Children of the Plains

Chapter 20

Amero didn’t sleep that night. So many things crowded his mind — the riot, Pa’alu’s death, the final revelation of the cause of Nianki’s distress — he found no peace in the quiet solitude of the great cave. After a fruitless session of open-eyed brooding, he chose to pass the night in lonesome toil, trying to figure out how to melt bronze.

Copper melted at a certain intensity in the fire. He reasoned that since bronze was harder than copper, it would require more fire to soften it. He built a hardwood fire on the hearth and, lacking a gang of children to fan for him, made his own “gang” of fans by boring holes in a long, straight plank and inserting eight reed fans in them. He hung the plank by thongs from a tripod of poles. By pushing it back and forth, he created a significant wind.

He set a clay pot on the fire and filled it with strips of bright copper from his last experiment. In short order the strips collapsed into reddish metallic beads, which in turn coalesced into a fist-sized ball of molten copper. Amero scratched out a long, thin trench in the damp sand at the other end of the hearth, then, lifting the hot pot with a convenient pole, poured the molten copper into the trench. The wet sand hissed, and gouts of steam arose.

The cavern slowly brightened to the pale hue of predawn. Weary, Amero went to the pool and dipped his sooty hands into the chill water drawn off the falls. Now to try his fire on a few of Duranix’s bronze scales.

A clinking sound from overhead caught his ear. The apex of the cave was lost in shadow, but a sprinkle of dirt floated down, easily visible by firelight. Darker, larger bits came down with the dust. Amero went to where the debris fell and pressed a damp finger to it. It was moss — green moss, such as grew on the banks of the river above the cave.

He was still trying to fathom this puzzle when the sound of horns, muffled by cave walls and the rumble of the falls, penetrated to him. An alarm! Amero rushed to the opening.

The sky outside was barely light, but he could see some disturbance at the upper end of the valley near the cattle pens. A panther after a young calf, perhaps? Dust rose, and he saw people moving.

There was another noise behind him. Amero turned. Something was sweeping the floor halfway between the hearth and Duranix’s sleeping platform. He frowned, trying to understand what he was seeing. It was a pair of rawhide ropes, braided and knotted. His eyes lifted, following the ropes upward. Descending the ropes in rapid hand-over-hand fashion were two men, nomads, with spears strapped to their backs.

Amero was so astonished by this sudden intrusion he froze for the two or three heartbeats of time that it took for the men to finish their descent and drop to the floor.

“What do you want?” he asked.

They whipped the flint-headed spears off their shoulders.

“Your life!” said one of the men.

His first impulse was to jump into the hoist and flee, but that would simply make his attackers’ job easier. They would certainly cut the rope, leaving him to plummet conveniently to his death. He was unarmed, and there were no weapons in the cave. He never imagined, he’d need them here.

Amero ran to his hastily-made tripod of poles, thinking he could pull one of them free to use as a quarterstaff. By the time he got there, the two nomads were already upon him, thrusting with their spears. Amero grasped the suspended plank in the center and shoved it first at one man, then the other. The second nomad was a little slow, and the stout plank caught him on the chin, sending him reeling. Amero had no time to celebrate, as the first nomad’s flint spear point tore through the reed fans and buried itself in the plank by Amero’s hand. With a yell, the nomad pushed the tripod over, and Amero had to scramble not to be trapped under the contraption.

Now he was empty handed, facing a wary foe. The nomad — a dark-eyed fellow about his own age — held his spear in both hands and made short, vicious lunges toward Amero’s belly. The floor, as usual, was littered here and there with Duranix’s shed scales, and Amero fervently wished he at least had a sharpened scale to fight with.

He backed up a few steps, keeping just ahead of the nomad’s jabs. Outside, the sounds of conflict grew louder.

“Nacris!” Amero exclaimed, understanding dawning. “She led you back here to raid the village!”

“I am Hatu’s man,” the nomad spat. “We’ve come to take what we can!”

“Then take what you want and be gone! Why kill me?”

“Hatu commands it. He wishes to injure the dragon as the dragon once injured him.”

Amero backed up to the wall. The nomad grinned and set himself to run the village headman through. Amero carefully braced himself to dodge. This would require fine timing on his part. The nomad raised his spear to shoulder height and, with a yell, attacked.

