bloodyrosemccoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2013-02-24 05:31 pm
bloodyrosemccoy) wrote2013-02-24 05:31 pm
Entry tags:
Scatterstone - Part 5
Lost? Part 1 and its index will put you right on track!
Their mother must have made Ron promise to look after Ed at some point long ago. Otherwise Ed seems like the kind of guy who might embarrass the other depraved cutthroats and murderers. I wouldn't let him into my band of hardened criminals, and I certainly wouldn't throw myself between him and a ravening beast.
---
Largo woke late in the evening.
This was a problem. He couldn't recall having fallen asleep.
All the evidence pointed to a fairly sudden stop, too. If he'd been planning to fall asleep, he probably would have made camp, rather than crawl halfheartedly under a thicket. He must have had just enough sense to get off the road before collapsing.
What on Earth had he been doing to exhaust himself so? Was he that out of condition that a little walking had done him in? His limbs felt leaden. Despite the twigs in his hair, the mud on the side of his face, the leftover rainwater dripping into his ear, and the ants mounting an assault on his pack, he was tempted to close his eyes and sleep straight through till tomorrow. But the memory of Nolly's alarm would not let him rest easily. He crawled blearily out of the thicket, found a stream to wash most of the mud off his face, washed and changed his clothes, and continued on his way.
He was only able to walk for a few hours that day, but he made a much more respectable camp this time. He found a lovely outcropping of stones, with one beautiful slab he could sleep on, and the sky had cleared and the earth had dried, so he was far less soggy. Still, it was all he could do to finish the couple of mushroom pasties he'd snatched from his mother's kitchen before falling asleep again. It was with some relief that he awoke feeling far less likely to die of exhaustion.
A day later he crossed the border from Alricshire into Arcadia.
It was a shock to realize that he hadn't even noticed the change. The rolling hills and woodsy patches were the same. The road was the same. Even the stones, which told him so much about where he was, were the same. But suddenly the traffic on the road increased--both in quantity and in size. Largo found himself dodging enormous wagons, horses, and humans as he went on his way.
He'd never really thought of himself as small before. Bigfolk in Alricshire were just that--unusually big people in a normal-sized world. They had to squeeze their huge, clumsy bodies into all sorts of unnatural shapes to conform to the way things were built.
Out here, the world was built for these bigfolk, and it made a surprising difference. Without the graceless contortions Alricshire demanded of them, they seemed far less unwieldy.
But everything else was far more unwieldy for the likes of him. Unwieldy and strange.
The first thing he noticed in the villages was the houses. They were built of stone--round stones held together with copious amounts of mortar. He kept touching the walls with fascination when he could. How would it be to live like this? Surrounded by rock when you slept and cooked and spun tales by the fire, always close to that purposeful sense that leached into the buildings from those who arranged their walls? It seemed almost as wonderful as the thought of living in a cave.
But they were so big. And so close together. It would be hard to run or climb trees here. He wandered the streets--also covered in stone--gaping at huge walls and looming doorways until he stumbled into the market. There the crush of people nearly blocked the sun from him. It jolted him out of his reverie, and remembering his purpose he located an inn.
He sat in the corner of the common room, swinging his legs on the giant chair and eating from a bowl the size of a basin. It was hard not to pay attention to the curious glances of the other guests.
But he wouldn't learn anything this way. He had just made up his mind to go speak ot the innkeeper when an old man and a young boy approached his table.
"Mind some company?" the former asked.
"Indeed not!" He felt far better for a good meal. He sat back comfortably and took out his pipe. "Largo Blackstone, at your service."
"I'm Gerat. The boy is Doriun."
Largo and Doriun regarded each other with interest. The boy was perhaps ten, though Largo was having difficulty judging. It was hard when a child was a good head taller than he was.
Doriun, for his part, took no pains to disguise his fascination. He jumped a bit when Largo lit up his pipe, but continued staring. Largo blew a smoke ring just to see his eyes widen.
"Don't see many of your kind around here," Gerat noted.
Largo shrugged. "Have you seen one, at least? I'm looking for a friend." He described Nolly briefly, pushing down the pang that struck when he thought of her.
Gerat shook his head regretfully. "We're fresh in from the country. Sorry. But if she's with the Fyan, then at least you know which way she's going."
