Anthology: The Realms of the Dragons II

They awoke to a world of gray. So thick was the fog that they could not see their own hands in front of their faces. They staggered out of the tents, confused, groping in an obscurity no lantern could banish. But the mist did more than tumble benignly through the clearing.

It began at an idle pace, seemingly unthreatening. The fog stirred as though touched by a light breeze, tentacles of mist gently probing the campsite. Though the men could feel no wind on their faces, it was obviously there-for what else could account for the strange motion of the fog? And soon the phantom breeze began to gain in strength, building until it was a veritable gale. Tent flaps fluttered and snapped; the horses screamed and strained against their leads. The fog seemed to take on corporeal form, picking up bits of debris and tossing them recklessly about. The men bent their backs and shielded their eyes as dust and leaves whipped around the camp in a vicious cyclone.

They shouted to each other, but their voices were lost, smothered by the clotted mist. Those sounds that reached their ears told of destruction: the snapping of rope, the rending of fabric. Though they could not see for the impenetrable cloud, the men knew their camp was being devoured.

Then suddenly, inexplicably, it was over. The phantom wind ceased its torment. The fog vanished like steam. Dazed, the men glanced around in utter bewilderment, patting themselves numbly as though expecting to find themselves injured.

Of the camp, little remained but the clearing itself. The tents, the tools-even the horses were gone. Not a trace of debris remained. Were it not for the impressions in the grass, there would be no evidence that the place had been inhabited at all.

"A storm?" spluttered Cirro, outraged. "They called it a storm?" Unable to properly express his disgust, he expelled a large puff of vapor.

"I know," Zyx said with real sympathy. "I was disappointed too. If it's any consolation, it was great fun to watch."

Cirro's two-word reply suggested it was of little consolation.

Zyx regarded his friend in the pitying manner of a parent imparting a painful lesson and said, "I'm afraid fog just isn't very scary."

Cirro narrowed his eyes and took a credible snap at the faerie dragon, perhaps to prove that he was indeed capable of being scary.

"I know," Zyx tittered nervously, dancing out of the way. "It was my idea. But don't worry. I've got another one. A better one."

"Not interested," grumbled Cirro. "I will handle this my way, faerie dragon. Enough of your ridiculous schemes."

He opened bis great wings and gazed up into the canopy, searching for a gap through which to negotiate his bulk.

Zyx had a sudden vision of appalling carnage, and he landed bravely on the mist dragon's nose.

"Wait a moment. Hear me out," said Zyx. Cirro's eyes crossed as he attempted to focus on the tip of his snout, and Zyx used the distraction to forge ahead. "We've been going about this the wrong way. We've been letting reality get in the way of our planning."

So perplexed was Cirrothamalan by that statement that his eyes crossed even farther.

"I should know better," Zyx continued with a sigh. "I was being far too realistic."

"What are you talking about, faerie dragon?"

Zyx smiled patiently and explained, "Let me put it this way. What's the scariest thing in the jungle?"

The mist dragon considered that a moment, then offered, "Woodpeckers?"

Though not the only birds to attempt nesting in the various crooks of Cirro's oft-inert form, woodpeckers were certainly the most painful.

"You're not trying," Zyx frowned. "Think about it from a human's point of view."

With those revised instructions, it didn't take Cirro long to come up with the answer, and his eyes widened with dread.

"The Uluu Thalongh?" he whispered. Even a creature so great as a mist dragon dared not speak the name too loudly.

"The Uluu Thalongh!" Zyx exclaimed with triumph, fear being the exclusive province of the rational.

Cirro succumbed to an involuntary shiver. Of all jungle predators, the Uluu Thalongh inspired the most terror. Though no one-not even the learned Cirrothamalan-could say what the creature truly was, one thing was certain: it was undisputed lord of flesh-eaters, and the very rumor of its proximity was enough to evacuate many miles of rainforest.

"Zyx," Cirro rumbled uncomfortably, "we cannot-"

"Relax. We don't need the real Uluu Thalongh. Reality only gets in the way, remember? All we need is for the humans to believe the Uluu Thalongh is nearby. That camp will be emptier than a sloth's head in no time!"

Cirro smiled despite himself. It was, he had to admit, a good plan.

"But how do we accomplish it?" asked the mist dragon. "Surely you do not expect the humans to be taken in by one of your ridiculous illusions. The Uluu Thalongh is not known for its rosy complexion."

Zyx ignored the barb. "We don't need illusions," he insisted.

"Oh really? And how do you suggest we evoke the great monster?"

"Impersonation," Zyx replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Cirro's expression darkened. "My hearing must be failing me, faerie dragon. I thought you said 'impersonation.'"

"I did. We'll pretend to be the Uluu Thalongh. Simple."

A little known fact: the axiom about steam coming out of the ears originated with an annoyed mist dragon. A wisp was even then working its way up the side of Cirro's head.

"Simple indeed!" the mist dragon snarled. "As simple as you are! You propose to impersonate a creature that slips inside trees and turns branches into jaws? You must have been dropped on your head as a hatchling!"

"You have no imagination," Zyx sniffed, wounded. "It will work."

"How?"

The little dragon brightened and said, "I thought you'd never ask. Tell me, Cirro, how do you feel about mud?"

A strange keening sound pierced the air. It was at once hollow and sharp, as though someone played upon a cracked wooden pipe. The men winced and covered their ears against the shrill noise, gazing accusingly up at the canopy to identify the offending bird.

But the sound did not emanate from the treetops. Instead it came from deep within the bush, somewhere to the north of the camp. The men peered into the dark recesses of the jungle, but the thick foliage was impenetrable. The piping continued eerily, weaving among the branches like a sinuous tree snake.

"What is it?" Maddock whispered. Something about the sound compelled him to lower his voice.

"It's no bird, that's for sure," said Ivor. He bent to retrieve his axe, and the more experienced of the men followed suit. The jungle was no place to take chances. "And it's getting closer."

Filar grunted and spat on the ground. "Reckon we'd better go check it out."

He pulled his sword from its sheath, turning it over to inspect the edges. The loss of his axe had forced him to use the sword as a tool, and hours of chopping vegetation had left the blade in dismal condition. Still, it would do the job if necessary.

"You men stay here," Ivor instructed the others. "Shout if you see anything."

He gestured at Filar and Maddock, and the three of them left the relative safety of the clearing for the unknown dangers of the brush.

"They're coming!" whispered Zyx with glee.

He was rather proud of his shrill, piping cry, fancying that it sounded a great deal like the bone-chilling call of the Uluu Thalongh. Since neither he nor Cirro had ever heard the bone-chilling call of the Uluu Thalongh, there was no one to disagree with him.

"How close are they?" Cirro wanted to know.

The mist dragon was covered from horn to claw in a thick layer of mud, and was therefore quite unable to see. He had been forced to rely on Zyx's convoluted directions to find the clearing, and considered it nothing shy of a miracle that he had arrived unscathed. Even more impressive, most of the stray branches Zyx had affixed to his body had survived the journey. So far, things were going smoothly.