Paithan joined a stream of men, led by lord Durndrun, rushing in the direction of the cry. Rounding the norinth wing of the house, they came to a skidding halt. Aleatha stood immobile on a small mossy knoll. Before her, its huge body between the woman and the carriage house, was the dragon. He was enormous. His head towered above the trees. His body’s full length was lost in the shadowy depths of the jungle. He was wingless, for he lived all of his life in the dark depths of the jungle floor, slithering around the boles of Pryan’s gigantic trees. Strong, taloned feet could tear through the thickest vegetation or strike down a man at a blow. His long tail whipped behind him as he moved, cutting swaths through the jungle, leaving trails that were well-known (and immensely feared) by adventurers. His intelligent red eyes were fixed on the woman.
The dragon was not threatening Aleatha; his great jaws had not parted, though the upper and lower fangs could be see.n protruding from the front of the mouth. A red tongue flicked in and out between the teeth. The armed men watched, unmoving, uncertain. Aleatha held very still.
The dragon cocked its head, gazing at her.
Paithan shoved his way to the front of the group. Lord Durndrun was stealthily releasing the catch on a railbow. The weapon awoke as Durndrun began raising the stock to his shoulder. The bolt in the rail was screeching, ‘Target? Target?’”
“The dragon,” Durndrun ordered.
“Dragon?” The bolt appeared alarmed, and was inclined to argue, a problem with intelligent weapons. “Please refer to owner’s manual, section B, paragraph three. I quote, ‘Not to be used against any foe larger than—’ ”
“Just go for the heart!” - “Which one?”
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Paithan caught hold of the lord’s elbow.
“I can get a good shot at the eyes—”
“Are you insane? You miss, and the dragon’ll go for Aleatha!” The lord was pale, his expression troubled, but he continued to make ready his railbow. “I’m an excellent shot, Paithan. Stand aside.”
“I won’t!”
“It’s the only chance we have! Damn it, man, I don’t like this any more than you do, but—”
“Excuse me, Sonny,” came an irritated voice from behind. “But you’re crumpling my hat!”
Paithan swore. He’d forgotten the old man, who was shoving his way through the crowd of tense, glowering men. “No respect for the elderly! Think we’re all doddering old fools, don’t you? Why I had a spell once that would have fried your socks off. Can’t think of the name offhand. Fire bell? No that’s not quite it. I have it—tire sale! No, doesn’t sound right, either. I’ll come up with it. And you. Sonny!” The old man was highly incensed. “Look what you’ve done to my hat!”
“Take the damn hat and—”
“Hush!” breathed Durndrun.
The dragon had slowly turned its head and was focusing on them. The red eyes narrowed.
“You!” the dragon snarled in a voice that rocked the foundations of the lord’s house.
The old man was attempting to beat some sort of shape back into his battered hat. At the sound of the thundering “You!” he peered around bleary-eyed and eventually caught sight of the gigantic green head rearing upward, level with the treetops.
“Ah ha!” cried the old man, staggering backward. He pointed a shaking, accusing finger. “You overgrown frog! You tried to drown me!”
“Frog!”
The dragon’s head shot upward, its front feet dug deep into the moss, shaking the ground. Aleatha stumbled and fell with a scream. Paithan and Lord Durndrun took advantage of the dragon’s distraction to run to the woman’s aid. Paithan crouched by her side, his arms around her-Lord Durndrun stood above her, his weapon raised. From the house came the wails of the women, certain that this was the end.
The dragon’s head dove downward, the wind of its passing ripped the leaves from the trees. Most of the elves hurled themselves flat; a few of the bravest held their ground. Lord Durndrun fired a bolt. Shrieking in protest, it struck the green, iridescent scales, bounced off, landed on the moss, and slithered away in the undergrowth. The dragon, seemingly, didn’t notice. His head stopped only a few feet from that of the old man.
“You sorry excuse for a wizard! You’re damn right I tried to drown you! But now I’ve changed my mind. Drowning’s too good for you, you moth-eaten relic! After I’ve dined on elf flesh, beginning with that toothsome blond appetizer over there, I’m going to rip the bones out of your skin one by one, starring with your little finger—”
“Oh, yeah?” shouted the old man. He jammed his hat on his head, threw his staff to the ground, and once again began rolling up his sleeves. “We’ll see about that!”
“I’ll fire now, while he’s not looking,” whispered Lord Durndrun. “Paithan, you and Aleatha make a run for it—”
“You’re a fool, Dumdrun! We can’t fight that beast! Wait and see what the old man can do. He told me he controls the dragon!”
“Paithan!” Aleatha dug her nails into his arm. “He’s a crazy old human. Listen to his lordship!”
“Shhh!”
The old man’s voice was rising in a high-pitched quaver. Closing his eyes, he wiggled his fingers in the dragon’s general direction and began to chant, swaying back and forth in time to the rhythm of his words. The dragon’s mouth parted, the wickedly sharp teeth glistened in the twilight, the tongue flicked dangerously.
Aleatha closed her eyes and buried her head in Lord Durn-drun’s shoulder, jostling the railbow, which squeaked in annoyance. The lord juggled the weapon, clumsily clasped his arm around the woman and held her tightly.
“You speak human! What’s he saying, Paithan?”
Paithan gasped, gulped. “I’m—I’m not certain. I suppose it must—er—be magic!” He began looking around on the ground for a large tree branch, anything he could use as a weapon. He didn’t think this was the time to tell the lord that the old man was attempting to spellbind a dragon by singing one of Thillia’s most popular drinking songs.
“Blessed Orn!” breathed Lord Dumdrun. “It’s working!” Paithan lifted his head, looked up in astonishment. The dragon’s snout had begun to bob up and down in time to the music.