The big man reddened. “He’s smart. He could think of something,” he said lamely.
“He’s smart all right — smart enough to run off and not come back,” jeered Hatu.
Pakito jumped up. “Watch your words, One-eye!”
“Have I said something untrue?” Hatu was no weakling himself, the last survivor of a family of four strapping brothers. His manner was always outwardly mild, but he was a tough, sometimes ruthless character. Even Karada respected him as a fighter.
“My brother never ran away,” Pakito said. “The chief ordered us to follow the dragon-man.”
“So where did he follow him to? The red moon?”
Pakito took a step toward him. Karada stopped the giant with a word.
“Sit,” she said. Pakito flexed his battle-scarred hands into fists, but he obeyed his chief and sat down.
“Fighting each other is worse than stupid,” she told them. “I won’t have it, do you hear?”
“I wonder about Pa’alu,” Targun said. Pakito glared, but the old man went on. “Pa’alu and the dragon-man, I mean. Did they go to the Place of the Dragon?”
“So what if they did?” asked Samtu.
“What of the settlement there? Might they help us?”
Karada slowly sat up straight. “I pondered that when Pakito told me how the dragon-man helped defeat some elves at the place of standing stones.” She made a fist. “I put away the idea because I thought we could beat the elves without help.”
“Things have changed,” said Targun.
“A dragon would make a powerful ally,” Pakito remarked.
“How can you bargain with such a monster?” said Hatu. “Long ago my brothers and I fought a dragon in those very mountains. He killed my father! For all I know, it’s the same beast.”
“It may not be. Should we pass up a useful ally for such a slender reason?” Karada said. Hatu did not reply. “You know the mountains, Hatu. Can you find Arku-peli?”
Long ago, a wounded elk had gored Hatu, costing him his right eye. He wore a patch on his headband that hid the empty socket. When he was very troubled, he would mb the patch absently. He was rubbing it now with his thumbnail.
“I’ll do as my chief commands,” he said at last. “To me there seems little difference between serving an elf or serving a dragon, but if Karada says ‘dragon,’ then I obey.”
“Thank you, Hatu.” Everyone shifted uncomfortably. It was not a phrase Karada used often. Her saying it was a grim measure of their plight.
They estimated they were four days from the Place of the Dragon. None of them, not even Hatu, knew exactly where the settlement lay. Common repute said the village was on a lake at the foot of a high waterfall. Hatu remembered such a lake from his youth. Once back in the mountains, he felt sure he could find his way there again.
The nomads rested a full day on the savanna. Their meager food dwindled, and they resumed the march under a cloudless blue sky, the last hot days of the season. The scouts returned and reported no signs of pursuit by Balif and no other sources of trouble in sight.
Unknown riders began appearing in the valleys south and east of the lake. Foragers from Yala-tene were alarmed when they encountered the first humans they’d ever seen on horseback. They’d heard tales of plainsmen who had adopted this elf habit, but it was strange to see men and women astride long-legged beasts. And what strange humans they were — tough, sinewy people, cured by wind and sun until they resembled the leather gear they wore. They moved in groups of eight or ten at a time and were armed with spears or long-handled clubs. They were polite enough when bartering for food and water, but there were scores of them roaming the high passes, and their very numbers made the villagers nervous.
The first riders arrived at the lake five days after the tunnel disaster. They were first seen on the cliffs overlooking the village and were mistaken for elf warriors. A panic ensued until Pa’alu identified the horsemen as members of Karada’s band, his comrades.
Amero heard the commotion and descended from the cave to see what the matter was. He found a congregation of village elders in the square before the dragon’s cairn. Pa’alu was with them.
“What’s the alarm?” asked Amero wearily. He was hollow-eyed and pale, having slept little the past few nights.
“Riders have been seen atop the cliffs,” Pa’alu said. “Some of my people have arrived.”
Amero glanced back at the cave where Duranix was sleeping off his recent meal of ox meat. In his current state, the dragon would be hard to rouse, but if there was trouble…
Pa’alu read Amero’s thoughts on his face. “Why all the worry?” the plainsman asked. “Wanderers come to the village all the time, don’t they? Why are you all so scared?”
“Plainsmen on horses,” said Konza, “like warrior elves.”
“They mean no harm,” Pa’alu vowed. He looked away to the cliff wistfully. “My brother Pakito may be with them.” And Karada.
Now it was Amero’s turn to read Pa’alu’s thoughts. “Your people are welcome,” he said, as much for the elders’ benefit as Pa’alu’s. “Go and meet them, Pa’alu, so there’s no mistake about our good will. If you find your chief, bring her here and we will do her all honor.”
A smile flickered across Pa’alu’s face. He saluted Amero with his javelin, saying, “I go gladly. Please tell the villagers not to challenge Karada’s band. They’re seasoned fighters who’ve lately lost a battle. They’ll likely be in a foul mood.” He departed at a jog. Once he was out of earshot, the elders peppered Amero with their fears about the newcomers. Amero let them rant for a while then waved for silence.
“Why do you worry so much?” he asked. “They are plainsmen like us. If we treat them kindly, we’re more likely to make them strong friends than enemies.” He let that sink in for a moment, then added, “And you forget who we are. We’re not exactly sheep.”
“Maybe not, but we do have a powerful shepherd,” Valka said wryly. The dragon was an asset not easily trumped. Amero decided not to tell the worried elders that Duranix probably would be out of action for several days at least.
“Go back to work,” he advised them. “Act as if this were any day, and receive the strangers with kindness.”
Despite his words, Amero himself was anything but calm. As he returned to the cave to study his copper melting experiments and await events, he felt a shiver of fear. Pa’alu had described Karada’s band as being five hundred strong. Yala-tene had had trouble in the past with lone outcasts or small bands of thieves, kidnappers, and killers. In most cases they hadn’t needed Duranix’s assistance, but they’d never faced so large a force of strangers before. Amero was no warrior, and neither were the people of Yala-tene. Could Duranix defend them against so many?
His fears were magnified as he ascended to the cave in his basket. As he rose, Amero could see more and more of the plateau behind the cliff. It was dotted with moving figures, all approaching Cedarsplit Gap, a steep ravine that led from the heights down to the valley of the lake. By late afternoon, for good or ill, Karada’s band would be here.
Then his anxiety doubled when he saw Duranix was not in the main chamber. Amero ran up the steps to the dragon’s sleeping platform and saw him there — in human form. Duranix’s slow, regular breathing filled the cavern. Still asleep? Had he changed to human form in his sleep?
The thought must have been a strong one, because it disturbed the sleeping dragon. Duranix turned over in one of those sinuous motions impossible for a true man to make and opened his eyes. Without saying a word, he held a hand up in front of his face.
“Bizarre,” he said, and sat up abruptly. “How long have you been gone?”
Amero was still at the edge of the platform. “Not long. It’s not yet midday.”
The dragon held out his human hands. “I must have transformed in my sleep. That’s very strange.”
Duranix stood up, spread his feet apart and held his arms out. Usually this signaled the beginning of his change back to dragon form. This time nothing happened. The dragon looked disturbed.