Margaret Weis - Elven Star

Hastening toward the house, the lord glanced at the young elf running along beside him. “Quindiniar”—Durndrun edged nearer, took him by the arm—“you don’t think this has anything to do with those rumors you told us of the other night. You know, the ones about … er … giants?”

Paithan appeared slightly shamefaced. “Did I mention giants? By Orn, that was strong wine you were serving that night, Durndrun!”

“Perhaps those rumors aren’t rumors, after all,” said Durndrun grimly. Paithan considered the nature of the rumbling sounds, the smell of darkness. He shook his head. “I think we’re going to wish we were facing giants, my lord. I’d enjoy a human bedtime story right about now.” The two arrived at the house, where they began going over the catalog of his lordship’s armaments. Other male members of the party joined them, shouting and proclaiming and carrying on in an hysterical manner not much better than that of their women, to Paithan’s mind. He was regarding them with a mixture of amusement and impatience when he became aware that they were all regarding him and they were extraordinarily serious.

“What do you think we should do?” asked Lord Durndrun.

“I—I—really—” Paithan stammered, looking around at the group of thirty members of the elven nobility in confusion. “I mean, I’m certain you—”

“Come, come, Quindiniar!” snapped Lord Durndrun. “You’re the only one of us who’s been in the outside world. You’re the only one with experience in this sort of thing. We need a leader and you’re it.”

And if something happens, you’ll have me to blame for it, Paithan thought but didn’t say, though a wry smile flitted across his lips.

The rumbling began again, strong enough this time to knock many of the elves to their knees. Screams and wails came from the women and children who had been herded into the house for safety. Paithan could hear crashing and breaking tree limbs in the jungle, the raucous cawing of startled birds.

“Look! Look at that! In the lake!” came a hoarse cry from one of the lords standing on the fringes of the crowd.

All turned and stared. The lake’s waters were heaving and boiling and, out of the middle, snaking upward, could be seen the shining scales of an enormous green body. A portion of the body surfaced, then slithered under.

“Ah, I thought so,” murmured Paithan.

“A dragon!” cried Lord Durndrun. He clutched at the young elf. “My god, Quindiniar! What do we do?”

“I think,” said Paithan with a smile, “that we should all go inside and have what will probably be our last drink.”

Aleatha was immediately sorry she’d joined the women. Fear is a contagious disease and the parlor stank of it. The men were probably every bit as frightened as the women but they were maintaining a bold front—if not for themselves, at least for each other. The women were not only able to indulge their terror, they were expected to. Even fear, however, has socially defined limits.

The dowager—Lord Dumdrun’s mother and reigning mistress of the house since her son was not yet married—had the priority on hysteria. She was the eldest, the highest in status, and it was her house. No one else present, therefore, had the right to be as panic-stricken as the dowager. (A mere duke’s wife, who had fainted in a corner, was being ostracized.)

The dowager lay prostrate on a couch, her maid weeping at her side and applying various restoratives—bathing the dowager’s temples in lavender water, dabbing tincture of rose on the dowager’s ample bosom, which was heaving and fluttering as she sought vainly to catch her breath.

“Oh … oh … oh!” she gasped, clutching her heart. The various wives of the guests hovered about her, wringing their hands, occasionally grasping each other with stifled sobs. Their fear was inspirational to their children, who had previously been mildly curious, but who were now wailing in concert and getting under everyone’s feet.

“Oh … oh … oh!” wheezed the dowager, turning slightly blue.

“Slap her,” suggested Aleatha coolly.

The maid seemed tempted, but the wives managed to emerge from their panic long enough to look shocked. Aleatha, shrugging, turned away and walked toward the tall windows that doubled as doors and opened out onto the spacious porch overlooking the lake. Behind her, the dowager’s spasms appeared to be easing. Perhaps she had heard Aleatha’s suggestion and seen the twitching hand of her maid.

“There’s been no sound in the last few minutes,” gasped an earl’s wife.

“Perhaps it’s over.”

An uneasy silence met the comment. It wasn’t over. Aleatha knew it and every woman in the room knew it. For the moment, it was quiet, but it was a heavy, horrible quiet that made Aleatha long for the dowager’s wailing. The women shrank together, the children whimpered.

The rumbling struck again. The house shook alarmingly. Chairs skittered across the floor, small ornaments fell off tables and crashed on impact. Those who could, hung onto something; those who couldn’t, stumbled and fell. From her vantage point at the window, Aleatha saw the green, scaly body rise up from the lake.

Fortunately, none of the women in the room behind her noticed the creature. Aleatha bit her lips to keep from crying out. Then it was gone—so swiftly that she wondered if she had seen something real or something bred of her fear. The rumbling ceased. The men were running toward the house, her brother in the lead. Aleatha flung open the doors and dashed down the broad staircase.

“Paithan! What was it?” She caught hold of the sleeve of his coat.

“A dragon, I’m afraid, Thea,” answered her brother.

“What will happen to us?”

Paithan considered. “We’ll ail die, I should imagine.”

“It’s not fair!” Aleatha raved, stamping her foot.

“No, I suppose not.” Paithan considered this a rather odd view of the desperate situation, but he patted his sister’s hand soothingly. “Look, Thea, you’re not going to go off like those others in there, are you? Hysteria’s not becoming.”

’ Aleatha put her hands to her cheeks, felt her skin flushed and hot. He’s right, she thought. I must look a fright. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to relax, smoothed her hair, and rearranged the disheveled folds of her dress. The surging blood drained from her cheeks.

“What should we do?” she asked in a steady voice.

“We’re going to arm ourselves. Orn knows it’s hopeless, but at least we can hold the monster off for a short time.”

“What about the queen’s guards?”

Across the lake, the palace regiment could be seen turning out, the men dashing to their posts.

“They’re guarding Her Majesty, Thea. They can’t leave the palace. Here’s an idea, you take the other women and the children down to the cellar—”

“No! I won’t die like a rat in a hole!”

Paithan looked at his sister closely, measuring her courage. “Aleatha, there is something you can do. Someone has to go into the city and alert the army. We can’t spare any of the men, and none of the other women here are fit to travel. It’ll be dangerous. The fastest way is the carriage and if this beast gets past us—”

Aleatha envisioned clearly the dragon’s huge head rising up, thrashing about, snapping the cables that held the carriage high above the ground. She pictured the plummeting fall… .

She pictured herself locked up in a dark, stuffy cellar with the dowager.

“I’ll go.” Aleatha gathered up her skirts.

“Wait, Thea! Listen. Don’t try to go down into the city proper. You’d get lost. Make for the guard post on the var side. The carriages’ll take you partway and then you’ll have to walk, but you can see it from the first junction. It’s a lookout built in the branches of a karabeth tree. Tell them—”