Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [107]
While the schoergat gathered his wits, The Grawl marched over, took the pultah, and broke it over his knee. Leader pushed himself to his feet. Grunts from his clan encouraged him to straighten and glare at The Grawl. He gestured with his empty hand, and a pultah sailed down from Torn Shirt, one of the watchers.
Leader caught the weapon, hefted it as if to judge its balance, and charged. When he was within six feet of The Grawl, he leaped straight up, turned the pultah point down, and dropped out of the air to sink his weapon into The Grawl. Instead, the pultah struck dirt, and the point broke as the schoergat’s weight forced the shaft to bend.
The Grawl stood several feet away, and the schoergats roared. Leader kicked the broken pultah out of his way and demanded another weapon from those watching. After a moment’s hesitation, Itchy Back threw his pultah down. Leader had to move a few steps to pick up the weapon. He kept his eyes on his opponent.
The Grawl smiled. “I wouldn’t attack you until you’re armed. That wouldn’t be fair.”
The schoergat yelled, did a somersault, and came up with the pultah grasped in his hand. Leader’s attack stance faced a huge boulder.
The Grawl had moved. Now he was behind Leader. He grabbed his wings, gripping them hard enough to shatter the delicate bones under the leathery skin. Leader screamed. The Grawl thrust him forward, pitching him face first into the boulder.
He held the schoergat pressed against the rock surface, twisting his wings with one hand and shoving his face into the boulder with a grinding motion.
“Acknowledge me as winner,” he urged.
The creature dropped his weapon and brought a clawed hand up to tear The Grawl’s grip off his head. But The Grawl had no intention of allowing those yellowed nails to dig at his flesh. As soon as Leader let go of the pultah, The Grawl whipped his body over his head and launched it at the other wall.
Bloodied and shaking, Leader heaved himself to a stand. “I’ll kill you,” he said.
“Too optimistic,” replied The Grawl.
The schoergat curled his hands into weapons of ten razor-sharp blades. “I’ll kill you.”
He attacked in a straight-on run.
The Grawl picked up the abandoned pultah and held it firmly. Leader didn’t recognize what defense his opponent had put up until it was too late. He impaled himself in a mad rush to slay The Grawl.
He choked on the blood filling his mouth. He glared at The Grawl, then shifted his gaze to the pole in his stomach. At last he slumped, and The Grawl carefully laid down the pultah.
He looked at the crowd that came closer. Seventeen schoergats circled him. The two who had hidden before had abandoned any idea of ambushing the stranger. The Grawl smiled at the acquiescence to his superior abilities.
“Who is your leader?” he asked.
They shuffled their feet and looked down.
Torn Shirt finally spoke. “We do not know your name.”
“I have no name. I am The Grawl.” He paused. “Who is your leader?”
A murmur went through the gathering. “The Grawl.”
“I will lead you to the Valley of Dragons, once guarded by Paladin. Now two old men supervise the safety of dozens of dragons, all shapes, all sizes, all ages. You will have your fill of killing. The dragons are your reward for following me.”
He waited. The idea penetrated their thinking. One female cackled, and soon the others joined in.
“We will follow you,” said Torn Shirt. “The Grawl is our leader.”
“So I am. So I am.”
42
Seeking Sage
Hollee hummed a sprightly tune as she followed Wizard Fenworth through the long tunnel that took them from the statue site to the surface.
The old gentleman complained. “If we’d had a dozen tumanhofers to help us, we’d have three of these tunnels operational in the time it’s taken to dig one.”
“One’s enough for now, isn’t it? You’ve had to set up wards to keep villains from discovering our treasure. You wouldn’t want to do that all over the valley.”
“I would. I could. But botheration, I’m getting old.”
Hollee did a cartwheel, and the wizard laughed.
“Tut, tut. Oh dear. I’m not that spry.”
“Maybe your body