Chapter Fifteen

HE HAD REMEMBERED TO SET HIMSELF A TIME WHEN going to sleep, and therefore woke at dawn, just in time to see the first light of morning find its way, green and gold and pink, through the leafy treetops.

The morning was just a trifle cooler than the morning before, which had been cooler than its predecessor; he was unsure if this was simply a quirk of the weather or if the summer was really ending. It made very little difference. He could handle a little cold weather, especially now that he had the horses and supplies he had taken from the bandits. The only thing that would even slow him up measurably would be a real snowstorm, an event that must surely still be weeks, if not months, away—and even if a snowstorm struck, he would just take shelter in a village or city. He had all the time he needed. Without the computer hounding him, he could wait out anything. He was still young, despite the fourteen years—fifteen, including basic training and so forth—spent in the military.

It might almost turn out that his wandering damnation had been worth the years it cost; after all, he was free now, and alive, which might well not have been had he stayed on Old Earth. Leaving aside the three-century time difference—obviously he would not have lived three hundred years—it was extremely unlikely he would have survived to his current physiological age of thirty-three. If the D-series itself hadn't gotten him, the inevitable aftermath of the collapse of civilization might have.

Instead, he was alive and well, albeit on a backward and alien planet, and possessed of several valuable resources: his strength, speed, and training; the horses and supplies that he had acquired; and a starship that might be available someday for his own personal use.

It was going to be a good day, he decided. He ran through the stretching exercises taught him on Mars fourteen years ago, as he had almost every time he awoke aboard his ship, then mounted and headed east. Praunce was less than three days away; in seventy-two hours—no, sixty hours, with the shorter days—he might no longer have that infernal thermite bomb in his skull. That was a truly wonderful thought, and he savored it at length.

He paused briefly at midday, and ate a good-sized meal of dried fruit and salted meat from the supplies that had been in the bandits' packs; he knew that his ship's stores would keep indefinitely, while this other food might not, so he was using it up first. Besides, it tasted better.

He had finished and was about to remount his horse when a distant cry distracted him; he turned and looked westward in tune to see a dark shape plummet from the sky and vanish amid the trees.

Some sort of large bird, he decided, probably a bird of prey attacking something he hadn't seen. It was nothing that concerned him. He swung into the saddle and rode on.

Approximately twenty minutes later his horse slowed its gait, unbidden; Slant was instantly wary. Had it detected something ahead it didn't like? Had it smelted something, perhaps? He had no idea what might lurk in these woods; just because he had not yet encountered any predators except humans, that didn't mean there weren't any.

His mount tried to stop completely, but Slant would not allow that; he urged it forward, giving an encouraging yank to the other horses' lead ropes as well. He drew his machine-pistol from his pocket, holding it loosely in his right hand while his left held the reins.

The stretch of road he was on described a reverse curve, turning first right and then back toward the left before the next straight section, and as he rounded the second bend he saw the thing asleep beside the road, on the right, its tail curling halfway across the highway. He guessed immediately that this was one of the "dragons" Thurrel had spoken of.

The beast was immense; Slant could not see its full size, curled up as it was, but its unmoving head appeared to be a good two meters from the base of the skull to the tip of the snout. Its body did not seem quite as large, proportionately, but was certainly large enough to deserve extremes of caution and respect

It was the size that convinced Slant it was a dragon, nothing else, because the creature was not reptilian at all. It resembled a cat of some kind, save that its mottled hide was almost hairless; it had fangs that would do justice to a saber-tooth tiger. The shape of its head was distinctly feline, but it had no visible ears, which gave it a certain wrongness. Its black-spotted pink-and-brown skin had a raw, unhealthy look.

He wondered how such a thing could exist, even on a planet like this one, and remembered that Thurrel had spoken of freaks, monsters, and stillbirths as commonplace in Praunce, which had been built on ruins. The ruins must have been left after a nuclear attack, saturated with hard radiation; how could people have been foolish enough to live in such a place?

Furthermore, how much lingering radioactivity could there still be after three hundred years? He refused to believe that a thing like this dragon was an actual viable mutation, breeding true after three centuries; what could the first of its kind have bred with? He knew enough genetics to be certain that the odds against two such creatures occurring at once and both being fertile were absolutely astronomical. And nothing so nearly feline could reproduce asexually. Besides, Thurrel had spoken of strange births as a continuing phenomenon. There must still be a very high level of radiation.

He vaguely recalled a briefing on enhanced radiation weapons and government policy toward enemy territory, and decided that he shouldn't have been surprised. He began wondering about the local life expectancy, fertility levels, and cancer rates—and about his own life expectancy if he stayed around. He wished he had the computer available to measure just how much radiation he was exposing himself to.

