Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (17 page)

“If the Fates want us to go down there,” said Troy, “they can forget it.”

Achilles barked. Again. They jumped at the sudden burst. Again.

“A cat wouldn't make so much noise,” said Troy.

Helen replied, “If you want to pick up a cat to take on our quest, be my guest.”

They found Achilles growling at a snake atop a small pile of treasure. It consisted almost entirely of coins. Quarters and dimes, and quite a few subway tokens. There were a couple of dollar bills as well. Altogether it added up to maybe thirty bucks.

“This is kind of sad,” said Troy.

“Maybe it's just started nesting,” said Helen. “We can't take any of it.”

“Agreed. I thought we'd be grabbing a handful of treasure from a great big mountain of the stuff. But this just feels like stealing.”

Achilles turned his head and growled toward the cave mouth. The unmistakable sound of the dragon scraping its belly across the rough stone came a second later. They ran behind a rocky outcropping.

“Damn it,” said Helen. “Where's Achilles? Where'd he go?”

“The light,” said Troy. “Turn out the light.”

She shook the wand, hoping to extinguish it like a candle's flame. It didn't work. She stuffed it under her shirt, but it was still bright enough to see in the absolute dark. She got her wits about her and willed it off. The cave went black.

Something big slithered around in the dark with them. They couldn't see it. Or anything. But they could smell it, hear it breathing.

Something grabbed her arm. She stifled a shout, realizing it was only Troy's hand.

They stood still in the pitch-black cave, listening to the dragon move around. Its breath echoed off the walls, making the dragon impossible to pinpoint. It could've been anywhere. But it was big enough that odds were good it was nearby.

Helen had an idea. She fumbled with her wand. Magic was magic. She could conjure a new light, and maybe, if she was cautious and specific, she could make that light invisible to dragons. She didn't dare talk to explain to Troy. She only hoped he would follow her lead.

She thought about the spell, forming it carefully in her mind. She wouldn't get a second chance. “Presto,” she whispered.

The wand flooded the cave with light, sudden and bright and blinding. Helen turned her head away and covered her eyes. She held tight to Troy's hand to make sure he didn't move.

After their eyes adjusted, it was as bright as day in the cave, though shadowy pools of darkness slid here and there. The glow bathed the blue dragon curled in a U shape.

It was staring right at them. One of its big black eyes was fixed on their location, but when they moved the eye didn't follow. Her first instinct was to assume the dragon was faking it. It had to see them. They were right in front of it. But the conjured light was doing exactly what she wanted it to do.

She took a step. Her hoof clomped on the ground. It sounded like a clap of thunder to her, but the monster's heavy breathing overwhelmed it. It didn't move its head in their direction, and its long ears stayed flat.

They sneaked toward the exit. The dragon took up a lot of space, but they were able to squeeze their way past. There was one close call when it shifted position and came very close to crushing them against a wall. Another when Helen almost stepped on its tail. But the creature seemed sluggish and dim, and it didn't notice them.

They said nothing until they got out of the cave and into the clearing.

“Holy crap,” whispered Troy. “I thought we were done for.”

Helen chuckled. “I can't believe it didn't sense us. We better get out of here before it does. Hey, where's Achilles?”

They looked around, but the dog was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it,” she said. “He must still be in the cave.”

Troy drew his non-slaying magic sword and walked toward the dark cavern.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm saving your dog.”

“I didn't think you liked him.”

Troy said, “I don't. But I can't leave a dog to get eaten by a dragon. I told you we should've left him in the car.”

Helen drew her own sword. “I'm going with you.”

“There's no point in both of us getting eaten,” he said.

“He's my dog. If anyone should get eaten trying to rescue him, it should be me.”

Troy handed her the shield and stepped aside. “This might be helpful.”

She stood there in shock.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“I just thought you'd argue with me more.”

“Why? You're right. He is your dog. And let's face facts. You beat the cyclops. If one of us has to fight a dragon, you're the smart bet.”

“Thanks.” His vote of confidence meant a lot to her. Even if it was sending her into the darkness to wrestle a monster. Because it was sincere.

