Dragon Outcast
Page 12

“All roads in the lower world lead to the Lavadome, if y’follow them long enough,” Enjor offered, after much thought. “Don’t dragons have homing sense an’ all that?”
“Mine doesn’t seem to be working,” the Copper said.
Enjor scratched his tailvent and sniffed at the residue before continuing: “The best route would be the rivers. Only problem is the Sou’flow be a weary and uncertain trip from here. You might have to go the wrong direction a’ways, then cut across, though that would take you near more dwarves and their works a’following the river.”
“And then what?” The Copper felt a weight on his tail, found the white-flecked bat at her usual spot, lapping up blood.
“Old caves full of nothing but dark and bad air.”
“So good y’be to us, sir,” Thernadad said as the Copper’s teeth ground against one another.
“Perhaps I could engage you as a guide,” the Copper said to Enjor.
“Oh, m’be too old for such a fearful journey. Besides, there’s old Mum.”
Bats fluttered down from the roof.
“Oooo! A party!”
“There, open him up just under the knee; e’flows so nicely there—”
“I’ll feed you along the way,” the Copper said. “You and your mother both.”
Enjor’s eyes brightened. “That’s a generous offer, m’lord.”
“Faaaa! E’s our host!” Mamedi said, leaping on Enjor’s back.
“Off me, y’daft sot!”
But just as Thernadad shouldered his way into what was working up into a fifty-bat brawl, a bat let out a terrified death screech. A snake had reared up, biting a low-flying bat heading for the Copper’s tail and dragging it to the ground.
“Sons o’ Gan!” Thernadad shouted.
The Copper hugged rock, protecting his belly, and heard a pained squeak.
The cavern came alive with white shapes, pink tongues flicking as they rushed forward, coiled, struck, and rushed forward again. The greedier bats, stuck on the floor by the Copper’s open wounds, fell first.
The Copper found himself eyeball-to-eyeball with a great white snake, almost a rival to King Gan himself. He felt his griff lower and rattle, and the snake pulled back, gathering itself for a strike.
It would flash like lightning when it hit, so the Copper preempted the fangs with an openmouthed rush of his own. The snake, for all its size, wasn’t used to a dragon dash and seemed to slide in all directions in panic. The Copper bit for the neck—anywhere else on the snake would mean a counterstrike of venomous fangs.
The snake whipped its head sideways and the Copper went with it, clinging with claws and teeth. He struck the cavern wall, saw stars at the impact.
Blindly, he bit down hard, pulling with teeth and pushing with sii. The snake rolled and rolled again. The Copper found himself ensnared in coils. But they didn’t crush; they just twitched.
He dropped the dead snake’s neck and pushed away from the still-writhing body.
“Kill that one! The burning lizard!” the Copper heard. He turned his good eye to the sound and saw the great snake with a black-flecked face. King Gan’s smooth nose was peeled and cracked.
Snakes dropped dead bats and crawled for him.
The Copper doubted he had the strength left to fight another such snake, let alone several, or King Gan himself. He ran for the river. A snake slipped sideways to intercept. He jumped over it before it could do more than snap at his legs.
He looked up. The surviving bats were fighting to get into holes too small for snake heads.
“I’m leaving! Enjor?”
“Good idea, m’lord.”
“Leave the cave?” a bat squeaked.
“Who be a’needing it?” Thernadad barked. “Snakes and misery and too many bats lately.” He glared at his mate.
“E’be our host! W’be coming along,” Mamedi said, fluttering toward the river.
“Mum! Mum!” Thernadad shouted. He alighted on the chain hanging by the river mouth, then turned to search the tunnel and cavern beyond. “W’mustn’t leave without m’mum!”
“Past her time, anyway,” Enjor said, turning circles over the river.
“Mum!”
“’Ere me be!” a tiny voice squeaked. “M’been clinging for life to this fool dragon.”
A trio of snakes followed as quickly as coils could carry them.
“Unless you want to swim, madam…” the Copper said.
