Dragons Wild

“Before we start, do you mind my asking a question?” he said. “Are you out to kill me, or just to test my powers? We never have been able to figure that one.”

“Does it really matter?” the George said.

The George made a gesture, a wave of his hand that struck Griffen as a bit too theatrical. Especially under the circumstances. Beneath the predator lurked a showman, and a cocky one at that.

The lone lamp flickered and blinked out.

“It does to me,” Griffen said, trying to adjust his night vision to the new darkness. “I’ve never killed anyone, so I’d like to know if I’m fighting for my life, or just to defend myself.”

“In either case, you’ll be defending yourself,” the George said. “If it eases your mind, though, I don’t think you can kill me.”

The voice had shifted locations, now coming from the shadows behind Griffen. The move had occurred far too fast and silently to be natural.

“How—” Griffen said without thinking, then caught himself. Now was not the time to admit ignorance. Too close to weakness.

“How do you think?” the George said.

The voice was at yet another place, closer, but not close enough for Griffen to find him in the darkness. The George chuckled, enjoying the chance to taunt Griffen directly. Griffen drew himself up, mind working quickly.

“Teleportation,” Griffen said. “Very impressive.”

“Over short distances,” the voice replied from a different pool of darkness. “It takes up a lot of my energy, so I don’t do it often. Though it did allow me to push you down the stairs and get myself in a position to see your face as you landed. It’s the simple things one enjoys.”

Again the voice shifted.

“I just wanted you to realize what you’re up against. I can also see in the dark better than you.”

Griffen fought back a surge of panic.

Panic doesn’t solve anything, and it can get you killed.

Mose’s words came to him as if the old man were in the courtyard with them. He forced himself to remain calm and to focus on analyzing the situation.

The George had picked the time and place for the confrontation, and was using the darkness both to conceal his location and to unnerve his opponent. Well, he wasn’t the only low-light specialist around.

Griffen let his own mind flow out, seeking for the feral cats that frequented the courtyard. He couldn’t see through their eyes, but could gain some awareness through them. And cats are aware of everything. He made contact, and reached out a gentle probe.

Uh-huh.

He turned his back on the direction the voice had last come from and spoke directly to a spot some fifteen feet away.

“You may be right,” he said. “Somehow, though, I expected something a bit more to the point than a game of hide-and-seek.”

There was a pause, then all the courtesy lights came back on, revealing the George precisely where Griffen had anticipated.

“If you will,” the George said with a shrug. His lips curled slightly, displeased with being so easily called out. “I’ve always had a weakness for the dramatic, and was a huge fan of film noir when it first came out.”

“That’s a neat trick with the lights, I’ll admit,” Griffen said, stepping into a clear space. “Is that another power, or do you have a mechanical gimmick?”

“It’s a power,” the George said, circling slightly to maintain the distance between them.

Yet, Griffen felt, he was also stalking him. The man moved liquidly, much like a cat himself. Though one larger and more dangerous then the feral cats of the courtyard. The whole time he maintained eye contact, and his lips curled in slightly mocking amusement.

“Like the teleporting, it’s only good over short distances and uses up a lot of my energy.”

“Feel free to drain as much of your energy as you want,” Griffen said. “I’ve always liked special effects.”

“Don’t worry. I have more than enough energy for the task at hand.”

The speed with which he moved was absolutely shocking. This wasn’t teleportation, just pure physical quickness. Griffen raised his hand to ward off the blow he saw coming, but it was a feint. The George’s other hand cracked in a backhand slap that rocked Griffen’s head back and sent him staggering back.

“My,” the George said, fifteen feet away again in an eye blink. He was rubbing his hand with a faint wince. “You are tougher then most of those I encounter. I’m mildly impressed.”

Griffen steadied himself, but he could taste blood in his mouth. A tiny trickle slipped from the corner of his lips, and the George nodded. Satisfied.

“First blood to me. Feel free to try a return blow.”

“And if I refuse to play your game?”

“Why, then this will grow tiresome quickly, and my temper will grow short.”

But Griffen hadn’t waited for him to answer. He reached out, and the George turned about at the snarling yowl of two scarred old tomcats that leaped through the air at his face.

His eyes widened, a mistake. Claws raked at his cheek, drawing blood, before he could knock the beasts aside. They landed heavily, and crouched back, hissing at him.

He hissed back, and they cowered more.