The Wolf King (2)
[So then, King of the Wilderness. How do you intend to stop the second dragon?]
It felt as though scattered fragments were gathering into a single whole. Even the dizziness seemed to fade into an illusion of clarity.
Everything has become clear.
She recalled where it had all begun. A dragon had flown across the steppe, and the Great Khan, sensing something ominous in the fact, had asked Ashtien to look into it.
She had thought it a strange occurrence, certainly.
Dragons did not, as a rule, cross the skies of the steppe. Why, no one had yet discovered.
Plenty of people had wondered about that reason.
And with so many wondering, so many conjectures had followed.
Legend says it is because a dragon once died to an arrow, but.
No one could afford to put faith in legends in a situation like this.
The most plausible guess, in Ashtien's judgment, was that dragons found the steppe's erratic winds too great a burden.
The dragon's sheer bulk was the problem. It was a creature far too large and heavy for flight, and the greater its size, the more tremendous the resistance of the winds it struck.
How much strength it burned depended entirely on whether the wind at its back pushed it forward, or a headwind drove it back.
Considering that fact, the dragon's behavior became understandable.
For a dragon crossing the continent with the turning of the seasons, the steppe — with its headwinds — was hardly an ideal waypoint.
But set those conditions aside, and the route over the steppe is by far the shorter, faster path.
It merely required resolve. The resolve to spare no strength, to fly with everything it had.
It also meant suppressing fear. What if it exhausted itself midway? If it fell into desert or wasteland, it would surely starve to death.
Yet if it could crush down all that fear and beat its wings regardless, the route through the steppe was the fastest of all.
The dragon had taken that risk.
An exceptional act demands an exceptional cause.
There had been a reason the dragon needed to fly in haste. She had wasted far too much time grasping that reason. But it couldn't be helped — it was a riddle that could not be solved until every player had taken the stage.
It was worried about the mate and cub it left behind.
The cub and the mother, enduring winter and a spring no less bitter — the worry had become unbearable, and so it had crossed the steppe at the risk of death.
Ashtien even pieced together the identity of the dragon she would soon face.
I can't be certain, but it's likely the dragon that interfered with Vesta's duel. The one flying low.
Dragons were creatures that rarely perceived threats. As a result, they almost never considered distant humans any danger at all.
That one had been different.
It was on edge. It had a cub and a mate to protect.
At last, every question had been answered.
Ashtien turned her gaze — as did Narinhoon and Vesta, and every centaur present.
"Here it comes."
Something whose sheer size could be gauged even from afar.
A dragon with wings unfurled.
"...It's enormous."
The dragon was flying toward them. It seemed to have finished a hunt only moments before, for it clutched its prey in one claw.
What could a dragon have hunted? To the eye, it looked like a great eagle gripping a mouse. But given the dragon's size, whatever it held could be no mouse.
Gwuuuuuuu—
Perhaps it caught sight of its fallen mate, for its wingbeats grew frenzied. Deciding it needed more speed, it flung its prey away as if discarding it.
To the dragon, it was nothing. But the effect of that casual act upon the ground below was far from nothing.
CRASH—!
The sound of a massive boulder striking earth. The mass was considerable. With her characteristically keen eyes, Ashtien identified the prey at once.
A bear.
A bear — and a very large one at that. That was what had looked like a rodent from above.
Kuooooooooh—!
The dragon's roar shook the sky.
Narinhoon spoke.
[What will you do, King of the Wilderness?]
He was forcing a choice upon her.
Ashtien ached to loose an arrow that very instant and cut Narinhoon's throat.
There was one reason alone that she had not, that she had let him live.
He is not a beast to be taken with a single arrow.
Because he was not a helpless piece of prey, but a worthy adversary.
[No telling how the dragon will behave. Will it breathe fire? That would be effective, certainly. But hardly a wise choice. Burning the countryside would do nothing to kill a mother dragon, after all.]
Ashtien cut him off.
"It will suffocate."
[That is the rational conclusion, yes. But in practice? Can you be certain?]
