DW02 Dragon War (19 page)

In fact, Shulana had begun to work even before Bagsby had the fire blazing. Taking some curious white powder from a vial in her leather pouch, she had outlined the earth around the bonfire in a great circle. Then, making sure that she and Bagsby were both inside the circle, she had begun weaving her hands in the air in a series of strange, fluid gestures, and chanting in the musical tongue that Bagsby knew was her native language—a language of great magic power. She had continued her chanting far longer than Bagsby had ever seen before. What spell, he had wondered, was she weaving?

“Protection,” she had answered simply when her casting was done and he had ventured to ask. “I do not intend to give my name easily when your ‘friends’ arrive.”

“Give your name?” Bagsby had queried. “What do you mean? You don’t want to be introduced?”

Shulana had hung her head in part mock, part sincere despair at Bagsby’s human ignorance. “To an elf, to give your name means to die. When one elf slays another in fair combat, the victor must give his true name—not his common name—to the vanquished. It is considered the giving of a life for a life, so there is no blood debt.”

Bagsby had shaken his head, still confused. “You mean, elves all have two names?”

“Certainly,” Shulana had responded. “All things have two names: their common name and their true name. The true name is the name in the language of magic, the name that allows its possessor to have great power over the named thing.”

“Hunnh,” Bagsby had said. Useful bit of information, he thought to himself.

It was this useful bit of information that Bagsby was now pondering as he warmed himself by the great fire and gazed skyward. They would come, he knew. They would see the fire from their perch high in the mountains, and they would wonder who dared to come so close to the mountains which even the dwarves had abandoned years in the past. They would come, swooping down out of the night sky in all their power and majesty.

And, Bagsby thought, they would see an elf. But they would also see him. He was gambling both Shulana’s life and his own that they would pause to listen to him before simply toasting a representative of the race that had nearly exterminated their own kind.

Shulana sat huddled near the edge of the circle, her head resting on her knees. This was insanity, she thought. Bagsby was so confident of his own abilities that he had doomed her, and very likely himself. Worse, he had probably doomed her entire race, for when the dragons had time to breed, to grow strong, they would seek revenge against the one race that had first challenged their virtual domination of the world and eventually driven them to extinction. No glib-tongued human could possibly overcome the power of a racial hatred so deep. Shulana fingered her bow, kept handy by her side. She wondered if one her arrows, enchanted as they were, could pierce the tough armor of a dragon. Perhaps if she shot for the eye....

Her musings were interrupted by the growing sound of a dull roar that grew and grew in intensity until Shulana could feel the force of the winds.

“They’re coming,” Bagsby said, racing to her side and throwing himself on the ground. “Better grab on to one of these rocks. Their landings cause quite a ruckus!”

Shulana flopped onto her belly, grasped her bow tight in her left hand and, with her right, grasped one of the jagged outcroppings that dotted the portion of the field inside her magic circle. The wind, of course, might blow away most of the magic powder, but even then the spell would hold for a short time. If she could get one strategic shot, she thought, she could kill one of the things, or at least wound it horribly....

The howling din grew too great to even think. Shulana’s arm ached as the wind tugged at her light body; her fingertips began to bleed from the force with which she grasped her granite anchor.

“It’s both of them, all right!” Bagsby shouted at the top of his lungs.

Shulana could see the movement of his lips, but could not hear his words.

“Oh boy! Hang on!” the little thief called again.

Shulana’s hand could not hold. Reluctantly, she let go the bow and grasped the rock with both hands; even then, she found, she could barely hold on against the force of the violently swirling air. The fire behind her churned, swirled, and then, with a crash, scattered—the burning logs tossed across the landscape with the same ease that a child would toss seeds of grain.

Then, abruptly, the wind stopped, and there were two mighty crashes that jarred the earth so hard that Shulana and Bagsby both bounced up, only to have the wind knocked from their lungs as they flopped back down again.

Shulana began to tremble, experiencing the effects of dragonfear that Bagsby had already known. Bagsby, for his part, his lungs burning, was struggling to breathe. The fear of the dragons seemed not as great to him—in fact, he hardly felt frightened at all, so inured was he to their presence by his long association with them.
Next will come the voice,
he thought.
Poor Shulana. Bet she’s scared stiff.