Amero twisted aside and grabbed the shaft in both hands. He wasn’t strong enough to wrestle the weapon away from the nomad, but that wasn’t his plan. He pulled the warrior in the direction he was already moving, straight at the cave wall. Unable to stop in time, the nomad slammed into the hard sandstone. His spearhead snapped off, and the man slid to the floor, stunned.

Amero turned toward the second warrior. If he was still unconscious, Amero could tie him up before -

Lip swollen and bleeding, the second nomad got up on one knee. He spied Amero, and met his shocked look with a glare of pure hatred.

“I’ll have your head, Arkuden!” He spat the name like a curse.

Lying on the hearth a few steps away was the copper bar Amero had made during the night. It was only a trifle longer than his arm and not edged like a sword, but it was better than nothing. Amero sidled around, drawing the angry nomad away from the hearth.

“I’ve no quarrel with you,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “None at all. We welcomed you, shared our food with you — ”

“Shut up! You’re as bad as the elves! You would make us into cattle! Men aren’t meant to grub the earth or squat under a pile of stones. A plainsman must be free, must roam!”

He held his spear loosely in his right hand, and without any warning, he swung it in a wide, flat arc. Amero felt something catch and rip on his chest. His goatskin vest hung in tatters, and red blood welled up from a long cut across his breastbone.

Though he was shocked by the suddenness of the injury, Amero retained enough presence of mind to use it to his advantage. Feigning greater harm than he’d actually suffered, he groaned and staggered to the hearth. With a dramatic gasp, he draped himself across the cold end of the fireplace and dug his fingers into the sand, closing them around the copper bar, now cool and hard.

The nomad approached and put down his spear in favor of a wide stone axe hanging from his belt. He raised the axe high.

Amero tore the copper bar out of the sand and presented the tip to his oncoming opponent. He meant only to use the bar to ward the fellow off. However, the shallow end of the trench had formed a narrow tip on the end of the bar, flat but sharp. The ax-wielding nomad ran right onto it, and it penetrated his chest, to their mutual astonishment.

The axe fell to the floor. Clutching the copper bar, the nomad tried to wrench it from his body. Amero released his end of the bar as though it had scorched him. As the color drained from the nomad’s face, so too did horror whiten Amero’s features. The nomad’s knees buckled, and he fell facedown, driving the bar through his chest and out his back.

Amero’s mouth hung open as stared at the fallen man and the widening pool of blood around him. Though he’d seen men die many times before, he’d never killed anyone in his life.

He continued to stare at the dead man. He tried to bring a hand up to wipe sweat from his brow, but the hand was shaking so badly he couldn’t control its motion. Amero slumped on the edge of the fireplace and clasped his hands together tightly to stop their violent trembling. A hitter taste filled the back of his throat. He swallowed hard.

His paralysis was ended by the other nomad. The man grunted and began to stir against the wall. Amero jumped upright as though pulled by a string. He cursed himself as a fool — sitting here trembling like a child when the lives of his people were at stake.

Amero kept his eyes away from the dead man and concentrated on the living warrior, who could still pose a threat to him. Taking up a length of cord from his fallen apparatus, he went over and bound the semiconscious man’s hands behind his back. He then dragged him to the hoist and looked out.

Smoke was rising from the village — more smoke than from ordinary campfires. Though close to the deafening waterfall, Amero’s experienced ear caught other sounds: screams, shouts, the sound of animals and people in distress. He shoved the inert nomad into the basket and climbed in beside him. Once the counterweight was free, he sank quickly to the brewing battle.

At the foot of the hoist, a terrified group of children and mothers had gathered. They greeted Amero’s descent with frantic cries, which faded when they saw his grim face and bleeding chest wound.

“Arkuden, save us!” some cried.

He said nothing, but pushed the nomad out of the basket and proceeded to shake him awake.

“You!” Amero said. “You want to live, yes? Tell me, are all your comrades attacking through Cedarsplit Gap?”

“I’ll tell you nothing,” answered the bloody-faced man blearily.

There was no time for lengthy interrogation. Amero gave the nomad over to the older boys and girls and bade them guard him.