Largo sighed. "I hope so."
"They'll have hired a barge or two at Wellen's Cross," Gerat added. "It's quicker. Just pile all their wagons onto the barges and float along to Saint Verdaine. You may be able to catch up to them if you take a ferry."
"Thanks." He meant it wholeheartedly.
Gerat mopped up the last of his stew. "Oh, one more thing. It'll take you a few days to get there. Be wary--travelers around here often fall prey to bandits."
"I'll remember."
"Hope you find her," Doriun blurted.
Largo nodded. "Me, too."
He spent the night in the inn's common room, curled on his bedroll. He left early.
Walking was so slow! His legs were too short to carry him at a good pace. And yet he would have happily slowed down to enjoy the novelties if he could. One night he slept in a human-sized bed, laughing at its vastness. Another time he stumbled into a harvest festival with a most wonderful dance production, its performers dressed as swirling leaves and ripe fruits and grains. He thought fleetingly of home, where the harvest would be hailed with games and music and, of course, food. But a moment later he was swept into the dance, catching little sugared vegetables and fruits the smallest dancers tossed to the crowd.
The need to find Nolly drove him onward, but the world was so interesting that it was impossible not to enjoy it along the way.
But in the rush of new wonders, he forgot Gerat's advice about bandits.
He was almost to Wellen's Cross one day, feeling quite cheerful. The crisp autumn breeze was genially shuffling a few puffy clouds around the sun, and the leaves were fluttering along with it. No village was in sight, nor traveler. A good day to be on the road.
An arrow landed at his feet.
The merry tune he'd been whistling broke off without resolution. Who could have been so careless as to fire an arrow? They'd almost hit him! What sort of inconsiderate bonehead--
Three men stepped into the road. Largo's indignation turned to surprised dismay when he saw that one held a crossbow pointed at his chest.
"Far enough, me lovely," the crossbowman said. "Both myself and my friend with the bow up there"--he nodded to a stand of trees--"only have eyes for you."
Oh, he thought, the back of his neck prickling. They shot at me on purpose.
"Ain't this a little beauty?" another said, grinning. He had a bristly beard festooned with the remains of several meals. "Let's invite this'n to stay, Ron."
Ron eyed Largo appraisingly. "We could, Ed. What do you think, me lovely? Will ye be our guest awhile?"
Largo took a step back--and squeaked as one of the two men who'd closed in behind him swiped at his arm. He kicked reflexively, catching someone in the knee. He dodged and stumbled, landing flat on his chest.
The curses of the man he'd kicked held less terror for him than the others' taunts. He'd feel far better if he could even guess what they meant, but his imagination could come up with nothing. He knew that was a bad sign.
A hand caught his leg. The contact burst the bubble of panic swelling inside him. With a scream he spun and flung a handful of roadside pebbles at the looming bandit. Blind him, he thought wildly, just to make him let go--
A blast of--thunder--energy--something--knocked him back. Magic! he cried inside as his head bounced off the path. Somebody has magic! I'm doomed.
#
Miles away, Manjusha was jolted from her methodical search of the Arcadian countryside. The sound again!--far off but unmistakable. And this time, she'd been waiting. She could pinpoint it.
She allowed herself a predatory smile. Time to use that travel spell. The noisemaker, whoever it was, would not dodge her this time.
#
The hand on his leg let go. His assailant howled in pain and fury. Largo staggered upright, winded, to see Ed clutching at his face. Blood dripped through his fingers and dribbled into his filthy beard, which looked frizzy now--half-burned.
"What is it?" Ron cried.
"Me eye! Maggot got me eye!" By the sound of his voice, Ed's nose had taken a hit, too.
Largo decided he would sort out just how that had happened later. For now, it was time to go.
The bandits were not so easily shaken, though. The moment he fled, they let out ugly war whoops and gave chase.
He ran blindly, his pack bouncing against his back. He was afraid to take the time to shed it. If he could only find a place to--
A figure dropped from a tree in front of him. Largo skidded to a halt, staring in despair at the point of a nocked arrow.
"Well, well, well," the big woman said. "Don't go just yet. Looks like you haven't paid our toll."
"Little bugger's got to pay for more than that," panted Ron. He and two of the others were not pleased that they'd had to run. "He took out Ed's right eye."
