Draka

I got another run in before the Wolves were close enough that I had to intervene. The westward side of the Cranes’ circle were forming up like they were going to meet the incoming Grey Wolves with violence, and I had no reason to believe that the Wolves had any idea of the danger they were in.

There were many things I could have said. I could have told them that the Cranes had turned traitor, or that they’d attacked the Palace. I could have said that they tried to kill Commander Rallon or attacked the Wolves’ barracks.

What actually came out of my mouth as I braked and hung in the air above them was, “They killed Boot! These fuckers murdered Boot! Turn back!”

Being told by a dive-bombing dragon that the people ahead of them had murdered a beloved weirdo of the company was clearly not something the oncoming Wolves had expected. They split and circled, milling about and babbling in confusion before coming to a stop. I quickly turned to look behind me, then turned back, satisfied that the Cranes were right where I’d left them.

“You— you’re the dragon from the bandit camp, aren’t you?” One of the Wolves approached, struggling to control her horse as I hung in the air before her. “And from the harbor?”

“See a lot of dragons around here?” Hanging in the air the way I was, everything had to come out in short bursts. I couldn’t just glide and speak the way I did when flying properly. “Yeah, I’m that dragon! Go! Turn back! The Cranes turned traitor! They tried to kill Rallon! They’ll kill you!”

The mercenary, who I figured must be the captain of this group, stared at me, mouth half open, then just said, “What?”

“Oh, just fuck off!”

I angled my wings, and the mercs’ horses shied as I shot above her, turning sharply to return to the Cranes. I heard a shout “Wait, what?” from behind me, but I’d done my part in protecting them.

The Cranes had decided that getting rocks dropped on them while they couldn’t fight back wasn’t to their liking. They were moving south again, taking parting shots at me that missed horribly. They left a mess of dead horses behind, but no bodies that I could see. They’d also left me a gift, in the form of a certain two hundred pound rock. I pounced on it, intending to drop the same damn rock on them again, but as I did two things stopped me from leaving immediately. The rock was now slick with blood and other substances, making it hard to grip, and the first time I tried to take off I dropped it. I wasn’t about to give up, though, and when I dropped back down to try again a scent caught my nose, above the blood and spilled insides of the men and horses I’d smashed.

The smell was unmistakable, and I left the rock where it lay as I hunted in the long grass, letting my nose guide me until I found it: a single gold dragon. With a grin I grabbed it, wiping the blood off with my thumb before popping it in my mouth with the medallion I still carried. Should probably leave that somewhere rather than drag a beacon around, I thought for a moment, but I quickly got distracted. I could still smell gold! I sucked on the coin like a lolly as I hunted around, finding four more. They joined the first in my mouth. Then, close to the front of the mess, on the saddle of a horse with its chest smashed in, a torn pouch of dark brown leather stuck out. It had the smell of gold on it, and without pause I heaved the carcass up and whipped the pouch out with my tail.

Inside the part that had been pinned under the horse were another five dragons.

I looked at the torn pouch. I thought about the coins I’d found — ten dragons in total, left behind by the Cranes in their hurry — and my mind took some logical steps.

The Cranes had brought at least one pouch of gold coins with them. It was much too big for just ten coins; it could have held a hundred. Hundreds, even. They’d spilled, and the Cranes had collected most of them.

The Cranes had a bloody ton of gold with them. Probably everything they’d had in the city. And they were getting away.

I spat my coins into the pouch. The tear was long but just under the cord, and I could easily hold the pouch in my mouth so the coins were in the whole section on one side of my teeth. I galloped over to my trusty rock, really digging my fingers in under it and pressing it hard to my chest, then used my legs and wings together to get into the air. This time I maintained my grip on the rock, and once I was up I brought my knees up to help keep it in place.

The Wolves had closed in. They’d been looking at me curiously from a hundred feet away, and when I looked back as I was leaving they were by the horses the Cranes had left behind. They gave them only a cursory look before following me.

