Dragon Rescue (3 page)

Without waiting for Retruance to reply, he shot on ahead, aiming for the riverine pass between the towering peaks. One of the wildest and noisiest rivers he’d ever seen flowed through the narrow water gap and down to the jungle, toward the distant Quietness Ocean.

Retruance lingered to test again the wisps of Dragon scent in the humid air, and then followed several miles behind.

All the better,
he said to himself.
Furby can make camp for us on
some cool mountaintop.

He was greatly impressed by these high mountains. They were surely the tallest peaks anywhere on the continent. Their feet were buried in the thick, tangled jungle, their lower slopes were densely clad with giant hardwoods. Higher up the cover changed to soaring pines, alternating with high, grassy alpine meadows. The bare upper third of their slopes rose steeply, almost straight up. Thick clouds washed over the peaks, frequently dumping sheets of rain to the accompaniment of lightning flashes and rolling thunder.

Hello!
he thought.
There are people of some sort living on the
middle mountainsides, I see.

He was about to shout to Furbetrance, in case he’d missed the round, stone huts perched precariously just at the timberline, when he saw his brother dive toward them.

He’s seen them,
Retruance decided.

He began a more moderate descent, dropping as he did so through a heavy layer of wet, gray clouds that masked his view of the tiny native village and the other Dragon for several minutes.

Now where could he have got to?
he wondered, not seeing the younger Dragon when he himself finally emerged from the mist.

He pivoted into a
tight circle and
dropped closer
to
the treetops, sensing something was wrong.

Unless he’s gone through the pass to the other side. No, he was
definitely headed for a landing when last I saw him!

Retruance wove back and forth on the strong updrafts, flying not far from the tiny village, ducking in and out of the lower clouds. A small crowd of people were clambering along a goat path above the village, going around the shoulder of the mountain that edged the water gap.

As he banked to follow them he heard their excited shouts.

“We’ve snared the child snatcher! Hooray! Hurry!”

Women’s voices came, also, saying, “Now be careful, Lofters!

Snagged he may be, but hot is his breath, recall!”

“Snagged!” cried Retruance. “For Pete’s sake! They’ve got old Furbetrance fairly netted down there—like a plump pie pigeon!”

If it hadn’t been so dangerous, the scene might have been comi-cal, for poor Furbetrance had flown headlong and heedless into a net knotted of tough ropes stretched from side to side across the riverine pass. When he’d hit the strands, he’d flipped head over pointed tail several times, trapping himself in the ropes and binding his wings tight to his sides.

“He’s lucky the net’s holding him up,” thought Retruance aloud,

“or he’d have had a pretty bad fall into yonder river!”

He landed, unnoticed in the excitement, on a narrow ledge several dozen feet above the dangling Dragon. He considered an immediate charge on the natives, flames spurting and fearsomely bellowing, but he hesitated. How to get Furbetrance down? The trappers must have some idea how to disentangle the Dragon...perhaps.

lf l do it, I might drop him. Where he hangs it’s much too narrow
to get our wings spread!

He slid to a landing behind an outcrop of gray stone to watch the action. It occurred to him that these mountain men might possibly have some idea of Arbitrance’s whereabouts. Otherwise, why would they have gone to the trouble to set up a Dragon-sized snare? It could only be a trap for a full-grown Dragon.

Scantily clad Lofters easily climbed the sheer walls of the gorge, uncoiling great loops of heavy rope as they went. In a surprisingly short time they moved into position above the writhing Dragon, and began to jockey their lines into place to support the Dragon’s tremendous weight once the net was cut loose.

“Hi, Dragon!” a loud voice hailed. “If you stay still and hold your fire, we’ll get you out of this fairly quickly. Agreed?”

Furbetrance, who’d been trying unsuccessfully to twist his head about to blast through the twisted netting, realized suddenly that, were he to do so, he would plunge into the raging river far below. Sensibly, he ceased his struggles and nodded agreement.

“I’ve little choice, I see,” he said. “No flames and no biting, then.”

