Battledragon (54 page)

Then there came another soft hoot, this time with overtones of wonderment and joy.

Swane let out a barely suppressed cry. The dragons extended long necks to examine the creature.

"What is it?" said Lessis.

"It is mascot," said Bazil.

Lessis looked to Lagdalen for enlightenment, but she knew no more than the ancient witch. Meanwhile the head had disappeared. A few moments later a small, rotund form barreled out of the shadows at the base of the gully and began romping around Swane.

Wiliger stared at it in amazement.

"It's that damned pest that Jak was keeping. What's it doing here?"

"He must have brought it to the battle with him," said Spearman Rikart.

At the sound of its master's name, the little elephant pricked up its big ears and tentatively trotted over to Swane.

"Perhaps it knows where Jak is?" said Lagdalen.

At the sound of its master's name, the little elephant lifted its trunk and gave a soft squeal.

"It does, it knows where the boy is," rumbled Alsebra.

Stripey turned and scurried a few paces up the gully, where he paused and looked back over his shoulder at them and cocked his big ears quizzically.

"It wants us to follow it," said Lagdalen.

"Well, at least it has an idea of what to do," said Lessis. "I suggest we follow it."

They scrambled up the steep little gully, dodging from each patch of the darkest shadow. At length they came to a huge hole, perhaps ten feet across, that had opened up in the floor of the gully. Here the elephant paused and circled around the hole until it found a spot where a slope of rubble led down into the dark. With a squeal, it disappeared down into the hole.

It was a large hole, but it was pitch-black in there.

The dragons exchanged grunts. They did not relish climbing down into that place.

Swane was edging down, trying to feel a way down the steep slope of the collapsed floor of the gully.

"What can this be, Lady?" said Lagdalen.

Lessis was radiating hope. A blaze had been rekindled in her heart. The men soon felt it, as did Lagdalen, who was familiar with this sort of thing from Lessis. Lagdalen knew the Lady was inspired once more.

"A lava tube, I'd say. That little elephant may have given us the keys to our enemy's kingdom."

Lessis followed Swane and found that her hopes were realized. The hole lead to an inky dark space, still warm from its fiery creation. The walls were still radiating heat. The floor was hot.

Lessis put up a hand and murmured the words of power, and a stone on her ring gave off a soft blue light that lit up the place. Walls of lava, still rough from their creation loomed away in both directions. The little elephant had moved a few feet farther in and gave another soft hoot.

Lessis pointed as the dragons descended into the darkness. Alsebra looked at the ring very closely as she passed.

"This is the ring Capsenna, it is an ancient piece, something of an heirloom in my coven."

Alsebra was impressed. Her opinions of the magic of the witches had improved markedly in her years in the 109th Marneri Dragons.

"We follow our little guide." Lessis pointed up the dark lava tube.

"What lies that way?" said Vlok.

"The lava flowed the other way, so that must be the source, the hot heart of the volcano. That is where the enemy will have his forge."

"To the forge, then."

Relkin awoke and for a moment stared blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings. It was a sumptuously furnished room. He lay on a wide bed, covered in soft brown suede. On a heavy chair lay his new uniform and weapons. On the walls were luxuriant tapestries, mandalas of red, black, and white. The floor boasted a spectacular Kassimi rug.

He rose and dressed. There was a mirror at the far end of the room; Relkin caught sight of his reflection. He wore the black leather uniform of Padmasa, with heavy boots and a short sword, a weapon very much like his own dirk. He looked the very image of a swordsman for Padmasa, one of the grim mercenaries that directed the armies of imps and trolls that gave power to the word of the Masters.

He was torn between revulsion and a strange attraction. The surroundings were so comfortable, he thought again of the Master's offer. To be a king! That thought just wouldn't die. Who wouldn't want to be the king of a fair city? To rule wisely and justly in true majesty?

Eilsa would be his queen. If he were King of Marneri, then of course Eilsa would consent to wed him. Even her clan would go along. The older generation would stop opposing her engagement to him. All the social obstacles would be swept away.

Then he would rule through a peaceful era of plenty, bringing in a golden age that would be sung of for all eternity. From his seed would come a mighty dynasty.

