Helen began to have second thoughts.
A tall, gangly ranger sitting behind a desk perked up at their entrance. She stood, shoved a last bite of a sandwich into her mouth, and held out her hand.
“Welcome, welcome,” she said after finishing chewing. “Great to have you here. I’m Ranger Grainger. Yes, yes, I know. It does sound funny, but it’s my name. There’s nothing much I can do about it. And you are?”
They introduced themselves.
“Very nice to meet you,” said Grainger. “Can I see your IDs, please?”
They gave her their badges. She cross-referenced them with a computer.
“Everything checks out. You’re authorized for full access.”
Helen said, “That’s a hell of an enchantment hiding this place. Can’t be easy to maintain.”
“Easier with the dragons,” said Grainger. “Their ambient magic powers it. And it doesn’t just hide it. It actually displaces the entire preservation in a sub-dimensional flux. Unless you come through one of the authorized entry points, you’d pass through it without knowing. It’s not so much to hide it as to head off any conflict. The dragons take up a lot of space, and they have a tendency to steal valuables, devour cattle, abduct virgins. And it’s not like you can just fence them in. Not with an ordinary fence anyway.”
“We went to the website,” Troy said. “There weren’t any directions.”
“We try not to advertise,” explained Grainger. “This is a public park, and all citizens are allowed to visit it. But it is, first and foremost, a sanctuary for endangered species. Too many people tramping through these woods are bound to be trouble.”
“If they go in, aren’t they responsible for themselves?” asked Helen.
Grainger said, “You misunderstand. We’re not concerned for the people. We’re concerned for the dragons.”
Helen reached out to touch one of the foot-long teeth of the giant skull.
“Don’t touch that,” said Grainger.
“Sorry.”
Grainger paced around the skull. “This was a full-grown wyvern. Magnificent specimen. Pride of the park. Measured forty feet. The largest recorded wingspan of the breed. Do you want to know how she died?”
She sighed.
“She was chasing after some idiot, fell off a cliff, and ended up impaled on a very pointy tree.”
“But couldn’t it fly?” asked Helen.
“Of course it could fly. Just not while unexpectedly upside-down and plummeting. But that’s not truly relevant. Dying in ironic or implausible ways is something dragons excel at, bred into them from the dawn of time by the gods above. It’s why a thousand-to-one shot just happens to hit the one exposed scale next to their heart. Or they trip on something. Or they just decide to spontaneously explode with their own rage. It’s in their DNA. Really, if you put a wandering idiot up against a dragon in a fair fight, well, the dragon will win most of the time. But all it takes is that one time, that one stumble, that one desperate stab with an enchanted dagger, that impossible moment of triumph, and the dragon ends up dead. And dragons are slow breeders. If even only one in a thousand mortal souls kills one now and then, then their numbers will continue to dwindle until they disappear.
“The fewer people wandering around, poking their noses in dragon territory, the better it is for everyone. But especially for the dragons.”
“I’m surprised you’d allow us to go in at all,” said Helen.
“I probably wouldn’t,” replied Grainger. “But I don’t make the rules. But I do enforce them, and so I’m assuming you’ve read the disclaimer on the site.”
“No weapons,” said Troy.
“More importantly,” she added, “no slaying. The weapon rule is just there to remind you. Failure to follow this rule will result in a serious fine, temporary suspension of your NQB agent status, pending review. Is that understood?”
They didn’t reply.
Grainger straightened, narrowed her eyes. “Is that understood?”
“What if there’s some incidental slaying?” asked Troy.
“Why are you so interested in slaying dragons?”
“I’m not.” He aimed his most disarming smile at her. “But you said it yourself. Sometimes dragons die by accident.”
“Give it to me straight,” said Grainger. “You aren’t poachers, are you? It’s a federal offense to remove any part of a dragon, living or dead, from the park.”
