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Chapter Twenty Four

A Losing Battle

The warehouse on the end of town that the ghost had directed him to was old and run down. It was hardly a lead, but the dead man had known nothing, only where he had met his previous employer. Even that was likely to prove a dead end, but Fou-Lu was running out of options, and so had set out to seek what clues he could. Tired and drained, Fou-Lu had little eyes for the building upon his arrival. It was the man in front of it that drew and held his attention. The human had a prominent nose and chin, and blond hair that was fairly unusual in the Empire. He was clearly waiting for something, and the man smiled as Fou-Lu approached. "So you did come. Really, I was starting to wonder if you would."

The other's arrogant, mocking tone immediately got on Fou-Lu's nerves, and he voiced his thoughts with a sneer. "Humph! Didst thou? But in what way couldst I not?" the dragon asked contemptuously, stalking forward toward the other.

"I suppose you wonder why," the man said cavalierly as the dragon approached him with murder in his eyes. The image of the cultured, spoiled nobleman, the human smiled as Fou-Lu stopped in front of him. "Normally, I'd love to chat, but I'm afraid I'm a bit busy today."

The human was fast and Fou-Lu, worn to a thread, had no time to dodge the knife that sprouted between his ribs.

Even weak as he was, the wound didn't prove fatal, but he found himself dropped to one knee by the surge of agony and his sudden inability to inflate his lungs. He heard the human laugh as his own blood pooled behind his lips, and the dragon struggled a moment simply to breathe. Then he lifted his head, and his eyes were as red as if they, too, bled. The human's laughter died. Enraged, he pulled himself to his feet, feeling the knife dig in deeper as if a hand still guided it. He ignored it, and gave chase to the attacker, who promptly retreated inside the warehouse with all the haste the situation warranted.

Though in disuse, the building still stored old goods that no one had taken the effort to remove. The walls were stacked high with bales of wool and cotton, the floor carefully lined with thick straw to absorb the moisture. There was an odd smell in the air, but he was in no state of mind to notice it and sprang at his quarry. The man retreated further, and the dragon followed.

He nearly had his hands around the bastard's throat when a noise behind him spun him around. The warehouse doors slammed shut with a resounding thud---and locked from the outside.

"Now, Saruk!" his opponent yelled, exuberant, and Fou-Lu suddenly recognized the smell around him. They had soaked the building in kerosene. Already exhausted, Fou-Lu willed himself into dragon form, knowing he couldn't possibly survive the situation in his vulnerable mortal body. But he was tired, and his energy drained. He was slow to make the change and he had only just begun the transformation when every flammable surface in building exploded and the air itself turned into an inferno.

He heard a scream, knew it was his own, and felt his wings explode from his back, shriveling in the heat even as they grew. His transformation to dragon became complete, and though the fire still burnt and offered him agony, it would not kill him.

Then the building moaned around him and the pre-weakened supports gave. The burning warehouse collapsed on his head and the neighboring buildings, also on fire, toppled to bury him.

Direly wounded and weak, he tried valiantly to rear up and free himself---and couldn't. He fell feebly back under the rubble, and the darkness consumed his thoughts.

The sun was close to setting when Yahla first noticed they were being tailed. Two sandfliers followed in their wake, far enough back that even the dragoness could barely tell that they were there. Darnik had taken her word on the existence of their pursuers, and as the other two vehicles began to pull even with them around midnight, they were both expecting the coming confrontation.

The two sandfliers moved to keep the other vehicle pinned between them, and Yahla was not at all surprised to see the passengers of the other vehicles manning guns. The other two vehicles were unmarked, with no indication of their origin, and their crew wore no uniforms or insignia to betray their purpose.

Unwilling to wait for the first shots to be fired, Yahla floored the accelerator. The engine whined at the strain, then they shot forward, leaving the other two sandfliers to give chase. Their engines shrieking under the strain, the two carriers rocketed forward, vying to come even with their quarry. Yahla had a head start, and managed to maintain it as they covered the desert terrain at breakneck speed. Apparently tired of the game, one of the ships began a volley of shots, most missing the zigzaging transport. The last shot succeeded, striking the sandflier in the aft and starting a fire along the left side. The other vehicle prepared its own attack and Darnik clung desperately to the railing as Yahla brought the sandflier about in an about-face turn. The first vehicle followed her, and the second, unable to stop its volley in midair, caught it full across the hull. The following detonation sent up a spray shrapnel as the first pursuing vehicle exploded in a blast of fire and the smell of charred flesh.

Yahla grinned ferally and urged her transportation to greater speed as the remaining attacker flagged behind, dismayed by the death of its comrade. But…the shot they had taken and the resulting fire had done their damage, and the engine spluttered noisily and died. She heard Darnik swear and curse, and saw the enemy sandflier coming up behind them with new resolve. Whatever their initial purpose in pursuit, they were now out for blood.

As her sandflier's velocity began to fade, the dragoness spun it around and braced herself as her sandflier rammed the pursuing vehicle dead center.