A Sword for a Dragon (52 page)

The Purple Green was back on its feet, but moving slowly, still groggy. Chektor was struggling to get up. Vlok did not move.

It was one leatherback dragon against the gammadion beast. It attacked, the body looping out to his left while the head struck directly at him. He stepped quickly back to his right, while keeping the sword ready with both hands. Still the demon’s tail caught him across the legs, and he lost his footing and fell.

The jaws darted in but found the Purple Green in their way, shield and sword ready. The sword lashed down and struck across the monster’s head, but did not penetrate the armor plate. Still the great skull rang like a bell, and it pulled back for a moment and regarded the Purple Green with a baleful glare.

Old Chektor lurched forward. The great serpent body contracted and swung itself toward the brass-hide, who went down beneath it.

Mono was knocked flying, the monster rode over Chektor crushing him with its weight.

Relkin ran at it, leaping up onto its back and climbing toward the head. It felt him, the head turned, and the jaws raced down and snapped shut just a foot from him as he abandoned his hold and jumped for his life.

Bazil hauled himself back on his feet. Damned boy was going to get killed. Bazil took a huge breath. Damn dragonboys were always getting into trouble. He lurched forward to engage once more.

Relkin tried to roll when he landed, but only half managed it and found himself flat on his back, breathless, unable to move, staring up at the great bulk that was going to crush him to death. Inexorably it slid forward while he started to wriggle, but he was too late and his death loomed over him.

Relkin’s eyes were shut so he never saw his salvation, but before the monster could crush him, a leather back dragon crashed into its side and stabbed home with the long steel.

It spun around to grapple with Baz and missed Relkin by a handbreadth. The sword sang, and the monster lost one of its four arms. Yellow blood fountained briefly from the stump. Bazil retreated slowly, keeping the sword in its face. The great serpent pursued him, now cautious of that terrible blade but driven on by colossal rage.

Slowly, very slowly, Relkin crawled away. His breath was hard in his throat, his whole body ached as it had never ached before.

The men along the walls were moving in now, made confident by the success of the gammadion serpent. They came on with their swords out, ready to hew down Kesepton and the boys, and take the dragons in the rear.

The Mesomaster urged them on with harsh words. Kesepton did not wait for them, however, but gave a shout and charged, isolating the nearest and driving him back with a flash of swordplay. The others halted. The Mesomaster buzzed with rage, raised his hands, and unleashed a bolt of red fire that struck Kesepton full on. He dropped to his knees, clutching his skull.

Relkin’s outstretched hand brushed against his bow.

He pulled himself up to a sitting position, notched an arrow, and wound the bow.

The men were coming forward again, their confidence greatly increased. Meanwhile Baz retreated from the monster while the other dragons were either dead, unconscious, or slowly dragging themselves back to their feet.

The men in back had cruel smiles on their faces, ready for the kill. Relkin, too, aimed.

And then the great chamber of the pit was abruptly illuminated by a great light up above. Hanging in the air above them for a second was an amazing apparition. Golden things like attenuated insects, six feet long, floated within a greenish glow.

Then they were gone again.

The Mesomaster urged the men on with a shriek of command. Relkin shook the spots out of his eyes and fired. His arrow sank into the throat of one of the nearest men who sagged to his knees. Then Relkin saw two slender figures enter the chamber and sweep down the steps toward the Mesomaster. Steel glittered in their hands.

At the last moment, Gog Zagozt sensed them and whirled around. Ribela’s knife was knocked aside. The Mesomaster drew his own sword and drove Lagdalen back.

“How did you escape?” he snarled, and whipped around to confront Ribela once more.

She made no response but continued to approach, her great eyes locked onto his.

“So,” snarled the Mesomaster, “you have come back for more punishment! You shall have it, hag!”

He spat words of power and raised his hand. Great arms of shadow reached out to the witch and seized her. Ribela shouted something. There was a flash of the white light, and the dark grip was broken. The arms vanished.

“Begone, foul thing,” she said. “Too long have you accursed the world.”