“But if you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in after you,” he said.

“Fair enough.” She adjusted the shield on her arm. It felt far too light and insubstantial to do much good against the creature's claws or teeth.

Achilles, tail wagging, appeared at the mouth of the cave. He ran over to them, and Helen picked him up. “Good boy.”

An amulet was entangled around his hind leg. Troy pulled it off. It wasn't much to look at. A string of pearls and a big red jewel. It was less a treasure and more a piece of costume jewelry. He stuffed it in his pocket anyway.

“We should probably get out of here now,” he said.

The earth shook as the dragon emerged from its lair without warning. No roar. No belching flame. Just the sound of its scraping belly, and even that was far too late to warn them.

The great beast moved toward them with slow, awkward steps.

They weren't certain it had seen them yet. The awkward placement of its eyes gave it a blind spot right in front of its snout. But it might be able to smell them. Its nostrils flared as it tested the air.

They took a cautious step backward, shifting their position to stay directly in front of it. For a few moments it looked as if this would work and they would make it to the forest where, if escape wasn't guaranteed, at least they wouldn't be so exposed.

Then Helen tripped over a branch. Her fall and the snap of wood caused the dragon to jerk its head to the side. It focused its pitiless eye on them.

A bird flitted by. It landed on the dragon's head as if to say there was nothing to be concerned about.

The dragon's green tongue darted out and snagged the bird. The monster swallowed it, then reared up on its long, awkward body and shrieked. It came crashing to the ground with earthshaking force. Then it lunged at them.

Both Troy and Helen smashed the beast across the snout with their magic swords. The weapons shattered, but the dragon recoiled instinctively from the enchantments. It licked its snout and growled.

“That probably made things worse,” said Helen.

The dragon lunged again. Helen laid a punch across its jaw. The dragon stumbled under the solid blow. It wobbled on its unsteady legs and probably would've fallen over if it hadn't already been so low to the ground.

“Holy crap, Hel,” said Troy. “You are strong.”

She smashed it on the snout, but the dragon was ready for her this time. The punch didn't stun it nearly as much this time. It shook its head clear. Its tail whipped like a lash and would've knocked Helen through a tree except that she had moved by the time it struck. She was instead standing a few feet to her left.

She didn't remember moving. She must've had superhuman reflexes in addition to superhuman strength.

The dragon snapped her up in its jaws, crushing the life from her. Only she was several feet away. Too far to have moved there on her own.

Enraged, the monster charged. Helen tripped, falling flat. She turned over and thrust her shield forward as if it would help her avoid being crushed beneath its bulk. But instead of being ground into a pulp, she was ten feet away. Still on her back.

“It's the shield!” said Troy. “It's a teleporting doodad!”

The dragon turned on him and hissed. Achilles rushed before the monster. The scruffy three-legged dog fearlessly barked from the dragon's blind spot. The confused creature swiveled its head.

The dragon drew in a deep breath. Flames licked around the edges of its mouth.

Helen ran over and grabbed Achilles. Afterward she'd say she had just been hoping she would be fast enough to get clear in time. But that was only afterward. At the time she wasn't thinking much at all.

She wasn't fast enough.

The dragon's hot breath washed over her and Achilles, clutched in her arms. Except for the shield, which once again whisked her out of harm's way, out of the clearing and into the forest.

The great blue reptile swept its flames several times across the clearing, setting the grass and tree stumps ablaze. Helen backed into the shadows where it couldn't see her. She saw no trace of Troy. Her first instinct was to look for a human-shaped scorch mark in the grass, like a Looney Tunes character death. Ridiculous, maybe, but better than being completely incinerated with nothing left behind.

Why had she grabbed the dog? Why hadn't she grabbed Troy? He'd been a bit farther, true, but she might have been able to save him. Her head swirled with images and questions. What would she tell his parents? What could she? Their son, their all-American boy, gone. Just gone. Like that. But at least she'd saved the dog.

The dog he hadn't even liked.

Something grabbed her shoulder and she jumped.

It was Troy.

She swept him up in one arm and hugged him perhaps a bit tighter than she should've. He exhaled painfully.

