Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [106]
Soon the schoergats came forth, silently circling him. He counted sixteen, which meant two were still in hiding.
He stood tall and looked each in the eye before making his pronouncement. “I am The Grawl. I’ve come to lead you to a valley filled with dragons.”
Leader stepped forward, his lance pointed at The Grawl. His beady black eyes had no whites around the pupil. He twisted his lips in distaste.
“We don’t follow any creature other than the one appointed as head of the clan.”
The Grawl found the raspy growl of the schoergat pleasant, a tone of voice he could get used to.
“I understand your people are the greatest killers of dragons among all creatures of the world. I also was told you eliminated the total population of dragons in the southern hemisphere.”
Leader lifted his chin. “That’s right.”
“But it isn’t. There are still dragons in Chiril.”
He huffed. “Minor dragons, more like cats. We don’t count one of them to make a single meal. The meat’s stringy.”
“No, not minor dragons.”
The short schoergat tilted his head more to the side and looked up at The Grawl. “Why don’t you kill them yourself?”
“I’m going after the wizard who tends them in the absence of the dragonkeeper. You slay the dragons. I slay the wizard.”
“There isn’t a dragonkeeper in Chiril.”
“And you thought nothing but minor dragons lived in Chiril. You’re wrong.”
Leader growled. He cast a look at his clan. Nine men were ready to launch themselves on this intruder.
The Grawl read the eagerness to fight as easily as did their leader. He also knew of the two still hiding in reserve, to ambush him if necessary. He could probably take them all down, but that would defeat his purpose. And he didn’t relish the hits he would take as he conquered this little band.
Grunts passed between the men and their leader. It irked him that he didn’t know what had been communicated.
The leader pointed his lance toward The Grawl’s throat.
“You tell us where this Valley of Dragons is, and I will lead my people there.”
“No, I want your people to take orders from me.”
The leader laughed, and those around him joined in. “I am head of clan. The people follow me.”
“I challenge you for that position. You and I fight. If I win, your people hold me as leader. If you win, you remain the leader.”
“What is your weapon?’
“My hands, my teeth, and my strength.”
“I have the pultah.” He held up his lance and shook it.
“You may carry your pultah into battle.” He smiled, knowing that would unnerve his opponent. “But I will take your weapon away from you.”
“A schoergat does not drop his pultah.”
The Grawl merely raised his eyebrows. He could tell his arrogance vexed his small opponent. A warrior who entered combat in a riled state did not fight efficiently.
“If you drop your pultah, any of your clan is free to throw another for you to use.”
Leader’s eyes widened to expose a narrow band of red circling the black pupils. He swung around and grunted to the others. The look of anticipation fell from their faces, and each stepped away from the clearing.
Leader slowly pivoted to face his new enemy.
The Grawl nodded, squinting his eyes to disguise his pleasure in baiting the schoergat. “I won’t fight you until you agree to the terms. I win, I rule. You win, you rule.”
“Agreed.” The drawn-out rumble in the word ended with the schoergat leaping into the air. His lance point turned down, and he plunged.
The Growl stepped aside, and his opponent had to avert a crash into the hard ground. He flew upward, circled, and came at The Grawl in another dive. The Grawl turned. The point missed him by inches, but The Grawl did not miss grabbing the end of the pultah. He followed the departing enemy with several running steps, and then he stopped their forward motion and swung the pole like he would hurl a sling around and around before he threw the projectile. When he let go, the pultah and schoergat slammed into one of the canyon