Vyrathion considers this. For a moment, I think he might accept. And why wouldn't he? I'm definitely slowing him down, and I sure don't know where Praxigor's nonexistent hoard is. I've been with him for less than a day. The offer makes perfect sense. Heck,Iwould agree if I were him.
Then Vyrathion snorts. “You’ll rob me of my servant. I think not.”
The chief frowns. “You refuse our gracious offer?”
“Am I hard to understand? There’s nooffer. You’re losing this fight, but you think you can gain a woman. But that woman is with me. For now, anyway. Granted, she’s not the most useful of servants. And yet I hope to turn her into one.”
The chief spreads his hands. "Why fight for her? She's only a woman."
"Exactly," Vyrathion says. "A very fragile woman. She finds gold poorly, attracts predators and slayers, asks endless questions,doubts my wisdom and requires constant protection." He sends me an evil little glance.
That isn't exactly flattering, but for some reason, it still makes my heart jump.
The chief looks equally bewildered. “Then… why not give her to us, if she’s so inept? We’ll make good use of her. And we will not harm her. Why risk your life for her?”
Vyrathion considers his palm where the spear struck him. "Oh, I’m not risking my life for her. I am riskingyours. You’ll find the difference significant.”
The chief's expression hardens and he lifts his sword. "Then die with her."
The warriors charge again. This time they come all at once.
Vyrathion meets them head-on. The battle becomes a blur of movement, shouting and crashing bodies. Warriors fly into thornbushes. Spears shatter. Swords go flying. Men scatter.
A blade finally manages to slash across Vyrathion's side.
The dragon hisses as dark blood appears on his golden stripes. The next warrior who approaches is thrown so hard that he disappears into the jungle beyond the funnel.
The rest break off and flee wildly into the jungle. The injured men drag and limp away as fast as they can.
Silence slowly returns.
Vyrathion stands in the middle of the clearing, breathing a little harder than before. Golden blood seeps from his side. There’s not a lot, just one drop. But it’s the most shocking thing I’ve seen.
“You’re bleeding!” I exclaim.
He looks down. “Ah. They drew my ichor. I should kill them all for that sacrilege!”
I look around at a half dozen dead cavemen. “You nearly did.”
“Still, it’s remarkably uncomfortable,” he says, frowning at the wound. “Unpleasant, almost.”
“Isn’t it painful?” I ask, because a cut like that should be excruciating.
“Ah. Pain. That could be it. To think that I, Vyrathion the Wild, would ever experiencepain!Can you even fathom thehumiliation?Cut with a blade made from common iron, the dirtiest and lowest of metals! All because of his undignified form! How can you stand it? How can you live like this for the entirety of your pitifulexistence?!”
“We do our best. May I see?” I point at the wound.
“You want toexamineit?” Vyrathion seethes. “Is it not enough to see the ichor? Now you want to see the fullness of my degradation?”
“No, I just want to see if it might need cleaning.”
He sighs with exasperation. “Oh, do as you wish.”
I examine the wound. Up close, it looks even stranger. The flesh beneath isn't quite human. Neither are the scales. They shimmer faintly beneath the surface of his skin. The ichor has stopped coming. On any human, a slash like that would have cut inches deep. On the dragon, it’s only a fraction of that.
"Well? Have you sated your curiosity?”
For some reason I touch the drop of liquid blood with my fingertip.
