Page 69 of Caveman Alien's Terror

But he just soars higher and higher, his beauty even more stunning now than in his human shape. His wings are a big expanse of leathery membranes, making no sound the way the dactyls do. No, he’s not related to them at all. He’s elegant, effortless and graceful, many orders of magnitude more deadly than any dino. He’s an embodiment of pure power and grace. And of cruelty, I suspect. But right now, I don’t care.

An intensely green flame a hundred feet long shoots out of his mouth, so intense that even in the bright sunlight it throws sharp shadows.

I laugh at the insanity of it all. He is an actual dragon!

“That’s an unusual sight,” comes a voice from behind me.

I turn. “Rater’ax! You’re not running?”

The escort leader replaces his sword in the scabbard. “I’m not allowed to kill the dragon, but at the same time I’m ordered to protect you. Not an easy task, Shaman.” Behind him, the three others form a loose defensive pattern around us.

“You have done well so far, Rater’ax. And I told you your service has ended.”

“You may think so, but Chief Karr’ax might not agree,” the grim-faced caveman says, stroking his white stubble.

The dragon shines in gold and blue, his scales iridescent in the sky. That’s where he belongs, of course. Not down here in the mud with me.

“At least he didn’t kill anyone,” I point out, feeling cold and gray, just like the dragon-less world around me. “Yet.”

Rater’ax hands me the statue back. “I recommend that we leave this place as quickly as we can. This tribe is not as good as I was hoping. We don’t need friends like these.”

I heft the sculpture in my hand. “We really don’t.”

I turn and stare up. There’s a short flash of blue against blue, and then there’s nothing. “I think he’s going home.”

“Hopefully he lives far away,” Rater’ax growls.

I’m not sure what I expected. But of all the possibilities, this may have been one of the best. He’s gone, not killing anyone in revenge. And leaving me feeling even emptier than before.

“He did always want to leave,” I mutter.

Luna looks up at me, but has no comment.

“Still, he carved a small statue of me, instead of another piece from his hoard. That must mean something. Maybe itwasreal. For a while.”

We hurry towards the gate, which is guarded by two brown-striped men. The other men of the Ceremat tribe come back out of their caves, staring up at the sky where Praxigor is soaring out of sight over the jungle.

“Stop them!” comes a command.

The gate guards draw their swords and cross them in the middle of the gate in an obvious gesture. “Stay where you are!”

Ceremat men approach us from all sides, swords drawn.

Rater’ax and his men draw theirs, too. “We shall fight to the death, Shaman,” he says grimly. “You don’t need to. Doubtless Chief Korr’ax will mount a rescue expedition with a hundredmen when you don’t return. They will destroy this pitiful tribe and take you back home.”

“Oh, I have no intention of surviving this,” I tell him as I draw my little knife. “It’s proper for a shaman to die in battle along with her tribesmen.”

“It is,” he agrees, wonder in his eyes. “I wish you a glorious death, Shaman Astrid.”

“And I wish the same to you all. I’m honored to fight alongside you.”

The Ceremat men surround us.

Chief Sator’iz gives me a little smile. “As I said, you are our woman now. And you shall never need to leave the village.”

“I’m the shaman of the Borok tribe,” I tell him, sick and tired of this bullshit. “Let us leave peacefully, or Chief Korr’ax will bring both his tribes, the Foundling clan, and the Krast tribe to lay waste to this dump you call a village.”

There’s a roll of distant thunder. Good, some rain would match my mood.

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