The mountain men expertly lassoed the trapped Dragon’s head and both wing tips in such a way that, when the net was suddenly cut loose from its moorings, the Dragon’s heavy body merely swung with majestic slowness to the left and came to rest in a narrow green strip of alpine meadow halfway up the wall of the gorge.

The rest of the villagers quickly whipped their lines about the boles of several twisted but sturdy pines and snubbed them tight.

Furbetrance remained firmly bound but at least he was no longer dangling upside down, in danger of falling into the chill torrent.

“May I ask, then,” he said, putting the best face on his predica-ment, “what’s next? Do you intend to make pot roast of me or perhaps Dragon stew? Or hold me for ransom? That’s your best bet,” he decided. “There must be a few Dragons and friends back home who’d part with some of their treasure to set me free. My
good
brother, for example...”

He broke off, remembering that Retruance had been only a few miles behind him when he’d flown into the net. He rolled his eyes about, trying to catch a glimpse of Retruance, but failed. His bindings wouldn’t allow him to twist his head enough to look upward.

“Neither roast nor stew,” said a figure behind a full-length hide shield perched on a rock lip not far from Furbetrance’s nose. “And we have little use for your gold or jewels, living here as we do.”

“Why bother, then?” asked Furbetrance.

His normal Dragon equanimity had returned after the first few chancy moments in the net. “What can I do for you?”

“Listen!” called the man on the rock, laying aside the shield but keeping it close to hand.

He was a burly man of middle years, well muscled and deeply browned by the tropical sun. He was dressed in a scarlet-and-white striped, calf-length kilt, unlike the rest of his tribe—men, women, and children—who wore only short skirts about their hips and nothing much more.

Retruance, watching from above, noted the men carried long scab-bard knives strapped to their bare thighs. Most also carried short, recurved mountain-sheep’s-horn bows in one hand and long, cruelly barbed arrows in the other.

They hadn’t notched their arrows to make ready to shoot, however. Although his brother’s situation seemed perilous, Retruance knew a Dragon’s tough scales and immense strength could withstand almost any such puny weapon. His brother could, fairly easily, tear the strands that held him to the pines, now that there was no further danger of falling in the river.

The tribal chief, if that’s what he was, waved his arms and shouted at the younger Dragon, “Harken to me! We’ll let you go on your way if you promise on a Dragon’s most solemn word of honor never to bother us again.”

“How have I bothered you?” wondered Furbetrance, sounding puzzled. “I’ve never passed this way before, I assure you!”

The native leader seemed surprised by this earnest remark and took a few moments to consult with the group of tribal elders who stood behind him.

“My sharp-eyed councilors,” he said to Furbetrance at last, “point out to me that you are indeed slightly smaller and more of a greenish cast than the terrible Dragon who’s been terrorizing us for the past several years. It’s possible you’re right, Dragon! We intended our springe for another Dragon altogether. If so, we are prepared to release you with our sincere apologies.”

“Let’s talk about this,” suggested Furbetrance, completely calm by now. “It happens we’ve been looking for just such a Dragon, my brother and I.”

“Talk all you want,” called the chief, “but you don’t go free until we have your sacred promise never to fly around here again.”

“Easily given, especially if you can tell us where this other Dragon went,” rumbled Retruance, moving out of his hiding place.

The sudden sight of a second, even larger Dragon caused a frightened stir among the mountain men. Most of them moved hastily away from the meadow, hiding among the straggly stand of dwarf pines below.

Retruance spread his wings to glide down into the meadow. The villagers darted even farther back into the covering pines to avoid being flattened by the descending beast.

“Two
dratted Dragons!” shouted their chief, falling back several paces himself. “Stand steady and ready, men! No false moves, either of you! You might squash us in a trice, but we can do some damage before you kill us!”

“Now, now! Simmer down,” snapped Retruance, a bit impatiently.

“We came in peace and we intend to depart the same way, if you’ll let us. And for what it’s worth—which is a great deal—you have two Dragons’ promises never to come your way again, if you don’t want us.”

The chief thought this over, came to a decision, and signaled to his rope handlers. With a few deft twists of the binding ropes Furbetrance was free. The handlers stepped back to coil their heavy lines.

