Dragonne's Eg
 DRAGONS HAVE NO
SENSE OF HUMOR
The unicorn-like creature heard the roar from where he lay in the mid-morning
shadows among the bonsai trees. Ky-Lin sprang upright, thinking for a moment
that the Blue Mountain had erupted again, but recognized immediately that the
noise came from the harsh, cacophonous voices of the dragons. They were clearly
upset.
He did a quick transformation, desk-ornament size to pony size and trotted
along in the afternoon heat, his hooves throwing up little puffs of dust.
As he neared the Blue Mountain, he heard a sudden clatter of leathery wings
above. Claws seized his shoulders and he was borne upwards into the air with a
whoosh! and a sinking lurch in his stomach. He saw the plain beneath him
disappear with alarming speed.
One of the dragons had pounced on him and was carrying him higher and higher
towards the northeast, but to what purpose? Was he to be dropped from a great
height, to be smashed to smithereens? Made into a snack for the dragons' dinner?
But perhaps they had something less violent in mind.
The next moment they started to drop like stones. Beneath them the black maw
of the mountain rose up with frightening speed: a dark blot, an inky puddle, an
ebony lake—the mouth of Hell itself!
The dragon braked sharply at the last moment, then did a neat landing in the
middle of a circle of six scaly others, dropping Ky-Lin unceremoniously to the
ground.
All the dragons were hissing. They were not amused. . . .
Cover art by Bob Eggleton
|
