“It’s dead,” Alex said, straightening. “Go on, take a look.”
“I wouldnae ha’e believed it,” Maccanish said, a thicker accent creeping into his voice. “How long has it been here? It couldnae have been here the whole time. Where did it come from?”
“It’s odd, but I honestly don’t know. There’s some as say they grow from the rocks or that the peaty bogs birth them from the skulls of thieves and murderers. It’s possible that they burrow up here, but from where, I have no idea. They like solid rock, though, that’s true enough. They’re related to the giants, you know.”
“Incredible. So is that it? It’s dead-are we finished?”
“Unfortunately not. See, it’s been killed, probably by something bigger. They usually go in pairs so it’s poss- Oh, wait. Here we are.”
Alex had stood and was creeping farther into the tunnel.
Around the corner and slumped on the opposite end of the tunnel was the body of another troll. Not bigger this time, but smaller. It was likewise eviscerated, but its massive trunk-like neck was also torn up, nearly cut through completely.
“Another one?” Maccanish asked, moving around.
“This doesn’t make sense . . . They look as if they been here for, oh, over a week. I don’t . . .”
Alex peered deeper into the tunnel. His ears strained for a sound, his eyes for a movement. He caught a glimmer of something shiny piled a few feet beyond the second troll. He moved forward slowly, his feet crunching bone beneath him.
The shiny object was completely circular and reflective.
“What is it? What do you see?” asked Maccanish.
“It’s CDs-dozens of them. All chucked together, just the discs.”
Alex turned his body, shifting the light he wore. “And the boxes are over here-DVD cases, album cases . . . discarded like spent nutshells. They just wanted the discs. I wonder . . .” He bent and prodded around in the pile and found other objects-necklaces, rings, metallic crisp wrappers, a few silver forks. Some of it was valuable, some of it was rubbish, but all of it was shiny.
“Oh no,” Alex said, horror descending on him.
“What?”
“I’ve made a mistake.” He sprang up and stared into the black emptiness of the tunnel before him. “Get out of here, quickly!” he hissed.
“What is it?”
“I’m not prepared for this,” he said, gripping his sword with both hands. He turned to Maccanish. “Did you not hear me? I said run!” he yelled, and turned just as the dragon came swooping towards him, screeching out of the darkness.
In the dim light, Alex caught only a brief flash of long, sharp, reptilian muzzle and an angry flash of red eyes before he was on the ground, winded and pinned beneath a dragon almost six feet in length.
As he fell, he instinctively brought his sword up in front of him. It hit between the beast’s shoulder and arm but did not bite- merely glided along the tough, slick scales. As they both fell, the sword twisted out of his hand and clattered to the ground. Luckily, his left arm had been in front of him and was now between him and the creature. He pushed it upwards just in time to fend off the sharp beak that was coming down to meet his head. It struck the ground just beside Alex’s right ear. It had been a weak effort on the dragon’s part; otherwise he wouldn’t have been so lucky.
The close quarters were proving difficult for the dragon, as it was not able to maneuver its long, bat-winged arms to either gouge at his sides or even take flight. Its legs, however, it could use, and he felt one massive, clawed foot gripping the inside of his thigh, the other trying unsuccessfully to gain purchase just above his hip, but succeeding very ably in tearing away layers of clothing, and then skin.
As the dragon brought its head back up, Alex found he had some breathing space. Almost quicker than he could think it, he brought both hands up and clutched at the monster’s throat. His hands couldn’t meet around it. His thumbs embedded themselves in the soft, leathery gullet and his fingers fought for purchase on cold scales, no bigger than robin’s eggs, but slick and hard as marble.
Its arms still not being able to gain purchase in the cave, the dragon was unable to leverage itself in order to attack with its mouth.
It was a small advantage for Alex, but not one that afforded him escape or a clear way to defeat his attacker. Instead, he looked into the cold, red eyes in fear and horror as thin wisps of white smoke flowed from the dragon’s mouth between its dagger-like teeth.
Alex felt his hands around the thing’s neck grow warm, then hot. The white smoke was tinged with grey and black now.
Frantically, Alex kicked and writhed beneath the animal, which was easily twice his own weight. Strange, choking sounds came from the dragon’s gullet, and Alex closed his eyes for what was going to happen next.
“Alex, lower your hands, now!” came a quick command.
Alex let go of the thing’s throat and covered his head. Between his arms, he saw his sword whiz past him in an upward stroke and sink into the dragon’s head, entering just below the jaw. The sword’s tip looked to be lodged in the base of the brain, or in its spine.
The dragon did a back flip off of Alex and started thrashing against the walls like a floundering fish, first against one wall and then the other. Alex tried to raise himself and was knocked away from the dying creature by its powerful tail. He landed in the arms of Maccanish, who pulled him farther away.
The dragon flailed awhile longer and then calmed. It made motions as if it was trying to wretch, but its mouth was shut firm.
Black blood and bile dripped from its wound and, with a final few spasms, it fell to the ground and lay dead.
Alex and Maccanish stood looking at it for a time.
“Dragons don’t go in pairs, do they?” Maccanish asked eventually.
“No, never,” Alex replied. “Thank God.”
“Amen.”
2
Daniel awoke several times in the night. He was accustomed to sleeping in hard and uncomfortable places, and allowed himself to wake up fully enough to feed the fire a couple times, then settled back onto his leaf bed, pulled the cloak tighter, and went back to sleep.
But eventually his body had taken all the rest it had needed and he opened his eyes, wide awake.
And as far as he could tell, it was still the dead of night. What was it called when you crossed time zones and your body hadn’t adjusted yet? Jet lag? What was this, then-world lag? How long would it take his body to adapt to forty-eight-hour days?
He tended to the fire again. There was a good pile of hot coals that he swept closer together. He fed more wood into it to get some flames going again and picked at some of the leftover fish he had cooked. He didn’t eat too much since he wanted to save some for when he had to get going again, but there had been quite a lot.
Allowing himself to become mesmerised by the flames, he grew reflective. He dug around in his backpack for something that he always kept at the bottom of it, always wrapped in several plastic bags. He found it and unfolded it-a heavy, long piece of blue cloth that no longer fit him. He let his fingers caress the patterns. He lifted it to his nose, but it had lost its scent. But he didn’t need to smell it to remember.
Very gradually, it became brighter and he felt that soon he would be able to make a move. He wrapped the uneaten fish in one of the plastic bags and stuck them in his backpack. Using his feet, he spread and stamped out the glowing embers of the fire, which he had allowed to die down. Then he turned to face the wood.
“Forest, for all that you gave me last night I thank you without exception-but, Now that it’s morning and getting quite light Please show me the path to the wood-burner’s hut.”
And then, uncertain what to do next, since no path instantly appeared at his feet, he left the clearing. He counted his footsteps and hadn’t reached one hundred before he found himself on a small ledge above a beaten dirt path. Shaking his head and laughing in spite of himself, he set his shoulders and resolved himself to a long trek.