A Nadder's Mystery Chapter 8

"You said you wanted action, Spamlout?" Varinn said softly. "You're about to get some."

"I take it back," Spamlout murmured, then jerked upright and brandished her axe. "No, I don't. Bring it!"

"Should we run?" Henny asked nervously.

"It might overtake us before we could climb out of here, and we'd be trapped against that cliff," Varinn decided. "We're better off standing and fighting it right here."

"It" was a tentacle, as thick as a strong man's arm, whitish in color and disgusting in appearance. It was sliding along the floor, its end probing back and forth like a huge pale worm. It extended back into the darkness; they couldn't see how far, or what it was attached to. The only thing they knew for sure was that it looked like very bad news.

"Fluff? Arrow." Varinn's words were quiet but firm. He was committing himself and his friends to battle against an unknown, scary-looking adversary, and they were willing to bet their lives that he was making the right decision. He heard Fluff take a deep breath. Her bowstring twanged, and a shaft embedded itself deeply into the tentacle. It writhed and withdrew a few feet, then slithered toward them again.

"My turn," Varinn said, and threw his thin spear with all his strength. It struck the tentacle and buried itself deep into their inhuman adversary. Again the thing writhed and pulled back, and again it closed in on them. That was when Henny gave them the really bad news.

"I think there's another one coming."

"Then we'd better dispatch this one while we can," he decided. "Throw your torches to the side to free up your hands and keep it from outflanking us! Don't let it grab you! Terrors, attack!"

That was their battle cry, which they'd never actually used in battle. They had played war games, pretending to face off against Viking raiders or renegade dragons, and they'd almost gotten used to using their battle cry casually. This was no game; this time, it was for real, and so was their enemy.

Spamlout was magnificent. Her weapon was perfect for the close-quarters fighting of a cave, and she used it fearlessly. The tentacle was soon oozing clear sticky liquid from multiple axe wounds, and was thrashing in pain more than seeking prey. Varinn and Hensteeth added their quota of damage, especially when the thing tried to wrap itself around Spamlout. Fluffernut stayed back; her weapon was useless in a melee. She fired several arrows at the second tentacle as it approached, but even though her marksmanship was perfect, all she could do was slow it down. It quickly took the first one's place in the battle.

"It fights like it can't see us!" Spamlout panted as she hacked away at the second tentacle.

"Be thankful for small favors!" Henny retorted as he stabbed the first one. "What's it going to take to make this thing quit?"

Suddenly Fluffernut prepared to launch another arrow. "Here comes a third one," she called out, "and this one looks really ugly!"

Unfortunately, she was right. The third tentacle was thinner than the others, and it didn't have a blunt, round end. It terminated in a sharp, discolored, deadly-looking stinger.

"Game over, guys," Henny exclaimed. "I think we should have run."

"It's not over until it's over," Varinn shouted back. Fluff's bowstring sang again, but her arrows were too small to stop the thing.

At that moment, the second tentacle finally managed to wrap itself around Spamlout, lifting her off the ground and pinning her arms to her sides. She didn't panic and she didn't scream, but fought and kicked with all her might, which wasn't even close to enough. The tentacle pulled her back toward the stinger, which drew back as though bracing itself for a powerful lunge. He heard Fluffernut scream.

Then it lunged.

Then everything became too bright to see.

o

When Varinn's eyes had adapted, a few seconds later, he saw Spamlout hacking desperately at a writhing, severed section of tentacle. A hideous green stain was slowly spreading across her tunic, but she seemed angry, not hurt. What was left of the three tentacles was withdrawing quickly down the cave. It looked like they had won somehow! How?

Then he saw his answer. It was Scrubby. The tiny dragon had dashed into the action at the critical moment, and sliced the ends off the stinger and another tentacle with a burst of his super-hot, super-bright fire. The stinger-less tentacle had completed its lunge and squirted its poison all over Spamlout, but it got no further than her clothing and did her no harm. The six-foot-long piece of tentacle that she was slicing and dicing was as good as dead, but the berserker rage was upon her and it would be useless to tell her to quit. He waited until she finally stopped on her own.

She was standing in the midst of pieces of tentacle, screaming and hacking at anything that twitched. Henny looked like he was in shock; he just stared at his seax and the disgusting clear-white liquid that dripped off of it. He himself was shaking, but it was fear mingled with excitement that they'd gone into battle against a hideous enemy and won.

Fluffernut was curled up in a tight ball on the floor, sobbing, "Make it go away! Make it go away!"

Varinn rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Fluff! It's gone! We made it go away!" She didn't respond.

To his great surprise, Spamlout pushed his hand aside. "Let a girl handle this, Varinn." She crouched beside the sobbing human wreck on the floor. "Get it together, Viking girl! We've got stuff to do, and we can't leave you behind, and we can't carry you! Shake it off and get going!" No response there, either.

