by RyFT Brand
came.
I edged around until I was looking at the backs of two fully armed and armored drac guards. Ahead I could see a number of their brethren crowded together, but couldn’t see the drummers or what held the guards’ attention so undivided, but I could have made a pretty good guess.
I felt I’d given Mickey enough time so I knelt down, keeping my eyes fixed on the two guards who swayed rhythmically to the cadence of the drums, and dug around until my hand found a softball sized stone, which I immediately threw. It slammed into the back of one of the guard’s head, ringing his helmet and sending him stumbling forward.
“Yeowthh!” it cried out, flipped the helmet off, and set a claw to the back of its scaly skull.
“Who the—?” His partner spun and leveled his trident at yours truly.
I shot it square in its chest, sending it flying away to land hard on its back.
The first, the one I’d nailed with the rock, was already charging me, growling angrily. These lizards were awfully touchy.
I drew the zoom stick from its sheath on my leg, letting it spring open into its boomerang shape, hit the charge button, and threw.
“Thhhhh!” the lizard hissed and squealed. Its armor lit up like a Christmas tree, although I was very likely the only human alive that remembered such frivolous celebrations. He shook, rattling his armor like Morley’s chains, and dropped to the ground.
With the calling stone sewn into my glove, I brought the boomerang back, but the other lizard, the one I’d shot, was moving in, whirling his steel whip overhead. I knew my bullet wouldn’t penetrate its dragon scale armor, scant little would, but I was only trying to get their attention. And, by the angry look on the dozen or so lizards joining the charge, I’d say I’d succeeded.
For the better part of a week now I’d been attacked, abused, slapped, stabbed, and shot. And through it all I’d been hoping for a good, straight fight. Looked like I’d just gotten my wish so happy birthday to me.
The lizards behind the whip wielder drew back the cords on their crossbows; lizards were strong enough to forgo winding cranks. They had a particularly unsettling bloodlust in their eyes, and all wore the mark of the Black Sect, a coiled snake devouring some rat-like mammal in black silhouette.
Careful what you wish for.
When things get tough, when the human brain is pressed with pending death and doom, perception tends to go all slow motion. Well that situation was death to the power of doom squared and my senses seemed to be on a frame by frame playback.
I cut for the cover of two side by side stalagmites both the size of oak trees. As I moved I squeezed off the six remaining shots in my revolver. I had precious few armor penetrating rounds, and those I was saving for the big nasty, just in case Mickey let me down, and quite frankly I expected him too. So my bullets wouldn’t hurt the lizards much, but I wanted all of their attention on me.
And I had it.
Just as I slipped behind the first stalagmite a dozen or so crossbow bolts ricocheted off my cover. Speed and the unexpected were my friends here. As soon as I heard the first volley cease, I back-rolled out the way I’d come, landed up on one knee, and sent four of the throwing darts hidden up my sleeve into the throats, eyes, and nostrils of the four dracs making up the front line, including my friend with the steel whip.
But my move wasn’t as unexpected as I’d hoped. Two crossbow bolts hit me hard, one in the chest and one in the left arm. The force rolled me onto my back. I was a sitting duck.
“Ahhh!” Gritting my teeth and pushing through the pain, I yanked two of the pepper bombs from my bandoleer, gave them both a good squeeze mixing the naturally occurring chemicals inside, and threw.
“Yeeeethh!” dracs cried and hissed warnings. The ones closest to the bombs scattered, fowling any chances of clear shots to their comrades lined up behind them. In less than a second the bombs went off. I saw several dracs, arms flailing, hurtling though the air. Others were bleeding and had limbs moving in unnatural directions or missing altogether. Tear drawing smoke swept over the pack of them.
I sprang to my feet and ran. As I squeezed between the two stalagmites my rucksack caught. I reached out, searching the smooth surface for a handhold. With a growl and a tearing of straps I managed to pry myself free, but, with a clatter of gear, my two way radio dropped off behind me.
No time. I ran for a large bolder clear across the cavern. Nearly there, I blundered into a guard who’d been making his way around my flank. He was as surprised as I and clumsily raised his crossbow. I leapt, hitting him hard in the chest and drove him back as I drew the knife and pulled it across his exposed throat.