“Who defiles the lands of Scratch and Lifefire!” the thundering, gravelly voice demanded. “Who attempts with the frail spell to keep Scratch from taking justice upon their person?”

“Scratch!” Bagsby managed to shout, air flooding back into his aching chest. “Scratch, it’s me, Bagsby!”

The ground shook again as the mighty male dragon stomped it with one powerful hind foot. “Thief! Liar! Cheat! You dare come back to face Scratch?”

“I do,” Bagsby shouted, finally releasing his grip on the rocks and staggering to his feet. “I wanted to talk to you and Lifefire,” he said, deliberately lowering his voice to get the dragons’ attention. “I remind you that you yourself agreed I was neither thief, nor cheat, nor liar, as far you were concerned. Did you not find your treasure where I said it would be?”

“I did!” Scratch thundered back. “But you were cunning, you tricked us....”

“He was within his rights, Scratch,” the slightly higher voice of Lifefire sounded. “You can always kill him, or berate him at your leisure if that is your will. Right now, why not see what he wants?”

“Ah, Lifefire, it is good to see you again.” Bagsby called. “I, too, have a friend with me. This,” Bagsby said, pointing to the huddling mass of fear that Shulana had become, “is Shulana, who has traveled here with me to meet you.”

“Elf!” Scratch boomed. The mighty dragon’s head reared back, the jaws gaping wide, the lungs sucking deeply at the night air.

“I come to bring you life for your race!” Bagsby cried. “Don’t you dare harm my friend, who has risked her life to join me in this offer to you.”

Lifefire, moving with a quickness belied by her great size, swung her head outward and upward, catching Scratch with a glancing blow to the neck that lifted his own head upward. As the male dragon exhaled, a gout of flame shot outward into the black night sky, its orange, red, and blue hues dancing with the dragon’s own rage.

“Hear him out,” Lifefire commanded. “Bagsby,” she said, lowering his voice to a volume that no longer hurt Bagsby’s ears, “your life depends upon your words.”

Don’t I know that,
Bagsby thought.

“Lifefire, as always, is full of wisdom, even as Scratch is full of the awesome power of the great dragon race,” Bagsby replied, bowing as courteously as he could. No doubt, he realized, some of the grandeur intended by the gesture was rendered comical by the bandage about his face, but then perhaps dragons didn’t notice such things. “I willingly put my life in your hands so you may hear my words. And I tell you plainly, your lives as well as mine depend upon what I say.”

Scratch bellowed in anger. “You dare to threaten us? You, who have seen our power?” the dragon roared.

“I do not threaten the great Scratch,” Bagsby responded. “I simply state the truth that Scratch himself knows.”

“What truth is that?” Lifefire demanded. “Be quick: Scratch grows impatient,” she warned.

“You see huddled here this frightened elf?” Bagsby asked, pointing to Shulana, who only now was beginning to recover from the waves of fear that afflicted all beings who saw a live, adult dragon for the first time. “She is a mere slip of a female, a nothing, less than a tiny morsel for the great Scratch,” Bagsby continued. He noted that Scratch, for once, nodded in agreement and began to puff up with pride. “Yet it was elves such as these that once destroyed the dragon race, mighty as it was,” Bagsby declared.

“That is an ancient story,” Lifefire said. “One whose outcome is still in doubt, as our presence attests.”

“True, true,” Bagsby agreed quickly. “By good fortune, by the power of magic and by the favor of the gods, the dragon race has gained a reprieve. You exist. This elf and I are here to offer you the chance to continue to exist.”

“The elves are weak now!” Scratch said. “Their numbers are few...”

“And yours are fewer, but I did not come here to threaten you with elves. I came to tell you of a greater threat,” Bagsby said, stepping right up to Scratch’s huge body and trying to look into one of the dragon’s great eyes. “The threat of humans. They are coming, the humans; they are coming everywhere. It was the humans who defeated the elves and reduced their numbers, even as the elves defeated the dragons. And if a race of dragons could not defeat the full race of elves, what chance will two dragons stand against the entire race of men, whose numbers are greater than the number of stars in the sky?”

“I see how I could reduce the numbers of humans and elves, each by one,” Scratch said, pawing the earth.

