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.All other draconian beasts who came winging over the mountains paid their respects, and their tribute, or were driven off.Still, Thauglor was getting old.With each passing year, his scales lightened, so much so that now he was more violet than ebony along the sinuous ridge of his spine.His eyes, too, though as unerring as ever, were shifting from yellow to a dusky purple.His naps were now lasting upward of a month, and when he awoke, it was with ravenous hunger.Would he soon become as removed from waking life-from cold reality-as the old wyrms of the mountains, scarcely knowing if some other black claimed his forest kingdom?The thought of anyone, even his own children or grandchildren, replacing him as the mightiest creature in the forest, its undisputed master, disturbed Thauglor.He pressed such dark concepts into the back of his reptilian mind.The King of the Forest Country swooped low, disturbing a flock of craw vultures roosting in the skeleton of a lightning-struck oak.Squawking, the carrion birds scattered before him as the buffalo had done earlier, but Thauglor did not bother even to snap at them as they fluttered and squalled.Yes, a tour of his domain was in order before he settled down for a long nap.Best to determine now which of his children was strong enough to challenge him.Thauglor's nostrils flared at a new scent in the wind, a mere whiff of smoke on the breezes.It was too late in the season for a spring lightning strike… Perhaps one of the younger reds was immolating a corner of the forest to flush out prey, or a pack of hellhounds had come down from the northern range again.The great dragon banked his huge body and glided toward the sharp western peaks.There was still an hour or so before the sun touched their higher mounts, casting premature nightfall across the land.The smoke scent had come from that direction…As the ancient black wyrm drifted westward, the scent returned, growing sharper and more pungent.Thauglor saw a thin, lonely wisp of smoke above the trees.With idle grace, the massive dragon glided earthward in the softest of dives, the wind sliding past with nary a whistle.The ground drew nearer, and nearer.The fire was at the base of an old massive oak, a many-branched giant that should be able to support even a large dragon's weight.Thauglor backbeat his wings once, curled the tips to steer and brake for one last, deft instant, and landed delicately on the great bole, his talons closing with almost fastidious care.Even so, the great tree groaned in protest as smaller branches were ripped away to crash to the forest floor below.The black spared their cascading fall nary a glance, focusing his eyes instead on the source of the smoke.It was a cooking fire, smoldering and abandoned within a hearth of loosely packed rocks.It had been burning for some time, but was in little danger of spreading.That made Thauglor a trifle uneasy.A fire made by a lightning strike or a red dragon could be contained, and would often drive game into the open.This was the work of other sentients… men, goblins, or dwarves.The site was abandoned, but Thauglor remained immobile on his perch, waiting.Tribes of northern goblins often hunted in these lands, and occasionally a band of Netherese refugees-gaunt, hungry, and powerless without their magic-would try to cross his territory.Dwarves distrusted the woods from some long-past racial trauma and would only risk crossing through a dragon's domain if there were rich metals to be found.Thauglor gave them little desire to explore.Thauglor waited.Any humanoid with half a mind would be fleeing for the mountains at full speed or cowering behind some toppled log, waiting for the black-winged death to move on.That was right and proper, and with luck the escapee would live to tell others of his narrow escape and warn them to avoid the forested basin, home of the great black wyrm.There was movement to Thauglor's right, and he turned his head in that direction.It was gone as soon as he saw it, fading back into the forest.Yet, for an instant, their eyes had locked, and the black dragon knew who was trespassing on his land.The intruder was an elf, more slender than even the gauntest of humans, taller than the dwarves, more graceful than the goblins and their brutish kin.This one was dressed in green, the better to hide among the surrounding trees.Jade-colored leggings and jerkin, a green cape with a mottled green hood.The only flash of metal came from the guards of a scabbarded blade, undrawn at the elf's belt.The elf was gone, fading back into the trees, leaving the remains of its fire for Thauglor.The black dragon knew the intruder would not return to this site.The black dragon also knew the elf would be fleeing for safety beyond the mountains.In the half-breath when their eyes had met, Thauglor had looked into the soul of the elf invader.He saw there wonder and amazement at Thauglor's size, a kindling of new respect for the might of dragons.What Thauglor had not seen was fear.The black dragon felt resolution and strength in the elf's gaze, and in his poise.He fled from dragons not out of terror but from wisdom, choosing to withdraw from Thauglor's might.Were he to return later, he would do so on his own terms.Thauglor found the brief encounter disquieting.He sat in the great tree for a long time, stirring only when the first shadows from the distant mountains reached their cool claws towards him.Then he rose suddenly, scattering the last fitful embers of the dying fire with a lash of his tail, and paddled the air hard to gain height in the cool evening sky.This time he headed east, toward his lair.The newcomer would have to be watched.So bold…The elf neither attacked like a warrior nor fled like an animal.If he were alone, so much the better, but Thauglor had heard more than once that in a forest, elves were like vermin-if you saw one, another watchful hundred were waiting behind nearby leaves.One last reason to visit his family, the King of the Forest Country decided.If they were encountering intruders as well, something would have to be done.For a brief time, refugees from the north might be allowed to find their way into his kingdom… before he visited them.The survivors would warn others of the perils of intruding into Thauglor's domain.Then it would be time to smile, Thauglor thought, imagining the smell of mortal terror that kept his realm secure.But there had been no fear in the eyes of the elf.And that troubled Thauglor more than all the goblins of the northern peaks [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]