"Did he?" She sneered. "Now, I happen to know that Ed's right eye was his favorite eye. He'll have to apologize to Ed for that."
Largo's attention was taken up by the arrows pointed at him and by his own terror. But even with such demands, he still saw the flash of ruby red in the sky a moment before the others.
Out of the blue sky, banging into existence from nothing, a dragon streaked down at them.
The bandits cried out, their prey forgotten. Ron swung his crossbow up, but the bolt went wide. The woman with the recurved bow didn't even bother to use it; she turned and ran. The others tried to scatter, but it was too late: the great scarlet beast swept them all into its claws.
Largo had only gotten a few feet when he was yanked upward. Pain sliced into his arms. The dragon had caught hold of his pack, leaving him to dangle helplessly from the straps as, with a great flap of leathery wings, the creature soared into the sky.
The flight was miserable. He crossed his arms and gripped the straps tightly, watching the ground fall away beneath him. He was facing backward, so the wind was not in his eyes, but it chilled him, and his arms quickly went numb. The dragon turned east, carrying him far away from the road to Wellen's Cross, eating up miles of forest and farmland. He tried to remember the route--it would take him weeks to get back--but it was so hard to think without something solid beneath his feet.
I'm so sorry, Nolly, he said silently. I can't help you. I'm going to become a dragon's afternoon tea.
Finally, they began to descend--a sensation that his stomach didn't agree with at all. But at least they were nearing the ground. A tiny idea had been forming in his mind, and he could almost dare to try it.
They leveled out about twenty feet above an overgrown meadow. Luck was with him. That meadow had to be forgiving--more so than a dragon, anyway. So, as the great monster coasted forward, he closed his eyes and wriggled out of the straps of his pack.
He hit the bed of autumn flowers and stiff grasses like a rag doll, limbs flopping, head rattling. The dragon sailed on, but only for a little ways. To his surprise, when the creature reached an old castle a short distance from him, it braked in a glory of red scales and landed neatly within the crumbling curtain wall.
Largo dropped back into the concealing brush, found the agate around his neck, and tried to gather his head.
"This is your fault, Nolly," he muttered. "If I ever do find you, I'll sell you to the trolls."
"Hsst! Boy!"
His eyes snapped open.
"Boy!"
If I hold very still, he thought, maybe he'll go away. I've had enough socializing for today.
The voice was low and hurried. "Quickly, boy! The dragon doesn't like to lose prisoners! You must come with me!"
Largo swallowed. But he couldn't very well lie in a field forever.
He sat up.
The man who'd called to him was built like Glodho--but of course he was twice the hobbit's size. His shoulders were built like a fortified keep. His olive skin reminded Largo of a Fyan. His eyes were a strange reddish-brown, like rare meat. His face was angular and intense--handsomely built, but marred by a collection of old, pitted scars, decorations left from what looked like a long-ago pox.
Largo stared, nearly as intimidated by this man as he'd been by the dragon. He was clearly important. His black cape was heavy and richly embroidered. The buttons on his black velvet doublet looked to be gold. Several gold chains--with a clear stone in each link--hung around his tree-trunk-like neck. More stones glittered on thick rings and on the links of his gold belt.
He beckoned impatiently. "Hurry!"
Largo stood, still a bit shaken. As he walked toward the man, a curious buzzing started somewhere between his ears. It was a sense of something sullen and strained, like muscles that had been tensed for too long yearning for relief. It seemed his poor head had gotten rattled harder than he'd thought today.
His own muscles could use some relief, too. At least he was no longer hanging by his armpits hundreds of feet in the air. Wriggling his shoulders a bit, he stepped onto the decrepit road before this impressive figure.
The man regarded him with slight amusement. "You had a narrow escape there."
Largo nodded. "Yes, sir."
"That's 'my lord.' Lord Kraja of Chadrafun."
Largo gaped at him.
Lord Kraja spun, cape swirling. "Don't just stand there, boy. Follow me."
He started back down the road toward the town below. Largo scurried to keep up.
"Hobbit, aren't you?" Lord Kraja asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"You're a long way from home. Has the dragon's reach extended that far?"
"No, sir--my lord. I was--I was almost to Wellen's Cross."
"Really? From where?"