“It is you who threaten us,” Lifefire interjected, “for you are human.”

“I am human,” Bagsby admitted. “And never did dragons have a greater friend, for I bring you great news that can be the salvation of your race, and the key to peace between elves, men, and dragons.”

“Live long enough to tell me this news,” Scratch replied, “while I cast the spell that will break this circle of protection, that I may enjoy the taste of your human blood.”

“You see?” Bagsby said. “If the two of you must use magic to defeat the feeble spell of one elf, you will have no chance against the vile human wizard who even now directs his forces to the conquest of all Parona, including these mountains where you dwell. But my news is this,” Bagsby quickly added, noting that Scratch was beginning to mutter something in strange gravelly tones. “The humans are divided into two camps. One would conquer all and either exterminate or make slaves of all dragons. The other, my camp, fights for the freedom of all races, and peace between us.”

Bagsby paused. Was it time to ask the key question? Lifefire, he knew, was ready. Scratch must be interested, Bagsby noted, for he had momentarily stopped his mumbling.

The stillness was broken by the soft sounds made by Shulana as she slowly rose to her feet. The elf then silently walked to stand by Bagsby’s side, gazing with awe, fear, anger, and wonder at the two huge red creatures whose bodies stretched out before her. How, she wondered, had Elrond ever slain a creature so powerful?

“On behalf of humans and elves, I have come to offer peace to the dragons, and security for their race. In exchange, I ask for your help in the great battle we must fight against those who would enslave both us and you,” Bagsby said grandly. Then, putting on his sternest face, the one he had practiced when leading troops in Argolia, he demanded, “What is your reply?”

The two huge beasts turned face to face, staring at one another. Scratch’s giant rear feet clawed at the earth in frustration. How much simpler to just eat these troublesome creatures? He had no intention of sharing a world with them. But Lifefire—Lifefire was always concerned about the future. What would she say? For who could live with her if her path to the motherhood of a new dragon race was blocked?

Lifefire answered first. “How,” she queried, “would we begin?”

Bagsby exhaled slowly and with an enormous sense of relief.

“Well,” he said, “to start with, we need to teach Shulana how to ride on your back.”

“No!” Scratch boomed. Bagsby and Shulana staggered backward, the ground beneath their feet trembling from the deep bass vibrations of his enraged voice. “There can be no peace with the elves! With men—I do not like it, but I will permit it. But not with elves, not with the creatures who slew the mother of us all!”

“Yes, it must be,” Bagsby said, leaning forward, then striding forward, regaining his ground. “For the elves fight with us. Nevertheless, I understand your ancient hatred. If you will agree to this alliance, I will give you one more thing, once the battle is fought. It is the one thing, Scratch, that you want more than any other thing.”

“No gold can buy my honor!” the dragon boomed, and again the earth trembled, but this time Bagsby managed to stand his ground, clinging to Shulana to keep them both from falling.

“Not gold, Scratch,” Bagsby said. “I will give you the life of the elf who slew your mother.”

The huge dragon, Scratch, cocked his head toward his mate and muttered in the dragon tongue, “What are they doing?”

Lifefire cocked her head in return, so that the crests of the two great dragons scraped together. She studied the strange scene before her for a long while in silence, then she replied in the guttural rush of air that dragons call a whisper, “I don’t know.”

The two mighty beasts watched in amazement the puzzling behavior of the male human and the female elf.

At first it seemed to be a fight—strange behavior indeed for one coming to offer peace. The elf hurled herself upon Bagsby, her tiny fists clutched tightly, hot tears of rage streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her flurry of blows caught Bagsby off guard; he fell over backward, and Shulana threw herself upon him, her fists pounding into his face.

“No, Shulana, you don’t understand...” Bagsby shouted.

“You would murder Elrond for the sake of dragons!” the elf shouted, her solid little blows striking Bagsby’s nose, eyes, and cheeks until he managed to raise his arms over his face in self-defense. Still she pummeled him, striking his arms and shoulders.

“No, no, wait,” Bagsby cried. “Let me explain.”

Shulana plunged a fist sharply into his breastbone. The air rushed from Bagsby’s lungs and his eyes bulged.