“Oh gods.” She let go. Gasping, he fell to his knees. “Oh gods, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—”

Choking, Troy put his fingers to his lips to remind her to keep her voice down. The dragon was still fuming in the clearing.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

He stood, his face flushed. “I anchored the track team. Remember? Getting out of the way of dragon breath is harder than hurdles, but I managed.”

The monster ceased its clumsy rampage and scanned the forest for signs of its prey. They didn't dare move as it slunk in their direction.

Troy pulled the novelty teapot from his backpack and hurled it into the distance. It clattered among some trees, and the dragon, roaring, chased after it. They took advantage of the distraction to slip away in the other direction, not daring to move faster than a slow walk until the sounds of its rage faded into the songs of birds.

Nigel had never had much use for spirits, but for once the capricious forces had led them in the right direction. They found the electric-blue Chimera parked on the side of the road. No trace of the passengers, but Peggy assured him that the spirits assured her that their targets would be returning shortly.

The plan was simple. The club hid their cycles a mile down the road, came back, and waited patiently in the shadowy woods. Nigel found a good spot behind an old bent tree. He glimpsed a few other club members' hiding spots, but that was only because he was looking for them. Overall their dark leather allowed them to blend in quite naturally. Except for Peggy, who stood out like a white specter in a dark room, but she'd found a good bush that blocked the view from the road.

Franklin rustled through the underbrush.

“Hey, Nigel,” he whispered. “Do you think they'll come?”

Nigel shushed him with a glare. It didn't stick.

“Why are we hiding, Nigel?”

“Because we don't want them to see us,” Nigel replied.

“Yeah, but isn't that a bit…sneaky?” asked Franklin.

“It's an ambush. Ambushes are sneaky.”

“Uh-huh.”

Franklin nodded to himself.

“But they are only two people, right?” he said. “Do we really need to ambush them?”

“We don't want them getting away, now do we?”

“Oh, OK.”

Franklin slunk away, disappearing into the shadows. He was surprisingly good at hiding, Nigel had to admit. Better than Nigel gave him credit for, because he failed to spot Franklin until he spoke up again.

“We're in the middle of a dragon preserve. If we surround their car, where are they going to get away to without it?”

“They might run for it,” said Nigel.

“But where to? Peggy says we're miles from any civilized help. And it'd be stupid to run away from your only form of transportation in a dragon preserve. Wouldn't it?”

“People do stupid stuff all the time. And I am not going to waste my whole afternoon chasing someone down when I can jump out of the bushes and finish this quickly.”

“But—”

“It's an ambush, Franklin. You're supposed to shut up now.”

Franklin did shut up. For thirty seconds.

“It's kind of a shame, though.”

Nigel closed his eyes, refusing to carry on the conversation. Franklin persisted.

“These last few days have been some of the best of my life. For the first time, it really felt like I was doing something important. My whole life, I've always been a pencil pusher, a nobody. But then I got the call from the gods, and everything was different. Air smelled sweeter. Felt like I belonged somewhere. Like I'm doing something that matters. Like for the first time, the gods above noticed me. You probably don't understand.”

Nigel understood. More than Franklin could ever know.

“I know you guys don't like me, think of me as a wannabe,” Franklin said, “but riding with you, being part of this, even if you all think I'm a joke…”

Nigel considered beheading Franklin with one clean stroke of his ax to end this awkward moment.

“Sorry, Nigel. I'll be quiet.” Franklin vanished into the foliage.

Nigel ran his thumb along his ax's blade.

“Franklin,” he whispered.

“Yes?” Franklin was right behind Nigel. He was very sneaky.

“You're not a joke,” said Nigel.

Franklin's face lit up in a way that made Nigel want to punch the human's teeth in.

“You're weak and pathetic and you're a lousy orc, even for a human. In a sensible universe you'd be dead by now. But you're here, despite all that. And you try harder than any of us, even though you always look like a chump, falling flat on your face. You'll never amount to anything and if you're very, very lucky, you'll die alone and afraid, realizing just how miserable your life was and grateful for the promise of oblivion.

