The Realms of the Dragons 2 a-10 Read online

  The Realms of the Dragons 2

  ( Anthologies - 10 )

  Коллектив Авторов

  Anthology

  The Realms of the Dragons 2

  Contents

  Faerie Ire — Erin Tettensor

  The Woman Who Drew Dragons — Rosemary Jones

  The Hunting Game — Erik Scott de Bie

  The Road Home — Harley Stroh

  How Burlmarr Saved the Unseen Protector — Kameron M. Franklin

  A Tall Tale — J. L. Collins

  The Book Dragon — Jim Pitrat

  Freedom's Promise — Ed Gentry

  Possessions — James P. Davis

  Queen of the Mountain — Jaleigh Johnson

  The Strength of the Jester — Murray J.D. Leeder

  Faerie Ire Or, How Zyx Thwarted a Human Invasion

  Erin Tettensor

  The Year of the Turret (1360 DR)

  Zyx was a nimble dragon. Being only four inches long, his body did not require a great deal of lift to achieve flight, which meant his delicate wings could devote most of their attention to maneuvering. This they did with tireless energy, thrumming at a pace that made them nearly invisible to the naked eye. His tail, meanwhile, was long in proportion to the rest of his body-almost ridiculously so. Acting as an efficient rudder against the air currents, it allowed Zyx to execute sharp changes in direction, darting this way and that with a precision that would make even the most agile hummingbird envious.

  All of which was terribly fortunate, for otherwise the yuan-ti would have squashed him like a bug.

  "Vermin!" the halfblood hissed, swatting at Zyx with the flat of her scimitar.

  "Oops!" sang the faerie dragon merrily as he swept out of the way. "Too slow!"

  To drive the insult home, he landed momentarily on the edge of the snakewoman's blade, a taunting smile curling the corners of his mouth.

  But his triumph was short-lived. The yuan-ti took another wild swing, and her weapon bit deep into the trunk of a tree. Zyx nearly choked in dismay.

  "Clumsy fool!" he cried. He nipped forward and poked the halfblood in the eye. An unimaginative means of attack, perhaps, but the injury to the tree demanded quick retribution. "That yellowwood is several centuries your senior!" he scolded. "Show some respect!"

  "I'll show you your own insides, insect!"

  She made a grab at the tiny nuisance, but Zyx evaded her with disdainful ease, leaving her clutching empty air.

  "Show me, then!" the faerie dragon mocked.

  The yuan-ti obligingly charged, and Zyx retreated-but only a short distance. He hovered just out of reach, grinning. And in a sudden flash of inspiration, he winked. It was a master stroke. Enraged beyond all reason, the yuan-ti made a final lunge at her tormentor, crashing through the underbrush with murderous intent.

  She never made it. The trap gave way beneath the creature's weight, plunging her through the jungle floor and into the cunningly concealed pit below.

  There was a solid thud. Branches and leaves tumbled in like an afterthought. Then, for long moments, all was silent. Zyx hovered over the trap, peering into the gloom to ascertain the fate of his victim.

  "I hope she's not dead," he muttered. He could not bear the thought of even a single yuan-ti escaping future harassment.

  Presently, however, there came a rustling from the pit, and Zyx breathed a relieved sigh. The snakewoman had righted herself, and resumed spitting and cursing as she tried in vain to claw her way out of the trap.

  "Good luck!" Zyx called down to her. "I hope the ants aren't too much of a bother. It's that time of year, you know!"

  His last barb safely lodged, Zyx left the yuan-ti to the mercy of the jungle and drifted up into the canopy in search of a quiet place to catch his breath. Pestering the evil snake-men was amusing, to be sure, but it was also thoroughly exhausting.

  He alit on a large banana leaf, stretching out in the trough to allow the late afternoon sun to warm his scales. It was a luxury he indulged in when he could, for the rainforest surrendered few unbroken hours of sunlight. Soon his eyelids were drooping lazily, blurring his view over the rolling waves of green before him. Nearby, a hawk circled above the treetops, scanning for prey. Even to the bird's keen eyes, Zyx would appear as nothing more than a sunbathing lizard-an appetizing morsel indeed. But the faerie dragon had little to fear. His bliss-inducing breath weapon was enough to keep him safe from even the most ill-intentioned predators, and he had few qualms about using it. As far as Zyx was concerned, the world could use a little more joy.

  Still, it was best to be vigilant. The little dragon blinked in an effort to stay awake, forcing himself to focus on the idle drifting of the hawk. His eyes followed the bird as it wheeled to the west, toward the gorge. There the glistening band of ocher that was the River Olung wound its way toward the distant coast of Chult. But something was amiss with the view. A dark tendril rose ominously against the horizon, weaving and swelling like an angry cobra. Frowning, Zyx twisted to his feet and peered into the distance.

