Mercedes Lackey - Elvenblood

He pulled open his collar, threw the collar to the ground, and shifted as quickly as he had ever done in his life, forcing the others to spring to their feet and back away as his rapidly increasing bulk filled the space between the tents. He shifted so quickly that it made him dizzy, but he fought back his dizziness, as he towered over them all.

The surprise—but utter lack of shock on Jamal's face—told him that he had guessed right. Jamal knew that Myre was a dragon, and he had seen the shift from human to dragon before.

But maybe Myre had not told him there were two other dragons among the prisoners. Or else both of them had assumed that the collars were still functional.

"Diric chooses me!" he roared, as Myre belatedly followed suit, shock still visible on her rapidly changing face. " I am the First Priest's champion!"

Then, before Myre could end her shift, leap upon him, and end the conflict before it could begin, he took to the sky with a thunder of wings that half-collapsed the tent nearest him. A cloud of dust and dead grass billowed up around the place where he had stood, and those closest to him threw up their arms to protect their faces from a pelting.

Then the tents dwindled below him as he pumped his wings, rapidly gaining altitude, going from tents to toys to the merest mushrooms on the green-gold plain beneath him. Altitude was his friend and ally. Myre had defeated him before in a straight combat; she was bigger and heavier than he was even now. He dared not allow her to close with him, to take the fight to a point at which that weight and length could make a difference.

He would have to defeat her with brain, not brawn.

:Running away, little brother?: came the sneering voice in his mind. :Running so soon?:

:Leading the race, little sister,: he taunted back. .-Having trouble keeping up with me? Been eating a bit too well lately, haven't you? I thought that might be a bit of a paunch I saw. Perhaps a layer of fat around your hips?:

He'd seen no such thing, of course, but if he was going to force her to do what he wanted, he was going to have to enrage her until she wasn't thinking anymore.

-His best weapons were agility and speed; he had to keep her in the air. For that, he had to keep her following him.

:Better give in to me before it's too late, brat,: she answered back furiously. :Or else keep running and leave your pets behind. I might let you go crawling back to those two-legger friends of yours while there's still something left to crawl back to.:

Something to crawl back to? Had she information that he didn't have about the wizards? It certainly sounded like it. He didn't reply; no point in it. If she wanted him to know something, she'd tell him; she couldn't help herself. And if it was bad news, she would definitely want to tell him, to demoralize him and make him stop thinking.

She was sending her voice out to every mind capable of picking it up, too, and he knew why. She wanted Shana and Kalamadea to hear. The trouble was, she didn't know that Dora was out there as well. Dora was his hidden ally, the unknown factor that could defeat Myre's ultimate purposes even if Keman lost this fight; if the very worst happened, and he was defeated, even if Myre managed to destroy or imprison all of them, Dora would know what it was that Myre wanted to taunt Keman with. If it was information vital to the wizards, Dora would surely see that it got to them before it was too late.

Wouldn't she? He didn't want to call to her; Myre might overhear. He had to keep all of his attention on what he was doing.

He could only hope, and wait for anger to force the words out of his sister.

:Your wizards are in revolt against each other, little brother,: she spat, as below him, she pumped her wings furiously to try and catch up to him. :The old ones want the old ways back again, the younger are refusing to serve them, and they are all so busy with their little internal grievances that they are not bothering to keep a watch on the elves. And they really should. Lorryn's escape has sent them all into a panic, and they are already planning to unite their magics for the first time in centuries to track you all down and destroy you! The Council is moving to reconcile every feud and grievance that has ever erupted. They are moving slowly, but they are moving. Soon, within a few moons, by spring at the latest, the third Wizard War will begin—and it will be the last Wizard War:

His heart went cold; she would not have said anything at all unless she was sure of her information, and the feeling of familiarity with the Council that permeated her thoughts made him certain that her information was as accurate as it was foreboding. The elven lords' refusal to reconcile their differences and work properly together was all that had saved the wizards from annihilation the last time. With that factor gone—

He took himself firmly in hand. This was no time for distractions. Never mind. It hadn't happened yet. And he had a fight to win before he could see that it didn't.

He continued to gain height, wings pumping strongly, heading straight up into the sun, which gave him the added advantage that Myre couldn't see him—

—which meant she couldn't see what he was doing!

He had a considerable height advantage on her now; would it be enough? Only one way to find out!

Abruptly he flipped over, folded his wings and plummeted, straight down, talons fisted in front of him like a falcon's fisted claws. Not for nothing had he been studying the way that hawks and falcons flew and fought. He would have to be the little peregrine here, who weighed far less than the ducks he pursued. More than that, he would have to be the peregrine defending his nestlings from a goshawk. He would have to outfly her to outfight her.

He dove at Myre with the wind of his passage whistling in his nostrils and pulling at the edges of his wings. He had to fight the pressure of the air to keep his wings tucked in tight to his body; had to strive with aching muscles to keep his rear legs pulled in hard against his stomach. Myre still had no idea what he was doing; she grew larger and larger in his sight, squinting against the light, wings pumping, lungs panting as she tried to catch him—

Then suddenly her eyes widened as she spotted him diving down at her out of the sun; abruptly she turned, her first instinctive action to turn tail and evade his attack.

Too late.

With a thud that surely reached down to the ground, he hit her in the back of the head with both fisted fore-claws, knocking her into an uncontrolled tumble and surely bringing stars to her eyes. But it would take more than one blow to the head to knock Myre out of a fight, and her instincts were sure. Before she could lash out with her claws and catch him, he snapped his wings open again, and turned the dive back into a climb. The sudden pressure of air against his wings was so much like hitting a solid object that it made him gasp, and his speed was so great at that point that he shot past her before he could begin climbing again. He lost sight of her for a moment as he fought to control his own headlong climb; when he found her again, she was far below him, but doggedly climbing to reach him once more.

She said nothing now, though, even when he taunted her about being "too fat to fly." Though his chest muscles were afire with exertion, and his wings aching with stress, he smiled. The only time Myre didn't talk was when she was so angry that she couldn't respond.

But he knew he couldn't expect his attack to work a second time—at least, not in the same way. She might be angry, but she was a good fighter, and had probably gotten better since the last time he'd dealt with her.

So—make her think he was going to try the same tactic again, feint to draw her out, and switch to something else at the last minute? That could work.