Temple of the Dragonslayer (2 page)

“There she is! I see her!”

“So do I!”

Running only a few yards ahead of the goblins, Nearra spotted a break in the trees with sunlight and tall grass beyond.

“Stop, girl! Or things will get even worse for you!”

The goblins sounded so close now. A claw scraped the back of Nearra’s neck and hooked her collar. She jerked free and kept running.

“I almost got her!”

She put on a burst of speed and ran for the clearing ahead of
her. Sweat poured off her forehead and dripped into her eyes. Her breath came in panting gasps, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to run much longer.

At the edge of the clearing, she caught sight of a thick branch the right size and length to serve as a club. She bent down, snatched up the branch, and continued until she emerged into open air and sunshine.

In the middle of the clearing, she turned and held the branch before her as if it were a sword. She knew it was foolish to face the goblins armed with only a chunk of wood, but she had no other choice.

The tall one came first.

“Look at what we have here, lads!” Drefan gave a wolfish grin as the other two goblins emerged from the trees. “It seems that the rabbit has decided to stand up to the hounds.”

The bat-eared goblin frowned. “Rabbit? But she’s a human, isn’t she?”

Drefan cuffed his friend none too gently. “You moron, Gifre! I was speaking metaphorically!”

“Meta-what? I’m not familiar with that language, Drefan,” Gifre said.

Drefan gritted his yellowed, crooked teeth. “I don’t know which of you is the bigger idiot.”

Fyren looked at Gifre. “At least we can tell the difference between a rabbit and a human girl.”

Gifre nodded. “That’s right, Drefan. So don’t go getting all high and mighty on us—even if you do speak met-a-for!”

Just then, a dark shadow fell upon the clearing and a sudden wind kicked up. The goblins looked skyward and shrieked. Then they whirled about and dashed back into the trees, running as if their lives depended on it.

Nearra didn’t have time to feel relieved at the goblins’ retreat. The wind grew even stronger, forcing her to her knees. She heard a loud thump behind her and the ground shuddered beneath her. Abruptly, the wind calmed. An acrid smell filled the air
She sensed there was something behind her—something big. But she couldn’t turn around and look. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t run. She was completely paralyzed by fear.

“Greetings, little one.” The voice thundered like two large slabs of rock smashing together. The harsh smell grew stronger.

“You can turn around. I’m not going to hurt you.” The monster chuckled. “Yet.”

But Nearra couldn’t move.

“Turn around and face me.” The voice no longer held any trace of amusement, and Nearra experienced a renewed surge of fear—fear of not obeying the voice’s command.

And so, with her breath caught in her throat, she turned around.

The creature was huge, its green body easily taking up half the clearing. Leathery wings were folded against its scaly sides, and a long barbed tail curled around taloned feet. As large as the beast was, though, its face was the most frightening feature. It grinned at her with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. Its eyes were even more terrifying. Big as plates, they weren’t the eyes of a mindless animal. They were the eyes of a thinking creature, one that was just as intelligent as any human, if not more so.

“What is your name, child?”

Nearra didn’t answer right away. Not because she was afraid—though she was, quite a bit—but because she’d realized for the first time since awakening on the forest trail that she didn’t know her own name. A new wave of terror washed over her.

“Well? Speak up! It’s the least you can do to repay me after I saved you from those goblins.”

Nearra found her voice then. “Saved me for what? Mealtime?”

The dragon let forth a laugh. “You’re a bold one, girl. I like that. But you still haven’t told me your name. Who are you, girl?” The dragon, eyes glittering, extended her head toward Nearra.
“WHO … ARE … YOU?”

There was something in the way the dragon repeated the question, as if the words held a special significance she wasn’t aware of. As she tried to recall her name, she felt a sudden sensation of dizziness and a building pressure inside her head.

“Nearra,” she said. “My name is Nearra.” The pressure in her head disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The dragon frowned at Nearra’s response, but all she said was, “I am called Slean. What causes you to be in these woods alone, with nothing more than a dead branch for protection?”

Nearra glanced at the piece of wood gripped tightly in her hand. She’d forgotten that she was holding it. The branch seemed an even more foolish defense against a dragon than it had against a trio of goblins.

“I do not know,” she answered, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

Slean arched a scaly eyebrow. “You’ll forgive me if I say that seems unlikely.”

“It’s true. I awoke on the forest path while those three goblins debated what to do with me. I have no memories from before that moment.”

Slean considered this for a moment. “And yet, when pressed, you remembered your name. If you have no memories, how do you know that Nearra truly is your name? Perhaps it belongs to someone else entirely.”

Nearra shook her head. “I … I don’t know how, but I know it’s mine.”

Slean smiled. The sight of her lizardish lips drawing back from her sharp teeth created a truly unsettling effect. “Well then, Nearra, if you don’t know how you got here and don’t remember anything about yourself, then you have no idea what to do next or where to go, do you?”

With a hollow, sinking feeling, Nearra realized Slean was right. Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. She wasn’t going to let the dragon see her cry.

“It would be cruel of me to leave you here, all alone, vulnerable to the many dangers the wood holds,” Slean said. “So I’ll take you with me.”

Nearra felt a flicker of hope. Slean was going to help her!

“In my belly.” The dragon opened her mouth wide and lunged forward. Nearra screamed and threw her hands over her head. Her fingers tingled and a voice whispered in her mind.

Yes! Do it! Now!
The voice was feminine, sly, and coolly calculating.