He knew that the equipment in his body included radiation counters, but the data were only accessible through the computer.

His horse did not want to go closer to the dragon; it made this known by planting its hoofs firmly and refusing to take another step. He could hear its breathing, rough and harsh, and sensed that it was on the verge of panic. Fortunately, even in its terror it had enough sense not to make unnecessary noise—or perhaps it was frightened beyond being able to make noise.

That was inconvenient. He had been lucky enough to come across the creature while it was asleep, and his best chance for safely continuing his journey was to go around it before it awoke. If it had the habits of lesser felines, it could wake up at any moment. Therefore, every delay increased the risk.

He wore no spurs, and his mount refused to respond to his boot heels; he managed to twist the stirrups so that the bottom inside corners dug in as well, and thereby coaxed the horse into taking a few more steps before it froze again.

He considered dismounting and leading the three horses past, but he was unsure he could hold and control them. If he stayed astride, he would not lose all three, at any rate; the other two might flee, but wherever the first went he would go as well.

He wondered whether he might do better to backtrack and loop around the dragon or wait until it departed on its own, but he rejected both ideas. He did not know the way well enough to risk leaving the road, and the dragon might not leave for a good long time—or it might smell his horses wherever he chose to wait, and pursue them.

He reached back with his right hand and slapped the horse's rump with the butt of his machine-pistol, and it took another few hesitant steps. He was encouraged; he might coax it past yet. He directed his mount well to the left, along the verge of the highway, and managed to work it along until he was about even with the monster, almost directly across the highway from it, less than five meters away, but within two meters of its tail.

He looked the creature over while waiting for his mount to calm enough for another prodding. The great size, lack of fur and external ears, and oversized fangs were not the only changes from more ordinary felines; even curled up as it was, Slant could see that the creature's proportions were wrong, its head too large for its body, its legs thick and awkward. He wondered what it would look like in motion but was not foolish enough to risk waking it. He glanced back at the other two horses, which had so far followed without much resistance; as he did, he heard a call from somewhere overhead.

"Slant of Teyzha! Is that you? Are you there? Slant?"

It was a woman's voice, high-pitched and piercing. He made no effort to recognize it and paid no attention at all to what it said; he was too busy watching the dragon, which began to stir.

He gave his mount a sharp, sudden slap on the rump with the trailing ends of the reins; the frightened animal responded by rearing up, then plunging forward and charging down the road at full gallop, past the dragon and away. Slant did not mind in the least that he found himself clinging for his life, jarred violently up and down. Several items fell from his pockets as the horse leaped a fallen branch and came down still running, but he did not worry about what he had lost. He was gratified to hear the galloping hoofs of the other two horses close behind, and to see that the lead-ropes were still secured to the back of his saddle.

Somewhere behind him he heard tree branches breaking; he assumed it was the dragon's doing until the woman's voice called again.

"Help! Slant, help me!"

Cursing in three languages, Slant struggled to rein in his mount. He had no idea what was going on behind him, and couldn't get a good look while the horse was galloping.

The horse was in no mood to slow down, but eventually it gave in to his brutal yanking on the bit and came to an uneasy halt, allowing Slant to look back up the road.

A girl was lying on her back in the middle of the road, the dragon standing over her, looking at her curiously. Slant was tempted to turn and flee, it being none of his business, but he recognized the girl as Ahnao, the wizard's apprentice he had taken hostage in Awlmei. That explained how she knew his name.

It did not explain what she was doing there. Had something happened to his ship? Had the wizards of Awlmei reconsidered then- sentence? Was his banishment voided, or had they perhaps decided to kill him after all?

He had to know what was going on; the machine-pistol still in his hand, he dismounted and ran at the monster, shouting.

The dragon, or the cat, or whatever it was, had been watching the girl, waiting for her to make a move.

Had she moved, it would doubtlessly have pounced, in the tradition of cats everywhere, or perhaps just batted at her with a paw. Even a tap from a paw would put an end to any attempt at flight; it would probably mash her flat. Slant's shouting distracted it only momentarily; it glanced in his direction, apparently decided he was harmless, and then, intent on its chosen prey, turned back to Ahnao.

As he came within range, Slant raised his pistol and fired, still running. The single shot hit the dragon squarely in the head.

That distracted it from Ahnao but did little else; either the bullet had failed to penetrate the skull or it was too small to do any significant damage once it had penetrated. A small dribble of blood appeared, but that did not seem to inconvenience the monster as it glanced up again at this new annoyance. Except for its head, it did not move; Ahnao did not move at all.

