cowardice.
“It is all right, Creel,” Velika said, her voice labored. “You could not have known . . . the other dragons . . . the fire-bane . . .”
“Firebane?”
“An herb . . . brews . . . a potion that can be used against dragons. Stops us from flaming, makes us sleep . . .”
In horror I realized that she meant the strange liquid on the net. It was extremely pungent; my nose and eyes streamed from the fumes. I began to yell again, my voice rough and strained, but this time I was yelling to our captors.
One in particular.
“Darrym! How could you do this to your queen?”
“It is because she is my queen,” was the reply. “We need her.”
Once again he had the brown canvas bag strung around his neck. What was inside it? Bottles of this firebane? A jar of alchemical water, used to bespeak his cohorts? I kicked out at the net in frustration, but only succeeded in entangling one of my feet in an awkward way.
“Who?” I practically screamed the question at him. “Who are these people? Where did these dragons come from?”
I had not seen every dragon in the world, but I knew that Darrym was considered unusual for his dull coloring and his pale, cowlike horns. Where had he met two other dragons who looked just like him? How long had they been planning this?
These questions went unanswered, however, as did any others I shouted to him. He would only tell me coolly that “they” needed Velika, and the firebane was a necessary evil. He patted the bag at his neck again. All his nervous bobbing, his obsequiousness was gone. In its place was a smug arrogance that made me wish I had some firebane to pour on him .
As dawn broke, I saw that we were encircled by eight dragons. Those who were not carrying the net clutched enormous wicker baskets. I could see the faces of the odd, stern warriors who had helped capture us peering over the edges as we flew south and east, far from Shardas and any hope of rescue.
The consoling thought that at least I was with Velika, to comfort and aid her, was soon dashed. A small rocky islet came into view, and Darrym gave the order to the group to fly low over it.
One of the dragons carrying a basket of warriors glided in close, and a man with a fierce grin and a golden spike piercing his nose leaned out and cut two of the strands of netting, nearly slicing my left arm in the process. He grabbed that arm, and my left knee, and gave a shout. His dragon flew even farther down, and I was pulled, screaming, through a hole in the net barely big enough to fit me. The basket containing my wedding gown stuck and nearly jerked my arms out of their sockets, but then it popped free as well. The man holding me leaned out over a bit of sand jutting away from the islet and let go.
I landed facedown, fortunately missing any rocks. By the time I had regained my wind and coughed out the sand I had swallowed, Darrym and Velika and the others were nearly out of sight. Velika hadn’t been awakened by my struggles, and I worried anew for her and her eggs.
Tracking the flight as long as I could, I used a stick to mark their path in the sand so that we would be able to follow them. I was confident that Shardas and Luka would find me, and then we would get Velika back.
I had to believe it.
A quick tour of the islet revealed nothing growing and nothing edible, but I did find a few sticks and one smallish driftwood log that had washed ashore. I piled them up, pulled the flint and tinder from my belt pouch, and lit them. My signal fire was so pitiful that I soon added the scraps of fabric left over from my gown that were too small to be of use, some loose twigs from the basket, and then my own undertunic.
If I needed to, I would burn the linen wrappings for the gown, and then the basket.
If I needed to, I would burn the gown itself.
When Shardas came roaring and splashing down into the water beside my islet, the last of the linen had burned, and I was reaching for the basket.
“Creel!” Luka
“It is all right, Creel,” Velika said, her voice labored. “You could not have known . . . the other dragons . . . the fire-bane . . .”
“Firebane?”
“An herb . . . brews . . . a potion that can be used against dragons. Stops us from flaming, makes us sleep . . .”
In horror I realized that she meant the strange liquid on the net. It was extremely pungent; my nose and eyes streamed from the fumes. I began to yell again, my voice rough and strained, but this time I was yelling to our captors.
One in particular.
“Darrym! How could you do this to your queen?”
“It is because she is my queen,” was the reply. “We need her.”
Once again he had the brown canvas bag strung around his neck. What was inside it? Bottles of this firebane? A jar of alchemical water, used to bespeak his cohorts? I kicked out at the net in frustration, but only succeeded in entangling one of my feet in an awkward way.
“Who?” I practically screamed the question at him. “Who are these people? Where did these dragons come from?”
I had not seen every dragon in the world, but I knew that Darrym was considered unusual for his dull coloring and his pale, cowlike horns. Where had he met two other dragons who looked just like him? How long had they been planning this?
These questions went unanswered, however, as did any others I shouted to him. He would only tell me coolly that “they” needed Velika, and the firebane was a necessary evil. He patted the bag at his neck again. All his nervous bobbing, his obsequiousness was gone. In its place was a smug arrogance that made me wish I had some firebane to pour on him .
As dawn broke, I saw that we were encircled by eight dragons. Those who were not carrying the net clutched enormous wicker baskets. I could see the faces of the odd, stern warriors who had helped capture us peering over the edges as we flew south and east, far from Shardas and any hope of rescue.
The consoling thought that at least I was with Velika, to comfort and aid her, was soon dashed. A small rocky islet came into view, and Darrym gave the order to the group to fly low over it.
One of the dragons carrying a basket of warriors glided in close, and a man with a fierce grin and a golden spike piercing his nose leaned out and cut two of the strands of netting, nearly slicing my left arm in the process. He grabbed that arm, and my left knee, and gave a shout. His dragon flew even farther down, and I was pulled, screaming, through a hole in the net barely big enough to fit me. The basket containing my wedding gown stuck and nearly jerked my arms out of their sockets, but then it popped free as well. The man holding me leaned out over a bit of sand jutting away from the islet and let go.
I landed facedown, fortunately missing any rocks. By the time I had regained my wind and coughed out the sand I had swallowed, Darrym and Velika and the others were nearly out of sight. Velika hadn’t been awakened by my struggles, and I worried anew for her and her eggs.
Tracking the flight as long as I could, I used a stick to mark their path in the sand so that we would be able to follow them. I was confident that Shardas and Luka would find me, and then we would get Velika back.
I had to believe it.
A quick tour of the islet revealed nothing growing and nothing edible, but I did find a few sticks and one smallish driftwood log that had washed ashore. I piled them up, pulled the flint and tinder from my belt pouch, and lit them. My signal fire was so pitiful that I soon added the scraps of fabric left over from my gown that were too small to be of use, some loose twigs from the basket, and then my own undertunic.
If I needed to, I would burn the linen wrappings for the gown, and then the basket.
If I needed to, I would burn the gown itself.
When Shardas came roaring and splashing down into the water beside my islet, the last of the linen had burned, and I was reaching for the basket.
“Creel!” Luka
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