Anthology - The Realms of the Dragons II

Ryla stopped punching the tree and leaned against it, her back to him, as though the strength had gone out of her.

He took a step forward and said, "Ryla…"

She turned, her eyes burning. Her features were luminous and almost feral under Sehine's glow. Water had stained her cheeks and seemed to gleam crimson in his magelight.

"What do you know?" she demanded. "What gives you the right to judge me?"

"I'm not judging you," Alin said.

"Then why are you here?" pressed Ryla.

"I…" The bard trailed off. How could he speak, when she was so beautiful in the moonlight? Somehow, he managed, "I only thought I'd ask you… about my ballad."

"A ballad?" Ryla looked intrigued. "What ballad?"

She took a step toward him.

"Ah! A-about you," he stammered. "The ballad of-of Dragonclaw."

"A song about me?" Ryla said, one scarlet eyebrow rising.

As she walked toward him, her hands deftly unbuckled the black breastplate she wore and slid it over her head. It fell to the ground, revealing her gray undershirt-an undershirt soaked with sweat and clinging tightly to her skin.

Alin swallowed. It had grown even harder to think coherently.

"Ah, yes… a ballad."

She stepped within reach, unbuckled her black leather skirt, and stepped out of it.

"Wri-written b-by me." Alin stuttered. He felt warm all over.

"Tell me, good sir bard," Ryla purred. He had had no idea she could sound like that. She raised her right hand and ran the back of her fingers down his cheek. Her touch sent tremors through his body. "Is there anyone… special, back home, waiting for her dark-haired, blue-eyed hero to come home a dragonslayer?"

She stepped closer and stared into his eyes.

"N-no," Alin said.

Ryla pressed her body against his, and chills shot through him. He could see tiny flecks of what he thought was crimson in her eyes. She was so beautiful…

"Though I… I've always loved… the lady Alusair… from afar."

"A princess, eh?" Ryla murmured. She pressed her lips against his cheek and her breasts against his chest. "I can hardly compete."

"Oh, it's just-" she kissed his neck and ear-"a boy's fantasy."

"A fantasy…" she whispered.

She pushed him down, and Alin fell on his rump. One foot on either side of him, Ryla towered over him. She pulled the tunic over her head and stood in the moonlight in only her boots and ring. Her hair was a fiery cascade and her flawless skin sparkled. She put her hands on her hips. The movement only emphasized her curves.

"Who is your princess now?" she asked with a lusty smile.

"Y-you are," the bard stammered.

"Perfect answer."

Then Ryla slid down onto him, and Alin lost all ability to think. He didn't need to.

"What's new with ye, boy?" Delkin asked Alin, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

The bard didn't even notice. They were deep in the Forest of Wyrms, one of the most dangerous places in Faerun, with certain death all around, but he hardly thought about it. His star-struck eyes were fixed on Ryla's smooth shoulders as she strode ahead of them, her black half-cape shifting in the light breeze, and her hair a scarlet cascade.

"Oh, nothing," the bard replied. "Just musing over a dream I had last night."

The dragonslayer's face, by chance, half turned to him. An errant strand of hair fell across her face. Alin felt warm all over.

"Several times, last night," he added.

"By the looks of yer musing, it must've been a good 'un," the priest said with a snicker. Then Delkin's expression turned serious. "Don't let it distract ye. There be dragons 'ere, and ye needs be on yer guard. What can ye tell us o' this place?"

Shaking his head to clear it of his daydreams, Alin pursed his lips. He recalled all the stories he had ever heard of the Western Heartlands and the Forest of Wyrms.

"It's said green dragons have claimed this place," explained Alin. "And for good reason. The beasts infest the forest as thickly as jackrabbits."

"Keep yer eyes open," said Delkin with a nod.

Alin nodded. He looked at the other Moor Runners as they picked through the dense helmthorn brush, trying not to be stabbed by needles that were as long as a man's hand. Scanning the ground in front of them, Thard was impassive as always, but his hand was on the axe at his belt. Ryla followed close behind him, ready to draw her blade at a moment's notice. Only Inri's attention seemed not focused on the task at hand. Instead, she watched Ryla's every move with suspicion, and more than once Alin caught her hand moving through the gestures of a spell.

"What's with Inri?" the bard asked Delkin.

Delkin wore a bemused smile when he turned to Alin and said, "Oh, Madam Sorceress isn't too happy she's no longer the on'y lass around us Moor Runners anymore. Women kin be competitive, if'n ye know what I mean. At least she 'as Thard."

Alin's mind filled in the details. "Is that all?" pressed Alin.

"An' she be suspicious," the priest admitted. "Lady Dragon-claw's magic be concealed."

Alin raised a finger to his lips in thought.

"Aye, a mystery," agreed Delkin. He looked up at the front of the group. "Lady Dragonclaw, ye're sure our dragon's here? I haven't seen or heard anything."

"My apologies, but you're a priest, not a scout," Ryla said, not bothering to correct him regarding her name. "And yes. I saw him land here, and he hasn't left since the attack on the caravan."

Reassured, the Moor Runners continued on, looking all around, all the time. Alin pressed all his senses into service, using the techniques he had learned from his master to extend his hearing into the surrounding trees.

Thus, he was startled when Inri appeared at his side, seemingly from nowhere.

"Is she not suspicious?" the elf asked. "How could she have seen thisTharas'kalagram land here, when she was near Triel with the rest of us?"

Alin turned a scowl to her. "Find someone else to listen to your suspicions," he said. "Focus on the task ahead."

"Quiet you two," Ryla said. "I hear something."

"What is it?" Delkin asked.

Ryla turned to him and said, "A dragon."

At that moment, a huge green wyrm burst from the trees with a roar, not ten paces from the dragonslayer. The beast was at least forty feet long and muscles pulsed along its entire serpentine body. Fiery eyes glared death down upon the five adventurers, and putrid green spittle dripped from its daggerlike fangs. Delkin shouted, raising his symbol of Lathander high, even as Thard drew his axe and Inri prepared a spell.

The creature rose up above them, its jaws opening wide. Alin would not have been surprised to see two cows from back home fit between those jaws.

Tempus!" Thard shouted, swinging his greataxe with shattering force against its foreleg.

The dragon screeched as several of its scales caved in and green blood sprayed the barbarian.

It lashed out at him with its other claw, an attack he barely ducked. The sword-length talons slashed a nearby tree in two. Thard kept rolling, for the fangs were not far behind.

Standing behind Delkin, Inri finished her chant and pointed over his shoulder, sending a bolt of lightning at the beast. It slammed into the dragon's chest, causing the huge body to spasm with electricity. Enraged, the beast breathed in and its chest bulged.

"Dragonbreath!" Delkin shouted, then immediately fell into a chant to Lathander.

The shout jarred Alin, who realized he had been watching open-mouthed as the dragon attacked, unable to respond as quickly as his fellows. His first order of business was to shut his gaping mouth, then he dived behind the priest.

At that instant, the creature exhaled, and a vast spray of corrosive green gas fell upon them. Alin screamed, for he saw choking, burning death coming for him, but the gas didn't sear his flesh. Instead, it billowed and raged around them, pushed aside by a shimmering golden shield surrounding Delkin's holy symbol.