Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

Amero’s eyesight and hearing slowly returned. He got to his feet. All around, scouts and Sensarku alike were rising groggily from the turf. Duranix, however, was not in sight. All that remained was a large flattened spot in the grass where he’d lain.

Amero ran forward, horrified. Had Tiphan destroyed Duranix?

“Look!” shouted Beramun.

Following her pointing finger, Amero saw a dark spot against the bright blue sky. It grew rapidly in size as it plunged toward them.

“Duranix!”

The bronze dragon was falling toward them at a tremendous speed. When he was close enough for those on the ground to see the individual scales of his hide, he threw open his wings. Extending his long neck skyward, Duranix let loose a roar that shook the ground.

Amero jumped up and down, waving his arms. Duranix was alive and flying!

The dragon banked steeply, and Amero saw his mighty shoulder muscles coiling and uncoiling with every sweep of his wings.

The dragon landed in the grass as lightly as a swallow. Amero ran to him. Not only was Duranix healed, but he seemed larger than before. The underside of his belly was higher off the ground, and his length had increased a good five paces.

“My friend, you’re enormous!” Amero exclaimed.

Duranix turned his head this way and that, taking in the expanse of his new physique. “I do seem to have grown. It must be a side effect of the healing power. Won’t Sthenn be surprised!”

The acolytes had gotten Tiphan to his feet and were dusting the gray dirt of the savanna from his white doeskin robe. His staff was found and brought to him. It was shorter now by half — the end where the stone had been wedged was gone, vaporized.

“The Protector?” he asked, still dazed.

“I am here.”

Tiphan’s eyes widened to take in the dragon’s new dimensions. “Glorious!” he cried. “Great Protector, you are restored!”

“So I am.” Duranix paused, seemingly at a loss for words, then added, “I thank you.”

Tiphan did not bow but smiled widely and held out his hands. “I do but serve you, Great Protector!”

The acolytes, though disheveled and still trying to locate their weapons and gear, raised a ragged cheer.

A rhythmic rumbling, rising steadily in volume, cut into the celebration. Two of Paharo’s scouts ran off while the Sensarku regrouped. Just as they’d gotten themselves into some semblance of order, back came the hunters at a hard run.

“The raiders are coming!” they cried. “Hundreds and hundreds of them!”

“I think you were healed just in time,” Amero said, shifting closer to Duranix.

“Listen, all of you!” the dragon announced. “I am healed of my wound, but I haven’t eaten in many days, so I’m not at my full strength. It would be best if we withdrew.”

Amero, Beramun, and Paharo’s scouts grabbed their gear and started to retreat. The Sensarku stood their ground, awaiting their Tosen’s orders. The sound of the oncoming horde grew louder by the moment.

“My heart is full of gladness to have rendered good aid to our Protector,” Tiphan said, smiling beatifically, “but we came here to defeat the enemy, and that is what I shall do.”

“You can’t stand against them!” Amero declared.

“I have the power.” Tiphan’s brilliant blue eyes regarded him coolly

Exasperated, Amero looked to the dragon. “What do you say?”

“We’re too exposed here,” he said. “If we stay and fight, I can kill most of them, but you will all likely die, too. If Sthenn’s with them, none of us may get out alive. We need a defensible place.” He looked to the low hills east of their position. “That tallest hill — we’ll make a stand there. That should keep them from overrunning us.”

Beramun and the scouts set off running, leaving Amero and Duranix behind — Amero arguing with Tiphan and Duranix awaiting his friend.

“Tell your people to join us,” Amero ordered Tiphan.

“The Sensarku will stay. We shall save everyone.”

“Tiphan! The green dragon may be with them! You’re gambling not only your life but the lives of your followers!”

Proud disdain showed on Tiphan’s face. “I fear no green dragon. If my power can heal our benign Protector, it can smite a malign attacker.”

The sound of the approaching horsemen was like thunder and not very distant thunder at that.

Amero turned helplessly to Duranix. “He’s mad!”

“Tiphan, as your Protector, I order you and your followers to come with us,” said the dragon.

The acolytes appeared ready to obey. Before they had taken two steps, however, Tiphan halted them with a word.

Shouting could be heard over the noise of the pounding hoofbeats, and he said, “Fear not, mighty Duranix! I will protect my people!”

Amero tried to appeal to the acolytes directly, but none of the Sensarku would budge.

Duranix had had enough. Even as Amero continued to plead with the young folk, the dragon lowered his head and snagged the back of Amero’s tunic in his teeth. He lifted his protesting friend off the ground and stalked away. He easily overtook Beramun and the scouts and set Amero on his feet among them.

“Tiphan?” asked Paharo, glancing back the way they’d come.

Amero shook his head, face red with anger.

“Is it possible he can defeat them?” Beramun asked. “He does have great power at his command.”

“He’s an ignorant savage, playing in flames,” Duranix said bluntly. “The only question is, will he burn up your enemies or himself?”

Zannian and his chiefs, riding in the forefront of the raiders, halted abruptly. He flung up a hand, signaling the rest of the band to stop as well.

“Did you hear that?” he exclaimed.

Hoten, at his right, nodded gravely. “The voice of the bronze dragon.”

“His death scream! The Master’s poison has done its work!” Zannian exulted, wrapping the reins tightly around his left fist. “Now there’s nothing between us and Arku-peli but a few scouts! Send word to my mother. Loose the Jade Men! Spare no one!”

He kicked his mount into a gallop. The raiders raised a spontaneous shout of triumph and followed. When they topped the next rise, an unexpected sight met their eyes. “What’s this?” Zannian wondered aloud.

On the opposite slope, a small party was drawn up in a circle. There couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty of them, all on foot, dressed in white, and lightly armed.

“They look like children,” snorted Hoten.

Sthenn’s warning about trickery rose in Zannian’s mind. This couldn’t be as easy as it appeared.

“Hoten,” he said. “Take a hundred riders and follow the Jade Men.”

“Aye, Zan. We’ll have no trouble.”

The chief shook his head. “This smells bad to me. The Jade Men are fierce, but too young to know battle. Be ready to support them in case of treachery.”

“Aye, Zan.” Hoten picked up a hundred raiders from the band behind him. They loaded their throwing sticks, and at Hoten’s command, started down the slope.

The Jade Men, formed in a single line, gradually brought their flanks in, forming a silent circle fifty paces from the white-clad villagers. With their painted skin and dyed leather armor, they hardly seemed human. Nacris followed in their wake, her litter carried on the shoulders of four muscular bearers.

To their credit, the villagers did not waver at the sight of death marching toward them. They held their small circle. In the center, a white-haired figure stood, holding aloft a short wooden staff.

The Jade Men closed to within thirty paces. Nacris saw a flickering halo around the villagers’ leader. In the next heartbeat, a stream of fire, like horizontal lightning, lashed out from the circle of villagers. The ground exploded under the Jade Men’s feet. Stones, dirt, and burning clumps of grass flew everywhere. Five green-painted warriors were thrown down.