  "Smoke," he murmured.

  It was an uncommon sight. Fires seldom occurred naturally in such a wet climate, and Zyx was not aware of any intelligent species inhabiting the area. He would treat with unalloyed scorn any suggestion that yuan-ti were "intelligent." Zyx was not the kind of dragon to allow something as crude as evidence to interfere with carefully cultivated prejudice.

  Wide awake, Zyx abandoned his leaf. Part of his duty as self-appointed guardian of the forest was to investigate unusual occurrences such as these. Thus far, he had acquitted himself admirably in that regard. Why, only last winter he had thwarted an invasion of wayward butterflies who had become disoriented in their annual migration. If Zyx did not look after these things, no one would.

  When he came nearer the smoke, there was no mistaking the smell of fresh wood. The dragon curled his nose in disgust. What kind of savage would fell a living tree when there was plenty of deadwood about? A stray yuan-ti, no doubt, for no other creature capable of building a fire lived within a hundred leagues.

  Or so Zyx had believed. But as the leaves gave way before him, he was confronted with a sight that drew him up short-a truly horrific sight, one that every forest creature dreads beyond all others. A tremor of shock ran through the faerie dragon, and he landed clumsily on a branch. It could not be. Not here.

  No, Zyx thought desperately, this is quite wrong. It was a human.

  He had never seen one before, but he knew it the moment he saw it. The way it stalked about the clearing as though it owned the place, trampling rare grasses and delicate fungus. The way it attacked a rotting log that was home to millions of tiny creatures, picking it aside like a scab to reveal a great wound in the moss beneath. Zyx averted his gaze in sorrow. How many deaths just then? How many generations of work wasted?

  The man paused in his destruction to survey the area with narrowed eyes, the kind of eyes that take brutal stock of their surroundings, slotting everything-animal, vegetable, or mineral-into categories: "useful" or "nuisance." Zyx knew that look. It was not the look of a passing traveler.

  His darkest suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the man called out and two more of his pernicious kind appeared, axes slung over their shoulders.

  "How's it coming?" the first man called.

  "Slowly," replied one of his companions. "Reckon it'll take at least a tenday to widen the path enough to let the wagons through."

  "Naw," snorted the third man. "Four days, maybe. Once Ivor and the rest get here, it'll go faster."

  The first man grunted, casting a squinted look into the sky, and said, "Better get on with it. Be dark soon."

  Taking up a h
ammer and stake, he scanned the ground with an appraising eye. Zyx realized with horror that the man was erecting a tent.

  The little dragon tasted blood. It was only then that he realized he had been biting his tongue. The tip of his tail twitched anxiously, causing the branch beneath him to shudder in sympathy.

  This would not do. It would not do at all.

  Something had to be done.

  Fortunately, it did not take long for a plan to blossom, for Zyx's brain was a uniquely fertile place for plots and schemes.

  "Don't get comfortable," he growled under his breath, his gaze burning into the interlopers. "You won't be here for long."

  "Cirro."

  There was no response. "Cirro!"

  As anyone who has ever tried to wake a mist dragon will tell you, it is not an easy task. For such creatures sleep is a sacred rite, an inviolable space, taking its place alongside meditation, rumination, and other places of deep thought. He who wakes a mist dragon does so at his own risk, for who knows what wondrous subconscious revelations he might be interrupting?

  Fortunately, Zyx was not troubled with such worries. As far as he was concerned, Cirrothamalan had already experienced rather more epiphanies than was generally advisable for a non-deity.

  "Cirro," he said, "I've come to tell you that I'm leaving the forest."

  A luminous slit of yellow appeared, and a vertical pupil dilated eagerly. Zyx checked a sigh. He had feared his ploy would work. Though it pained him to admit it, he had the inescapable impression that Cirrothamalan was not always grateful for his company.

  "Leaving?" rumbled the mist dragon. He raised his ponderous head. "How tragic. I am sorry to see you go."

  "That's very kind of you," Zyx replied, immune to sarcasm. "But perhaps I've exaggerated a little. What I meant to say is that I'm leaving this part of the forest-temporarily-because I have urgent business elsewhere."

  Cirro's eyelids dropped to half mast. "That's fascinating," he said, his tone suggesting something less than complete fascination. "I am truly grateful you disturbed my sleep to advise me."

  "Think nothing of it-we're friends, after all. But actually, I need your help." The little dragon adopted a very serious expression and added, "That is to say, the forest needs your help."

  Cirro yawned in a manner not entirely befitting one who has received a call to service, and said, "Go away, Zyx."

  "You haven't even heard what I'm going to say," the faerie dragon noted. "Aren't you curious?"

  "Have I ever been curious, Zyx? Was I curious when you came to me complaining of rogue butterflies? Was I enthralled by your description of political infighting among the howler monkeys? I have more important things to think about. There are great puzzles in this world that need solving, one of which is why faerie dragons cannot leave anyone in peace."