“Where’s the dragon?” asked one of the women, clutching two babes in her arms. “He’s supposed to protect us!”

“He’s not here,” Amero said bluntly. “We’ll have to defend ourselves.”

He had the spear left behind by the nomad he’d killed. Shouldering it, Amero hurried down the hill to join the fray.

Nianki slept like a child that night. Despite the sundering of the band and the strange death Pa’alu had chosen for himself, she felt oddly at peace when the time came for rest. It reminded her of the aftermath of a storm. Once the lightning, thunder, and rain disperse, the land lies supine, washed clean by the torrent.

The only thing that still disturbed her was that Amero had learned her secret. Just when she had won a measure of control over her passions, his knowledge threatened to upset her fragile equilibrium. She couldn’t look at him without having to fight down the horrible urge to blush, stammer, and run away

She abandoned her stuffy tent and took her bedroll to the ledge overlooking the lake. She spread the ram’s skin, wool side up, and lay down in such a way that she could see the lake between her feet. The dark glimmer of the water, coupled with the steady drone of the falls, soon lulled her to sleep.

Her rest was peaceful until near dawn. She dreamed a shadow fell across her face. Opening her eyes, she saw someone bending over her. His face was in darkness. She wanted to turn away, but she was paralyzed. She couldn’t even close her eyes. She could only lie there helplessly as he came closer and closer, wafting an icy cold breeze before himself. Just before the man’s lips touched hers, she saw a metal pendant glittering at his throat. Who was he? Why was he so cold? A single name formed in her mind: Pa’alu.

She woke, flailing her arms in horror.

There was no one there. Nianki hunched over, breathing hard. She uttered a curse and wiped the sweat from her cheek and brow.

The rocky ledge beneath her vibrated. Her imaginary battle with the unknown man had rolled her off the ram’s skin. Now her feet and hips rested on bare rock. A rhythmic vibration ran from the rock and into her body. Curious, Nianki pressed her ear to the ledge and listened.

Vibrations that strong and regular could only be hoof-beats!

She was up in a flash, striding toward the remains of the nomad camp. It was easy to find Pakito’s tent. His feet stuck out the end, and intertwined with them were Samtu’s smaller, paler feet. Nianki kicked Pakito’s soles. He rumbled threateningly and flung back the flap of his tent.

“What? Who’s there?”

“On your feet, Pakito! There’s trouble!”

“Karada?” He slid Samtu aside. She whimpered a little and tried to cling to his broad chest. “What trouble, Karada?”

“Nacris has come back!”

That sank in, and the big warrior was on his feet in short order.

Nianki went from tent to tent waking her greatly diminished band. In moments, eighty-six sleepy nomads assembled by the dragon’s cairn. All were armed, but few were more than half-dressed.

“We haven’t got much time!” Nianki declared. “The first sixty, follow me. Targun, take the others and pound on every door in Arku-peli. It’s time the mudtoes fought for their own valley.”

Karada and sixty warriors stumbled through the dark village toward the cattle pens. It was plain that if the rebel nomads were coming back, they’d have to use one of the passes at the northern end of the valley, of which Cedar-split Gap was the closest. At the top of the sandy hill that stood between the pens and the village, Karada halted her comrades.

“What is it?” asked Pakito, too loudly.

“Shh! Listen!”

The gap, lined with stone on all sides, focused the sound of massed horses into the valley. They all strained to hear, poised on the crest of the hill. The rumble was unmistakable.

“What’ll we do?” whispered Pakito.

“They think they’ll surprise us, catch us asleep,” Nianki said. “Instead, we’ll catch them.”

She spread her meager force out along the hill, just below the crest and out of sight from the other side. The warriors went down on one knee and leaned their spears forward, bracing the butt against their feet. If the renegades came galloping over the hill, they’d run smack into a hedge of waiting spear points.

Behind them, Targun, Samtu, and the rest rattled every door in the village. Some of the villagers came out to see what the commotion was, but most bolted their doors and tried to get a glimpse of the situation from their upper windows. They were the first to catch sight of the oncoming attack.

The cry went up. “Riders! Riders!”

“Brace yourselves!” Nianki told her warriors.

