Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) Read Online Free
Author: Susan Sizemore, Marguerite Krause
screams of birds and animals.
Flipping hair and sweat out of his eyes, Pirse ducked away from the splintering trees and charged uphill, right under the belly of the rearing dragon. He sucked in great gasps of air, driving his tired body forward, legs quivering with the strain of keeping in constant motion on uneven terrain. The dry, acrid smell of sun-drenched dragon skin was everywhere.
He brushed past the tip of the monster ’ s tail and was clear. “ Chelam! ” he yelled, whirling to face back toward the dragon. “ By the Rock, where are you? ”
For answer an arrow whizzed past his shoulder and bounced off the dragon ’ s rump. Pirse back-pedaled up the hill, sword held ready in both hands. The dragon, its heavy head, sinuous neck, and powerful forelegs still entangled in the upper branches of the trees, bellowed again and began a ponderous turn to its right. Another arrow arched over Pirse ’ s head and caught the dragon below the curve of its double-hinged jaw. Outraged, it flung its head back and almost lost its balance.
“ Gods, you ’ re a slow one, ” Pirse panted, gazing up and up and up at the creature. Monster. Dragon. Whatever name it wore, this particular beast was three times the size of a horse. Not particularly large for a land dragon, which was fine with Pirse.
Arching its neck to peer down at the jungle, the dragon took a deliberate step forward. The ravaged trees which had collapsed against it tottered and fell. Turning his head, Pirse spotted the cottage-sized boulder he ’ d chosen at the beginning of the battle, and began easing toward it. The slower this monster moved, the better.
“ Chelam, what are you waiting for? ”
With a wild neigh of terror, a packhorse burst out of the brush a dozen yards above Pirse and careened across the slope, nostrils flaring. Despite the wide blindfold carefully secured to his halter , the gelding was well aware of the nearby dragon, and his frantic, plunging strides proved he had no intention of believing a single word of the reassurances Chelam had bestowed on the decoy before sending him on his way.
The dragon forgot about the fight and swung its huge head in the direction of a good meal. Pirse clambered to the top of the boulder. The dragon got its feet straightened out and flipped its tail behind it, cracking branches off yet another tree. The horse pushed desperately through a thicket of low vegetation, angling back up the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. The dragon collected itself, muscles bunching under the mottled hide, head questing forward on long neck, huge, pleated ears fluttering in the hot afternoon air. Pirse waited.
In deadly silence the dragon launched itself forward, jaws gaping wide, the abrupt burst of perfectly controlled speed all the more terrifying in comparison to its usual clumsiness. Pirse, having seen the same phenomenon more times than he could remember, was ready for the dragon ’ s move. More, he was counting on it. He timed his leap to the dragon ’ s smooth rush, throwing one leg over the wide neck as it shot past the boulder. With one gloved hand he grasped the rough scales, and with the other thrust his sword high and true into the base of the dragon ’ s throat.
Gray-white fluid geysered out around the blade, soaking Pirse ’ s hand and arm and splashing in a shining arc across the hillside as the dragon twisted and writhed. Pirse hung on grimly, swinging halfway under the flailing neck to push his sword even deeper into the monster ’ s flesh. The result was another gush of the unnatural lifeblood. The dragon ’ s roar became a choking gurgle. Still moving uphill with the force of its initial lunge, it staggered, its legs crumpling.
Pirse jerked his sword free and flung himself clear just before the dead dragon crashed into the ground.
For a few heartbeats the jungle was very quiet. Pirse rolled onto his back and drew in a long, shuddery breath, then let it out with a relieved whoosh. As if in
Flipping hair and sweat out of his eyes, Pirse ducked away from the splintering trees and charged uphill, right under the belly of the rearing dragon. He sucked in great gasps of air, driving his tired body forward, legs quivering with the strain of keeping in constant motion on uneven terrain. The dry, acrid smell of sun-drenched dragon skin was everywhere.
He brushed past the tip of the monster ’ s tail and was clear. “ Chelam! ” he yelled, whirling to face back toward the dragon. “ By the Rock, where are you? ”
For answer an arrow whizzed past his shoulder and bounced off the dragon ’ s rump. Pirse back-pedaled up the hill, sword held ready in both hands. The dragon, its heavy head, sinuous neck, and powerful forelegs still entangled in the upper branches of the trees, bellowed again and began a ponderous turn to its right. Another arrow arched over Pirse ’ s head and caught the dragon below the curve of its double-hinged jaw. Outraged, it flung its head back and almost lost its balance.
“ Gods, you ’ re a slow one, ” Pirse panted, gazing up and up and up at the creature. Monster. Dragon. Whatever name it wore, this particular beast was three times the size of a horse. Not particularly large for a land dragon, which was fine with Pirse.
Arching its neck to peer down at the jungle, the dragon took a deliberate step forward. The ravaged trees which had collapsed against it tottered and fell. Turning his head, Pirse spotted the cottage-sized boulder he ’ d chosen at the beginning of the battle, and began easing toward it. The slower this monster moved, the better.
“ Chelam, what are you waiting for? ”
With a wild neigh of terror, a packhorse burst out of the brush a dozen yards above Pirse and careened across the slope, nostrils flaring. Despite the wide blindfold carefully secured to his halter , the gelding was well aware of the nearby dragon, and his frantic, plunging strides proved he had no intention of believing a single word of the reassurances Chelam had bestowed on the decoy before sending him on his way.
The dragon forgot about the fight and swung its huge head in the direction of a good meal. Pirse clambered to the top of the boulder. The dragon got its feet straightened out and flipped its tail behind it, cracking branches off yet another tree. The horse pushed desperately through a thicket of low vegetation, angling back up the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. The dragon collected itself, muscles bunching under the mottled hide, head questing forward on long neck, huge, pleated ears fluttering in the hot afternoon air. Pirse waited.
In deadly silence the dragon launched itself forward, jaws gaping wide, the abrupt burst of perfectly controlled speed all the more terrifying in comparison to its usual clumsiness. Pirse, having seen the same phenomenon more times than he could remember, was ready for the dragon ’ s move. More, he was counting on it. He timed his leap to the dragon ’ s smooth rush, throwing one leg over the wide neck as it shot past the boulder. With one gloved hand he grasped the rough scales, and with the other thrust his sword high and true into the base of the dragon ’ s throat.
Gray-white fluid geysered out around the blade, soaking Pirse ’ s hand and arm and splashing in a shining arc across the hillside as the dragon twisted and writhed. Pirse hung on grimly, swinging halfway under the flailing neck to push his sword even deeper into the monster ’ s flesh. The result was another gush of the unnatural lifeblood. The dragon ’ s roar became a choking gurgle. Still moving uphill with the force of its initial lunge, it staggered, its legs crumpling.
Pirse jerked his sword free and flung himself clear just before the dead dragon crashed into the ground.
For a few heartbeats the jungle was very quiet. Pirse rolled onto his back and drew in a long, shuddery breath, then let it out with a relieved whoosh. As if in
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