Mary Herbert - Dragon's Bluff

The cook wagon rolled along at the rear of the caravan as usual. Lucy drove this afternoon while Challie sat beside her and Ulin slept in the back under the shade of the canvas cover. Lucy breathed a sigh of gratitude when they entered the ravine. Red rock walls reared over their heads and cast the narrow trail into shadow. It wasn’t much of a change, but any interruption from the fierce sun was welcome. She glanced back down the trail and still could not see the rearguard through the hanging clouds of dust, nor could she see much in the ravine ahead. The head of the caravan was lost from sight among the steep walls of stone.

The first indication of trouble they heard was a thud on the side of the wagon.

Challie looked over her side and cried, “Lucy! That’s an arrow!”

Abruptly, the air seemed full of arrows, dropping down from above. Several passed close to the women or slammed into the wooden slats of the wagon. One struck their wheel horse on his flank. He screamed in fear and pain, and both horses reared in panic, causing the wagon to jerk and pitch.

Just ahead, the driver of the freight wagon slumped in his seat. His oxen stopped in their tracks, blocking the path.

A shrill scream followed by several more pierced the hot, dusty air. Many voices shouted now, from behind and ahead and from above.

Ulin jolted upright as Challie fell backward over the seat and landed on top of him. “What’s happening? What’s going on?” he shouted, still groggy from sleep.

The canvas cover of the wagon blocked his view, but it did not stop the arrows. Two ripped through the cover and embedded in the wooden cupboard. Cooking pans fell from their hooks in clattering clangs. Challie lay flat, gasping for breath.

“We’re under attack!” Challie shouted. She tried to roll off Ulin and grab her axe.

“Ulin, help me!” Lucy called, her voice full of urgency.

Ulin struggled through the bedrolls and over Challie. He snatched his sword and climbed over the seat.

Lucy had both hands on the reins and fought to control the plunging horses. Her face was pale under her sunburn, and her lips were pressed into a bloodless line.

Behind them came more shouts and muffled curses. Some voices Ulin recognized as draconian, while others seemed human but used a language he did not know. Someone screamed a Khurish insult and the clash of weapons rang in the dust and haze. A riderless horse careened by. The roar and crash of fighting sounded along the line of wagons, too, yet Ulin and Lucy could not yet see who was attacking the caravan.

Clutching his sword, Ulin jumped down, ran to the horses, and grabbed their bridles to calm them down.

“Lucy!” he heard Challie shout. “Back here!”

Ulin’s heart leaped to his throat. He let go of the horses to rush to her aid, when something big and heavy dropped out of the sky. Large, leathery wings flapped, washing a foul odor into his face, and a screech of fighting rage pierced his ears as a Kapak draconian glided down from the rock wall and thudded to the ground by the horses. It crouched for a second on all fours then rose to two legs, its wings fanning the dust.

The Kapak’s lizardlike face split in a hideous grin. With a swift movement, he slashed his sword across the throat of the nearest horse, and warm blood sprayed his muscular chest and face. The horse staggered against his teammate and fell, dragging the frenzied bay with him.

Ulin backed away, his eyes on the big creature. By the gods, he hated draconians. This was a particularly ugly one with a mane of coarse dark hair that fell across its head and shoulders, bulky muscles, and thick coppery skin. It wore no clothes or armor. Only a festoon of necklaces and chains hung around its thick neck, and a Solamnic knight’s helmet, several sizes too small, perched on its horny head. Its wings clapped together across its back, and with a yowl of glee, it raised its bloody sword and sprang after Ulin.

The young man raised his sword to ward off the blow, but he knew better than to face a Kapak’s venomous saliva and curving claws without so much as a shield. He needed help, and he feared desperately for Lucy. Step by step he backed away from the wagon, keeping the draconian’s attention focused on him.

The beast stamped after him, its lips curled over sharp fangs in a hungry snarl.

Behind the wagon and out of Ulin’s sight, Lucy and Challie had their hands full.

A man, a Khurish exile by the look of his ragged robes and rusty scimitar, rushed the back of the cook wagon, waving his blade to intimidate the two women who quailed in the wagon amidst the bags and boxes of food. He grinned foolishly at their fear and put a hand on the tailboard to swing himself up into the wagon.

A silver axe flashed in the hand of the dwarf and slashed into the Khur’s hand between his middle fingers. He reared back and his mouth opened to release a screech of pain just as Lucy lifted two iron skillets and slammed them together with his head in between. He collapsed back to the ground and did not stir.

Challie and Lucy had only a moment to celebrate before they heard the pounding of horses’ hooves from the ravine behind them. Three of the rearguard riders stormed into view through the dust and shadows, closely pursued by two humans on horseback and a second Kapak draconian wearing a battle harness and carrying a mace.

One Khur, riddled with arrows, barely clung to his terrified mount, and even as Lucy and Challie pulled back into the shadowy interior of the wagon, the Kapak bounded up beside the horse and raked a clawed hand across the Khur’s face. The rider fell shrieking into the dirt, convulsed into a rigid arch, and died. The draconian hissed with pleasure and smashed the man’s head.

The last two guards saw the cook wagon and kicked their horses toward it, perhaps hoping for shelter or a place of defense. Swift as they were, the mounted brigands were faster. The outlaws raised their scimitars and rode down the guards. Swords rang and flashed in the hazy light. A horse screamed. The two Khurs had their own swords in their hands, and they fought back like frenzied wolves.

Lucy sucked in her breath as she watched them. She realized the Khurs were not going to make it to the wagon. If they fell without seriously wounding their attackers, she and Challie would be left facing two armed men and a Kapak with only an axe and a couple of iron skillets.

She didn’t have much time to think or worry. The second Khur toppled from his saddle, his body split across the abdomen by his enemy’s scimitar. The brigands shouted insults at his corpse and turned their full attention to the last man.

Lucy did not wait any longer. She reached into a barrel and pulled out a handful of small, reddish potatoes. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to concentrate on a spell she remembered practicing time and again. Originally, the spell had been used as a joke in the slow, sleepy hours of late nights at the Academy, and a few times she had used it to discourage vermin or drive away a would-be burglar. It was simple. It was basic. It was effective. But she had never tried it on something as big as a draconian.

Fiercely, she forced away all distracting sounds and focused on the magic around her. From the wood, the earth, the dust, she drew the energy and shaped it to her will. It had to work, she promised herself. It had to! She forced each word of the spell into the magic and, to her surprise, she felt the power respond. It did not fade from her grasp or dissipate into emptiness. Like a long-lost friend it surged into her embrace, warm, familiar, and oh, so welcome. Desperately, she poured the magic fire into her handful of potatoes and felt them become fiery hot to the touch.

“Lucy, hurry!” Challie’s voice rose in fear.