“I don't like you, Franklin. We're not friends. And you're deadweight on this mission, the weakest link. But you always try. If anyone's going to rush headlong into danger in some vain attempt to seize glory, it's you. And that makes you more orc than a lot of people I know. Including some orcs.”

“Really?” Franklin's lip trembled. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes, really,” said Nigel. “But if you cry, I will cut you in half.”

Franklin wiped his eyes. “No, no, it's my allergies acting up. Honest.”

“Whatever. Now get out of my face.”

Franklin vanished.

Peggy slid up beside Nigel.

“Not one word,” he said. “Not one.”

“Or what? You can't afford to kill me. I'm your shaman.”

He grumbled.

“That was a decent thing you did,” she said.

“Hell, he's not all useless,” Nigel said. “Don't tell me the spirits approve.”

“The spirits think you should've killed him.” She smiled. “But the spirits are assholes.”

“How much longer do we have to wait?”

She shrugged.

Nigel was torn. He wanted to get this over with, but he also hated to see it end, to go back to his old life, to trade the open road for the tiny cubicle. He wasn't keen on killing anyone. He wasn't as uncivilized as he liked to imagine. He saw it too in the others' faces. The struggle between the modern world and the exhilaration of tapping into the bloodlust bound in his DNA. Morality was a real bitch.

Things had been so much easier when it'd been orcs against the world. He envied his ancestors, who had the luxury of viewing everyone as an enemy. The ancient tribes might sign up with an ambitious wizard now and then, but even that was only for the hell of it, an extra excuse to march across the bloodied plains.

Today he saw his two victims as more than just notches in his ax handle. They were people with lives and dreams, friends and families. They weren't his enemies. Hadn't done a damn thing to him. Their only crime was being unwilling pawns of the gods above in their games. He had no problem relating, but there was no point in questioning the gods or their wishes. Mortal lives were offered up as playthings for powers beyond measure.

He hoped it wouldn't be too easy. He hoped these two would put up a decent fight. He even hoped that perhaps they'd win. It'd make things so much easier. He wouldn't have to live with guilt that way, and he much preferred the dark void of the orc afterlife to balancing ledgers.

Not that he could let them win. They had to earn it. He owed that much to himself, his ancestors, and his not-enemies.

Something roared overhead. A black shape blotted out what little sun came through the canopy. The speckled brown dragon came crashing into the forest, right in the middle of the club.

Charlie Liverchewer was crushed under one of the monster's feet. The dragon spread its wings and shrieked. It grabbed Harold Marrowmaw, the fattest, most tempting morsel, and chucked the orc into its jaws. Harold's girth saved him from instant death by preventing him from sliding easily down the dragon's throat. He latched onto its tongue. It gagged and choked before finally puking up Harold as well as copious buckets of drool and vomit.

Harold jumped to his feet, drew his sword, and charged the dragon. His charge was more of a trundle, and the monster watched him with fascination. Harold stabbed his blade into the monster's foot, and it howled bloody murder. His triumph was cut short when the dragon kicked him, sending him soaring off into the thicket.

The dragon spread its wings and roared. It toppled a tree with a swipe of its tail.

A deathly silence fell across the forest.

Harold pushed his way out of the underbrush. He limped forward, barely able to stand. His right arm was a mess of shattered meat. Coughing, he spat up a wad of blood and teeth.

The dragon's head danced on its long neck. It extended a hood and made a low rattling warble.

Harold used his good arm to wrench off a heavy tree branch. He raised it above his head and, with a bestial war cry, rushed forward again in his trademark loping manner. The Wild Hunt echoed his savage bellow and launched themselves at the magical beast.

It appeared this wasn't going to be so easy after all, thought Nigel, as he chopped off the tip of the dragon's tail with his ax.

In the heat of battle, he still took a moment to thank his gods for their blessings.

Troy and Helen jumped in the Chimera as a nearby dragon smashed and thumped its way through the forest. They didn't hear the howls of enraged orcs, and if they had heard them, they might easily have mistaken them for the bellows of other ferocious monsters better avoided.