Waving torches, the first wave of horsemen swept down on the unguarded cattle pens, their agile ponies jumping over the low stone wall. They threw ropes over the gate and tore it down, then screaming nomads got behind the herd and started driving them out of the pen.

“They’re stealing our oxen!” wailed a villager.

Pakito eyed his chief. Karada shook her head. The warriors held their positions.

To her consternation, a sizable body of riders simply rode around the hill, along the pebbled shoreline. There was nothing between them and the village. Nianki was about to order her line to fall back when a second wave of mounted renegades, some eighty strong, came cantering over the hill. It wasn’t quite the headlong charge she wanted, but several of the riders did run into the thorny line of spears. The renegades recoiled, and showered the nomads on foot with stones and thrown spears.

“Hold your place,” Nianki said. “If something comes your way, knock it down before it reaches you.”

Following her own order, she batted down a pair of light javelins hurled at her. The predawn darkness made it difficult to see every missile, and two of her warriors went down, scalps laid open by large stones.

“All right, on your feet!” she said. Nianki herself went to one of her fallen comrades and helped the injured woman stand. “Back to the houses — but slowly! Slowly!”

Under jeers and missiles, the slender line withdrew to the outermost ring of houses. Nianki gave the nomad she’d rescued to some householders, who took her inside. A few of the older villagers, who remembered fighting like this from their younger days, joined Nianki’s defenders. They were armed with whatever came to hand — wooden rakes, shovels, staffs. Not one in ten had a stone-headed weapon. With no other options to hand, Nianki put them quickly into the line.

The renegades who’d ridden down the shore of the lake turned in to the village and began throwing torches at the housetops. One by one, the roofs caught fire, the families running outside to escape the flames. Hatu’s riders let them go, racing inside to plunder the burning house before the roof fell in on everything. The terrified villagers ran to the foot of the falls, under the very mouth of the dragon’s cave, and prayed for the aid of their great protector.

Into this scene of terror came Amero. He directed those fleeing to take shelter by the falls and moved on against the screaming tide. A few horsemen were harassing the fleeing villagers, tripping them with their spear shafts or knocking them around with their horses. Furious, Amero stormed at the nearest bully. The laughing nomad was chivvying an old man and teenage girl, pushing them this way and that, not letting them get clear to run. Amero rushed the nomad from his blind side and thrust his spear into the man’s armpit. The horseman’s head snapped around, totally astonished. He fell from his horse. Freed of its rider, the animal galloped away from the battle.

Villagers surrounded Amero and praised him for his prowess and courage. Impatiently he said, “All I did was stab a man when he wasn’t looking! Go!”

A pair of riders bore down on Amero. He flattened himself against the side of the cairn just in time to dodge simultaneously thrown javelins. One came close enough to cut the waist of his trews.

For the second time in as many days, Amero found himself going up the side of the cairn. At least the horsemen couldn’t reach him up there. Rocks and axes flew thick and fast as he scaled the sloping stone side. A few thumped him with glancing blows. Wincing, he kept his grip and made it to the top.

The dark sky was lightening to blue. Keeping low to avoid missiles, Amero crept to the other edge of the cairn and saw the battle raging among the houses.

Nianki’s line had become a circle, bounded on all sides by stoutly defended houses. In the gaps between, her warriors and the armed villagers who remained fought tenaciously. The narrow lanes between the houses reduced the mobility of the renegades’ horses, and many dismounted to fight on foot.

From his perch, Amero spotted Nianki. Her closely-cropped hair made her easy to pick out as she stood in the center of the besieged circle. She directed the defense with cool words or fierce cries, as needed. Amero was deeply struck by this image of his sister. He’d seen her duel with Sessan, but he’d never before witnessed her commanding in battle.

A head bobbed up over the edge of the cairn, a long-haired nomad. With surprisingly little remorse, Amero put his foot in the man’s face and sent him tumbling to the ground. Two others tried to scale the platform and reach him, but he fended them off with his spear. Amero felt a growing confidence in his fighting abilities. Another quick glance over at his sister and he thought proudly that warrior blood did run in the family.

A heavy pall of smoke wafted between the cairn and Nianki’s position. Renegades on the outer edges of the battle were setting more and more roofs afire. When the flames reached the houses making up Nianki’s defenses, her line would fragment, and the defenders would be cut up and defeated piecemeal.