Furbetrance crouched in the grass with a sigh and gestured to his brother to join him.

“Now, perhaps you’ll agree we deserve some explanation of your unprovoked attack,” Retruance began.

It was beginning to grow dark as the sun dipped below the edge of the distant ocean. The older Dragon gathered and arranged a pile of deadfall branches nearby, setting it afire for light and warmth with a burst of his breath.

“Come, let us warm ourselves and speak together as sensible people,” he added when the Lofters still hesitated. “We’ll keep our promise and promise not to harm you, also. We’re merely searching for our long-lost father. We believe he flew this way.”

“I am called Quillan,” said the long-robed chief, drawing nearer.

“I am headman of our village of Timberside.”

Retruance gave the Lofters his name and Furbetrance’s as well, and spoke briefly of their origins in Carolna.

“We’ve heard stories of Carolna,” Quillan said with a nod. “Welcome! And accept our apologies for the netting.”

“Tell us how it came to be here,” replied Furbetrance politely, rubbing his massive shoulders where the rough cables had scraped his green scales rather badly. “Describe this other Dragon, please.”

“We’ve seen entirely too much of him—at least, we believe he was a male,” replied Quillan, taking a seat on a ledge where he was just below the Dragons’ eye level.

“Just less than three summers back he came to our mountains and made a nest up there, on that highest peak overlooking the gorge.

We thought nothing of it at first. We had no reason to fear Dragons.

The few we’ve met were always quite polite and friendly enough.”

“This
Dragon was rather uppity, we thought,” said a woman from the crowd. “My elder daughter sought to make a friend of him and he chased her away and warned us all never to bother him.”

“That doesn’t sound like Papa at all,” protested Furbetrance. “He’s most fond of people and especially of children of all ages—as friends, I mean, not as dinners. Dragons are most particular about their meat.”

“He stayed up there alone for a number of months,” continued the woman. “Then, about two years ago, he upped and flew away...”

“...and returned six moons later,” continued Quillan to recapture the explanation. “And then he stole one of our babies!”

The villagers muttered and nodded shocked affirmation, attest-ing to the chief’s accusation.

“You
saw
him do that?” cried Retruance, shocked to his very tail tip.

“Yes! Took a little girl right from her cot outside her parents’ hut,”

Quillan insisted solemnly. “Carried her off for a full day and a night!

We mourned her as dead. Sang the death wish for her spirit!”

“But the...the Dragon returned her?” Retruance asked, hardly able to speak clearly in his fear.

“The next day!” cried another woman. “She is my daughter, you see.”

“Harmed?” inquired a very worried Furbetrance. “This is quite, quite serious!”

“Unharmed,” admitted the chief. “The baby was but two years of age and seemed to take it all as a lark. There were certainly no signs of her being hurt.”

“I just can’t
imagine
...” sputtered Retruance. “I can’t imagine
any
Dragon doing such a thing, let alone our gentle papa—who has never harmed anyone, to my certain knowledge!”

“If it
was
Papa,” put in Furbetrance.

“As big as your brother,” Quillan described the kidnapper. “Much more gold on his topside, so he glittered magnificently in the sun!

Red-and-purple underbelly, I remember. Grand black boot markings on his feet...”

“Certainly
sounds
like Papa,” muttered Retruance to his brother.

“Did you notice if he wore...ah...any sort of jewelry?”

“Yes,” said the first woman. “He wore a wide collar of flat gold links fastened rather tight about his neck. It had a raised rune or a letter of some sort dangling from it.”

“Letter A, by any chance?” asked Retruance weakly.

Such a collar had been a gift from Murdan the Historian.

Arbitrance had worn it constantly.

“I couldn’t say about that,” said the woman, “being that I never learned any letters, Sir Dragon!”

Arbitrance had disappeared after keeping the baby girl for a day and a night.

“If it
was
Arbitrance,” said his sons, still unwilling to believe the evidence.

But it certainly appeared it
was
their papa who had done such a strange and wicked deed.

“That’s not all,” Quillan added sadly. “After another half-year the Dragon, this same Dragon, gold collar and all, set up camp again on the top of the mountain.”