“Why would we poach?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Dragons are made of magic. Their blood. Their teeth. Their scales. How do you think we ended up with that forest? Somebody killed a dragon, and trees sprang up where its blood hit the ground. Spread like wildfire. If we hadn’t shunted the preserve to another dimension, the whole world might be covered right now. Or at least most of the continent.
“Dragons are an ecological disaster just waiting to happen. Two thousand years ago someone kills the last broodmother earth dragon and we end up with the Sahara. All because an idiot wants to drink dragon blood and understand the language of birds or bury some teeth to grow his invincible army. That’s all well and good, but it’s careless, shortsighted actions like that which cause and/or end ice ages.”
“We’re not poachers, ma’am,” said Helen. “We swear.”
“And we’ll be careful,” said Troy. “We don’t want to kill anything.”
Grainger said nothing. She appraised them for a moment before finally smiling slightly.
“Oh, you look like good folks. It’s not like it’s my call anyway. But if slaying does occur, accidental or not, the incident is brought up for review. Usually takes a week to a month for a ruling to be handed down. If you’re cleared, you get your NQB agent status back.”
“We’re on a timetable,” said Troy.
“Then I would recommend being careful,” replied Grainger.
They went outside, and she inspected the Chimera, passing a weapon-detecting wand over it and all their possessions. The car passed, though Troy’s magic sword was confiscated. He explained that he had no intention of drawing it, but Grainger was unmoved. She also suggested they hand over all their money and valuables. Including credit cards.
“You won’t need these in there,” she said. “Dragons can smell a high credit limit. And they love expense accounts. There’s a speckled red serpent in the northeastern section of the park that has a mound of gift cards you’d have to see to believe.”
Helen was allowed to keep her own wand because it explicitly couldn’t harm anything, and their new shield was acceptable too. Grainger also issued them each a magic sword.
“They’re enchanted to be supernaturally harmless,” she explained. “But centuries of conditioning have taught most dragons to fear magic swords, so they’ll most likely just smell the enchantment and run the other way. Mind you, it doesn’t work all the time. Especially for the more aggressive breeds. Though it’s not mating season, so you should be fine. Unless you dare to enter their lairs or steal their treasures. Which you will most certainly do because that’s what questers do.”
“We’re sorry. We’re not trying to cause any trouble,” said Helen.
Grainger said, “It’s fine. It’s not your fault. You’re just doing what you’re supposed to be doing. Greater good and all that. Just do try to be careful.”
“We will be,” said Troy. “Is it safe for dogs in there?”
It was perhaps only Helen reading too much in Achilles’s face, but he did appear to glare at Troy.
“Safe?” said Grainger. “No, but if you were interested in being safe, you wouldn’t be going in there in the first place. Now the day’s a little shorter in this place, the night a little longer. It’ll be dark soon. And you don’t want to be wandering around in the dead of night. There are sanctuary stones throughout the park. You can’t miss them. They keep the dragons at bay for the most part.” She circled a spot on a map with her pen. “You can reach this one in about an hour. I recommend you set up camp there. Wonderful view. Do
n’t leave until morning.”
With that done, she had them sign several waivers each, gave them the map of the park, and told them that they entered the preservation at their own risk, and that if they chose to wander off the trails, they did so at even greater personal risk.
“But you’ll do it anyway,” she said, “because that’s what you questers do.”
And they drove into the forest, leaving Ranger Grainger shaking her head and muttering to herself.
The Wild Hunt stayed the night in Gateway. The club was beginning to have some fun, and nobody was in much of a hurry to catch up with their divinely appointed prey. Once they did their job, they’d be going either to prison or back to their humdrum lives. Nigel wasn’t sure which he preferred.
They dallied in Gateway, making a mess, breaking things, and acting like the vicious horde they usually pretended to be. The citizens of the town were tolerant of the intrusion, being used to destructive visitors, and after the club had their fun, Nigel wrote a check for the damages as a way of thanking the locals for their cooperation. It undercut the merciless-band-of-cutthroats vibe they were cultivating, but it was the polite thing to do. It was also appropriately reckless because his wife was likely to stab him in the face once she saw their new balance.