The Cranes only had a few minutes’ headstart, but now they were driving their horses into the ground. When I caught up to them they were in sight of the bay and the ships at anchor there, so I had to hurry if I didn’t want to be in range of those big crossbow-things. For my first attack I’d simply hit the front of the formation, in the hope of getting Larryman or whatever their commander’s name was. This time I looked carefully, and I got to enjoy the alarmed cries of the traitors as I passed over them, identifying two riders. Most of the Cranes had large packs behind them. These two only had large leather bags, and I couldn’t see what else they’d be carrying if not a bunch of heavy metals.

I felt the paper-cut stings of arrows passing through my wing membranes. Others bounced off my scales, some leaving little pinpricks of pain, telling me that I’d flown too close and too slow for too long. I pulled up. I’d seen enough, and I had my targets. Now I just needed to get them before they reached the ships.

I turned my climb into a clumsy wingover, then did a half corkscrew so I was diving on them from behind. This time they knew what to expect. Pretty much all of them turned their faces skywards off and on, and they were spreading out, riding in erratic patterns to avoid getting splatted. On some level I was impressed. They’d learned admirably fast, and if my goal was to get as many of them as I could I would have been very frustrated just about then. Unfortunately for two of them I had specific targets in mind, and all their fancy riding only made it that much harder for any of them to get a good shot at me.

My two targets were well apart, so I picked the one whose horse seemed a little less nimble — and who just happened to have three sacks instead of two. Arrows zipped past me as I closed in, missing me by yards. I paid them no mind.

I got close enough that I could see the terror on the man’s face when he looked over his shoulder. I’d already released and pulled up. He didn’t even have time to scream before the rock hit him high, obliterating him and knocking his horse to the ground, then continuing on to bounce once off the ground, spinning and wiping out another two horses before coming to rest.

I looped and rolled, coming back down towards the felled horse. It was trying to get back up, but it was having serious trouble. Other riders had closed in, but they scattered when they saw me coming back down. Others gave me a wide berth, two of them picking up the riders of the horses I’d felled, as I settled on the ground by the smashed sack of meat that was the unfortunate man I’d hit. I barely noticed them. I was laser focused on the bags, which were still tied securely to the saddle. All I could think about was the gold that was surely inside, and that I’d have to deal with the horse so I didn’t get bitten or kicked while I got them loose.

I was trying to figure out which cords I needed to cut, cursing myself for not just putting the horse out of its misery while trying to stop it from rolling over and kicking me, when a thunder of hooves made me look up. I’d thought that any remaining Cranes had passed and moved on to the ships. Perhaps they had, but this guy had turned back, and was out for blood, his long, thick lance aimed at the base of my throat.

I threw myself backwards. I barely avoided getting skewered, but in doing so I put myself directly in the way of his horse.

The mad-eyed animal didn't have time to dodge or jump. It kicked and then slammed into me, chest first, taking me full in the side. I’d been hit by a charging horse once before. I was bigger now, but so was this horse. To put it simply: It sucked. I’d been pummeled by monster bears and smacked around by trolls, and getting T-boned by a charging warhorse was right up there, if not worse.

The force of the impact wasn't enough to truly send me flying. I was too heavy for that by now, but I skidded and rolled quite a few yards, getting to my feet in time to see the man’s stunned horse stumble away. The Crane himself, a wide shouldered man with a smoothly shaved head and a full beard, was somehow on his feet. He lunged at me with his lance and I jerked back, swatting at it as I tried to get my bearings and my breath back. The guy was relentless, pursuing me with jabs and thrusts as he screamed wordlessly.

He was between me and my prize, and every step I took backwards stung my pride. He was both challenging me and keeping me from a treasure I had already mentally claimed as my own, and backing up felt like a betrayal of all I was. Whether he was trying to drive me off from the gold in those bags, or to kill me, he had to go. It was as simple as that.

There were a few problems with that, though. I was in a lot of pain, and my head was swimming from the impact with his horse. Avoiding his attacks was hard enough, never mind counterattacking. I also had the pouch of gold in my mouth, all ten dragons of it. With my mouth full I could neither bite nor spit at him, but I couldn't bring myself to drop it. I could have taken it in my hand instead, but then I’d be down one limb, and I needed those to not get skewered. And I was reasonably sure that I would get skewered. There was a speed, a force, and a directness to his thrusts that left me with no doubt that he could penetrate my scales with a well aimed thrust.

