Margaret Weis - Elven Star

“Ifs your hat!” Paithan leaped forward, grabbed the old man’s hat and yanked it off his head. “Hat! Hat!” he cried, waving it in front of the old man’s face.

“That’s not mine,” said the old man, staring at it suspiciously. “You’ve switched hats on me. Mine was in much better condition—”

“Come on!” cried Paithan, righting back a crazed desire to laugh.

“My staff!” shrieked the old man, planting his feet firmly, refusing to move. Paithan toyed with the idea of leaving the old man to lake root in the moss if he wanted, but the elf couldn’t watch a dragon devour anyone—even a human. Running back, Paithan retrieved the staff, stuck it in the old man’s hand, and began to pull him toward the house.

The elf feared the old human might have difficulty making it back, for the way was long and uphill. Paithan heard the breath begin to whistle in his own lungs and his legs ached with the strain. But the old man appeared to have incredible stamina; he tottered along gamely, his staff thumping holes in the moss.

“I say, I think something’s following us!” cried the old man, suddenly.

“There is?” Paithan whirled around.

“Where?” The old man swung his staff, narrowly missing knocking down Paithan.

“I’ll get him, by the gods—”

“Stop! It’s all right!” The elf caught hold of the wildly swinging staff.

“There’s nothing there. I thought you said … something was following us.”

“Well, if there isn’t why in the name of all that’s holy are you making me run up this confounded hill?”

“Because there’s a dragon in the la—”

“The lake!” The old man’s beard bristled, his bushy eyebrows stuck out in all directions. “So that’s where he is! He dunked me in there deliberately!” The old man raised a clenched hand, shook his fist at the air in the direction of the water. “I’ll fix you, you overgrown mud worm! Come out! Come out where I can get a look at you!” Dropping his staff, the old man began rolling up the sleeves of his sodden robes. “I’m ready. Yes, sirree-bob, I’m gonna cast a spell this time that’ll knock out your eyeballs!”

“Wait a minute!” Paithan felt the sweat begin to chill on his body. “Are you saying, old man, that this dragon’s … yours?”

“Mine! Of course, you’re mine, aren’t you, you slithering excuse for a reptile?”

“You mean, the dragon’s under your control?” Paithan began to breathe more easily. “You must be a wizard.”

“Must I?” The old man appeared highly startled at the news.

“You have to be a wizard and a powerful one at that to control a dragon.”

“Well … er … you see. Sonny.” The old man began to stroke his beard in some embarrassment. “That’s sort of a question between us—the dragon and me.”

“What’s a question?” Paithan felt his stomach muscles begin to tighten.

“Er—who’s in control. Not that / have any doubts, mind you! It’s the—uh—dragon who keeps forgetting.”

I was right. The old man’s insane. I’ve got a dragon and an insane human on my hands. But what in Mother Peytin’s holy name was this old fool doing in the lake?

“Where are you, you elongated toad?” The wizard continued to shout. “Come out! It’s no use hiding! I’ll find you—”

A shrill scream cut through the tirade.

“Aleatha!” cried Paithan, turning, staring up the hill. The scream ended in a strangled choke.

“Thea, I’m coming!” The elf broke loose of his momentary paralysis and tore for the house.

“Hey, Sonny!” shouted the old man, glaring after him, arms akimbo. “Where do you think you’re going with my hat?”

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.