“Are they…” Dennis said.
When Dennis paused to lick his lips, he found that they were still coated with the dirt the dragon had kicked over him. He spat with difficulty because of his dry mouth. “Will we be able to get across safely now, Chester?”
“Some men trust the moment, Dennis, and it goes well with them forever,” the robot replied.
Chester still held the bag of provisions. If he was willing to do that, it would help his master run the next hundred yards.
“All right,” Dennis whispered. “Let’s go.”
He leaped the line of grass that had survived the feet of both humans and monsters and began sprinting across the churned-up soil.
It was as difficult as running in shallow water. The soft dirt clung to his boots and spilled over their low tops. He was off-balance for running anyway, twisting his body to the left to hold his new sword and scabbard with both hands. Otherwise it would flop and trip him.
He hadn’t thought of that when he took the sword.
Dennis was twenty yards out into the trackway when both the dragons sensed him. They hooted with thunderous delight. Though they were out of sight for the moment, hidden behind the curve of the buildings, Dennis could feel the ground shake as the beasts lurched from a shamble to a gallop.
Chester was hopping along beside him, suiting his pace to that of the floundering youth.
Normally Chester’s tentacles glided just over the ground, curving as he stepped instead of lifting the way the jointed legs of animals would. On this surface, the robot hopped like a toad in thick dust. The strength of his silvery limbs was obviously sufficient to carry him safely clear of the dragons’ rush.
When Dennis was halfway across the perimeter, he wished that he’d never started. When he was two strides further, he was sure that he was going to die.
The dragons moved in clouds of the dust their legs kicked up before them. Only their outthrust heads were visible as they strutted toward their human victim from either side.
Dennis’ chest burned with the effort that would leave him ten yards short of the jungle when the beasts fell on him simultaneously like scissors with teeth. He’d have thrown the heavy sword away if he could have, but he didn’t dare pause in order to draw the blade without cutting his leg off.
His panicked mind also considered fighting the beasts. The idea was so crazy that he would have laughed—if he’d had breath or laughter available. Each of the dragons weighed a half ton, and there were two of them…
“Not only a great lord may protect another!” Chester said.
“Help me, Chester!” Dennis cried.
Chester flung sausages high in the air to either side.
The dragons pivoted like dancers, the heads questing upward while their arms—clutched tight to that moment—snatched the linked sausages from the air with triple claws.
One of the beasts bugled in triumph. Its breath filled the air with the smell of fish and fish offal, the food the dragons got from their keeper to sustain them as they prowled their magical cage.
Dennis dived to safety. He lay in a thicket of flowers and brambles, sobbing with reaction and remembered fear.
Behind him, the dragons snarled at one another. They were too focused on the thrill of spiced meat to notice that their prey had escaped them.
“There is no more sausage, Dennis,” said Chester. “There is bread only, now.”
“That’s all right,” said Dennis, responding to the words as though they were a real apology rather than delicate way of getting him alert and mobile again. “I—thank you, friend.”
“You are welcome, Dennis.”
If Chester hadn’t prodded him, he wouldn’t have thought to ask for help; and without Chester distracting the guard beasts—
It was important to be able to do things himself. But it was real important to know when to ask for help.
The dragons were moving off in opposite directions, darting quick glances over their shoulders and growling at one another. Dennis started to get up. The thorns that gripped his clothes tore at the edge of his hand as he tried to push himself upright.