They tore down the dirt road, leaving the temperamental beast behind.

A few miles down the road, Helen thought she saw a motorcycle parked behind a bush. She dismissed it as a figment of her imagination.

The dragon was bigger than the Wild Hunt. Stronger. Faster. Tougher. But it had picked the wrong fight. Civilization had deprived the orcs of their birthright, and while they hadn't been reluctant victims, they discovered a joy of battle in their very bones. Thousands of years of untapped bloodlust filled their heads with a red haze.

The dragon responded in kind, but it had been ages since it'd tried to eat anything that could put up a decent struggle. At first it thought these little blue, gray, and orange morsels would be easy prey, and it was pleasantly surprised when they weren't. It enjoyed playing with its food, but the food was supposed to stop fighting eventually.

Yet after several minutes the food still struggled. Though the dragon had swallowed many of the morsels, all had been too stubborn to slide all the way down its throat. Even after it chewed and gnawed on them. The dragon was always forced to spit them back out. The roof of its mouth hurt from all the knives and swords driven deep into its tender flesh. And its uvula was a bruised, purple punching bag.

The orcs climbed atop its back and wings as they stabbed and poked at the monster. Its brown scales repelled all but the most stubborn strikes, but they still irritated the beast. While the orcs would lose if the fight continued long enough, deep in its primitive brain the dragon seriously doubted they were worth the trouble.

Something landed on its head. Nigel grabbed a horn and held on as the dragon attempted to shake him loose. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten up there. Perhaps he'd climbed a tree. Perhaps he'd run straight up its back. Or maybe he'd jumped, propelled by his lust for battle. Regardless, he swung his magic ax, aiming to split the monster's skull. At the last second he slipped and tumbled all the way to the ground. A sharp boulder broke his fall. His rage sputtered as the landing knocked the wind out of him.

The dragon made one last attempt to devour stunned Nigel. Before it could strike, Franklin (somehow still alive) jumped between the monster and its prey. He held his flail over his head, swinging it with wild abandon. He roared in the beast's face.

It wasn't a powerful roar. He'd already gone hoarse from screaming during the fight, and even at his best he still had fragile human lungs in a fragile human body. But as human roars went, it rated a solid six out of ten.

The winged reptile shook off the exhausted orcs pestering it, lowered its head so that its jaws were only a few inches from slurping down Franklin. It snorted, blasting him with hot breath from its nostrils.

Franklin smacked it across the snout with his flail. The spiked ball bounced harmlessly off the monster's hide and smashed him across the hands. He yelped, dropping his weapon.

The dragon grunted. It raised its head and licked its nose with its long, bloody tongue. It made a horrid gurgling sound and vomited black bile and red blood all over Nigel and Franklin. Then, with a curious grunt and an empty stomach, it launched itself into the air and flew away.

The Wild Hunt fell to their knees and on their backs. The forest was silent, save for their collective wheezing.

Nigel sat up. He tried to wipe the dragon vomit from his face but only ended up smearing it around. Franklin was on all fours, retching. Nigel limped his way back to the road. The Chimera was gone. If the Hunt ran back to their bikes, they might be able to catch up. But they were in no condition to run. Or to fight.

He dragged himself over to Franklin, who was retching and making a hell of a racket doing it.

“You all right, kid?”

“Oh gods, I swallowed it. It's in my mouth.” Franklin dry-heaved. “It's in my mouth!”

The orcs laughed, then groaned at all the pain that came with laughing.

“You were right,” said Franklin. “I am a terrible orc.”

Nigel hefted Franklin to his feet. Franklin wobbled, but he didn't fall down. Peggy approached, handed him his flail. He took it, rubbing his bloody knuckles.

“You are a terrible orc,” said Nigel.

He slapped Franklin across the back, hard enough that Franklin spit up a little of his own vomit along with the dragon bile he'd swallowed.

“But you're an orc,” said Peggy.

The Wild Hunt raised their weapons and cheered. Then groaned.

Franklin smiled wider than he ever had in his life.

Then he fell to his knees and threw up for six straight minutes.