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Crouched over Jaleen Firedrinker, Fola critically studied her work. The healing salve had worked its magic upon Jaleen’s body, but his normally dark, shining skin still held a dusty pallor. Fola motioned for two young men to carry Jaleen to his hut and family. Fola was certain that Mother B’temba would care for her husband in her normal vigorous manner. Undoubtedly, Jaleen would have chewed a bull’s weight in cure-roots before the moon was full.

The warriors had been talking while Fola had worked. Standing and stretching her stiff back, she finally focused on their words.

“Perhaps we should send a few warriors to protect those who cannot fight? They can seek shelter at Utango or some other village until we stop this monster,” M’bari suggested.

“No, M’bari,” Tulu, Kenlo’s Armorer Guildmage responded. “How many would we lose to the journey? Every lion, jackal, and vulture would follow us. And how do we know that the dragon will not attack that village? Are we not the best of warriors? Can we leave our people’s care to others?”

There was a murmur among the warriors. After only a slight pause, M’bari nodded his head. “Then we must prepare to fight the dragon, if it comes back.”

“Yes, M’bari, we must fight,” Tulu agreed. “But it’s too big for us to fight directly.”

“Hmmm.” M’bari stroked his chin. “Perhaps a few of us could attack it head-on, and the rest could flank it.”

“You can’t be serious!” Blushing as Tulu turned his stern gaze upon her, Fola said, “You all saw what that creature did! It disappeared before anyone could lift a sword to it. What good will it do to surround a dragon that vanishes before you can harm it?”

Tulu’s eyes glinted. “Are you saying we’re not competent?”

Chewing on her lip, Fola glanced around the small circle. “I am not saying we do not have skilled warriors. You are the finest in all of Jamuraa. But you are few. And you have never fought dragons before.”

“What then do you suggest we do, little Fola?” Tulu asked. “Shall we allow the dragon to come unheeded into our village? Or flee Kenlo–a town our families have called home for five hands of generations?”

“No, of course not! But it’s a magical creature. Swords won’t be enough. We must use magic to fight it.”

“Magic was not much help today,” M’bari said, and looked away.

Fola swallowed heavily. “Yes. And Jora is dead. I was not–we were not ready. We will be ready next time.”

Tulu frowned. “I don’t know, Fola. You are skilled in magic, and I have some skills of my own, but we have always relied on our swords to save us in such times.”

“Listen to the woman,” a strange voice broke in.

The cluster of warriors whirled as one, hands on weapons, to face the unfamiliar threat; but it was just a man, alone and dressed in strange bright garments. He raised one eyebrow. “Is this how you greet guests?”

“You must forgive us,” Tulu said sourly. “It has been a . . . trying day. Who are you?”

“I am Bwire, a shaman of note. And earlier, in the Rain Time, I killed this dragon’s sister.”

“You killed a dragon?” Fola gasped. “How?”

“Through magic, as you suggested.” Bwire eased his pack from his shoulder. “Unfortunately, that battle drained me deeply, and I am not as powerful as I once was. I do still have my knowledge, though, and that is perhaps enough, since your young guildmage–” Bwire nodded at Fola– “looks to have power aplenty.”

Fola turned to Tulu eagerly. “If this shaman has killed a dragon with magic, then perhaps I can as well!”

Tulu eyed the shaman, his face expressionless. “I do not know. . . . I mean no offense to you or your ancestors, Bwire, but we know nothing of you save what you tell us.”

Bwire raised his chin. “Is this how you treat visitors to your town? With questions? Still, I will overlook your rudeness; and I will even tell you something. The dragon that attacked you is a catacomb dragon, a most foul-tempered and persistent creature. And it will return.”

“We expect that,” M’bari said, his face grim.

“You expect it, but you know nothing about it,” Bwire sneered. “The creature will be back far sooner than you imagine: a catacomb dragon leaves its mountains only when it has young to feed, and then it leaves often. You are soft here; it will return before the sun sets.”

The warriors looked at one another. “Then we will fight it.”

“And it will be back in the dark of night tonight, and tomorrow, again and again until Kenlo is no more than a dusty memory. How long before you are all gone?” Bwire eyed them. “This dragon also has great magics worked upon it. That is why it disappeared and reappeared. Only magic will win the day against it, as it won against its sister.”

Tulu silently contemplated Bwire, then nodded once. “Fola, work with the shaman to find a way to slay the dragon with magic. And we will prepare to defend Kenlo until every drop of our blood is spilled in defense of our people. We must try everything we can.”

“Come.” Bwire gestured to Fola. “Let us talk of how to stop this dragon and save your people–but let us talk in the shade. I think you will agree that I am owed certain courtesies.”

Fola led Bwire towards her small hut. Perhaps this shaman would provide the key she searched for, a way to save the village and restore her honor!

[What does Fola learn from Bwire?]
[Who is this strange shaman?]
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