The Wild Hunt prowled the highway at a steady pace. Slow enough that they’d catch up with their prey later rather than sooner, but fast enough that their gods wouldn’t have reason to complain.
Eventually the spirits started speaking to Peggy Truthstalker again. They directed her to a lonely archway in the desert, hiding behind some rocks.
“This is the place?” he asked.
“They’re on the other side. This is a service entrance to a dragon preserve. Magically sealed.” She knelt and scrawled symbols in the dirt. “Give me a moment, and I’ll open it.”
“Dragons?” said Franklin. His voice trembled.
The club laughed.
Becky Bonebreaker slapped Franklin hard on the back, nearly knocking him over. “You aren’t afraid, are you?”
He straightened and puffed out his chest. “No. It’s just dragons, right? Who’s afraid of dragons?”
“Smart people,” said Nigel, as he sharpened the edge of his dragonblood ax with a stone. The blade was supernaturally sharp, but he found the scraping sound it made soothing. Little flakes of frost spiraled to the ground where the stone sparked against the weapon.
Peggy did her shaman thing. She drew symbols. She chanted. She caught a tiny lizard, bit off its head. She had the club dance a strange jig. It was hot and uncomfortable and they all sweated in unpleasant places until the spirits were convinced they’d suffered enough and opened the doorway.
The arch cracked open with a flash of light, revealing a road leading into a dark and sinister forest. In the darkness, beasts of legend howled and shrieked.
“Don’t worry, Franklin,” said Nigel. “You’re little. They probably won’t even notice you.”
“Or he’ll get stuck between their teeth and at least take some small comfort in irritating the hell out of one of the beasts for a few days,” said Carl Heartchewer.
They all chuckled. Even Franklin, though his was a bit halfhearted.
The Wild Hunt revved up their engines until the rumbling overwhelmed the creatures of the enchanted forest. They poured down the dirt road, kicking up dirt and bringing fear to even dragons themselves.
18
The dragons were hiding.
It was the only explanation. It wasn’t as if Troy and Helen had been expecting the great winged beasts to come up to the Chimera and ask to be petted on the snout, but they had been expecting some sign of the great beasts. They drove through the thick woods with nary a wing or tail in sight and hearing only the predictable sounds of nature. Birdsong and insect chirping and an occasional owl hoot. Even before dusk fell, the woods beyond the road were dark and forbidding, so maybe the owls didn’t know when day ended and night began. Maybe they lived in a perpetual night, a virtual owl paradise. Or possibly an owl hell, a never-ending darkness where the sun never shone to tell them it was cool to catch a few winks.
But dragons…there were none.
The forest’s branches stretched overhead. Its thick canopy obscured the darkening sky. When it finally cleared, the silhouettes slipping across the stars belonged to clouds, not dragons.
A shriek would’ve been nice. Or a howl. Or something large knocking down a tree just out of sight. Anything.
Achilles sat between them in the front seat, his head on Helen’s lap. He’d raise his head every so often, and his fluffy ears would swivel toward sounds they couldn’t hear. Once he even growled very lightly, giving them the hope that a legendary monster would come charging out of the woods.
But it didn’t.
After the lecture from Grainger, the waiver, and the fearsome dragon skull, they’d expected something more terrifying. Instead they reached the campsite clearing without so much as a brush with a dragon whelp. The sanctuary stone, a light blue smoothed oval, hovered a few feet off the ground, casting a soft glow.
Grainger hadn’t been lying. The view was amazing. The campsite perched on the edge of a cliff, allowing them to see across the preserve below. The muted colors of twilight bathed everything in shades of blue and gray. Waning light shimmered across the surface of a faraway lake. The first stars sparkled at the edge of a red-and-cerulean night.