Briefly, Largo described his journey. He omitted the dreams that showed him what Nolly was up to; he just said he was worried enough to follow her. His companion listened gravely.
"Seems to me you got lucky twice today," he said. "Escaping bandits and a dragon."
"Very lucky," Largo agreed fervently. "I'd never have gotten even that far if somebody's magic hadn't backfired while they were attacking."
The pitted skin around Lord Kraja's eyes tightened. "Did you see who was wielding it?"
"No," Largo said. "I wasn't really paying attention."
"I may have to look into that," the huge man mused. "Magic in the wrong hands can be a scourge on the people around it.
Largo nodded glumly. "I hadn't realized how awful it could be. It's too much for me. I'll be happy if I can leave it to the mages out in the big world from now on."
Lord Kraja laughed, his white teeth flashing in the sun.
"Come on, lad," he said, putting a large hand on Largo's shoulder. "Let's see what we can arrange."
#
Manjusha hated to admit it, but she was highly relieved when not one of the blithering idiots she had hauled across the country activated her crystal ball.
It wasn't that she was pleased that the spectacularly noisy mystery magic user had somehow managed to elude her again. But the thought of one of these shining beacons of wisdom and nobility being the one she was looking for was enough to set her scales on edge.
"Please, your lordship, don't eat me," the man in the middle blubbered. "I've got ten poor children at home without a ma--"
"You do not, Ron," one of the other men blurted.
A thunderous boom resonated through the castle courtyard. The four humans jumped, suddenly riveted on the gigantic double door Manjusha negligently held shut with her tail. Another hollow boom shook it, as though something had struck it with tremendous force.
"He's the one who shot at you, lordship," the woman said, indicating the one called Ron. "I held my fire--"
Manjusha didn't bother to correct the use of the term "lordship." She couldn't care less about humans misreading her gender--or about their gibbering terror. She ignored the rest of their tirade, going back over the scene when she'd swept them into their claws. There had been a fifth person. Where had he gotten to?
"Who else was with you?" she demanded, interrupting their panicked pleas.
There was a startled silence for a moment. Then: "Two more of us, lordship," the woman said.
"Shut up!" Ron snapped.
"Named Brank and Ed," the woman went on, a spiteful gleam in her eyes. "They must be the ones you want! I wouldn't eat Ed, though," she added as an afterthought. "He might make you sick ..."
"Shut up!" Ron launched himself at her. She drove her fist into his stomach, and the pair tumbled into a tussle.
The door behind Manjusha banged insistently.
"They were north of us a ways," one of the others told Manjusha. "The little maggot we ran across took out his eye."
The part of Manjusha's mind that paid attention to human body language noted that the fourth human's face blanched as he realized what his companion had said. Quickly he began to splutter out some preposterous lie attempting to explain why a lone traveler would find it necessary to take on six innocent armed ruffians on the road. He wanted to be very clear that they had certainly not waylaid him and had, indeed, been minding their own business when Ed had suddenly found himself short an eye.
Manjusha did not care.
"Get out," she said peremptorily.
The speaker stopped midsentence. The struggling pair to the side halted to stare at her.
Manjusha gazed thoughtfully at the travel pack she'd also managed to grab. It was far too nicely kept to belong to any of them. It must have belonged to the person they'd been in the midst of assaulting. She supposed it was possible that one of the other bandits--Ed or Brank--might be the one she sought. But she suspected she was looking for the owner of this pack.
She rather hoped she hadn't dropped him from too high.
She looked up. The humans were still there.
"I said get out!" she reminded them.
A well-timed boom from the door punctuated her command. The four fled through the gate.
Manjusha sighed, lifting her tail out of the way. "They're gone now," she told the door. "You can cut that out."
The sense she got from the entity she was addressing was vaguely sulky.
"They weren't worth your time," the dragon shrugged. She returned the crystal ball to the pouch on her foreclaw. "Your trouble is, you've got no standards."
The door bumped once more more, spitefully.
"Oh, stop it." Manjusha picked up the pack. Something about it seemed off. She considered it. She might have to take a more human view of it. But it was always such a hassle to start that up again ...
"And anyway, Kuen and Terwu'arie are coming tomorrow," she added. "You can entertain them."
The entity brightened considerably.
