“We are not certain,” Delu said wearily, rising to her feet. “That is why I thought it best not to bring it up. The Coven has never encountered any creatures like this. We simply do not know.”
“But that is what you surmise?” Dumaka asked.
Delu would have preferred not to answer, it seemed, but after a moment, she concluded she had no choice.
“If what we have discovered is true, then they are not serpents. They are a creature of the genus known anciently as ‘dragon’. The ancients held the dragon to be immortal, but that was probably only because the dragon was nearly impossible to kill. Not that it couldn’t be killed.” She was briefly defiant, but her defiance quickly faded. “The dragon is extremely powerful. Especially in magic.”
“We cannot fight the beasts,” said my father, “and have any hope of winning. Is that what you are saying? Because what I am saying is that it makes no difference to me! We will not voluntarily give up one dwarf—any dwarf—to them. And so will say my people.”
I knew he was right. I knew we dwarves would see ourselves destroyed as a race before we would sacrifice one of our kind. I knew I was safe. I was filled with relief . . . and my shame deepened.
Dumaka looked around, his dark eyes fierce. “I agree with Yvngar. We must fight them.”
“But, Father,” Alake argued. “How can you doom all our people to death for my sake—”
“I do not do this for your sake, Daughter,” Dumaka countered sternly. “I do this for the sake of our people. We give up one daughter to them and who knows but that next time these ‘dragons’ will demand all our daughters. And the time after that our sons. No!” He slammed his already bleeding hand on the coral. “We will fight. And so will say all our people!”
“I will not give up my precious child,” Eliason whispered in a tear-choked voice.
He was holding onto Sabia as tightly as if he saw the coils winding around her already. Sabia clung to him, weeping for his grief more than for her own.
“Nor will my people ever agree to pay such a terrible price for their own well-being, even if, as Dumaka says, we could trust these snakes or dragons or whatever they be called.
“We will fight,” Eliason continued, more resolutely. Then he sighed, and glanced around at us somewhat helplessly. “Though it has been many long, long epoches since elves went to battle. Still, I suppose the knowledge needed to make weapons is in our archives …”
My father snorted. “And you think these beasts will wait around for you elves to read the books and then dig the ore and build the smithies before you can set blade to hilt. Bah! We must make do with what we have. I will send battle-axes—”
“And I will provide you with spears and swords,” Dumaka struck in, hard-edged, battle lust burning.
Delu and Eliason began to discuss and debate various military enchantments and mantras and cantrips. Unfortunately, elven magic and human were so dissimilar that neither could offer the other much assistance, but they both seemed to find comfort in at least the appearance of doing something constructive.
“Why don’t you girls go back to Sabia’s room,” suggested my mother. “You’ve had a shock.” Coming over, she hugged me to her breast. “But I will always honor and remember my brave daughter, offering her life for her people.”
My mother left to join my father in a spirited argument with Dumaka over battle-axes versus pole-axes, and we girls were forgotten.
And so that was that. They’d made their decision. I felt that I should be rejoicing, but my heart—which had been strangely light after we’d chosen to sacrifice ourselves—feit as heavy as lead in my breast. It was all I could do to carry the burden; my feet dragged through the glistening, coral hallways. Alake was grim and thoughtful. Sabia was still occasionally shaken by sobs, and so we said nothing to each other until we reached the elf maid’s room.
Even then, we did not speak, at least aloud. But our thoughts were like streams of water, all traveling the same direction, at last converging. I knew this because I looked suddenly at Alake and found her looking at me. We both turned, at the identical moment, to look at Sabia, whose eyes widened. She sank weakly down upon her bed, and shook her head.