“Hide!” hissed McKenna. “Get into those bushes!”
The bushes felt pitifully inadequate. And, of course, they were thorny.
* * *
Anibal Cruz watched from behind a tree on the far side of the glade. Those flying monsters must be thirty-five feet long! He’d seen the others go to ground. But there was no way he could signal to them.
The woman who had been handling the reins got down from the chariot. For a moment, Cruz was just plain dazzled. A beautiful, patrician-featured face was framed by a cascade of long, dark ringlets. Her lustrous skin was a pale olive, and her . . .
He stopped right there. Fantastic figure, true—and so what? Those pets of hers were dragons. And even without them, she didn’t look like the sort of woman who would respond well to any of Cruz’s bar-room opening lines. He began to ease backwards ever so slowly.
* * *
“That’s Medea!” hissed Jerry.
“Who’s she?” asked Liz in a whisper.
“The Sorceress of Colchis. She’s one of the most evil, murderous and unpleasant characters in Greek myth. Chopped her brother up and tossed the pieces at her father to slow him down while he was pursuing her. Then, later, she murdered her husband’s bride-to-be after Jason told her he was dumping her. Even killed her own two children to get revenge on him, before making her escape.” He pointed a somewhat shaky finger. “In a chariot pulled by dragons.”
The sorceress unharnessed the dragons. Someone stood up in the back of the chariot. It was a small boy of about six or seven.
“Mom? Are we at Aunt Circe’s yet?” he asked, yawning and stretching.
“Not yet, dear,” said Medea. “But the dragons need to eat.”
The boy looked around curiously. “Can I get out and play?”
She smiled at him. “Just let the dragons check that it’s safe first, Priones.”
Another child stood up. A younger boy. “I need to wee, Mommy.”
* * *
Among the things that Jerry could add to his growing zoological lore of the Mythworld was that mythological Greek dragons were very keen of nose and eye. It didn’t take the dragons more than five seconds to spot Jerry and his companions as they tried to hide.
Very shortly thereafter, Jerry was able to add a few more items of information to his ever-expanding knowledge of mythology:
Greek dragons are very, very fast moving.
Their shimmering scales are diamond hard.
They were constrictor-like in their ability to hold prey. And . . .
They were toothless.
Which was something, Jerry realized as he gasped for breath inside a dragon’s coils, that the dragon’s mistress was not. Nor ever would be—even if you pulled out all of her even white teeth. The sleepy-looking young woman who had now also sat up in the back of the chariot was plainly gentler, if only in her demeanor. But they both looked more than a little angry. Far more.
* * *
“Skulkers. Waiting in ambush! I told you he was scum, Glauce! And they’re his own children, too!” The last part was said with an angry sob.
“How ever did he find us?!” The other girl wrung her hands. “Make them talk, Medea.”
“They’ll talk all right. Come on, Hellenes. Spit it out! How did Jason know where we were going? You’re all dinner for Bitar and Smitar . . . but I’ll let you choose in which order.”
There was an outraged hiss and an equally outraged sniff. “We’re not eating thifs lot!” spittled the one dragon.
“You promifsed ufs fsomething tender!” protested the other.
“fSoft and juifsy, you fsaid.” The red-tasseled one’s eyes were reproachful and accusing.
“Yefs! Eafsy on the gumfs!” agreed its purple-tassled partner, with a display of sore-looking toothless gums. “Well cooked—you promifsed ufs! ” The voice sounded bitter—betrayed.
“Digefstible, you fsaid!”
“Not thefse. They’ll be too tough.” The dragon with Jerry in its massive coils gave a squeeze that nearly cracked the mythographer’s ribs.
“Far too tough, when we’ve got no teef,” whined the other.
“I’m not a cook!” snapped Medea.
“You can fsay that again,” hissed the red-tasseled one.
“Oh, shut up,” said Medea irritably. She turned away from the argument. “Now—you Hellenes. Answer me!”
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