Helen said, “I was expecting less serenity, more forbidden terrors.”
“You were?”
She picked up a rock, threw it at the setting sun. “I’m not complaining.”
They set up camp as night fell on the preserve. In the darkened forest beyond the stone’s protection, things lurked. But none of those things dared approach, though their eyes (sinister glints of red, yellow, and green) watched from the shadows. None of the dragons came close enough to be seen as more than silhouettes slinking around the camp. When Helen and Troy scouted the boundary’s edge they would come across animal tracks, both large and small, they hadn’t noticed before.
Helen had trouble setting up her pup tent. She’d wasted forty minutes with little to show for it but a misshapen lump of canvas.
“Need some help on that?” asked Troy.
“I can get it.”
“It’s OK to ask for help, Hel.”
“I can set up a tent,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Suit yourself.” He sat beside his own standing tent and petted Achilles.
“You don’t have to watch me.”
Troy smiled but said nothing.
“I think there’s something wrong with my instructions,” she said. “I think the ranger gave me a defective pamphlet.”
“There wasn’t anything wrong with mine.”
She untangled the ropes. She didn’t know how they kept getting knotted up. “Don’t you see? That’s the insidious nature of it. If she gave us both bad instructions, then we’d know something was up. But if she gives them to only one of us, then that person ends up looking like a dummy who can’t put up a tent.”
“Let me see your instructions.”
“No, it’s OK. I got it.”
Clouds, visible as a darkness crawling across the starry sky, had been moving in their direction. The threat might change direction before it reached them or pass overhead without leaving a drop of rain. But Helen could smell the humidity in the air, and she didn’t take any chances when it came to rain.
“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this, Hel.”
She didn’t know either, but somewhere along the way she’d decided this was a test of honor, of heroic endurance. If Hercules could drag Cerberus from the underworld, she could set up a stupid tent, and she could do it without any help.
She vowed to the gods above and below that, no matter what, she would make her own shelter. Nothing, no force of nature or supernatural curse, could stop her.
The plastic tent pole snapped in two in her hands.
> To add insult to injury, thunder cracked the sky and a few tiny drops of rain fell on her face. Helen realized, as perhaps she never had before, that she was just an insignificant speck in a grand design and that her wishes and desires meant nothing.
“Well played, universe,” she muttered.
A shadow soared overhead, kicking up a gust of wind that blew over her tent. It was followed by another. And another. The creatures sounded a warbling cry, more like birdsong than a dragon shriek. The monsters circled over the camp for a moment before soaring away to the lake in the distance.
Grumbling, Helen righted her tent and tried to figure out how to get around the broken pole. “Do we have any tape?”
“Hel, you have to see this.”
She scanned the darkening sky, assessed the probability of a storm hitting them.
“Hel…”
She threw the pole pieces into the mess of her tent and joined him at the cliff’s edge.
Below, the three dragons quenched their thirst at the lake. The clouds parted just enough to allow pale moonlight to reflect off their glittering red scales. They dipped their jaws in the water, scooping out gulps, swallowing by throwing their heads back like birds.
The creatures were long and lean, like snakes with elongated limbs. The forelimbs served as wings, and the dragons were a bit clumsy on land. The smallest one slipped, falling into the lake, shrieking and throwing a tantrum until the biggest gently wrapped her jaws around him and lifted him back on shore. The little dragon soon forgot his trauma as he wrestled with his sibling. The mother settled down, watching her hatchlings play.
“This was a great idea, Hel.”
Thunder cracked. The dragons launched themselves, soaring with all the majesty they lacked on land. They passed overhead again, blowing Helen’s tent out of the sanctuary’s protection and into the dark.
The first few raindrops fell. She had only a few moments before the real storm began, and she knew it was going to be a hard rain, a thunderstorm worthy of the storm gods themselves. Her first instinct was to run for the car, but it was too far. She’d never make it.
Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest Page 13