  That said, Cirro lowered his head and curled around himself, signaling the conversation was over.

  But Zyx was not one to pick up on subtle cues.

  "You'll be interested this time, Cirro," he said. "Humans have moved into the forest."

  He should have liked this pronouncement to be followed by a clap of thunder from the heavens.

  Had it been, perhaps Cirro would have taken it more seriously. As it was, the mist dragon merely stretched languidly and mumbled, "It was only a matter of time."

  "Nonsense!" snapped Zyx. He began to pace nervously on his branch. "They've already made camp, and I heard them talking about bringing wagons in! I'll bet they're here for the trees. I know all about the kinds of things they make out of hardwood. Ghastly," be added with a shudder.

  "Mmm," said Cirro. His voice had taken on the thickness of near-sleep.

  "And," continued Zyx, pronouncing his next words deliberately, "they're barely a league from your grotto."

  Cirro was on his feet so quickly that the breeze knocked Zyx from his perch. The little dragon had to flutter furiously to avoid falling into the river below.

  "My grotto?" Cirro roared.

  Like most of his kind, Cirrothamalan had a favorite spot for contemplation, a secluded retreat from which he could reflect on the wonderful mysteries of life. The turbid pool itself held little interest for the mist dragon, but the caves beyond were sacred to him. Veiled as they were by a thundering waterfall, the caverns were largely inaccessible to smaller beasts-such as faerie dragons, for example. The grotto was Cirro's sanctuary, jealously guarded. Few forest creatures dared venture near its hallowed banks.

  "When the humans find it," Zyx intoned, "they'll claim it for their own. They'll draw water from it. They'll wash their clothes in it. They'll bathe in it."

  That last image produced equal shivers of disgust from both dragons. Cirro commenced to pace. His great claws sank deep into the clay of the riverbank, sending frogs and dragonflies scattering for their lives.

  "All right, faerie dragon," he boomed. "What do you propose?"

  "We've got to get rid of them," Zyx said. "Right away."

  "Agreed. I'll attack tonight, under cover of darkness. When the rest of them arrive, all they'll find is little pieces of-"

  "Er… ugh… Cirro," Zyx interrupted, grimacing. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

  The mist dragon frowned. "What's this?"

  "There mustn't be any killing. It's out of the question."

  Cirro's scowl deepened. He muttered something unflattering about faerie dragons, but Zyx was unperturbed.

  "We only need to scare them," he insisted. The tip of his serpentine tail began to twitch with excitement. "You know, make them think the rainforest is unsafe."

  "The rainforest is unsafe," Cirro returned. "Have you actually got a plan, faerie dragon, or are you simply talking to hear yourself speak?"

  Zyx regarded him with an air of infringed dignity. "Of course I have a plan," he sniffed. "And a good one, too. Watch this."

  An army of yuan-ti burst through the trees, scimitars raised and jaws slavering. There were hundreds of them, each one more fearsome-looking than the last. Their fiendish cackles reverberated through the gorge, causing the surrounding trees to erupt with terrified birds. Grinning eagerly, the snakemen advanced toward the dragons. Their leader's eyes fixed hungrily on Cirrothamalan, and it drew a claw across its throat in cruel mockery.

  The mist dragon sighed and looked away from his impending doom.

  "Yuan-ti don't cackle," he pointed out.

  Zyx tilted his head, considering the snakemen with a critical eye before he conceded, "Hmm. Maybe not,"

  "And unless I'm much mistaken, they're not usually pink."

  "They are not pink!" Zyx retorted, scandalized. Then he peered more closely. "A bit rosy, perhaps, but certainly not pink."

  "Face it, faerie dragon," Cirro chuckled as the yuan-ti faded from view, "you're terrible at illusions. You won't fool anyone with that nonsense, not even humans."

  Zyx pouted. Yet he was forced to admit that the mist dragon was right-he had never been much good at conjuring.

  "Still," Zyx said, "it doesn't matter. That wasn't my idea anyway."

  Cirro gave him a wry look. "Really."

  "No, no, of course not. I was just playing around. My real idea has to do with you."

  At this, the mist dragon turned his head away slightly, one eye narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  Zyx ignored the skepticism in his friend's voice and said, "You can scare the humans away yourself, Cirro, without hurting them at all. Trust me, I know just the thing…"

  The mist crept into the camp like an assassin. It moved slowly at first, coiling leisurely around the abandoned tools and soaking the canvas of the tents. It clung to the waning campfire until nothing remained but defeated wisps of smoke that curled weakly from the damp ashes. At length it stole through the open flaps of the tents where it lingered like a bad dream, enveloping the sleeping forms until the chill became too much to bear and one by one the men opened their eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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