With his voice box disconnected he went down with little more than a gurgle and I broke for the cover of rock.
Panting, bleeding, and racked with pain, I peeked around. I’d appeared to have made it undetected. Panic and confusion could rend one invisible. Several of the biggest guards had shoved the injured and dying aside and were creeping up on my old cover of twin stalagmites with crossbows raised.
Then I remembered the dropped radio. “Stay back dracs, I’m still armed,” I spoke into the wrist mounted microphone wirelessly connected to my radio. My voice crackled and echoed though the speaker’s ancient technology and the guards stopped moving.
Dopes.
But not all—one of them, the biggest one, was looking around, his nostrils flared and his tongue flicked in and out rapidly. I needed to move fast.
He was a bit far for the zoom stick, but I hadn’t reloaded my gun so I took the throw.
“There!” he shouted in a deep, raspy voice and pointed a claw at me a moment before the tazerang, connecting in an impressive shot I might add, wailed into his long snout and released its charge.
“Eowthhhh!” it wriggled and shook then dropped to its knees, rattling its dragon scale armor. Then, with an impressive show of will and strength, it picked up my fallen weapon and, glaring at me across the cavern, crushed it in one strong claw.
“Rarrrrrth!” With an angry cry his fellows broke out of the dissipating grenade smoke and charged me, staring through tearing, bloodshot eyes.
Crud.
I was low on weapons and could feel the pierced arm going week, but I was still Jazz. “Ahhhh!” I shouted and, tightening my grip around the knife in my right hand, ran straight at them. Squeezing the thumb and palm switches simultaneously, I took out their point man with the ballistic knife concealed up my sleeve. The oncoming lizards rolled over me like an armor-plated avalanche. The good news is it only hurt for a moment, because that’s just how long I managed to stay conscious.
As it turned out, the pain hadn’t left; it was only waiting for me to wake up. “Uggg,” I groaned and my eyes snapped open in the first moment of consciousness. They were open, but it took a full minute and several waves of pain until my eyes found focus. I was on the dank, earthen floor, on my back, my wrists were shackled together. The crossbow bolts had been removed. The one from my chest had never penetrated my armor, but said armor was gone. There was a blood-stained rag wrapped around the puncture in my upper, left arm. There were dozens of armed and armored Draconians around me in a semi-circle, and several very old, grey scaled dracs in ceremonial robes facing me from the circle’s open end.
I grimaced, moaned, and cried out as I sat up, failing to conceal my pain and injuries. I used both hands to wipe the blood from my face, testing the usability of my arms in the process. The left one shot sparks of fire straight up my shoulder. I faked a smile. “Who’s getting married?”
The elder dracs ignored my snide remark and began growling and hissing amongst themselves in the Draconian, forked-tongue.
I actually felt dejected. I apparently didn’t even rate a smacked face for the disrespectful comment. But it gave me a chance to scope out my position, and it wasn’t good.
Where the hell was Boss Geeter’s big f’n foot?
By the number of guards decked out in full dragon scale armor, I’d say they either h
ad more than one dragon, very bad news for me, or that the one dragon they did have had been here through several molts. I still hadn’t figured out how they’d snuck a dragon over, let alone how they’d kept it hidden for any length of time, but like it or not, I’d have my answers soon enough.
No sooner had I thought it then the oldest robed figure, the one with the long, white chin feelers, grunted loudly and two of the biggest dracs I’d ever seen heaved me onto my feet.
I couldn’t help but cry out with the pain.
Another drac swept out of the pack and approached me, this one in lightweight chain mail, a long, skirt-like lower covering with deep pleats, very like a samurai’s hakama pants, and a steel whip wrapped around his waist like a belt. His tail was wrapped in a blood-stained bandage. He positioned himself between me and the elders.
“I’ve reconsidered; I think I will take the puppy-dog eyed dragon figurine, the one on the top shelf.
The shopkeeper only hissed at me.
The oldest of the elders spoke to him in Draconian. He listened then he turned back to me. “You have been very lucky this day, monster collector, the highest high has found you worthy.”
Draconian priests would never befoul themselves by speaking any of the lower species’ languages, so my pal here, dressed like one of the black sect’s spies, had to interpret.
“Hey, that’s great news. Just let me run home and rearm