Silver Shadows - Elaine Cunningham [66]
She dared not venture out too often. Though she was nearly thirty feet long and almost full-grown, there were still creatures in the forest who could give her a good fight. These enemies could find her far too easily; with her enormous size and glistening white scales, Eileen didn't exactly blend into the landscape. Unless forced by hunger into hunting, she stayed in the cave, for she felt dangerously conspicuous except on those few days when a dusting of snow touched the forest, or when storm clouds turned the sky to a pale and pearly gray.
All things considered, Eileen longed for the frozen Northlands of which her parents had spoken-and to which they had returned when she was barely more than a hatchling.
Eileen had been too small to keep pace with the larger dragons, but she had managed to fly from her birth-place on the icy peaks of the Snowflake Mountains as far as Tethir. Someday, she would fly to the far north along with the forest's other white dragons who shared her plight. A flight of dragons, and she its leader! How glorious! All she needed was an extended cold snap and favorable winds…
Another sharp, stinging blow brought Eileen back to the matter at hand. The dragon yawned widely, then set-tied back on her haunches to consider the situation. The air was moist and fairly warm, even down here hi the cavern. Yes, it was early summer, the most reasonable time for a hail storm, yet she was in her cave, which meant that actual hail was highly unlikely.
The dragon came to this conclusion, not so much with words, but with the instinctual awareness that even the slowest-witted creature must have of its surroundings in order to survive. Of all Faerun's evil dragons, whites were the smallest and the least intelligent. And even by the modest measure of her kind, Eileen was hardly the sharpest sword in the armory.
Swinging her crested white head this way and that, the dragon looked about for the source of the disturbance. Another stinging slap to the neck-this one dangerously close to the base of one of her leathery wings- came from the direction of the eastern passage.
Eileen squinted into the tunnel's darkness. A shadowy form lurked there. She could make out a two-legged shape and the loaded bow in its hands. But whether the bowman was human, or elven, or something more or less similar, she could not say, for the tantalizing aroma of wintermint masked his scent.
The annoying creature let loose yet another arrow. It struck tile dragon squarely on the snout and bounced off without penetrating the plate armor of her face. Even so, it stung!
For a moment, the dazed and cross-eyed dragon stared at the pair of humanoid archers that had invaded her lair. She gave her head a violent shake, and the two melded back into one. Still, that was one too many.
Eileen let out a roar of pain and anger and exploded to her feet. The archer turned on his heel and ran down the tunnel, with the dragon in hot pursuit.
Well, maybe warm pursuit; Eileen's last nap had lasted several weeks, and since she had a habit of sleeping on her side-plate-armored cheek pillowed on scaly paw-one foreleg was numb and uncooperative. Therefore what she had intended to be a fearsome charge was in feet reduced to an uneven, loping, three-legged hop.
Eileen skidded to a stop and plunked herself down on her haunches. She lifted both forelegs and regarded them. After a moment's thought, a solution presented itself, one she thought quite ingenious. The dragon sucked in a long breath of air, held her good leg up close to her fanged jaws, and blew upon it a long, icy blast. This, Eileen's breath weapon, could put out a raging fire or freeze a full-grown centaur to solid ice in midstride. It could even slightly benumb her own flesh, despite her natural armor and her uncanny resistance to cold.
Eileen