Scooting back to the center of the platform, Amero knelt and bowed his head. Concentrating as hard as he could, he formed a single thought.

Duranix! Help us, or we are lost!

The blazing roof on the house nearest the cairn — Konza’s home — collapsed. Inside, the wooden posts and flooring burned ferociously, tongues of flame spurting from the second-story windows. The heat was so powerful it drove Amero to the opposite end of the cairn. He fervently hoped no one was left inside the tanner’s house.

Pakito, fighting with the long-handled axe so dreaded by his foes, cleared a swath in front of him. Through the smoke he saw Amero crouching atop the dragon’s cairn.

“Karada!” he bellowed. “Isn’t that Arkuden?”

Nianki spared a glance in the direction he indicated. She saw Amero, wreathed in smoke and flames. Her heart seemed to stop; her instinct was to fly to his defense. Instead, she said, “We can’t reach him — there’s too many on us!”

“I can reach him,” Pakito said, planting his fists on his hips.

A fierce smile briefly lit her dirty face. “Do that, and you can name your own reward!”

The towering warrior jabbed a thick finger at his chief. “Remember those words, Karada!”

Gripping his axe, he strode past the line of smaller warriors — though all warriors were smaller than Pakito — into the lane between the rings of houses. At once he was set upon by a mounted renegade wearing a wood-and-leather breastplate: Tarkwa.

Tarkwa tried to ride Pakito down, but the big man was not about to be trampled under. He threw his left arm around the horse’s neck and brought his axe up in a wide swing. Tarkwa tried to parry with his spear, but the heavy axehead shattered the shaft and Tarkwa’s forearm as well. Howling in agony, Tarkwa tried to wrench his horse’s head loose from Pakito’s grip. The three of them — man, horse, and rider — skidded in a tight circle, slamming into the wall of a burning house.

Pakito found himself between the horse and the wall, for anyone else a bad spot. The giant warrior, however, drew his legs under himself, used the house for leverage, and threw the horse to the ground. Tarkwa rolled over and over in the sand, coming to a stop in the open doorway of a blazing house. Groggily, he sat up, just as the whole wooden interior of the house come crashing down on top of him.

Pakito moved on, swatting aside his former comrades as they tried to intercept him. After a few deadly swipes, they gave him wide berth, and he arrived at the cairn.

Coughing from the heavy smoke, Pakito called to Amero.

The young headman’s sooty, blood-streaked face appeared.

“Pakito!”

“I’ve come to take you to Karada.”

Such a declaration should have sounded ludicrous — battle and fire raged on all sides — but coming from Pakito, it was simply a statement of fact.

Amero half-slid, half-fell to the ground beside the giant. Pakito hauled him to his feet and propelled him forward.

Two of the six houses that formed Nianki’s defense line were on fire. The villagers inside had to climb out the rear windows to drop down among their neighbors and Nianki’s followers. By the time Pakito and Amero rejoined them, there were almost a hundred people in the shrinking circle.

Stumbling forward, Amero felt strong arms stop him. He looked up into Nianki’s smoke-streaked face.

“Bad day,” he said, taking her gently by the hand.

“Going to get worse,” she replied. “There’s a lot of people to kill.”

Even as she said so, a lull struck. The renegades backed out of spear-thrust range. Nianki’s defenders accepted the respite, some of them falling to their knees out of sheer exhaustion.

Hatu and Nacris rode forward into view.

“Karada! Arkuden! Can you hear me?” Hatu yelled.

“I hear only the screech of a vulture!” Nianki yelled back.

“What do you want?” Amero shouted.

“Lay down your weapons, and we’ll spare you.”

Nianki laughed derisively.

Hatu pointed over his shoulder at the falls. “There are a lot of helpless people over there,” he said. “It would be a shame to slaughter them all just to persuade you not to be stubborn.”

“Would he do that?” asked Amero, horrified.

“What do you think?” Nianki replied.

Amero started toward the mounted pair. “Then we must give up.”

Nianki gripped his arm in her hard hand. “If we stop fighting he’ll kill us all. He’ll not spare your villagers.”