She could not be certain, of course.
Because this whole affair had proven that dragons possessed emotion.
How did the Kairan Clan Head behave when he lost his son?
Had he not cast aside his house's dignity and honor in his obsession with vengeance? If a man who had lived his whole life as a warrior could not keep his reason, why should a dragon be any different?
[What will you do, King of the Wilderness?]
There was no leisure for quiet deliberation. She had to decide, and act swiftly.
Ashtien turned her gaze to Vesta. He only gave her a nod.
He trusted her judgment. Whatever choice she made would be the right one.
"...They say the world bends to no man's will."
Ashtien stretched her hand toward the high heavens.
"But it has a cruel way of testing us."
Skreeeeeee—
With a piercing cry, the eagle came swooping down — Ashtien's companion of many years.
She looked at Vesta a long moment, then mounted her friend's back.
A gust rose. The eagle climbed into the sky.
—Ashtien.
The eagle flew honestly and directly toward the dragon's face — precisely to draw its eye.
A precarious flight. A dance on the edge of death.
Vesta watched Ashtien's flight and willed her safe return. He did not worry. Because he trusted her.
Just as she had entrusted the ground below to him, without reservation.
[The dragon blazes with fury, and the fairy dances for her warrior. Quite the stage — one to be found nowhere else in this world.]
With that low growl, Narinhoon took a great stride forward.
Toward Vesta.
"Hold it!"
The centaurs, wary of his movement, sprang into action — they were warriors born to the fight, after all.
A javelin flew, meant to bring a beast to its knees.
Thk.
A strike laden with savage force — and he caught it, rising to his feet as if nothing had happened.
Vesta bellowed with all his might.
"HERE IT COMES—!"
Thwum—
He laid the javelin against his bowstring and loosed it. His movement flowed as smooth as water.
THUD—
The upper bodies of three centaurs burst apart with a sickening roar.
[Will you simply stand and watch?]
Narinhoon's eyes had never left Vesta, even in that instant. Like a wolf. When a wolf hunts a flock of sheep, it gives no thought to the counterattack of the other sheep. The only thing a wolf watches for is the single shepherd dog guarding them.
So this was a battle between great beasts. A war between the wolf that refused to become a dog, and the wolf that had donned a collar for mankind's sake. At least, that was how Narinhoon felt it.
[You should come at me.]
Narinhoon made himself look magnificent.
He batted aside the arrows that came flying, slipped past them, sometimes even returned them as he spoke.
[The days on the steppe are short. Night will fall before long.]
"And? What of it — that night is coming?"
[An army like this might well kill me. But that is only true by daylight. When night falls, no one in this land can stand against me.]
In darkness, humans are struck blind. The centaurs had sharp night eyes, it was true — but nothing to compare with a wolf's.
[When night comes, how will they hope to track me? How will they stop my arrows?]
Narinhoon grinned, baring his teeth.
[Guardian of the Khan. The steppe you would protect and this body cannot coexist. So long as I live, the steppe will learn to fear the night.]
Narinhoon was forcing a choice upon Vesta. If Vesta avoided a head-on confrontation, Narinhoon would abandon any pretense of one as well.
He would throw everything into smashing through this encirclement.
If Narinhoon succeeds.
Then the nights of man-eating would begin.
One life per arrow, on and on. He would kill without number, hunt without end — and keep hunting, until the day Vesta took the stage against him.
[Fight me, warrior, and hold the steppe's night safe!]
The wolf's roar crashed down upon the ground where the Khan was absent.
"Fine ambitions, I'll give you that. But."
One centaur broke from the line, heedless of formation.
A centaur with a black mane. Attila.
"That only holds if you manage to break this encirclement in the first place."
A strange light kindled in Narinhoon's eyes. The beast in him had recognized the extraordinary power of Attila.
If there was to be a next — that black-maned centaur might well be Narinhoon's next opponent.
[You think I cannot?]
"Perhaps you could have. If I weren't here."
What a delightful thing to say, Narinhoon thought.