But I hesitate. “Vyrathion, this may not be a good way to go.”
“Come along,” he says without turning.
Well, it’s not like I have a choice here. But these thornbushes don’t look like they grew here naturally. They look like someone placed them very carefully, so that they form a funnel-like shape. It may be a hunting structure made by a tribe. If so, we’re now inside the funnel, walking towards its narrow end.
“This could be a trap,” I call after him, because I’m not sure at all.
Vyrathion doesn't even look back. “This whole planet is a trap.”
I hurry to catch up. “No, I mean this specifically. Look at it.”
The dragon finally slows enough to glance around. Thornbushes tower over us on both sides, their branches woven together so densely that I can't see more than a few feet into them. The corridor between them is wide enough to walk through comfortably, but it narrows gradually as it stretches ahead.
“It looks deliberate,” I continue. “Like somebody planted it this way.”
He gestures with one hand towards the bush. “Obviouslysomebody planted it this way.”
I blink. “Then why are we walking into it?”
“Because it's in front of me. Blocking my way.”
For a moment I just stare at his back. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“Oh, for anyone else entering a trap like this would be unwise. For a dragon, it seems the arrangers of the trap were unwise.”
The passage continues to narrow. The deeper we go, the more convinced I become that this isn't natural. Some branches have been bent and tied together. Others have been cut. Somebody spent years shaping this growth. And why not? If you’re hunting raptors or those pig-like turkeys or any of the other creatures, this would be a smart way to force them into a killzone. And we’re getting pretty close to it.
My pulse begins to quicken. “Vyrathion.”
“What?”
“If this is a trap, shouldn't we go around?”
“We've already walked halfway through it and have come to no harm.”
I mutter something under my breath and keep moving.
The dragon walks as though he owns the jungle. He doesn't seem concerned by the possibility of danger. Maybe that's because he's a dragon. Maybe it's because he doesn't believe anything here can truly threaten him.
Unfortunately, I believe a lot of things can threatenme.
The walls of thorns press closer together. Ahead, I can see a patch of brighter sunlight where the funnel seems to end. That’s the killzone.
I hear voices. Deep male voices, trying to whisper. Right on the other side of this bush.
I peer through the dense foliage, but I can’t see anything.
Still I stop. “Vyrathion.”
This time, he stops too.
A spear shoots out of the thornbushes.
I barely see the movement. One moment the bushes are still and the next a shaft of wood is hurtling toward Vyrathion's head.
His hand snaps up and the spear strikes his palm with acrack.
For a heartbeat, everything is silent. Then cavemen erupt from both sides of the funnel.