She raised her hands and released another bolt of white energy. It struck the Mesomaster square on the chest and sent him reeling a step backward. He recovered and buzzed loudly with amusement.

“Feeble!” he said grimly. “I am stronger than you in every way!”

He noticed the girl was creeping up on him with sword in hand. He remembered that knife thrust. He was still healing from it, in fact.

“Aha! The pretty one is here, too. Listen to me, hag. I shall take the pretty one for my own when this is done. I shall think of you often as I use her. She shall be my slave.”

Ribela raised her hand once more, and again there came a flash of energies. This time Gog Zagozt was not even shaken.

“Bah! You waste your strength, witch. Your death approaches.”

There came another brilliant green-white flash high up in the chamber. He gestured.

“You have called the Sinni to help you?”

“I have.”

“They cannot enter here, we have a way of keeping them out.”

Ribela felt a new terror at this revelation. The Sinni came from a higher order of existence. They possessed vast energy. Had the Masters truly grown so powerful? This was dread news, indeed.

Once more she tried to blast the Mesomaster to submission, but saw her weapon fail. She was too weak, without the aid of mice.

“Enough of this play!” The Mesomaster clapped his hands, barked a word of power, and brought down a crushing force upon Ribela. Slowly she crumpled beneath it and was ground down to the floor of the chamber. Gog Zagozt threw back his head and buzzed furiously as the force continued to crush the witch, snubbing her like an insect beneath some giant’s finger.

Lagdalen threw herself forward at the Mesomaster, but she was caught by an upraised hand. She swung the sword, but it was parried. The horned mouth rasped a phrase, and she could no longer breathe. Her hands went to her throat, and she dropped to her knees. She could not suck air into her lungs.

The Mesomaster laughed once more.

He was interrupted by a sudden shriek behind him.

He turned to see the reborn god trashing from a terrible wound slashed across its throat. Yellow ichor sprayed forth, evaporating into a cloud of sulfurous gas. It sank back into its pit, vanquished by the sword Ecator. A dragon stood there hunched in fury, great sword shedding yellow blood to the stone floor.

Bazil turned and headed for the steps. The Purple Green was back on his feet. With his great sword at the ready again, the men of Dzu fell back, none daring to challenge a battledragon.

The Mesomaster retreated a step. This was an awkward situation all of a sudden. The crushing force had to be lifted from the witch, who gasped and struggled to breathe. These accursed hags were hard to kill!

He looked up, the damned dragon was getting too close. He turned and ran for the stairs. He would fetch some mud men. A dozen or so would suffice to bring down these dragons and beat them to death. He would enjoy that.

He sensed a figure running on his right and glimpsed a dragonboy momentarily. Then he felt something wrap around his ankles, and he toppled and fell just short of the stairs.

The damned boy had brought him down! With a scream of rage, he lashed at the boy and caught him a glancing blow with his horned fist, knocking him away.

A great shadow fell over him. The dragon was there.

“You die now,” said the beast. It was incomprehensible. How could it have come to this when victory was within his grasp?

The great slab of white steel came down. The Mesomaster was no more.

Abruptly the air was filled with the sound of distant music, an immense choir of voices singing in eerie harmonies. Golden attenuated insects floated twenty feet above the floor.

The men along the wall cowered down with cries of horror. Lagdalen was sitting up, sucking in long breaths of air.

The Lady Ribela staggered across to Relkin’s prone figure. The boy was unconscious. She looked up into two pairs of dragon eyes.

“How is boy?”

Her fingers were on his pulse. “He lives, he will recover.”

The dragons sniffed. “Good,” said one of them.

Ribela stood up. One of the dragons picked Relkin up gently and held him with both hands.

Lagdalen had regained her feet. Ribela suddenly embraced her. Lagdalen was never more surprised by anything than this.

“My lady,” she began.

“Thank you, Lagdalen of the Tarcho, by the Mother beside me, Lessis chose well!”

She hugged the girl again.

“The Sinni came. The gammadion has been sent back to its own world.”

“Oh, my lady, I thought you were dead.”

“I think I may have been. The Sinni revived me. They need me yet, it seems.”