Manjusha rolled her eyes and went back to her contemplation of this new problem. "Maybe their visit will shed some light on this."
#
Part 6
Their mother must have made Ron promise to look after Ed at some point long ago. Otherwise Ed seems like the kind of guy who might embarrass the other depraved cutthroats and murderers. I wouldn't let him into my band of hardened criminals, and I certainly wouldn't throw myself between him and a ravening beast.
---
Largo woke late in the evening.
This was a problem. He couldn't recall having fallen asleep.
All the evidence pointed to a fairly sudden stop, too. If he'd been planning to fall asleep, he probably would have made camp, rather than crawl halfheartedly under a thicket. He must have had just enough sense to get off the road before collapsing.
What on Earth had he been doing to exhaust himself so? Was he that out of condition that a little walking had done him in? His limbs felt leaden. Despite the twigs in his hair, the mud on the side of his face, the leftover rainwater dripping into his ear, and the ants mounting an assault on his pack, he was tempted to close his eyes and sleep straight through till tomorrow. But the memory of Nolly's alarm would not let him rest easily. He crawled blearily out of the thicket, found a stream to wash most of the mud off his face, washed and changed his clothes, and continued on his way.
He was only able to walk for a few hours that day, but he made a much more respectable camp this time. He found a lovely outcropping of stones, with one beautiful slab he could sleep on, and the sky had cleared and the earth had dried, so he was far less soggy. Still, it was all he could do to finish the couple of mushroom pasties he'd snatched from his mother's kitchen before falling asleep again. It was with some relief that he awoke feeling far less likely to die of exhaustion.
A day later he crossed the border from Alricshire into Arcadia.
It was a shock to realize that he hadn't even noticed the change. The rolling hills and woodsy patches were the same. The road was the same. Even the stones, which told him so much about where he was, were the same. But suddenly the traffic on the road increased--both in quantity and in size. Largo found himself dodging enormous wagons, horses, and humans as he went on his way.
He'd never really thought of himself as small before. Bigfolk in Alricshire were just that--unusually big people in a normal-sized world. They had to squeeze their huge, clumsy bodies into all sorts of unnatural shapes to conform to the way things were built.
Out here, the world was built for these bigfolk, and it made a surprising difference. Without the graceless contortions Alricshire demanded of them, they seemed far less unwieldy.
But everything else was far more unwieldy for the likes of him. Unwieldy and strange.
The first thing he noticed in the villages was the houses. They were built of stone--round stones held together with copious amounts of mortar. He kept touching the walls with fascination when he could. How would it be to live like this? Surrounded by rock when you slept and cooked and spun tales by the fire, always close to that purposeful sense that leached into the buildings from those who arranged their walls? It seemed almost as wonderful as the thought of living in a cave.
But they were so big. And so close together. It would be hard to run or climb trees here. He wandered the streets--also covered in stone--gaping at huge walls and looming doorways until he stumbled into the market. There the crush of people nearly blocked the sun from him. It jolted him out of his reverie, and remembering his purpose he located an inn.
He sat in the corner of the common room, swinging his legs on the giant chair and eating from a bowl the size of a basin. It was hard not to pay attention to the curious glances of the other guests.
But he wouldn't learn anything this way. He had just made up his mind to go speak ot the innkeeper when an old man and a young boy approached his table.
"Mind some company?" the former asked.
"Indeed not!" He felt far better for a good meal. He sat back comfortably and took out his pipe. "Largo Blackstone, at your service."
"I'm Gerat. The boy is Doriun."
Largo and Doriun regarded each other with interest. The boy was perhaps ten, though Largo was having difficulty judging. It was hard when a child was a good head taller than he was.
Doriun, for his part, took no pains to disguise his fascination. He jumped a bit when Largo lit up his pipe, but continued staring. Largo blew a smoke ring just to see his eyes widen.
"Don't see many of your kind around here," Gerat noted.
Largo shrugged. "Have you seen one, at least? I'm looking for a friend." He described Nolly briefly, pushing down the pang that struck when he thought of her.
Gerat shook his head regretfully. "We're fresh in from the country. Sorry. But if she's with the Fyan, then at least you know which way she's going."
Largo sighed. "I hope so."
