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AuRon whipped his tail across the ground in anger; the instinctive gesture scattered charging spear-blighters. Tran swung his ax-wide sword as if to cleave the dragon’s skull from crest to snout, but the blade opened AuRon’s chin as he avoided the swipe. He was not so lucky with Keerh, who plunged his battle-ax into AuRon’s throat, swinging under the armored griff. AuRon felt his neck stiffen, the blighter had cut into the muscle-wrapped tube leading up from his fire bladder. A sphincter at the outlet of his fire bladder clamped shut at the touch of air; his flame was useless.
AuRon hugged the ground, protecting his soft belly. He extended his wings and flapped hard, sending up a cloud of dust and pebbles from the open ground at the center of the ring of huts. Keerh and Tran turned their heads from the stinging spray for a second—
—which was all AuRon needed. He pounced, getting a forelimb on each elder blighter’s chest. He knocked them to the ground and bore down with all his weight and muscle, and felt a satisfying crunch as his sii tore into collapsing rib cages. Even more satisfying, though brief, was the shriek from Keerh.
More arrows pierced his flank. AuRon turned to see that the blighter charge had become a rout. All save one blighter had dropped his spear. Some flung themselves on the ground; others ran. The lone attacker, perhaps not knowing his fellows had deserted him, still ran forward with spear point raised. AuRon’s tail flashed over and forward like a bullwhip; he knocked the spear into the ground. The weapon stopped, but the charging blighter didn’t, and the unfortunate tripped over first the haft and then his own foot. The blighter sprawled before AuRon.
The arrow wounds burned him; the blighters must have dipped the heads in some foul substance. “Don’t move,” AuRon said to the blighter before him. “Or you die, and I consume this village to the last goat-kid.”
“Mercy! Mercy, great AuRon!” the blighter cried.
“I’ll do more than show you mercy. Lift your head, and tell me your name.”
The young blighter lifted his slobbered face. “I am called Unrush! I ask your mercy.”
“Unrush, are you a father?” AuRon said, a little thickly.
“Of eleven youth, by two wives. Spare us!”
“Then you can be called an elder. Unrush, you’re in charge of this village now. Don’t worry, when this Dokla comes back, I’ll make him understand. You may pick the third elder yourself. If the three of you play fair by me, I’ll see you chieftains of all the Umazheh of these mountains. Did you hear the bargain I offered to the dead ones?”
“Yes, and it was fair! Most fair!”
“Then keep it and see your Umazheh safe and prosperous.”
AuRon fought a growing weariness as he flew off to the river where he had first met the fishing NooMoahk. The arrow wounds throbbed. He submerged himself in the cooling water and worried at the arrow points with his clipping front teeth. Only once the arrowheads were out, and the blood ran as freely as the water coursing over him, did he allow himself to lay his head on the riverbank. The sun pained him. He sank into a half-sleep and dreamed of a sky filled with thunderheads.
He awoke chilled and hungry, with the feeling it was some days later. The moon’s face had turned a full quarter farther toward the earth. At some time he had hauled himself out of the water, but he had no memory of it. He sniffed the air and smelled woodsmoke. And blighters.
Unrush emerged from the thick riverbank ferns. He carried a sword, thickened almost to ax-width at its far end and notched like a claw. In his other hand he carried a skull by its wiry hair. He tossed it to AuRon.
“Dokla never saw reason. I took his head in single combat.”
A few other blighters emerged from the woods, spears pointed straight up.
“What now?” AuRon croaked. The head stank and was crawling with maggots. The fight must have been some days ago.
“Some say: let us kill the dragon while he is weak. I say: dragon must grow strong, so the Umazheh of these mountains grow strong with him.”
“Thank you.”
“We have bound the families of the defeated chiefs. Blood sacrifice our pact to seal.”
At another time, AuRon would have welcomed the meal, but he was still half-sick from the venom in the blighter arrows. He was not in the mood to kill and eat screaming hominids.
“No. Send them away. West, south, east—I don’t care. They shall go into exile.”
The blighter’s shoulders drooped. “You are too merciful to those who tried to kill you,” Unrush said.
“Those who tried to kill me are dead. Except you.”
Unrush digested this, and nodded. “So they live.”
AuRon licked his aching flank. The skin was discolored where the scar tissue was growing. “If you want to bring me the archers who shot me, I’ll eat them instead.”
AuRon’s throat healed. He settled into the vigorous life of a young dragon-lord as his tally of years doubled. The blighters kept their bargain, and Unrush grew into the role of a feudal lord himself. As his people multiplied, his two fellow chieftains claimed lands of their own, and the village where AuRon struck the bargain became the seat of a paramountcy. Whenever Unrush called his arch-chieftains together, he invited AuRon to sit at his side. The blighters gathered in song and beat thrilling tattoos on their war drums on these occasions; spitted bullocks turned over charcoal pits while the leaders spoke or sang.
When warlike men in white headcloths came up from the south, scimitars tucked in their scarlet sashes, AuRon flew off, leading his gathered warriors to his first true war. At an assembly of blighters, he heard stories of more and more men following ancient roads through the jungles to the south, hunting elephants in the misty forests. Skirmishes between hunting parties in the woods brought soldiers up from the south, an army to drive the blighters from the mountains.