Her eyes lit on the men cowering along the wall and the great dragons, the Broketail and the Purple Green, who were standing over another dragon’s body.

“Begone!” she commanded the evil men of the power, “and tell all the world that the god Sephis is destroyed. Your Masters have been defeated once more.”

With the aid of the surviving priests of Sephis, they hauled the wounded dragons out of the Temple and laid them out on the pavement. It was in the middle of the night, red Razulgab, the dragon star, gleamed high above.

Vlok was conscious now but in great pain from broken bones in his tail and legs. Relkin helped Swane to fasten splints made from the beams of a wagon and tie them around the leatherback’s legs and the broken section of the tail. Vlok hissed the while, but said nothing. Swane had tears in his eyes.

Bazil came over at one point and clasped hands with Vlok.

“Look like you become a broketail, too, Vlok.”

Vlok tired to laugh, but it hurt too much.

Poor Chektor was in a worse state. Bazil sat by his old comrade in arms and murmured encouragement in dragon speech. Old Chek was barely conscious, however, his ribs were crushed and he was struggling just to breathe.

Mono sat by his dragon and scratched his ears, fighting back tears. His right arm was broken, and he could do little else. Lagdalen cleaned the various scratches and scrapes with water she brought from the Sephisti cooking fires. The enemy soldiers had dispersed, abandoning everything and fleeing the ancient city of Dzu.

Kesepton and Ribela returned from their interrogation of Odirak. The death of the Mesomaster had broken the enemy’s power in Dzu, and the intervention of the Sinni had returned the gammadion to its own world. The enemy forces had splintered with the loss of the malacostracan demon. The hypnotizing power that had bound the armies of Sephis together had vanished in an instant, leaving its victims confused, witless, and wandering. The siege of Ourdh was over.

Kesepton and Relkin went down to the harbor and started a fire to signal to the
Nutbrown
, waiting out below the horizon on the great river.

Relkin automatically collected wood from here and there, twigs and brush for the most part. They piled them high on what had once been the dockside of ancient Dzu, and Relkin tore a piece off his shirt and shredded it on the point of his knife to make some tinder. Kesepton watched him work and marveled at the boy’s ability to survive. Dragonboys were tough— if he’d ever doubted it, this campaign had convinced him.

The fire took quickly, and they started two more and completed the prearranged signal for the
Nutbrown
.

After a minute’s wait, they saw two lights out upon the river and they knew the ship was coming.

An hour later, the
Nutbrown
boats came cautiously into the old, ruined dockside of Dzu. Kesepton gave them the news, and a great shout went up from the men in the boats. A moment later, it was echoed by the crew of the ship.

Quickly they worked to move Vlok and Chektor aboard, lashing together three boats to make a raft and hauling the wounded dragons up onto the deck with block and tackle.

Wandering through the Temple, a little later, Swane and Relkin heard noises from behind a locked door. They pried the door open and released Banwi Shogemessar, the Fedafer of the well-watered land, emperor of Ourdh, master of the great river, etc., etc.

He babbled at them in Uld, which they could not understand, so they lead him down to the dock.

At the sight of Ribela, the little Fedafer gave an inarticulate cry and tried to run. Relkin collared him and with the aid of some seamen, they pushed him into a boat and rowed him out to the ship.

It was near dawn. The wounded dragons were aboard, the
Nutbrown
was raising her anchor while the crew set sail. Ribela stood on the forecastle alone. The witch gazed back at the ruined city as it started to recede behind them, her thoughts filled with wonder and concern.

A nearby sound startled her. She looked over her shoulder. The dragonboy Relkin and the leatherback from Quosh were there. Ribela started to say something, but was preempted by the boy who pointed back to the city.

“Look, lady.”

She caught a movement in the air above the city, something huge, as big as a dragon. It wheeled there, circling over the Temple.

“The rukhbat,” she murmured. Ribela realized with a chill how close she had come to being taken forever into the grip of the Masters.

The rukhbat gave a wailing cry, then turned and flew away into the north.

“What is it?” said Bazil.

“A thing of the enemy. It was to take me to Padmasa.”

“Too late for that.”