Slant was only a few meters away now; he took aim and emptied the rest of the clip across the dragon's head and chest, in a diagonal from the right eye to where he estimated the heart to be.

The monster did not ignore that; it screamed, more like a bird of prey than any cat, and rose from its crouch as blood seeped from a dozen wounds. Ahnao was carelessly kicked aside as it charged toward its attacker.

The instant it became clear that the thing was attacking him, Slant slipped easily into his warrior self. He watched calmly as the monster came at him, and at the optimum moment he dove sideways out of its path.

It whirled with incredible speed, froze for an instant, and prepared to pounce. Slant got a good clear look at its thick, short legs and long, heavy body, and the blood streaking its hide and dripping from the neat dotted line across its face and chest. One bullet had damaged an eye but not ruined it; it could apparently see as well as ever, though the injury must have stung. Other bullets had torn into its muzzle, its lower jaw, and its chest; none had touched its neck. The neck might prove a vulnerable spot, then, Slant told himself.

He rolled out of the path of its second lunge, easily avoiding it by watching the tension in its leg muscles, so that he began moving at the same instant it did. It was obvious by now that the machine-pistol was not the optimal weapon against the creature, even had he cared to take the time to reload; he thrust the gun into its pocket and reached for his snark.

It wasn't there.

He had dropped it, probably during that mad gallop. His best weapon was gone. The dragon was turning, lashing its tail, preparing for another lunge; he did not have time to reload the machine-pistol. He found the hand laser, still securely in its place, and drew that instead.

The creature did behave like a cat in several ways, but it did not move like a cat; it was not quick and graceful, but slow and lumbering for the most part, though it showed occasional flashes of surprising speed, particularly in stopping and turning. Its charges were more reminiscent of a rhino or an elephant than of a cat's pounce; the short, thick legs it needed to support its great weight made that inevitable.

The third attack came, and he dove aside again. He had no desire to keep this up for very long, however, as he had no idea whether the monster would tire before he did. Rather than stop and wait for the next attack, he kept moving and leaped for a low-hanging limb of a nearby maple tree. A thing of that size and bulk could not possibly climb or jump well in a gravity so close to that of Old Earth.

He had chosen the maple from the several trees within reach because it looked sturdy and easy to climb.

In general, he recalled from both basic training and a chance fragment of childhood memory, maples were good climbing trees once you got started.

This one was no exception; he made his way upward easily, clambering from branch to branch, until he was about ten meters off the ground. The monster had located him again and watched his ascent.

A cat, Slant knew, would sit back on its haunches and consider the situation; he watched with satisfaction as- the monster sank to the ground and stared contemplatively up at him. It was not designed for sitting, its legs were far too short in proportion to its body; it measured perhaps two meters from shoulder to paw, and at least eight meters from shoulder to tail.

It settled itself comfortably and tried to wash its wounds between wary glances at its treed quarry; the washing was not a success, as its stubby paws could not reach far enough. Still, it went through the instinctive motions.

Slant used this brief respite to reload his gun, check over the laser, and study the situation below. Ahnao lay un-moving at the roadside thirty meters away; that accidental blow of the dragon's paw must have knocked her unconscious, Slant thought, or at least dazed her badly. More than a hundred meters in the opposite direction his horses were milling about uncertainly, but the dragon paid them no attention; probably they were too far away to interest it The creature itself was directly beneath him, waiting for him to come down.

Halfway between the tree and his horses he saw sunlight glinting on metal; that was undoubtedly his lost snark.

The laser was in good working order; he tested it by cutting through a branch near the one he was perched on. It took several seconds to cut the limb free; when at last it fell, it struck the dragon full on the head and bounced harmlessly to one side. The creature looked up at him accusingly. Its face was very expressive, easily as expressive as any housecat's, despite its huge and hairless head.

This presented a target, and Slant did not miss the opportunity. He fired the laser at full intensity directly into the monster's already damaged right eye. It howled, a sound that hurt Slant's ears, and turned its head away. He changed his target accordingly and focused the beam on the back of its neck.

There was a faint smell of cooking meat; the dragon growled and turned back, fangs bared, and the beam caught it in the eye again. It tried to close the eye, but the beam cut through the eyelid. It backed off a few steps, while Slant kept the laser aimed directly at the center of the eye.

He could see a wound now, and thin fluid dribbled from it, mixing with blood from the bullet wounds.

The creature had lost a great deal of blood, he noticed; it formed puddles on the road and was caked in the corners of eye, nose, and mouth.

