Star Wars_ Tales From Jabba's Palace - Kevin J. Anderson [160]
Kneeling down beside the dragon’s tail, Doallyn grabbed the fin and began slicing at it. Of course he intended to share some of the treasure with Yarna, he told himself. After all, she had made it possible for him to kill the dragon in the first place. I’ll keep the pearls for a surprise, show them to her after we reach Mos Eisley, he told himself, uncomfortably aware that he was rationalizing, if not outright lying to himself. After all, we have to get on the road now. We really don’t have—
Without warning, the dragon’s giant tail moved in his hands, jerking away from Doallyn’s grasp, then twitching hard from side to side. One fin caught the hunter across the side of his helmet, sending him hurtling down, into instant—and complete—darkness …
• • •
Yarna found him minutes later, where the tail’s reflex twitch had flung him. She stared in horror, then, by placing her hand on his chest, and feeling its slow rise and fall, realized he still breathed. Moon Lady, what shall I do now? she wondered despairingly, gazing around at the stark landscape.
And all because he had to have a trophy! Just like a male … she thought, furious. Males always have to have something to flaunt and brag about. For a moment she was so angry that she felt like kicking the unconscious hunter.
Anger was good, she discovered. It lent her strength. Yarna stood there for a moment, feeling the anger rush through her veins like a powerful drug, then, slowly, carefully, she bent and grabbed Doallyn’s arm. Slinging it over her shoulder, she slowly straightened up, until his prone form was draped over her like a Tomuon lamb. She had carried many such slung in just this fashion.
Eyes narrowed against the noonday rays of the suns, jaw tight with determination, Yarna turned so she was facing due east. She began to walk.
Slap, slap … slap, slap. The sound of her leather sandals hitting the hard-packed road was the only sound in the universe. Yarna counted the beats of her stride in her head, knowing she could not afford to go slowly, though every muscle screamed for her to lay her burden down and rest.
How long had she been walking? Her world had narrowed so greatly that she could not be sure. Scattered memories surfaced. Yellow globes in a rock recess … hubba gourds. She’d smashed several and dripped the water into Doallyn’s mouth, rubbing his throat until he swallowed. Then she’d allowed herself several sips of the sour, but blessedly wet, liquid.
How many times had she given Doallyn water? Two? Three? She could not be sure, just as she could not be sure how long it had been since she had stumbled upon this road that led in the right direction. Yarna thought it might be yesterday that she’d found it, but time … time was a slippery thing, as slippery and fluid as the pulp in a hubba gourd. She was no longer sure of anything—
—except that Doallyn was still breathing. Her ears were attuned to the sound of those harsh, painful breaths. She’d checked his breathing cartridges every few hours. He’d used up the one that was in his helmet, plus two others from his uniform.
She’d slipped the last one into place hours ago.
How long could he live without hydron-three? Yarna had no idea. All she could do was walk, slap, slap … slap, slap … walk as rapidly as her fading strength and muddled mind would allow her to go.
At some point last night she’d awakened to find herself sitting in the middle of the road, with Doallyn’s body draped across her lap. She must’ve fallen asleep while walking, and sunk to the ground without ever waking up.
How long had she slept? Yarna had no idea … but the thought that the time she had spent sleeping might mean the difference between life and death for the man she carried, haunted her, even through the growing haze of exhaustion that clouded her mind.
Slap, slap … slap, slap …
Doallyn’s breaths were coming quicker now, as though he were gasping. Yarna lowered