Dragon and Slave

CHAPTER 32

The last hint of glow was gone from the western sky. Draycos moved across the ground like a golden shadow, quick and silent.

A golden shadow that was rapidly fading to black as his pounding heart drove dark blood into his muscles and scales. A poet-warrior of the K'da, in full combat readiness.

Jack had indeed never seen what a K'da warrior could do. He probably wouldn't see it now, either.

The hidden Brummgan watcher was just settling into position when Draycos arrived at the hedge. Comfortably concealed, no doubt feeling quite pleased with himself, the guard was clearly not expecting any trouble.

He didn't so much as squeak as Draycos knocked him cold.

The hedge itself was still the tangled mess he'd found on his previous visits.

But now that he didn't have to conceal his handiwork, the thorny branches retreated before his slashing claws like driftwood before an incoming wave. A

few minutes' work, and he had a hole that even Fleck would find adequate.

So far it had been easy, simple tasks that even a raw K'da trainee could handle.

Now came the tricky part.

The breeze was coming steadily from the west. Crossing through the hedge, he swung wide to the east, downwind of whatever sentries and hidden guard posts the Brummgas had set up to watch the gaps in the hedge. He ran hard and open along the ground, sniffing the air as he went, trusting his now completely black scales to conceal him.

So the glider had been built by Noy's parents. At least that explained why he'd detected the boy's scent at the site.

Or did it?

Because it was clear that no one had worked on the glider for quite some time.

From the way Maerlynn had talked, he'd had the impression Noy's parents had died at least a few months ago.

Which meant that whatever he'd smelled at the glider had gone through several months of wind, rain, nosy animals, and simple evaporation. K'da senses were good, but they weren't that good. Not by a long throw. Not by several long throws.

At least, not under normal circumstances.

The odor of distant Brummga touched his snout and tongue, and he took a quick bearing that direction. There was a stone fountain several hundred yards away, probably where the guard was lurking. Mentally marking the spot for future reference, he continued on.

For that matter, his sense of smell shouldn't be good enough for this task, either. In fact, now that he thought about it, all his senses seemed to have been gradually improving over the past couple of months.

The past three months, in fact. Ever since he'd teamed up with Jack. The question was, why?

There was one rather unpleasant possibility. Ancient legend said that as a K'da approached death, his senses often sharpened dramatically.

But that couldn't be it. Draycos had been very close to death aboard the Havenseeker, just before Jack showed up. He hadn't felt any dramatic surge in his hearing or smell then. At least, he didn't think so.

For that matter, he felt perfectly fine right now. Better than he had in years, actually. Certainly nowhere near close to death.

But there was also that strange incident back at the frying pan, where he'd somehow fallen off Jack's back and through the wall of their prison. Could Jack have been right about his human body somehow rejecting the K'da symbiont?

Because if that were true—if humans could only serve as temporary hosts to K'da—then it was possible that Draycos was indeed near death right now.

Nearer, perhaps, than any symptoms might show.

But true or not, there was nothing he could do about it. And whatever the future held, right now he had some slaves to free.

He had circled nearly to the mansion itself before he was confident that he'd marked all the hidden guards. There were three groups in concealed sentry posts, plus four other groups who had taken up positions behind flower gardens or trees or fountains. Most likely, those latter ones had been rushed in as backup troops in response to Jack's disappearance.

Which was fine with Draycos. Personally, he liked having enemies bunch up this way. It made them easier to find.

And in this case, he even knew which direction they would be facing.

Curving back along his circle, he approached the first of the hidden sentry posts, tucked away inside a cluster of tall bushes. Staying low to the ground, he crept up and delicately pushed one of the lower branches aside.

The entire center part of the cluster had been cut away, leaving room for a cozy spy nest. Two Brummgas were inside, sitting in front of a set of Argus monitors like the ones Jack had used during his own sentry duty with the Whinyard's Edge.

The aliens were armed with both the standard slapsticks and long-range laser rifles.

Cutting his way through the bushes would have been both slow and noisy.

Easing himself back, Draycos crouched down and gave one last look around. Then, with a

quick calculation of distance and angle, he jumped upward.

The leap was right on point. His rear claws cleared the tops of the bushes by a

fraction of an inch, and he dropped squarely on top of the two Brummgas. A

quick double head slam later, and this post had been neutralized.

He gave the monitors a quick check. No sign of Jack and his party yet.

For a moment he debated taking the sentries' laser rifles and hiding them where the escaping slaves could get hold of them. But even with his brief military training Jack wasn't a very good shot. The other slaves were likely to be even worse. It would be safer for everyone if Draycos did all the path-clearing work himself.

The next obstacle in line was ahead and about fifty yards to the left, two guards crouched behind the rim of a stone fish pond. Leaping back out of the bushes, he headed in that direction.

He had finished off that group and three others and was heading for the final two sentry posts when the sky to the northwest abruptly lit up like the inside of a strobe flash.

He froze in place, sinking deeper into the grass. There was a faint glow in that direction now, reddish light flickering against the low clouds.

Right on schedule, the glider had gone to its death. The only question now was whether it would succeed in the purpose they had set for it. Keeping low, he continued on toward his next target.

The Brummgan response was faster than he had expected. He had just reached the concealed sentry post when he heard the distinctive sound of lifters from behind him. He ducked under the edge of the bushes just as a group of six Clax-7 patrol planes shot past, heading for the wall.

The Clax-7s had reached their goal by the time Draycos finished with this latest group. One of the aircraft was visible just inside the wall, hovering guard above the burning glider. The others were out of sight, probably on the ground with their crews examining the wreckage for bodies.

There was one sentry post left, this one disguised as a large wooden equipment box at the back corner of the sports field grandstand beside the western flagpole. Draycos was running silently toward on it when the sky again lit up with the flash of laser fire.

His claws dug into the ground as he twisted around, fully expecting to see the hovering Clax-7 firing at Fleck or, worse, at Jack and the rest of the escaping slaves. To his surprise, though, it was the hovering airfighter itself that had been hit, trailing fiery smoke as it spun to the ground out of sight.

And taking its place in the sky, only hovering just outside the wall instead of inside it, was the Essenay.

Draycos turned away, mentally shaking his head. Whatever he might think about Uncle Virge's ethics, the computerized personality definitely had a talent for making grand entrances.

He reached the equipment box without incident. Slicing through the locking bar, he flung the door open. Once again, he'd caught the Brummgas with their backs to him. Once again, they never knew what hit them.

The Essenay was still firing as Draycos pushed the door closed behind him.

Firing downward, he noticed, over the wall into the estate.

Was he shooting at the other Clax-7s? But the laser blasts seemed to be low-power ones, too weak for cutting through air-fighter armor. Was he shooting at the Brummgan searchers, then? But there was far too much firing for that.

Curiosity got the better of him. Climbing up the back of the grandstand, he jumped to the flagpole. It was made of metal, but the material was soft enough for his claws to handle. Digging in, he headed up.

And from the very top, he could see that Uncle Virge wasn't shooting at either the Clax-7s or their crews. Instead, he was laying down a line of laser fire between the airfighters and the Brummgas, trapping them back against their own defensive wall.

"Clever," Draycos murmured, mentally flicking his claws in admiration. In the same act, Uncle Virge had both created a diversion and neutralized a sizeable portion of the enemy force. And he'd accomplished both without unnecessary killing.

The escaping slaves were in sight now, a ragged line of people hurrying across the sports field in the direction of the house and the mercenary transports that would take them to freedom. Shifting around on the flagpole, Draycos turned to look that direction.

The transports were gone.