intruder that he'd glimpsed in her eyes, but all he could see was a confused and frightened Simangee.
'Is it gone?' she asked as Adalon helped her stand. She swayed and he steadied her. He didn't like the way her arms hung limply nor the way her tail didn't support her when she sagged.
'Yes,' he said. 'Whatever it was. It flew away to the east.' He looked to the sky again and wondered if he had spoken the truth. Simangee , he thought, what have you let loose?
'It was evil,' she said. 'Something from long ago, formed of mighty magic.' She trembled. 'I felt as if I was screaming but no-one could hear me.'
'It's gone now,' Adalon repeated. 'We must go. General Wargrach and his troops aren't far away.'
'Lead on. I'm well enough.'
Eleven
General Wargrach was torn. Should he take the time to hunt down that misbegotten, incompetent warhound handler, or should he simply lead his soldiers after Ollamon's son and his friends?
Wargrach stood on a flat rock the size of a banqueting table. His anger rumbled in his chest, but his outward demeanour was calm. He propped himself on his tail and crossed his arms while he considered what to do. The troops stood at attention at the base of the rock, waiting nervously for his decision. They all looked as if they were glad they weren't Dorgan.
The warhounds had failed. Wargrach and his troop had found some dead, killed by the younglings, but not all. The rest of the pack had disappeared. Wargrach thought it most probable that the warhounds were poorly trained and had gone in pursuit of game.
Dorgan was no fool. He'd known that the war-hounds had been unsuccessful. He'd also known that he would be held responsible for their failure. He'd managed to slip away from the troop. No-one had seen him for some time.
Wargrach smiled coldly. The handler was probably miles away by now.
'Forget the warhounds,' he said to his troops. 'We hunt our prey by ourselves.' He glared at all of them. 'I chose each one of you. Do not let me down.'
He lurched forward and clashed his jaws together once, twice, then he threw back his head and roared, filling the air with the hunting cry of a great Toothed One. He felt the blood sing in his veins.
'Now,' he said to his saur. They stared at him with awe. 'Let us run.'
* * *
Adalon went first, picking their route as best he could through the never-ending boulders. Targesh marched next to Simangee, supporting her when she struggled. Adalon saw how her head drooped, but whenever he caught her gaze it was fierce and determined. 'We'll get there,' she said. 'I'm sure of it.'
'Sing,' Targesh urged. 'You'll feel better.' She shook her head.
As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Adalon could see Graaldon, the smoking mountain, getting closer, growing larger all the time. Sometimes, the ground trembled beneath their feet and the riding beasts danced nervously. Overhead, the plume of smoke trailed across the sky, staining it a dismal grey.
After hours of slow going, they came to the foothills, and the stony wilderness began to slope upwards. Adalon was pleased and called a break. Simangee lay on the ground, her eyes closed and her head in her hands.
Adalon was concerned. Simangee's quiet plodding was unlike her. Her singing and her cheeky grin had vanished. Her scales were dull around her eyes, and her shoulders sagged.
He felt guilty and lowered his head. If it were not for me , he thought, Simangee would be safe at High Battilon, finding interesting books in the library or making new music.
Adalon sought for guidance in the lessons of the Way of the Claw. He closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and slowly. Gradually, he could hear his father's voice reciting the lessons.
' A Clawed One is a creature of motion, made for action. Therefore, watch, listen and learn before acting, lest you leap off the edge of a cliff in your haste. ' Adalon smiled as he remembered his father's habit of tapping the side of his jaw with one claw when he was commenting on the
'Is it gone?' she asked as Adalon helped her stand. She swayed and he steadied her. He didn't like the way her arms hung limply nor the way her tail didn't support her when she sagged.
'Yes,' he said. 'Whatever it was. It flew away to the east.' He looked to the sky again and wondered if he had spoken the truth. Simangee , he thought, what have you let loose?
'It was evil,' she said. 'Something from long ago, formed of mighty magic.' She trembled. 'I felt as if I was screaming but no-one could hear me.'
'It's gone now,' Adalon repeated. 'We must go. General Wargrach and his troops aren't far away.'
'Lead on. I'm well enough.'
Eleven
General Wargrach was torn. Should he take the time to hunt down that misbegotten, incompetent warhound handler, or should he simply lead his soldiers after Ollamon's son and his friends?
Wargrach stood on a flat rock the size of a banqueting table. His anger rumbled in his chest, but his outward demeanour was calm. He propped himself on his tail and crossed his arms while he considered what to do. The troops stood at attention at the base of the rock, waiting nervously for his decision. They all looked as if they were glad they weren't Dorgan.
The warhounds had failed. Wargrach and his troop had found some dead, killed by the younglings, but not all. The rest of the pack had disappeared. Wargrach thought it most probable that the warhounds were poorly trained and had gone in pursuit of game.
Dorgan was no fool. He'd known that the war-hounds had been unsuccessful. He'd also known that he would be held responsible for their failure. He'd managed to slip away from the troop. No-one had seen him for some time.
Wargrach smiled coldly. The handler was probably miles away by now.
'Forget the warhounds,' he said to his troops. 'We hunt our prey by ourselves.' He glared at all of them. 'I chose each one of you. Do not let me down.'
He lurched forward and clashed his jaws together once, twice, then he threw back his head and roared, filling the air with the hunting cry of a great Toothed One. He felt the blood sing in his veins.
'Now,' he said to his saur. They stared at him with awe. 'Let us run.'
* * *
Adalon went first, picking their route as best he could through the never-ending boulders. Targesh marched next to Simangee, supporting her when she struggled. Adalon saw how her head drooped, but whenever he caught her gaze it was fierce and determined. 'We'll get there,' she said. 'I'm sure of it.'
'Sing,' Targesh urged. 'You'll feel better.' She shook her head.
As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Adalon could see Graaldon, the smoking mountain, getting closer, growing larger all the time. Sometimes, the ground trembled beneath their feet and the riding beasts danced nervously. Overhead, the plume of smoke trailed across the sky, staining it a dismal grey.
After hours of slow going, they came to the foothills, and the stony wilderness began to slope upwards. Adalon was pleased and called a break. Simangee lay on the ground, her eyes closed and her head in her hands.
Adalon was concerned. Simangee's quiet plodding was unlike her. Her singing and her cheeky grin had vanished. Her scales were dull around her eyes, and her shoulders sagged.
He felt guilty and lowered his head. If it were not for me , he thought, Simangee would be safe at High Battilon, finding interesting books in the library or making new music.
Adalon sought for guidance in the lessons of the Way of the Claw. He closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and slowly. Gradually, he could hear his father's voice reciting the lessons.
' A Clawed One is a creature of motion, made for action. Therefore, watch, listen and learn before acting, lest you leap off the edge of a cliff in your haste. ' Adalon smiled as he remembered his father's habit of tapping the side of his jaw with one claw when he was commenting on the
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