Shuddering at the thought, she continued to feel her way along the cliff.

  The cliff rose higher than she could reach, and bushes clustered at its foot, but none thick or tall enough to protect her from the cold. As she pushed her way through them, she tripped, catching her foot on a rocky ledge, and tumbling over.

  She dropped, her flailing hands finding the cleft she’d been seeking, and then discovering it led to a greater space beyond.

  A den! she thought, gratitude giving way to renewed terror, as she fell into the cavern’s maw.

  Swearing at rock and stone and shrub, she hit the ground and rolled, fetching up against a wall, and curling into a ball at its foot.

  Further in, the cave’s denizen slowly opened one baleful eye, listening for more than her arrival. It sniffed, scenting human and helpless in a single breath.

  Supper had wandered into its lair, and all it needed to do was wait.

  The bard heard nothing but silence, and slowly rose to her feet. Where she was was no protection from the cold. Perhaps, further in…

  Ahead of her, something shifted in the cave. Something scraped against stone, and the bard turned.

  The creature, perhaps sensing her decision to flee, shifted again.

  As it woke, the bard sensed its presence, realizing her intended haven was already a home, and that she, with her unsubtle entrance, had woken its occupant.

  She froze, listening to the night beyond the cave, hoping the monster behind her, would return to sleep.

  “Hope is not a plan,” one of the guards said softly, scorn edging her voice, and I acknowledged her comment with a nod.

  Exactly, and when, despite the thundering of her heart, she heard the creature stir once more, she edged a little faster toward the cave entrance. Behind her came the sound of more scraping, of bone, or was it stone, rubbing against the cavern walls.

  The sensation of something vastly powerful and malevolently inclined emanated down the tunnel. It flowed like a wave washing over a sandy shore, or a thunder cloud covering the sun. It washed over her, and through her, a presence so strong that it froze her to the spot.

  “Dragon,” another of the guards stated, so sure I knew he’d felt the same sensation.

  “The bard tried to move her feet…”

  “Ha!” the guard said, and I knew he’d been in exactly the same situation. I continued, as though he hadn’t spoken.

  “…then realized that she couldn’t run, that an unholy fear held her in its grip.

  The great beast, the presence she felt, stepped closer. More scraping accompanied its movement.

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  Bone on stone, the bard decided, and imagined great claws poised to rend her, to shred her to ribbons. She wanted to run, to flee full tilt down the treacherous hillside, but the fear held her.

  The creature chuckled, and the bard felt the foul kiss of its breath on her cheek telling her that, even if her feet would shift, it wouldn’t be fast enough for to escape. The fear broke, shattered by resignation to her fate.

  The bard heard the creature draw breath to speak, and felt warning trace a finger down her unseeing spine. Before either she, or the cave’s resident could react, something large thudded onto the mountain outside. More power came from outside.

  A second creature.

  Now fear drove the bard’s feet, and she scrambled further back into the cavern, despite the presence behind her. When she sensed both presences advancing, she dove sideways.

  Her hands hit the cavern floor, and she tucked herself into a roll that ended against a rock. Praying it was an obstacle and not part of the cave’s wall, the bard clawed her way around it, feeling out what it was as she went.

  It was either a large boulder or an outcrop of stone, the bard didn’t care which but pulled herself around it and wedged herself into the crevice she found behind it.

  Voices spoke, thundering in a tongue she couldn’t understand.

  It was a language of ancient times, of ages past the years of man, a language spawned in an era of violence and magic when the world was still finding its footing, and power ran amok. It was a language of terror and pain, brutal and full of savagery.

  While she couldn’t tell what was being said, the red heat that gouted past her shelter, and a challenger’s roar accompanying it, were clear enough.

  A bellow of pain and outrage answered it—pain, outrage, and a stream of saliva that stank of acid.

  The bard shrank behind the protection of her rock, covering her head with her hands and flinching as she heard acid drip and sizzle against her shelter. Beyond the stone, the great creatures clashed together and began their battle in earnest.

  Spells! The waspish snap and crackle of magic jangled above the bard, and she sought the depths of the crevice between rock and wall, crushing herself into the smallest space she could find.

  The spells ended, and claws scraped on rock, as might jaws snapped and clashed together, and scales hissed against the stone. The bard’s haven shook, and she tried to burrow deeper.

  Something braced against her hiding place wrapping talons, curved and cruel, around it. Stone ground and flaked away as the gripped tight giving support as a big body leaned and lashed out against its enemy.

  Sharp-edged, they flexed, slicing across the bard’s arm and chest, and crumbling her shelter, as though it was made of clay instead of solid granite.

  Flame heated the air above her. It was followed by the acrid smell of burning flesh mingled with the bitter-sweet scent of another acidic outpour. More acridity filled the air as something else burned, this time without heat.

  Roars, and shrieks echoed from the stone, ancient curses screamed in a cruel tongue. The mountain shook as the combatants lurched past her, leaving the cavern to continue their fight across the mountainside.

  The bard willed herself to be like the rock against which she leaned, petrified, lest one of the mighty beings survive and return to find her, lest the mountain fall about her and entomb her in the rock forever. Another fear, grew to replace them as she noticed the extent to which she’d been injured.

  “Warmth and wetness flowed from where the talon had rested. Dampness crept and seeped beneath the leather of her tunic, through the cloth of her shirt and onto her folded knees.

  The battle raged too close for her to take a closer look at her wounds, even as a sense of unreality enclosed her, a strange sensation of floating, which continued even when the battle-noise faded and stopped.

  The victor’s roared echoed over the mountainside and into the cave, the vanquished creature’s death cry fading beneath its jubilant bellow. It was a surprise when the victor’s cry changed abruptly to one of rage, followed by an eerie shriek of death.

  “Silence. Silence reigned, and the bard had peace at last. She had the silence in which she had once crafted her songs, the silence…and the unwanted seeping, the creeping warmth that was her own.

  Voices followed, and lamplight flickered at the cave mouth. Hoofbeats rattled on the scree. The bard had no expectation of waking as she started to slide toward that final sleep which must enclose us all.

  The true victors of the dragons’ battle found her when they sought the dragon’s treasure, guided by the pool of blood, spreading from behind the broken rocks at the cavern’s edge.

  It is said it took a high priest three, long days and four, interminable nights to bring her back from the edge. His magic kept her alive as they took her to Novarin’s Keep where, exhausted, he retired and let an underling take his place.

  Sweet herbs and the sweeter smell of incense greeted the bard on waking. Warm air, moved around her, wafting past her as someone responded to her sleepy groan.