So I found myself already on the back foot, snarling through the leather in my mouth, trying to grab the lance out of the air as the bastard danced and flicked it around like a goddamn kung-fu monk, when two more horses came charging back from the south. Loyalty to one’s companions is admirable and all, but I was properly pissed off. Not only was this one guy giving me trouble, but here came two more traitors to keep me from my well deserved gold. Worse, the horse with the bags was getting to its feet! Blood ran down its side in a wide sheet and one of its legs seemed to be injured, if not broken, but fear or sheer grit was driving it to get away from me.

That was the push I’d needed. I couldn’t allow my treasure to ride away. The Crane was still between me and the horse, and I surprised him with a headlong rush. Quite literally; With my mouth full I used my head, at the end of my long neck, as a club. He thrust at my neck, but I deflected the lance, and as he leaped to the side I clipped him on the shoulder with my horn. He rolled in the dirt before landing in a crouch, the lance still trained on me, but I was already sprinting past him for the horse.

The injured animal stumbled away from me, heavily favoring its left rear leg. I leaped the last few feet, intending to pull it down by the flanks, but overshot as it stopped suddenly. Instead my claws lodged in the thick saddle. The horse jerked forward; I pulled back. Between my weight and the horse finding a new burst of strength the saddle slipped backward. The horse then tried to kick me, but I was too close, and its bad leg buckled, bringing it down. I jerked again; the horse again pulled forward, and the saddle slipped all the way back to tangle around its legs.

The two mounted Cranes coming in were only seconds away. If I could only get the saddle off I could—

A sharp pain stabbed my lower back and slid up my side. I whirled, a feral snarl tearing from my throat as I batted the lance away. I cursed myself. I frankly couldn’t believe it: I’d been so focused on getting those bags, on doing the first thing that came to mind to get them off the horse so I could grab them and fly off, that the man who was trying to kill me slipped my mind!

Fuck you, Instinct! I screamed into my own head. You’ll get us killed!

All I got back was an overwhelming, incoherent rage.

I had to think, God dammit! I was not an animal. I was not a monster. I was an intelligent, thinking being! I’d been imitating World War 2 air-to-ground attacks only minutes ago, but one damn whiff of gold and I became completely single-minded, thinking with my greed and unable to see more than a few seconds ahead. No more! I had to think if I wanted to get out of here alive and with those bags!

Leaving without the gold presumably within them didn’t even register as an option.

I swallowed my pride and leaped into the air to survey the scene. The horse was kicking itself loose from the saddle. Good; I didn’t have to worry about my gold disappearing. The two new riders, a big, scarred woman and a short, stocky man, both with lances, arrived and joined up with the bald guy I’d been fighting.

“The bags! Grab the damn bags!” the bald man roared as he kept his lance trained on me. The two newcomers, who’d already shown that they were made of sterner stuff than most by coming back, threw fearful glances at me as they slid off their horses. They closed in on the saddle, which now lay discarded as the horse that used to carry it slowly made its way south, and started undoing the ties that held the bags in place.

Mindless rage flared again. No, I told myself. Think. Be smart.

I needed to prevent them from leaving with the bags. That was the first thing. Fine. I could do that, or at least make it hard for them.

I dove on the two messing with the saddle. The bald man reacted immediately, throwing himself between me and them with the lance braced against the ground. If I’d kept coming I’d have impaled myself. But by moving he put some distance between himself and the horses — big mistake. With a flick of my wings I changed direction, faster than he could react, and got in the horses’ faces. I didn’t even need to touch them; they screamed and reared, and took off at a gallop as I climbed back out of reach of the now cursing man’s lance. Then, to add insult to injury, I flitted over to the man’s own horse, which had so recently rammed me. I was starting to really feel it, too, and the impulse to get my own back was strong, but I’d killed enough innocent horses for that day. I scared it off simply by being there, and that was that. Let the bastards run with the bags if they wanted to. I’d pick them off one by one and get my prize.

