Balkis, tottering with weariness, followed as best she could. She fought down the urge to tell the little woman how queasy she was feeling, how weak, or that the headache had started pounding between her ears again.
However, Lichi seemed to know. She led Balkis through a gap where two boards failed to join near the ground, into the warmth and earthy scents of a barn. “Only a little farther now, sweet kit,” she coaxed, and other brownies crowded close to encourage and lend energy by touches. They brought her near a sleeping cow, and Balkis had to fight the urge to shy away as she passed between its hooves. Lichi reached up to pull on a teat, and warm milk splashed in a puddle in front of Balkis. The delicious aroma filled her head and she stretched to lap it up eagerly.
The cow came awake with a startled moo and turned to see who had so rudely awakened her, but Lichi soothed her with strokes on her hock. “There now, O Sweetest of Kine-kind, ye of beautiful eyes! Lend some little of thy milk to a poor starving kit, we beseech thee! Nay, kindest and most gentle of cattle, be not afrighted nor incensed, for such generosity to a poor injured creature will surely see thee reborn as a human babe when thou hast died!”
Mollified more by the tone than the words, the cow turned back to her manger and took a mouthful of hay, suffering a few more pulls upon her teats with good grace. She hadn't really thought about reincarnation, of course. In fact, she hadn't thought about much of anything but food and warmth since her last calf had grown and gone away.
Full of milk, Balkis suddenly felt the weight of her wounds and her long night's walk. She staggered; it took three brownies to hold her up and keep her moving while Lichi led the way again, saying urgently, “Not here, not here! A cow might step on you! The farmer and his sons might see you! Nay, come farther back, sweet kit, and higher, to hide!”
So, with Lichi's gentle urging, Balkis moved up into the haymow, where Lichi tucked her in among the straw. Balkis' eyes fluttered closed, but Lichi said urgently, “The farmer has five sons. His wife died of a fever when the youngest was three years old, and without her to temper them, they have grown into a rough and coarse household indeed! Be sure you wait until they have done their chores and gone out to their day's work before you come to hunt spilled milk. Sleep now, pretty kit—sleep until night falls and the men have gone in to their suppers.” Then she stroked Balkis and crooned a lullaby that was in fact a spell, assuring that the maiden would indeed sleep.
By nightfall Stegoman had reached the mountains that formed the southeast corner of Prester John's domain.
“Sun's almost set,” Matt pointed out as they coasted through the air. “Time to camp.”
“And hunt!' Stegoman said emphatically. “Flying enhances my appetite.”
“Must be all that fresh air,” Matt opined. “That mountain-top off to the right looks nice and secure.”
“That one that seems to be a cup among sawteeth? Aye, the sides are sheer. The mortal would be skilled indeed who could climb it.”
“A skilled mountain climber or a skilled magician?”
“Indeed so.” The dragon spiraled down, cupped air with his wings, then stretched his legs to touch rock, keeping his wings spread while Matt slid down. “I trust you have wood in your pack and water by your side?”
“Yeah—charcoal and a waterskin. I thought we might be camping in some inhospitable places.” Matt took out his supplies as he spoke and began to lay a fire. “Even brought dried beef and hardtack.”
Stegoman shuddered. “I will take my beef hot and fresh, thank you.”
“If you can find it. If you can't, you should be able to manage dinner on a couple of bucks.”
“Deer would be tasty,” Stegoman allowed, “but I fear I shall have to make do with mountain goats.”
“Not very appetizing,” Matt sympathized. “As a meal, that's a sham.”
“Or perhaps a chamois?” Stegoman licked his lips. “Well, we shall see what moves. Dine well, wizard.” He leaped up atop a tooth of rock, poised a moment, then plunged off. Matt held his breath, though he knew that the air was as natural to the dragon as to any bird. He let it out in a sigh as Stegoman rose over the peak, spiraling on a thermal, up and up to catch the last rays of the setting sun.
Then something else caught those rays, something else winged and saurian. “Look out!' Matt shouted. “Natives!”
Stegoman's head swiveled. He saw the other dragon and turned to face it, hovering and drawing breath, his belly expanding, ready to belch fire.
The local was a little longer than Stegoman and more slender, scales glinting where the sun rays touched it, reddish-brown where he was dark green. Furious, it cried, “Aroint thee, worm! How dare you come within my range?”
“I only seek a night's rest on my route south,” Stegoman returned. “If you cannot afford me that, glitterscale, you are selfish indeed.”
“Selfish or not, these chamois are mine, and you have no right to take them without the asking!”
“Very well, then,” Stegoman said, irked. “May I partake of your mountain goats?”
“No!” the other dragon snapped. “Snake, get thee hence!”
“It would take many hens indeed to make a meal for a dragon.” Stegoman's impatience increased. “I would be loath to steal an ox from the farmers nearby.”
“Do, and they shall come hunting me! How now, crocodile! Would you give all our kind infamy?”
Stegoman said evenly, “Till now, I had never met a dragon who feared the human folk.”
“Fear! Do you think I fear?” The red dragon shot closer, then danced, tilting from side to side a dozen yards from Stegoman's nose.
The green dragon stared, catching his breath—bracing for attack.
“If I fear not an overweening lizard such as yourself,” the red dragon demanded, “why should I fear mere soft and feeble folk?”
“Then why should you care if they hunt you?” Stegoman asked reasonably.
“Because there are so many of them,” the stranger answered, “and in their cowardice, they may set ambushes or even stake out poisoned steers.”
“Hey, now!” Matt called in protest.
The red dragon swung about and stared at Matt, eye gleaming, then said to Stegoman, “I had wondered why you settled, then flew again! How now, serpent—would you pollute my mountains with weak grubs who could never aspire so high by themselves?” Then the dragon dove at Matt.
“Let my friend be!” Stegoman bellowed in real anger, and shot after.
CHAPTER 6
Delighted, the red dragon sheered off at the last second, forcing Stegoman to cup his wings and stall for fear of hitting Matt. However, that also brought him low enough to perch on a tooth of rock again, and the red dragon circled, then stooped on him, claws hooked to catch and tear.
Stegoman stared up, fascinated.
“Go!” Matt couldn't believe his friend was so careless in a fight.
“Not yet… not yet… now!” Stegoman dove off the peak, and the red dragon had to cup wings and stall for fear of hitting the pointed rocks. A roar of frustration torched them, and Matt dove for cover. He realized Stegoman's tactic now— stalling Red so that he had time to soar high again, without fear of Red pouncing on him before he was in full flight.
Red circled just below him, rising as Stegoman rose, opposite him as they circled higher and higher, each watching for an opening.
A dragon fight was a rare sight, and one Matt didn't particularly care for; his friend might be hurt, and so might Red, who, aside from being touchy and overly territorial, could very well be as good a dragon as Stegoman. Matt dredged up an almost forgotten verse and started adapting.
Red, with folded wings, plummeted twenty feet, then popped them open right under Stegoman. Flame roared up in a fountain. Stegoman hooted with pain as he sideslipped out of the path. Red panned fire-jet, but Stegoman shot upward and wheeled, and Red couldn't keep the fire focused on him. Then Stegoman dove head first, blasting a thirty-foot tongue of flame before him.