It continued to back slowly away, then paused, at about what Slant judged to be the limit of the laser's effective range. He guessed that the right eye must be almost completely useless by this time in any case, and switched the beam to the left. Although he doubted it would do much damage at this distance, he hoped to blind the creature at least temporarily and perhaps drive it away.

The monster screamed, the same bird-of-prey cry it had used before, and charged forward at full speed, slamming its several tons against the base of the tree.

The blow shook the tree, and Slant clutched at neighboring branches in an instinctive reaction far more basic than any conditioning he had had; in doing so he lost his grip on the laser. It slammed against a limb, then fell, bouncing from branch to branch, before lodging in a crotch a few meters below, in easy reach of the enraged monster. Slant immediately dismissed any thought of retrieving it He had now lost two of his weapons, laser and snark, though both were in plain sight That left the machine-pistol, which had already proven ineffective. Nonetheless he drew it, rammed in another clip, and fired three quick shots at the dragon.

As before, the bullets did little but anger the creature; it smashed at the trunk of the tree with a forepaw.

This time Slant was more nearly ready, and kept hold of the gun.

He continued firing, emptying the rest of the clip; he succeeded in wounding the monster, leaving streams of blood all over its back as well as its face and chest, but not in deterring it. It was now absolutely determined to get him, one way or another. He released and dropped the spent clip, and reached in his pocket for more ammunition.

He found none. He checked other pockets; all were equally unhelpful, and he recalled that more than one object had been dropped when he lost the snark.

He was unarmed. At least, he was unarmed by his standards. He did still have a large knife on his belt He drew it and looked at it carefully.

It was a good knife, a steel blade more than twenty centimeters long and a short, heavy hilt. It was not intended for slaying dragons, but it was all he had.

He looked down. The dragon was beginning to look unsteady; it was backing away from the tree, squinting upward through its one good—or relatively good, as the laser might have done some damage before he lost it—eye. There was no point in waiting. He pushed out through the leaves and leaped from his branch, landing full on the monster's back.

The creature, one-eyed, weak from loss of blood, and half mad with pain and rage, immediately whirled, trying to reach back with its claws or teeth to dislodge him. He avoided being flung headlong by plunging the knife into the dragon's side with one hand and grabbing a handful of rough, loose skin with the other.

The beast screamed with pain as the knife went in; it paused in its frantic movement, as if trying to think, and Slant took the opportunity to pull the knife free and to plunge it into the monster's neck. There was a gout of blood from the first wound when the blade came free, and as it sank into the creature's neck the dragon went into convulsions. Slant had no chance of holding on; he was flung aside, leaving the knife where it was.

He managed to land rolling, so that he was not seriously injured, but the left side of his body from shoulder to ankle was bruised by the impact. He had missed a tree by less than a meter.

When he stopped rolling he lay motionless for a moment, feeling his body, making certain no permanent damage had been done; then he turned and watched the dragon.

It was thrashing about, trying to get claws or teeth onto the hilt of the knife embedded in its neck. As he watched its struggles grew steadily weaker. Blood was seeping from the wound in ever-increasing streams as the creature's twisting enlarged the opening made by the blade. Slant pitied the poor thing; it had been following its instincts, nothing more.

He rose carefully to his feet; the dragon paid no attention. If it could see him at all, it was more interested in its own injuries.

His body hurt where he had fallen, and his fingers and forearms stung from the shock of being wrenched away from his hold on the beast's back, but he was otherwise intact. He moved around the dragon in a wide circle, toward his snark; he did not like being unarmed. If the thing did attack him again he wanted to be able to defend himself, and if it settled down again he wanted to be able to put it out of its misery.

He did not like seeing it suffer and was reasonably certain that it could not survive the wounds he had inflicted.

The thrashing stopped; the monster lay still on one side, panting heavily. It had finally managed to dislodge the knife from its throat, and blood poured from the open gash the blade had left Its good eye, a baleful green-gold orb, stared at Slant, but the creature was obviously unable to do him further harm. The other eye was an oozing ruin.

Slant reached the fallen branches his horse had jumped and found his snark and several clips of pistol ammunition scattered about; he retrieved all he could find, then looked back at the dragon. It was lying almost still, moved only by shallow breathing; it had tried to close its eyes, and the good one was shut, but the lid of the ruined one had been stopped by clotted blood and torn tissue while still halfway open.

He tested the snark on nearby leaves; it still worked, raising a cloud of dust and leaving a hole.

Cautiously, he approached the dying dragon. It showed no sign that it was aware of him as he positioned himself a little over a meter from its head and used the snark to cut a bloody hole through its skull and well into its brain.

The dragon was unquestionably dead.

The sound of clapping came from somewhere to one side; Ahnao's voice exclaimed, "That was wonderful!"