"Spamlout, I really don't think that approach is going to work." Varinn tried again with the hand on Fluff's shoulder. "Fluff, I know you just hit the limit of what you can handle. We all have limits; that doesn't make us weak. You've already endured stuff in your family that none of the rest of us could handle, and you just kept on going. You aren't weak; you're as strong as the rest of us on the inside.

"But we came a long way to find those baby dragons, and we can't do it without you. So dig deep and find just a little more strength to keep you going. Okay?"

"It's gone?" Fluffernut's voice was muffled.

"It's gone. We beat it – all of us."

Slowly, the shaking girl uncurled herself. Varinn helped her stand. Spamlout shook her head and returned to her usual place in the front of the group. She turned to Scrubby and smiled. "That was pretty good, for a dragon who won't flame on command. We saved you, and now you saved us." The little dragon squawked at her.

From far down the hall, they heard multiple squawks in reply.

That got them all moving. They went carefully, weapons at the ready, watching the floor, walls and ceiling nervously for signs of any more tentacles, but their enemy remained out of sight. About a hundred feet from the battle zone, they found a side passage whose entrance had been almost completely blocked by a cave-in. Less than two feet of space separated the top of the rock pile from the roof of the cave. Scrubby acted very interested in that space.

"Scrubby, squawk!" Varinn ordered. He did so, and they heard several answers from inside the blocked-off part of the cave.

"It would take us hours to move all those rocks out of the way," Fluff observed.

"Henny, can you climb the rocks and wiggle through the hole?" Varinn asked. "We can pass you a torch once you're on the other side."

"Yeah, I can do that." Hensteeth wiped his seax on his pants leg and sheathed it. He climbed cautiously because he wasn't sure how stable the rock pile was, and he dislodged several stones as he worked his way through the opening on top. A minute later, they heard him call, "I'm on the floor. It's dark in here. Pass me a torch." Fluffernut was the lightest, so she timidly climbed part-way up the rocks and handed her torch through the opening.

"What do you see?" Varinn and Spamlout asked together.

"We found them!" Henny's voice replied. "All seven of them!"

Some of the little dragons eagerly half-climbed, half-flew out of their prison, once they could see the opening. Others could hardly move on their own, and Henny had to lift them through the opening, where the others took them from him. None of the babies gave them any difficulty at all; they realized that they were being rescued and the humans meant them no harm. The problem came when they tried to get their little flock moving.

Three of the dragons were too sick, or starved, to walk. Varinn suggested putting them in their backpacks and carrying them, but the dragons all screeched, flapped, and pulled away as soon as Henny opened his pack.

"What's their problem?" Spamlout demanded.

"They're afraid of the pack because it reminds them of the leather bag they got captured in," Fluff realized.

"She's right," Varinn decided. "Okay, if they won't ride inside the packs, maybe they'll ride on top of them, like Scrubby does. Scrubby, shoulders! Show them how it's done." He patted Fluff's pack. Their dragon companion wasted no time in half-jumping, half-flying there. Once he was in his favorite vantage point, he gave the other little dragons a pep talk of some kind. When Varinn picked up one of the sick dragons and put it on Henny's shoulders, it didn't fight him. All three of the hurting dragons were soon on someone's backpack, and the four healthy ones walked alongside the Terrors as they slowly retraced their steps.

"Why did they stay in there when they could have easily gotten out?" Henny wondered.

"That's easy – they couldn't see the way out, and they were afraid of the tentacles," Spamlout answered. "If I was small like them, I'd be afraid, too."

They came to the near-vertical wall and their rope. "How are the four of us going to get eight little dragons up that wall?" Varinn asked.

"Take turns carrying them?" Fluff suggested. No one had any better ideas, so they did just that. They took Scrubby and the sick dragons up first, and those dragons waited at the top while the young people went down again and brought up the rest of the tiny Nadders. Then they put the hurting dragonets back on their shoulders and made their way out of the cave as quickly as they could.

The sight of four young people entering the town with eight baby Nadders would have been unusual under any circumstances, and these circumstances were far from usual. The first dragon to see them took wing and flew all over the town, roaring and bellowing at the top of its voice. That brought a rush of dragons, and a slightly smaller rush of Vikings who were wondering what the commotion was about. Varinn had hoped to march up to the Nest and announce their success to the whole town at once, but their little parade never got that far. As soon as a mother Nadder recognized her missing child, she would rush the group and quickly be reunited with her baby. The ones who couldn't walk still lifted their heads and called to their mothers. Those mothers exchanged some squawks and shrieks, then ran for the feeding trays. They filled their gullets with fish there, waited a minute, then offered their children a regurgitated meal while the little ones still rode the young people's backpacks. Those children began to perk up immediately, and couldn't wait to climb down and join their mothers. The parade was down to the four Terrors and Scrubby by the time they finally reached the Nest. The Night Furies' home was completely surrounded by dragons and Vikings who wanted to know what was going on.

"Ladies, warriors, dragons, we've got a story to tell you," Varinn began.