The three Cranes were properly pissed off now. They screamed after me, calling me variations on every filthy thing under heaven. I ignored them and climbed again. The Grey Wolves looked to still be a few minutes out, having taken their time. In the direction of the ships was a confusion of White Cranes, spread out along the way. Some were gathered in groups, seemingly unsure what to do as others milled about on the beach, preparing to board. Discipline seemed to have broken down, but some of the groups gathering were looking my way, and I suspected that they were gathering courage to come and help their comrades. Gods only knew if they’d manage that, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I needed to get those bags!

I considered my options. Wearing them out felt like it would take too long, but I could charge in, or grab things to drop on them. The rock lay nearby, and I might be able to get it in the air before I got stabbed. Or there was the smashed body of the man who’d been carrying the bags on his saddle. Then it occurred to me that there was one obvious thing I hadn’t tried. There hadn’t really been an opportunity, but here we were. Three human turn-coats with one lance and a couple of swords between them, carrying three heavy bags, and one pissed off dragon between them and freedom.

I landed fifty feet away from them. The cut on my back stabbed as I put weight back on my legs, but it was only a minor distraction. I stood between the Cranes and the ships. They stood between me and my prize. A breeze rippled through the tall grass. No one moved.

Rain began to fall, light at first but growing heavier by the second. It was perfect.

I took the leather pouch from my mouth. My jaw was stiff from holding it firmly shut, and I worked it a little as the Cranes watched me intently, weapons ready. I looked across the short distance separating us, considering them each in turn and watching them fidget and squirm.

“I’m going to give you a chance,” I told them. They did the customary “It talks!” double take, but I didn’t pay it any mind. “One chance, yeah? One. Leave the bags, and shove off. I’ll let you go in peace. I can’t speak for the patrol of Grey Wolves that was following me, and who could be here any moment, but I won’t go after you. That, or die, here and now. Your choice.”

To make my point I started slowly walking towards them. One step at a time, relaxed and unhurried, only made a little awkward by the pouch clutched in one hand. At the same time I sent my shadow snaking towards them through the grass. The thick clouds cut the morning light to a minimum, and manipulating my own shadow took barely any effort.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a neat little nudge from Mother Nature in my favor.

“I expect an answer,” I growled. I‘d covered half the distance, and they were looking decidedly uncomfortable, the woman and the stocky man’s courage flagging when faced with the reality of my presence.

I chose to focus on them, ignoring the bald man who'd already shown a degree of fearlessness. My shadow merged with theirs, flowing up their legs, and I could see the moment that cold terror gripped them. They weren’t quite paralyzed, and the woman backed away, stammering, “We— we should— at the harbor! It killed all those people, we shouldn't—”

The man followed. Then he stumbled backwards over one of the bags, crashing to the ground, and that was the trigger. The woman took off towards the coast, turning south in a big arc, and the stocky man scrambled to his feet and went after her, his eyes locked on the bald man, screaming, “It’s not worth it, Jel! It’s not worth it!”

The bald man, Jel, looked after his fleeing companions, his expression more shocked and betrayed than angry. “Well, Jel,” I said, taking a few more steps towards him. I left my shadows as they were. “It’s just us again. What’s your answer?”

He gripped his lance tighter. He glanced down at the bags, then at the dead man, and back at me. His face split in a furious scowl, teeth bared, and I thought that he’d decided to fight it out. Then he began slowly sidestepping away, the lance still pointed at me as he made his way around me. “You killed the commander, dragon,” he said, his voice tight. “Him and so many others. The White Cranes will not forgive this. We will not forget.”

I leaned in, close enough that he might have been able to reach me with a lunge, and hissed, “You should. This is the last time I offer a White Crane mercy. Stay off my island!”

Jel kept circling until he had his back to the sea and a clear way to the safety of the ships. His eyes flicked between the bags, the dead man on the ground, and back towards the place where I’d killed dozens of his comrades. Then, when the sound of hooves from the north became audible even over the rain, he looked at me with a final impotent grimace, and turned and ran. He didn’t look back.