And the route to that dream began here, putting on this black uniform of leather and steel. The dream vanished with a sudden, bitter laugh. The vanity of it was preposterous. He was just a dragonboy trying to survive. And what kind of kingship would it be that would be given so freely by Padmasa? He knew better than that.

Outside the room he found himself in a corridor that led to the suite of rooms he and Jak had been in earlier. They were empty now. Where might they have taken Jak?

The younger boy had not followed Relkin's hints and had maintained his defiance of the Great One. Jak had been aghast when Relkin had accepted the enemy's poisoned offer. Relkin didn't want to remember the things Jak had said to him. Nor the cold triumph he had felt from the Master. Relkin had had to leave them, and he feared for young Jak under the lash of the power of the Master.

There was a rap at the door, which opened without any word from him. An imp with a head like that of a giant weasel, stuffed tightly into a satiny black uniform, called on him to attend to Kreegsbrok at once. The weasel head would show him the way.

Relkin followed the weasel head along corridors, down stairs, and into a large chamber, paneled in dark wood. There was an air of urgency in the room. Kreegsbrok stood on a dais with a small desk beside him where another weasel-head imp sat writing at a furious pace. One at a time a line of black-clad men approached Kreegsbrok with message scrolls. He read each one, then spoke to the imp scribe, who wrote down his answers. The men came and went constantly.

Kreegsbrok looked up at Relkin's entrance.

"Ah, the young captain. Welcome aboard! We have some rather trying work ahead of us today." His smile was oddly forced. Kreegsbrok was a hard man to read, his true thought deeply hidden from any but the Master.

Relkin made no reply. Kreegsbrok completed another dozen messages in rapid-fire fashion and then called a halt.

"Come," he said.

Relkin was ushered out to a large room filled with Kraheen notables, many wearing feathered headdresses. Kreegsbrok led Relkin to the dais on the far side of the room, where a group of heavyset men in black leather and armor acted as guards. Relkin had a sudden sinking feeling in his chest. A moment later it sank completely when the eerie sight of the Prophet hove into view.

The Prophet's oddly animated face danced on the end of a long neck. The eyes glittered for a moment as they settled on Relkin.

The Master would be watching, of course. From somewhere high up probably. This was to be a test.

The Prophet recited prayers for the crowd and then addressed them with words of ancient prophecy. They were to be the Great Ones whom all other peoples would worship. For them there would be a carpet of human hearts thrown up to celebrate their assumption of glory. They would tread across a prairie covered in the skulls of their enemies. For them there would be cities of gold and splendor. For the rest of the world there would be ashes in the mouth and the lash across the shoulders.

The Kraheen greeted this with cries of ecstasy.

The chanting and the prophesying went on for a long time and then at last ended with a clash of cymbals and a rattle of drums. Now imps pulled out men on the end of leather leashes. With harsh cries they lashed the men forward, driving them to kneel in a row before the Prophet.

Relkin saw, with horror and disgust, that they were legionaries, most of them with wounds. One man could barely walk, and tottered to his place and virtually fell down in a heap. Relkin ground his jaw. If he made a wrong move now, then both he and Jak would pay, possibly with their lives. The Master would cease toying with him and destroy him. Still he wanted to draw steel very badly.

Kreegsbrok was watching him.

"It is not easy, believe me," said the man. Relkin swallowed his first, hot retort. He couldn't trust himself to speak.

"Sometimes, my young friend, we must show we have the strength of will that is necessary to serve the Great Ones."

Kreegsbrok knew. He had slain many men, many friends, on the orders of the Master. He had put his knife through their throats at the command. Could this young man from the hag cities stand the test?

Now two of the prisoners were hauled to their feet and bound to the stakes set beside the Prophet. Drums thundered as the Prophet summoned his grisly power.

The men's chests bowed and quavered. Thin screams of horror came from their throats, and then with the sound of ripping bones their chests burst and their hearts flew out to the waiting hands of the Prophet.

Relkin wanted to vomit. The room echoed with the ecstasies of the Kraheen. For a long moment Relkin asked himself if it might not be better to die than to live defiled by this evil. He could die so easily here, too.