The tingling in her hands increased, becoming so painful that it felt as if a thousand needles pierced her flesh from the inside out.

Nearra had no idea whether she imagined that voice or not, but she had the strong feeling that it was very important for her not to do it, whatever it was. Even if that meant getting eaten by Slean.

The tingling in her hands ceased as quickly as it had started. Nearra squeezed her eyes shut more tightly and braced her body to feel the dragon’s teeth bite into her flesh.

But they didn’t.

Seconds passed. When still nothing happened, Nearra ventured to open a single eye.

Slean was still crouched before her, but now the green dragon’s head swayed from side to side, and her eyelids drooped. And then, unable to resist any longer, the dragon fell over onto her side. The ground shook as the monster let out a deep rumbling sound. Somehow, impossibly, Slean had fallen asleep.

“Don’t move!” a voice shouted from across the clearing.

Startled, Nearra whirled around, brandishing her makeshift club to defend herself against this new threat, whatever it might be.

A
re you unharmed?” a boy of about fifteen shouted as he walked toward Nearra from the edge of the clearing. He wore a traveler’s pack and held a bow, arrow nocked and ready. More arrows rode in a quiver slung over his right shoulder and a hunting knife hung from his belt. His sandy brown hair poked out at all angles from beneath his cap, and his deep brown eyes glanced around nervously. Beside him walked a tall, older man garbed in white wizard’s robes and also carrying a traveler’s pack.

When Nearra didn’t respond, the boy asked, “What’s wrong with her, Maddoc? Can’t she speak?”

“It’s the dragonfear,” the wizard said. “Whenever a being finds him or herself in the presence of a dragon, they experience a powerful surge of fear. If they become overwhelmed by this fear, they may well panic and lose control. Some attempt to flee in terror, or some become paralyzed with fear. Either way, they are easy prey. She’s doubtless still frightened.” The wizard glanced at Davyn. “And it doesn’t help that you’re pointing an arrow at her.”

Davyn blushed and lowered his bow, though he did not remove the arrow.

“I’m sorry. My arrow was intended for the dragon, should she suddenly awake.”

Maddoc chuckled. “As if a mere arrow could slay such a beast, even one as young as that.”

“Young?” Nearra said in surprise. She glanced at the sleeping dragon. “She certainly looks full grown to me!”

“From what I have read about dragons, I believe her to be a juvenile.” Maddoc rubbed his close-cropped beard. “But not even an infant fresh out of its egg could be killed by an ordinary arrow.”

Davyn blushed more deeply this time.

Nearra felt a sudden need to come to his defense. “That’s quite all right. I think it’s most brave of you to be willing to face a dragon, armed with nothing more than a bow and arrow.”

The boy returned her smile but there was a troubled look in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago, as if her compliment had made him uncomfortable.

Maddoc motioned for Nearra to join him and Davyn. “Come, child. We must leave this place. The enchantment I laid upon the dragon won’t last forever. Dragons are magical creatures themselves, and there’s no telling how a given spell will affect them or how long it will last.”

Nearra hesitated, unsure what to do. Could she trust Maddoc and Davyn? The wizard wore the white robes of a mage aligned with good. And he and Davyn had come to her rescue. But so much had happened so fast. Waking up in the forest with no memory, being attacked first by goblins, then a dragon, and finally being rescued by a wizard and a ranger. It was all so strange, like something out of a nightmare.

“If we wished you harm, child,” Maddoc said, “we could have simply let the dragon do as she wished with you.”

Slean snorted and turned over in her sleep, and Nearra decided that whatever she did, she couldn’t stay here. She hurried over to the wizard and the boy, and they led her back into the trees.

In the forest just beyond the clearing, a wizened dwarf wrapped in a gray cloak crouched behind an oak tree. He wore his hood up to protect the pale yellow-white skin of his face from the light, even though the thick canopy of leaves above filtered the sun. Behind him crouched the three goblin bandits: Drefan, Fyren, and Gifre.

“Are they gone yet?” Drefan asked the dwarf.

“I believe so,” Oddvar said in a whisper. He rarely spoke louder because he was a Theiwar, a dark dwarf. Dark dwarves lived underground and didn’t need to speak loudly because sound carried so well in the caverns. “It’s difficult to tell with that dragon still in the way.”

“So what did you think of our performance?” Drefan asked.

“I’m not a drama critic,” Oddvar said. In truth, he’d thought the goblins’ acting job had been less than convincing. If Nearra hadn’t been so obviously confused upon awakening, he doubted she’d have been fooled.

He stood. “Let’s go,” he said to the goblins. “And try to keep quiet for a change. We don’t want the girl to know we’re following.”

“Quiet?” Drefan scowled. “What are you saying?”

Oddvar replied in a low, dangerous whisper. “I’m saying that if you three can’t keep your mouths shut, I’ll feed you all to Slean.”

Drefan’s red-skinned face paled almost to pink, but he said, “Bah! What makes you think we’re afraid of that overgrown lizard?” The goblin leader puffed out his chest.

Oddvar narrowed his gaze and gave a sly half-smile. “Slean hasn’t left yet. If you’d like, I can relay your message to her.” The Theiwar turned and started toward the clearing—and the green dragon.

Drefan grabbed Oddvar by the elbow and stopped him. “That’s all right, Oddvar,” Drefan said in a nervous voice.

Oddvar smirked. He pulled free of Drefan’s grip and walked off in the direction he’d originally been heading. He didn’t look to see if the goblins followed.