of horsemen suddenly stopped receding and began to grow larger. Zannian was coming.
Beramun armed herself with a stray spear. The only cover in sight was a stand of birch trees, their white bark visible through the downpour, perhaps a quarter-league west. Spear in hand, she raced for the trees.
She’d gone fifty steps when someone popped out of the weeds in front of her. She lifted her spear to strike, then saw it was Amero.
Dodging nimbly around him, she yelled, “Run! Zannian’s coming!”
Together, they sprinted for the trees. The growing rumble they heard now wasn’t thunder. It was horses — many, many horses on the move.
“We’re going to die,” Beramun gasped.
Amero looked back quickly. “Yes, we are. Keep running.”
The raider band spread out in a wide line to sweep up as many runaway prisoners as possible. It seemed to Amero that fully half the raiders were chasing him and Beramun, which hardly seemed fair. Was there no one else for them to run down?
They reached the small copse of birch saplings and fell down behind them. Their pursuers saw them disappear into the stand of trees and galloped after them.
Beramun took her eyes off the oncoming raiders long enough to see the Arkuden butt his spear in the ground and brace it with both hands. She imitated his position.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Beramun glanced at the Arkuden, her face stiff with fear. “What?”
“I’m stupid,” Amero muttered. “I’m too old for this! I should be home working in the foundry, bouncing my children on my knee.”
“You have children?”
He sighed and shook his head, eyes fixed on the oncoming horsemen. They were only ten paces away now.
The raiders whooped and jostled each other. Many crowded in to reach Amero and Beramun, thinking they could ride through the slender birches. The springy young trees bowed, but did not break, tripping the horses. A dozen riders went tumbling in the mud.
The riders behind them saw the danger and pulled up. Amero lunged through the press, spearing a raider in the chest and pushing him off his horse.
Another rider impaled himself on Beramun’s weapon. The force of his fall tore the shaft from her hands. Disarmed, she ducked behind Amero.
Amero recovered his spear and thrust at another rider. This fellow parried with his own weapon and jabbed at Amero. The flint point raked down Amero’s chest, slicing his leather vest but sparing his skin. He stumbled back out of reach.
“Time to go!” he shouted to Beramun.
Without a second glance, she ran. Amero tried to catch up, but she was half his age and toughened by life on the savanna. As he fell behind, he glanced back and saw more raiders coming. The ones tangled in the birch stand were also getting back on their horses.
Amero…
At first he barely heard it over his own ragged breathing, but it came again, this time very clearly.
Amero.
Duranix!
Amero exulted, even as he sent his thoughts to his friend. Duranix, where are you? I need you!
I am near, but I’m hurt, Amero.
Tell me where you are!
The dragon’s instructions filled Amero’s head. While running, he searched for the landmarks Duranix was using to guide him. Ahead on his left, at the edge of a storm-washed ravine, he saw a solitary gray boulder protruding from the grass.
“Beramun!” he yelled. “This way!”
Despite the fifteen raiders at her heels, she swerved immediately toward the Arkuden.
You’re near, Duranix said in Amero’s head. I can smell you even in the rain. Look for the stump of an ash tree with red toadstools growing on it.
Amero swiped rain from his eyes and searched. He saw the stump on the crest of a small rise, ten paces distant.
Beramun overtook him. “Where are you going?” she panted.
He wasted no breath on a reply, just grabbed her arm and dragged her onward.
The raiders hurled short, flint-tipped spears at them — missiles the length of a man’s forearm. Though small, they arrived with great force, burying themselves in the mushy turf. All missed, but the sight of them gave extra strength to the fleeing couple’s tired legs.
When the ash stump was close enough to touch, Amero planted his feet and spun. Not expecting his sudden stop, Beramun blundered past, crashing into the old tree.
The ground between Amero and the raiders erupted. A massive horned head, gleaming dull bronze, rose from a hole artfully dug in the sod. Cursing, the pursuing raiders hauled back on their reins. It was too late.
Duranix’s jaws gaped, and a bolt of fire erupted from his throat. It wasn’t his usual blue-white lightning, but a glaring orange-yellow flare. It sufficed for the purpose. In two blinks of an eye, the raiders were consumed.
“Duranix!” Amero cried, running to greet his mentor. The great reptilian head turned toward him, and Amero halted in shock. Duranix’s eyes were dull and yellowed. He was holding himself up with both front legs, while his back legs sprawled uselessly in the hole beneath him.
“Don’t just stand there like a fool,” the dragon snapped. “Get in!”
Amero waved to Beramun. “Come on!”
She balked, and Duranix snarled, “Leave that creature outside. Better yet, kill her where she stands!”
“If I come in, she comes in, too!”
There was no fire in the ailing dragon’s eye. His mighty head hung low as he gasped, “Hurry then. I can’t hold this up much longer.”
Beramun still hesitated, so Amero yanked her arm roughly and snapped, “Do you prefer to be found by Zannian?”
She let him pull her into the pit.
Duranix’s head sank, allowing the sod on his back to fall into place, covering the opening.
Chapter 15
As had been his habit for many years, Konza walked home carrying supper in a wicker basket. Unlike his son, he did not rely on the acolytes to collect his necessities. Old as he was, he preferred to go out among his fellow villagers and collect his own victuals.
Nearing home, he saw smoke rising into the leaden sky over the Offertory. Though Duranix had been gone six days, Tiphan insisted the offerings be made as usual. Konza deplored the waste. All that good meat burned to cinders, sustenance for no one.
At home he found the door flap down with three sturdy poles pegged in place, barring the entrance. The ground floor window flaps were pulled down tight as well. Puzzled, Konza set down the heavy basket.
“Tiphan!” he called. “Tiphan, why is the door barred?”
There was no response. It was late, and he was hungry. When his son did not answer a third time, Konza got down on his knees and pushed the flap inward. There was just room between the ground and the lowest guard pole for him to pass. Konza wormed his way inside and stood up triumphantly.
His victory vanished when the unnatural chill inside hit him. His breath formed mist in the air. Then he noticed