There were trumpets blowing now and drums thundering. He looked up.

"The first of our surprises today," said Kreegsbrok.

Through open double doors came a platoon of slaves, men with blank staring eyes, as naked as beasts. Cracking whips over them were squat, powerfully built imps. The slaves hauled an immense cart into the room. On the cart was the Purple Green, strapped down with thick cables.

Wide-eyed with barely controlled horror, Relkin watched them position the Purple Green's body just below the center of the dais. The crowd of Kraheen notables was abuzz with wonder and anticipation.

Then Kreegsbrok stood up, reached over, and grabbed Relkin by the black leather uniform. Relkin was taken by surprise. Gently but firmly Kreegsbrok tugged him, toward the edge of the dais.

The Purple Green's hide was marked by hundreds of cuts. They had beaten him long and hard. Still, in those eyes blazed elemental fury. Relkin imagined what might happen if the wild one could get free of those cables. Their eyes met. The Purple Green blinked, then recognition flowered. Then rage exploded, and the wild dragon screamed the dragon speech equivalent of "traitor" at him.

Kreegsbrok was positioning him by a butcher's block. Sunk into the block was a long sword, handle toward him.

"This honor is for you, young Captain. To show the Master that your heart is truly his!"

Relkin saw the Prophet, who seemed to be quivering with the urge to kill.

"Kill the dragon," said Kreegsbrok.

Relkin looked out at the brightly dressed crowd of nobles. In their eyes was an unholy lust. It strengthened him for what he had to do.

Relkin edged around the block, not thinking, his mind a blank. When he spoke his voice was loud and firm.

"No, I will not do this thing. It is evil."

A gasp of astonishment went up. The Prophet hissed curses under his breath. Kreegsbrok shook his head.

The weight of the Master fell upon his mind in an instant.

"Worm! Think to trifle with me?" roared the Great One from within the center of his thoughts.

Relkin detected enormous anger. He allowed a smug thought of his own.

'That got to you, didn't it?" he whispered.

"Silence, impious little fool!"

Relkin's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and could not be moved. His teeth ground together, and his elbows seemed to want to push together through his ribs. He sank to his knees, barely able to breathe.

"If you will not do this, then my other dragonboy will do it."

Jak approached with a long knife and expressionless face. Jak stepped up to stand over Relkin. He lifted the knife. Once more the crowd of nobles grew excited.

"You see how easily I could have you kill one another? You cannot trifle with my power."

Jak went past Relkin to the block and took up the sword. Relkin felt the grip slip off him just a fraction. He got his breath back.

Jak raised the sword over the Purple Green. The wild dragon struggled to break his bonds, heaving from side to side, rocking the cart off its wheels, hissing like a boiler about to explode.

The Master's grip had slackened further. Relkin sprang from where he knelt and collided with the back of Jak's legs, knocking the smaller boy aside. The sword fell to the dais.

Relkin had it the next moment and swung it in a wide backhand that forced Kreegsbrok to duck and roll away. The Master screeched and flung a disabling blow at Relkin, but it was too late; in that instant he had brought the sword back and thrust it home, right into the chest of the Prophet.

There was an explosion of blood and a horrified shriek from the Kraheen.

"Thank you, boy," said "He Who Must" with a strange grin.

Relkin was smashed to the ground the next moment by Kreegsbrok. The breath was gone out of him, but a cry of triumph echoed in his mind. Then his mind was crushed into blackness by the Master's rage.

Kreegsbrok hauled him to his feet, still gasping.

"I take it back," roared the Purple Green, still trying to heave the cart over.

Relkin's foot brushed against the corpse of the Prophet. The Kraheen were wailing and tearing at their headdress.

"Examine him!" bellowed Kreegsbrok to Gulbuddin, and the others clustered beside the Prophet's body.

Relkin spun out of Kreegsbrok's hands, his thoughts no longer his own, his body no longer his to control. The Master gripped his mind so hard he could barely think.

"First you will kill the boy, then you will kill the dragon. You see, you cannot resist me."

Jak staggered over and kneeling bared his throat. With hands that seemed to think by themselves, Relkin grabbed a handful of Jak's hair and unsheathed the knife.