“I can’t let my people die to prolong my own life!” he said, pulling free. He started for Hatu once more. Pakito blocked his way until a shake of Nianki’s head convinced the big nomad to stand aside. She turned away, unable to watch.

Amero walked slowly up to Hatu. “You tried to kill me once before,” he said. “Ten, eleven seasons ago. You and your brothers caught me here in this valley. You thought I was the dragon in disguise.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting so long.”

“It’s no good,” Nacris said anxiously. “It’s no good unless Karada comes out, too!”

“She won’t,” Amero said.

“Stubborn wench. Well, at least you’ll be out of the way.”

Hatu laid the flat side of his spearhead on Amero’s shoulder. The point was just a finger’s breadth from his throat. Amero closed his eyes.

Cries of alarm rose from the renegades on the shore. Nacris turned her horse around and met a pair of riders galloping up the hill.

“What is it?” she said.

“Something coming up the lake, coming this way!” gasped one of the men.

“It’s big!” his companion added. “Very big!”

Big? Amero thought. Hah! At last!

He knocked Hatu’s spear point off his shoulder and dropped to the ground. Hatu cursed and raked down Amero’s back with his weapon. Amero felt the sting, but he kept scrambling. He scuttled under some other horses before rising to his feet and sprinting for Nianki.

The renegades milled about in confusion. Some charged Nianki and her warriors, while others formed a rough line on the shore and waited for whatever was coming down the lake. Hatu and Nacris rode to the water’s edge to see for themselves.

The normally chill water of the lake was boiling. Waves propelled by some submerged object were surging down the lake toward the falls. As the astonished nomads looked on, trout, bream, and pike churned the water ahead of the object, some so frantic they flung themselves out of the water to escape. But to escape what?

The fast-moving mound of water drew abreast of the nomads on shore and slowed. Some of the renegades backed their horses away until drawn back in line by sharp words from Nacris. Twenty paces from shore the water split apart as a long greenish-gold neck rose from the depths.

“Duranix! It’s Duranix!” Amero’s cry was taken up by all the villagers until it became a roaring chant.

Fully half the renegades quit the fight there and then. The ones facing Nianki’s line simply melted away. Laden with looted food and other goods, they mounted their horses and galloped for safety. Nianki and Amero led their singed, tired defenders away from the burning houses, drawing up in circle on open ground beyond the cairn.

Duranix opened his mouth wide and let loose a full-throated roar that loosened stones from the cliff tops. Taking in the scene with one sweep of his head, he swam past Hatu’s position and climbed ashore between the renegades and the unprotected mass of children and old people cowering beneath his cave. Water rolled off the burnished scales of his back in silver sheets. He still wore the leather brace on his injured wing.

“Amero, are you alive?” he roared over the heads of the closely packed renegades. Pakito and another man hoisted the headmen onto their shoulders. Amero waved his arms.

“I am!” he shouted, grinning madly.

“Good. Stay where you are.”

Duranix reared up on his hind legs and lumbered forward. Spears and javelins bounced off his scaly hide. Bronze-headed elven weapons pricked him, but he ignored them and darted his long neck into the mounted mass, knocking men and horses down with every sweep of his horned head.

The renegades disintegrated like snow on a hot rock. Duranix moved among them, hurling them this way and that with swipes of his claws. The ground was soon thick with the fallen, a few dead, most of the rest senseless. In the center of this tumult sat Hatu, calmly waiting. Beside him, a nervous Nacris fidgeted with her mount’s reins and obviously wished she were someplace else.

Duranix dropped down to all fours and extended his head toward Hatu. The nomad’s horse shied, but the one-eyed warrior controlled his animal skillfully.

“Why don’t you ride away?” Duranix asked.

“I don’t care to be struck down from behind,” said Hatu.

“That’s human thinking for you — as if it matters from what direction a blow falls!”

“An honorable man fights facing his enemy.”

The dragon grinned, and Hatu’s horse shied again as the nomad squeezed its sides convulsively with his legs. “Ah, you expect me to fight like a man?” Duranix hissed.

“I expect you’ll fight like the evil beast you are!”