Thernadad flapped down and alighted on the Copper’s back. “Here, Mum, climb on.”
She launched herself into the air. “M’be all right for a bit.”
The Copper slid into the river, hugged his limbs to his side, and let his tail rather stiffly propel him through the water. He found that if he took a full breath of air, he could sink and let just his head ride above the waterline.
He gave a glance back and saw a snake plunge into the water, but its fellows clustered at the bank.
With a bend, a dropped shoulder, and a wave of his tail, the Copper rounded on his pursuer, and the snake fled upstream.
The bats fluttered overhead. For all the elbow throwing and head butting they did when clinging to the rock ceiling, they maneuvered in the air expertly, avoiding outcroppings of rock, the river surface—and a hatchling’s tiny crest.
They left the brighter mosses of the tunnel for a dim line of growth that existed at the edge of the river, clinging to the rough-hewn tunnel. Every now and then the tunnel widened and the lines fell away before coming together again where tool-work scarred the rock.
At one “lake,” Enjor swooped down and guided him toward an outflow. Colored lights glimmered across the lake, reds and blues and oranges, but he had no desire to investigate and risk another encounter with dwarves or whatever else lived down there.
Swimming was tiring—his bad leg dragged on the current, and he had to turn and push to compensate—so he preferred to float, keeping his lungs inflated and just waving his tail enough to stay afloat.
He became used to the cold of the water so quickly he feared he might be going numb and freezing to death. He struck out for the side of the cavern and tried a short climb and found all his limbs still able to function, though his hearts were pounding from the slight effort.
“M’be needing a rest, anyway,” Thernadad said, landing. His mother clung to his back, a tiny white-flecked thing atop his bulk. Her spurt of energy must have given out.
The others soon landed.
“M’be perishing,” Mamedi said. “Just a tiny drop of blood, sir.”
“I need my strength,” the Copper countered.
“Faaaaa!” she said. “You’re just floating there. Us on wing be doing all the work.”
“M’mind be muddled with exertion and shock of seeing cousins slain right and left, m’lord.” Enjor coughed. “A fork be coming up in the river. Unless I have my wits w’be going wrong.”
The Copper was tempted to tell him to return to the cave and deal with King Gan.
“Oops, you’d better be climbing higher, sir,” some young relation of Mamedi said. “Another dwarf boat a’coming!”
The Copper saw its light before he heard the faint ring of the approaching bell.
From what he could remember of the craft, the only dwarf who could see out the front was in a cage at the back of the boat.
“I’m tired of swimming,” the Copper said—though he’d been floating, there was no reason for the bats not to think him as tired as they were; otherwise they’d each clamor for blood. “Let’s ride with the dwarves.”
“Muh?” the bats chorused.
“You cling to rock well enough. Hang on to the front of the boat.”
“With all that racket?” Thernadad said. “A’deafened by that bell? Can’t echo with all that noise.”
“Leave the steering to the dwarves. Anyway, I’m going to ride for a while. Try to keep up.”
“The lordship’s right!” Enjor said. “M’be for it. The dwarves know their business.”
The Copper slipped back into the water.
Bing-bing. Bing-bing…Bing-bing.
It filled the tunnel like an angry dragon, light and clanging and churning as it cut through the water.
The Copper reached for it, but the front had been smoothed where it met the water. He slipped beneath its prow and felt the pull of current toward the bubbling stern, clawed frantically, and finally got a grip on a sort of rail running the underside of the vessel. He locked sii and saa on the projection and used it to climb back to the nose end.
He rode for a moment between front point and bow wave, catching his breath. Using the power in his saa and his good sii to grip, he managed to round the nose and found the bats huddled unhappily, their gripping digits white with terror. Worked metal in regular spiral shapes had been driven into the bow. Whether it was decor or functional he couldn’t say, but it did offer a grip.
He wrapped himself around the bow as comfortably as he could.
“M’feel like a bit o’ flushed dwarf-waste,” Thernadad said. His face was wet from being splashed.