Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [132]
Several men barreled into the field in front of the armory.
“Sir,” called one of the soldiers. “Our dragons took flight without us.”
“I know,” said Paladin. “Gather ’round.”
More soldiers arrived. They formed a tight knot in front of their commander. Hollee smelled fear as they waited for orders.
“You must intercept your dragons. They will die if you’re not on their backs, helping to strategize. Schoergats affect their minds with frenzy. Find someone with a mount that has not been crazed. Probably one of the older, steadier dragons. Use that dragon to take you up and transfer to your own steed. You must reach them and temper their mania. This will be a wild ride, but once you are on their backs, you’ll calm them.”
The men shifted, eager to be away, but Paladin had not dismissed them. None of their training had taken in the possibility of fighting these schoergats.
Paladin paused, inspecting his men and choosing his words. “The only way to kill this enemy is to fly over them and instruct your dragon to use its tail to smack the schoergat to the ground. They carry a pultah, a spear. Sometimes the head is painted with poison. Make passes to the side first. Try to knock the pultah out of the schoergats’ hands. Then go in for the kill from above. Any questions?”
A negative murmur rose from the soldiers.
Paladin studied them for a moment, then gave the order. “Go!”
53
Two Baardackians
Bealomondore stopped to catch his breath. His men were outnumbered by five to one, but Fenworth had done them a favor. The enemy shone like polished silver as they walked through the gap. He and his men could barely be seen, even by each other. The kimens toned down their light clothing, and all the others were smeared from head to toe with Fenworth’s non-sheen cream.
Maxon stood at the tumanhofer’s side on the rocky hillside. They’d taken refuge in a copse of bramblewood trees. Even with the advantage of being almost unseen, fighting as many as four enemy soldiers at once was tiring.
Two of Odidoddex’s men, a marione and an emerlindian, approached. They crept through the bushes, crouching low and jerking at every little noise.
The marione stopped and whispered. “I’m for getting out of here, Cahn. We’re fighting ghosts.”
“Desert? You’re crazy.”
“What punishment could they deal out that would be worse than fighting phantoms?”
“Giving us over to The Grawl.”
The enemy warriors stopped moving. Bealomondore imagined they were contemplating their fate in the hands of The Grawl. He shivered in sympathy.
At last the marione sighed. “We can see The Grawl. Whatever we’re fighting in this valley cannot be seen.”
“That’s not strictly true. You gotta admit, you can see something move. It’s just hard to see what it is that moved.”
“And how do we fight something we can almost see?”
“Calculate.”
The marione lowered himself to sit on the ground, his back to a boulder. “You’re crazy.”
“No, smarter than you.”
The marione grunted.
“Listen to me, Demdar.” Cahn’s voice rose.
Demdar gestured wildly. “Shh!”
Cahn heeded and whispered so quietly that Bealomondore had to move closer to hear. A twig snapped under his foot.
“What was that?” asked the marione.
The men remained silent and still for a minute. Bealomondore held his breath.
“Nothing,” said the emerlindian. “Listen. When the something moves, you get a general impression of its size. Then you calculate. You can calculate where the heart and head are.”
“Yeah, but you can’t figure where the weapon is. The weapon is what I want to calculate. Let’s just go back through the gap a ways.”
“That’s likely to get us caught. I don’t want to desert. I just want to stay alive. Deserting will lead to death, Demdar. Remember, I’m the smart one.”
Demdar snorted. “Then calculate us staying alive.”
“We can duck into that cave we saw and be out of sight. When the fighting is over, we’ll come out and pretend we were in the battle but away from