"They'll have hired a barge or two at Wellen's Cross," Gerat added. "It's quicker. Just pile all their wagons onto the barges and float along to Saint Verdaine. You may be able to catch up to them if you take a ferry."
"Thanks." He meant it wholeheartedly.
Gerat mopped up the last of his stew. "Oh, one more thing. It'll take you a few days to get there. Be wary--travelers around here often fall prey to bandits."
"I'll remember."
"Hope you find her," Doriun blurted.
Largo nodded. "Me, too."
He spent the night in the inn's common room, curled on his bedroll. He left early.
Walking was so slow! His legs were too short to carry him at a good pace. And yet he would have happily slowed down to enjoy the novelties if he could. One night he slept in a human-sized bed, laughing at its vastness. Another time he stumbled into a harvest festival with a most wonderful dance production, its performers dressed as swirling leaves and ripe fruits and grains. He thought fleetingly of home, where the harvest would be hailed with games and music and, of course, food. But a moment later he was swept into the dance, catching little sugared vegetables and fruits the smallest dancers tossed to the crowd.
The need to find Nolly drove him onward, but the world was so interesting that it was impossible not to enjoy it along the way.
But in the rush of new wonders, he forgot Gerat's advice about bandits.
He was almost to Wellen's Cross one day, feeling quite cheerful. The crisp autumn breeze was genially shuffling a few puffy clouds around the sun, and the leaves were fluttering along with it. No village was in sight, nor traveler. A good day to be on the road.
An arrow landed at his feet.
The merry tune he'd been whistling broke off without resolution. Who could have been so careless as to fire an arrow? They'd almost hit him! What sort of inconsiderate bonehead--
Three men stepped into the road. Largo's indignation turned to surprised dismay when he saw that one held a crossbow pointed at his chest.
"Far enough, me lovely," the crossbowman said. "Both myself and my friend with the bow up there"--he nodded to a stand of trees--"only have eyes for you."
Oh, he thought, the back of his neck prickling. They shot at me on purpose.
"Ain't this a little beauty?" another said, grinning. He had a bristly beard festooned with the remains of several meals. "Let's invite this'n to stay, Ron."
Ron eyed Largo appraisingly. "We could, Ed. What do you think, me lovely? Will ye be our guest awhile?"
Largo took a step back--and squeaked as one of the two men who'd closed in behind him swiped at his arm. He kicked reflexively, catching someone in the knee. He dodged and stumbled, landing flat on his chest.
The curses of the man he'd kicked held less terror for him than the others' taunts. He'd feel far better if he could even guess what they meant, but his imagination could come up with nothing. He knew that was a bad sign.
A hand caught his leg. The contact burst the bubble of panic swelling inside him. With a scream he spun and flung a handful of roadside pebbles at the looming bandit. Blind him, he thought wildly, just to make him let go--
A blast of--thunder--energy--something--knocked him back. Magic! he cried inside as his head bounced off the path. Somebody has magic! I'm doomed.
#
Miles away, Manjusha was jolted from her methodical search of the Arcadian countryside. The sound again!--far off but unmistakable. And this time, she'd been waiting. She could pinpoint it.
She allowed herself a predatory smile. Time to use that travel spell. The noisemaker, whoever it was, would not dodge her this time.
#
The hand on his leg let go. His assailant howled in pain and fury. Largo staggered upright, winded, to see Ed clutching at his face. Blood dripped through his fingers and dribbled into his filthy beard, which looked frizzy now--half-burned.
"What is it?" Ron cried.
"Me eye! Maggot got me eye!" By the sound of his voice, Ed's nose had taken a hit, too.
Largo decided he would sort out just how that had happened later. For now, it was time to go.
The bandits were not so easily shaken, though. The moment he fled, they let out ugly war whoops and gave chase.
He ran blindly, his pack bouncing against his back. He was afraid to take the time to shed it. If he could only find a place to--
A figure dropped from a tree in front of him. Largo skidded to a halt, staring in despair at the point of a nocked arrow.
"Well, well, well," the big woman said. "Don't go just yet. Looks like you haven't paid our toll."
"Little bugger's got to pay for more than that," panted Ron. He and two of the others were not pleased that they'd had to run. "He took out Ed's right eye."
"Did he?" She sneered. "Now, I happen to know that Ed's right eye was his favorite eye. He'll have to apologize to Ed for that."
