wondered how long she and the draconian captain could
keep up their pace; she was naturally faster, but he had
more endurance. If she should tire or fall. . . She grit her
teeth and kept dodging and running.
After what seemed like days, Mara thought that the
axe might be slowing down. A minute more and she was
positive; it was losing forward momentum and spinning
more slowly. Finally, with a creak from its handle and a
flutter of propellers, the Deathaxe crashed to the tunnel
floor. Mara and the draconian, wheezing, collapsed – a
spear’s length apart – just beyond it.
The draconian recovered first. He rose unsteadily and
searched for the sword. He had dropped it when he fell.
The weapon was now lying within Mara’s reach.
Mara staggered to her feet, picked up the heavy sword
and nearly overbalanced. The draconian laughed at her
and moved forward to recover it and kill her.
Mara heard an uneasy rustling on the tunnel ceiling
above her, though she could see nothing. She swung the
sword against the tunnel wall and banged it, shouting.
The air was suddenly filled with a terrible chittering
and the sound of hundreds of wings. The draconian,
disconcerted, waved his arms in the air. Mara steadied the
sword, gathering her strength.
The draconian opened his mouth and snapped at the
noises in the empty air; there was a tiny shriek, which cut
off abruptly. Mara, feeling sick, took a deep breath and
lunged with the sword.
It was far too heavy for her, but she managed to catch
the draconian captain just below the kneecap. He roared,
driving away all the flyers. Mara let go of the sword and
backed off.
Grimacing, he looked down at his leg. Green blood
oozed from the wound. He opened his mouth to shout at
her; nothing but snarling and flecks of foam came out.
Mara dashed away, thinking to herself, “I’ll need a new
name. Mara the Warlike . . . Mara, Queen of Battle …” A
thrown dagger flashed between her arm and her side.
Mara, Queen of Battle, legged it like Mara the Rabbit
down the left fork of the tunnel. The draconian lumbered
after her, limping painfully.
Mara dashed into a room. The draconian found her,
crouched against the far wall. She stood holding the leg of
a splintered chair as a weapon. As the captain came
forward, she dropped it and shrank against the wall, her
face a mask of terror.
“I have you,” he said slowly, with satisfaction. He
limped into the center of the room, smiling –
Mara tapped the wall lightly with one finger.
The Thudbaggers activated. The draconian lost his
footing. Both his arms were pinned in place by the bags;
he couldn’t reach the sword he had dropped when the first
bag inflated in his face. He poked his head up out of the
balloons, and glared helplessly at Mara, who had
clambered onto the bags. “You!” he said bitterly, beside
himself with rage. “You – ”
“Shut up,” said Mara and, pulling off his helmet,
knocked him cold.
She heard the sound of running feet, and then
Standback appeared in the door.
“Are you all right?” He was panting.
Mara slid off the balloon. “Mara the Bold is always all
right.”
“That’s good. When I arrived at the top level, I
thought that it was a false alarm, and I came back down,
and then I saw the dead and knocked-out draconians – ”
He paused. “You’re bleeding.”
She looked at her shoulder in surprise. “Not too
badly.” She grinned. “I gave better than I got.”
Standback looked at the unconscious captain. “I see
that,” he said, impressed. “Were they after my weapons?”
Mara nodded. Standback, looking again at the pinned
and unconscious captain, said thoughtfully, “Mount
Nevermind isn’t at war with draconians. We don’t dare kill
them, and they’re too dangerous to take prisoner. What are
we going to do with them?”
“I’ve thought about that.” Mara paused for effect. “Let
them escape.”
Standback goggled at her. “But if they escape, they’ll
take our weapons or plans for our weapons away with
them – ”
“You want them to,” she said simply.