In a motion faster than a snake striking, Duranix seized Nacris in his mouth. She screamed and struggled, but he raised her high in the air and with a single sideways shake of his head, tossed her into the center of the lake. She screamed all the way until she hit the water.

Hatu swallowed hard. “Nacris is a good swimmer,” he said, but his voice was unsteady.

“How unfortunate,” Duranix replied.

Few were the men who could look up into an angry dragon’s face and not give way to panic, yet Hatu stood his ground. For all his treachery, the one-eyed plainsman’s courage inspired in Amero grudging respect.

“Come on,” said Hatu, drawing an elven sword from his belt. “Let us fight.”

“Absurd,” Duranix replied. “If fighting a bull, should I lower my head and bang horns with him?” He advanced a step.

In his free hand Hatu held a ram’s horn. He raised it to his lips.

Amero had a sudden, shocking insight. Two nomads had entered the cave to kill him at the beginning of the fight. There could be others -

“Duranix!” he shouted. “Beware! There are men on the cliffs above you!”

Hatu blew a single bleating note on the horn. Duranix reached out a claw to snatch Hatu off his horse, but the plainsman evaded his grasp. Just then, a boulder the size of a full-grown ox slammed into the sand steps away from the dragon. Villagers and nomads alike shouted in surprise.

High up, Hatu’s men labored to lever another boulder off the cliff. Amero shaded his eyes, but the morning sun was behind the men, and he couldn’t make out how many there were. Another huge slab of sandstone smashed to the ground. It shattered into many pieces, pelting Duranix. He ducked his head under the barrage. While he was distracted, Hatu galloped away with the last of his followers.

Instead of following them, Duranix did a bold thing. He slithered with serpentine grace to the foot of the cliff, dodging a third boulder. Fixing his foreclaws in the relatively soft sandstone of the cliff face, he began to climb.

Heedless of the danger from falling rocks, Amero ran to where Duranix was picking his way up.

“Come back!” he shouted. “You can’t dodge them if you’re clinging to the cliff!”

“How many boulders can they have?” replied the dragon coolly. A fourth missile, this time a smaller, harder slab of slate, whistled down. It struck Duranix a glancing blow to the right shoulder. Scales curled up under the impact, and bluish-green blood oozed from the wound.

Furious at the rebels and afraid for his friend, Amero grabbed Duranix’s barbed tail just as it left the ground. The dragon paused and looked down at him.

“Let go, Amero. This is no place for pets.”

“I’m not a pet!” was the young man’s angry reply as he clung to the muscular tail.

“It’s no place for a friend, either.”

“I can watch out for falling rocks! Shut up and climb!”

Without another word or backward glance, Duranix started up the cliff. He didn’t have to hunt for handholds or toeholds; his powerful claws gouged their own as he went. Faster and faster he ascended, until he was racing upward like a lizard on a canyon wall. Yet he was careful to keep his long tail as motionless as possible, to avoid injuring the foolish human clinging to it.

Amero held on for dear life. In spite of his brave words to the dragon, he wasn’t able to keep watch for falling rock — his eyes were tightly shut. He did feel the powerful surge of the dragon’s muscles as Duranix scrambled sideways to avoid being hit. At last Duranix’s vertical tail lifted to horizontal, and Amero knew they’d made it to the top.

By the time he’d let go of the dragon’s tail, Amero saw that Duranix had slain three of Hatu’s men. The dragon sprang forward a full ten paces and caught one man as he was running away. With a sideways flick of his claw, Duranix hurled the luckless nomad over the cliff.

“Stop!” Amero cried. “Don’t kill any more, please!”

“They’re vermin. They’ll make trouble if you let them go.”

“They’re men! They can learn from their mistakes!”

Duranix gave a disgusted snort, but he stopped. The remaining four renegades took the opportunity to race for their horses. They galloped away.

“You’re too forgiving,” said the dragon, resting on his haunches. He growled a bit as he bent his neck to examine his bruised shoulder.

The battle was over. Amero found himself shaking uncontrollably. He slumped heavily to the ground and toppled over on his side. The wounds on his chest and back were shallow, but very painful. As his eyes closed, he felt the dragon’s cool metallic claws close gently around him.

“Lie still,” rumbled Duranix. “I will take you home.”