Largo's attention was taken up by the arrows pointed at him and by his own terror. But even with such demands, he still saw the flash of ruby red in the sky a moment before the others.
Out of the blue sky, banging into existence from nothing, a dragon streaked down at them.
The bandits cried out, their prey forgotten. Ron swung his crossbow up, but the bolt went wide. The woman with the recurved bow didn't even bother to use it; she turned and ran. The others tried to scatter, but it was too late: the great scarlet beast swept them all into its claws.
Largo had only gotten a few feet when he was yanked upward. Pain sliced into his arms. The dragon had caught hold of his pack, leaving him to dangle helplessly from the straps as, with a great flap of leathery wings, the creature soared into the sky.
The flight was miserable. He crossed his arms and gripped the straps tightly, watching the ground fall away beneath him. He was facing backward, so the wind was not in his eyes, but it chilled him, and his arms quickly went numb. The dragon turned east, carrying him far away from the road to Wellen's Cross, eating up miles of forest and farmland. He tried to remember the route--it would take him weeks to get back--but it was so hard to think without something solid beneath his feet.
I'm so sorry, Nolly, he said silently. I can't help you. I'm going to become a dragon's afternoon tea.
Finally, they began to descend--a sensation that his stomach didn't agree with at all. But at least they were nearing the ground. A tiny idea had been forming in his mind, and he could almost dare to try it.
They leveled out about twenty feet above an overgrown meadow. Luck was with him. That meadow had to be forgiving--more so than a dragon, anyway. So, as the great monster coasted forward, he closed his eyes and wriggled out of the straps of his pack.
He hit the bed of autumn flowers and stiff grasses like a rag doll, limbs flopping, head rattling. The dragon sailed on, but only for a little ways. To his surprise, when the creature reached an old castle a short distance from him, it braked in a glory of red scales and landed neatly within the crumbling curtain wall.
Largo dropped back into the concealing brush, found the agate around his neck, and tried to gather his head.
"This is your fault, Nolly," he muttered. "If I ever do find you, I'll sell you to the trolls."
"Hsst! Boy!"
His eyes snapped open.
"Boy!"
If I hold very still, he thought, maybe he'll go away. I've had enough socializing for today.
The voice was low and hurried. "Quickly, boy! The dragon doesn't like to lose prisoners! You must come with me!"
Largo swallowed. But he couldn't very well lie in a field forever.
He sat up.
The man who'd called to him was built like Glodho--but of course he was twice the hobbit's size. His shoulders were built like a fortified keep. His olive skin reminded Largo of a Fyan. His eyes were a strange reddish-brown, like rare meat. His face was angular and intense--handsomely built, but marred by a collection of old, pitted scars, decorations left from what looked like a long-ago pox.
Largo stared, nearly as intimidated by this man as he'd been by the dragon. He was clearly important. His black cape was heavy and richly embroidered. The buttons on his black velvet doublet looked to be gold. Several gold chains--with a clear stone in each link--hung around his tree-trunk-like neck. More stones glittered on thick rings and on the links of his gold belt.
He beckoned impatiently. "Hurry!"
Largo stood, still a bit shaken. As he walked toward the man, a curious buzzing started somewhere between his ears. It was a sense of something sullen and strained, like muscles that had been tensed for too long yearning for relief. It seemed his poor head had gotten rattled harder than he'd thought today.
His own muscles could use some relief, too. At least he was no longer hanging by his armpits hundreds of feet in the air. Wriggling his shoulders a bit, he stepped onto the decrepit road before this impressive figure.
The man regarded him with slight amusement. "You had a narrow escape there."
Largo nodded. "Yes, sir."
"That's 'my lord.' Lord Kraja of Chadrafun."
Largo gaped at him.
Lord Kraja spun, cape swirling. "Don't just stand there, boy. Follow me."
He started back down the road toward the town below. Largo scurried to keep up.
"Hobbit, aren't you?" Lord Kraja asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"You're a long way from home. Has the dragon's reach extended that far?"
"No, sir--my lord. I was--I was almost to Wellen's Cross."
"Really? From where?"
Briefly, Largo described his journey. He omitted the dreams that showed him what Nolly was up to; he just said he was worried enough to follow her. His companion listened gravely.
"Seems to me you got lucky twice today," he said. "Escaping bandits and a dragon."
"Very lucky," Largo agreed fervently. "I'd never have gotten even that far if somebody's magic hadn't backfired while they were attacking."
The pitted skin around Lord Kraja's eyes tightened. "Did you see who was wielding it?"
"No," Largo said. "I wasn't really paying attention."
"I may have to look into that," the huge man mused. "Magic in the wrong hands can be a scourge on the people around it.
Largo nodded glumly. "I hadn't realized how awful it could be. It's too much for me. I'll be happy if I can leave it to the mages out in the big world from now on."
Lord Kraja laughed, his white teeth flashing in the sun.
"Come on, lad," he said, putting a large hand on Largo's shoulder. "Let's see what we can arrange."
#
Manjusha hated to admit it, but she was highly relieved when not one of the blithering idiots she had hauled across the country activated her crystal ball.
It wasn't that she was pleased that the spectacularly noisy mystery magic user had somehow managed to elude her again. But the thought of one of these shining beacons of wisdom and nobility being the one she was looking for was enough to set her scales on edge.
"Please, your lordship, don't eat me," the man in the middle blubbered. "I've got ten poor children at home without a ma--"
"You do not, Ron," one of the other men blurted.
A thunderous boom resonated through the castle courtyard. The four humans jumped, suddenly riveted on the gigantic double door Manjusha negligently held shut with her tail. Another hollow boom shook it, as though something had struck it with tremendous force.
"He's the one who shot at you, lordship," the woman said, indicating the one called Ron. "I held my fire--"
Manjusha didn't bother to correct the use of the term "lordship." She couldn't care less about humans misreading her gender--or about their gibbering terror. She ignored the rest of their tirade, going back over the scene when she'd swept them into their claws. There had been a fifth person. Where had he gotten to?
"Who else was with you?" she demanded, interrupting their panicked pleas.
There was a startled silence for a moment. Then: "Two more of us, lordship," the woman said.
"Shut up!" Ron snapped.
"Named Brank and Ed," the woman went on, a spiteful gleam in her eyes. "They must be the ones you want! I wouldn't eat Ed, though," she added as an afterthought. "He might make you sick ..."
"Shut up!" Ron launched himself at her. She drove her fist into his stomach, and the pair tumbled into a tussle.
The door behind Manjusha banged insistently.
"They were north of us a ways," one of the others told Manjusha. "The little maggot we ran across took out his eye."
The part of Manjusha's mind that paid attention to human body language noted that the fourth human's face blanched as he realized what his companion had said. Quickly he began to splutter out some preposterous lie attempting to explain why a lone traveler would find it necessary to take on six innocent armed ruffians on the road. He wanted to be very clear that they had certainly not waylaid him and had, indeed, been minding their own business when Ed had suddenly found himself short an eye.
Manjusha did not care.
"Get out," she said peremptorily.
The speaker stopped midsentence. The struggling pair to the side halted to stare at her.
Manjusha gazed thoughtfully at the travel pack she'd also managed to grab. It was far too nicely kept to belong to any of them. It must have belonged to the person they'd been in the midst of assaulting. She supposed it was possible that one of the other bandits--Ed or Brank--might be the one she sought. But she suspected she was looking for the owner of this pack.
She rather hoped she hadn't dropped him from too high.
She looked up. The humans were still there.
"I said get out!" she reminded them.
A well-timed boom from the door punctuated her command. The four fled through the gate.
Manjusha sighed, lifting her tail out of the way. "They're gone now," she told the door. "You can cut that out."
The sense she got from the entity she was addressing was vaguely sulky.
"They weren't worth your time," the dragon shrugged. She returned the crystal ball to the pouch on her foreclaw. "Your trouble is, you've got no standards."
The door bumped once more more, spitefully.
"Oh, stop it." Manjusha picked up the pack. Something about it seemed off. She considered it. She might have to take a more human view of it. But it was always such a hassle to start that up again ...
"And anyway, Kuen and Terwu'arie are coming tomorrow," she added. "You can entertain them."
The entity brightened considerably.
Manjusha rolled her eyes and went back to her contemplation of this new problem. "Maybe their visit will shed some light on this."
#
Part 6