Blood Of The Wizard (Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter 21

“
Freedom is too costly, always.  It must be stolen.”

—Dwarven wisdom.

The next day, after a feast of trout and venison, eaten among naked elves who eyed us as though they wondered what we tasted like, we headed south with twenty seven of the tribes finest hunters and scouts.

Scouts ahead, hunters to either side, we followed the course of a half-dried slough
.  Very soon, dragon tracks were visible. 

Some two miles from camp, the out-runners returned with word that the beast was sleeping a short distance ahead, and that the marsh
-bed widened to a banked ravine.  The dragon could not have been found in a better place.  There was a fine slope from the upper land to our game.  We ascended the embankment and coursed cautiously along the cliff’s summit.  Suddenly, we rounded an abrupt headland and gained full view of the monster.  But it was a different beast.  This one had no wings.  It was a terrifying sixty foot long, about half the size of the one that flew over Foxwash.  It was not truly a dragon or a wyvern, I supposed.  Rather, it seemed like some meshing of the two.

“
It is a drake,” Uncle Jickie answered, without me having to ask. 

I raised my hand, stopping the march
.  My little fellows raised themselves in their stirrups to survey the creature. 

A light mist screened us and a deep growth of the leathery grass, common to
these marshy plains, half hid a multitude of broad humps, moving with its breath.  Coal-black scales poked through the green stalks. In the next instant, its head rose a bit, sniffing the air suspiciously. But the creature was just restless, or dreaming.  Protruding amber eyes glared savagely sideways.  The great, thick neck hulked forward in impatient jerks.  Then the curved horns tossed broken tree trunks off in savage contempt.

From the headland beneath us, to the rolling prairie at the mouth of the valley, the earth seemed to sway with
the giant form.  I was dizzy just from the sight of it.  And those dagger-pointed teeth, sharper than a pruning hook, flashed as it licked the air. 

Some of the fellows grew excitedly profane, mumbling curse
d under their breath.  Others were fearful, breathing quickly.  The elf hunters nocked arrows onto their bows and filled their mouths with the dirks we had given them. 

Wheeling my horse in front, I looked once more at the beast. 

Then I gave one short, quick whirl of my axe... 

With a stormburst of galloping hoofs, we charged down the slope.  At the sound of our whirlwind advance, the beast tossed up its heads and began pawing the ground angrily.  From the hunters, there was no shouting, no warcries, but my fellows filled the air with screams
so unearthly that the elves almost broke from our company. 

The
drake started up and turned, panic-stricken, bellowing roars down the valley, then tore for the open prairie.  The ravine rocked with the plunging monster,
echoing the crash of its thunderous tread
. 

We were closing in faster than I could have expected.
  Indeed, it was an alarmingly short chase.  In the next moment, swift as lions, the swiftest riders darted towards the large animal and rode within a few yards before taking aim.  Then showers of arrows from the elvish hunters sung through the air overhead. 

Instantly
, the beast roared, and the ravine was ablaze with fire.  The two fastest hunters were unhorsed, their ponies thrown from their feet.  Their blood splattered everywhere.  The third elf was nearly gored by a long horn atop the beast’s back.  It missed him, ripping his horse from shoulder to flank.  Then, maddened by the creature’s blood, and before a shot from a second hunter ended the horse’s misery, the drake caught the man on its upturned horns and tossed him some thirty feet high. 

By keeping just to its rear, where the
drake could not see, I managed to chop at its leg, gravely wounding the enormous, clawed foot.  It bellowed fire again and began swerving alternately from side to side as the enraged elves struck forward, their trained horses avoiding the side thrusts. 

The saddle-girths of one hunter, though, gave way as he was leaning over to send an arrow into the brute’s head.  Down he went, shoulders foremost under its nose
.  The horse, with a deft leap, cleared the vicious drive of horns.  The beast did not see where its rider fell and galloped onward.  Two more were mowed down like felled trees.

W
e plunged on and on, pursuing the racing drake while the ground shook under its clawed feet and our stampeding hoofs.

I had forgotten time, place, and even the danger of it—everything in the mad chase was
just noise and fire.  Still, I managed another blow to its leg.  My horse was blowing, almost spent.  But again, I dug the spurs into him, and was only a few lengths behind the drake again when the wily beast turned.  With its head down, eyes narrowing and nostrils leaking fire, it bore down, straight at me. 

My horse reared, then sprang aside. 

Leaning over to take sure aim, I swung, but a side jerk unbalanced me.  I lost my stirrup and sprawled in the dust.  When I got to my feet, the creature was rolling up like a snake, spewing fire in every direction.  My best ax was lost, but it was now protruding from the drake’s head.  My horse was trotting away on three legs.  Hunters were still tearing after the languishing nerve-fueled drake as it rolled, snake-like and ominous, swollen with anger. 

Riderless horses, mad with the smell of blood and snorting at every flash of fire, kept circling the dying creature.  Jickie, Frobhur, Kenzo, Delthal and Halvgar had evidently been left in the rear.  They roared and chopped at the beast as they caught up with it. 

I looked everywhere for Gilli and could not see him. 

Near me, two
elves were righting their saddles.  I was tightening the girths on a loose horse, which was not an easy matter. 

Suddenly, there was the whistle of something through the air overhead, like a catapult stone.  The same instant, one of
elves gave an upward toss of both arms with a piercing shriek.  The fellow clasped at his throat, though his head had already fallen to the ground. .

I heard his terrified companion shout,
“The
mother
!  The mother!
”

Then he fled in a panic, not knowing where he was going and staggering as he ran.
  Suddenly, I saw him pitch forward, face downwards.  I had barely realized what had happened and what it all meant, before an enormous roar broke from the high grass above the embankment.  At that my horse gave a plunge, and wrenching the rein from my grasp, galloped off, leaving me to face the creature.  Half a score of elves scrambled down the cliff, and as I looked up, I saw it.

The
“mother” of the beast, no doubt a different species altogether, was circling back, flying away south.

But there was something else, a sight almost as dreadful.  It was the living body of the Dead King I had seen before, now in scarlet armor. 

Only this time, it was no ghost.  His flesh was rotten, and he rode a horse the color of blood.  This thing was the body of the ghost I had seen —or else something had possessed or reanimated his corpse.  I was looking hopelessly about for some place to hide from it when it circled out and appeared not a hundred yards away.  Brandishing both a battle-axe and a mace, he came towards me at a furious speed, without even gripping the horse’s reigns. 

I crouched, gripping the lesser of my
swords as his horse approached.  And the fool mistook my action for fear, charging ever faster. 

White teeth glistened
, and he shrieked with the hideous scream of a devil.  I knew that sound.  My mother had made it once.  Back came memory of her hearing her giving birth to my younger brother.  But there was certainly no time to dwell on the thought—the demon before me swung his battle-axe aloft.  I dodged abreast of his horse to avoid the blow. 

With a jerk, he pulled the animal back on its haunches.  When it rose, I sent a spear to its heart.  It lurched sideways,
then reared again, straight up, and fell backwards with the demon under it.  The fall knocked the battle-axe and the mace club from his grasp.  As his horse rolled over in a final spasm, we were instantly locked in a death clutch.  The evil eyes of the demon glared with a fixed look of pure hatred, and my hands tightened on the dead flesh of the throat.  The demon was snatching at a knife in his belt when the cries of my fellows rang out, close at hand. 

Their coming seemed to renew my strength.  With my full weight hanging from his neck, the willowy form squirmed first on its knees, then to its feet.  But my fellows dashed up, knocked its feet from under him. 

Uncle Jickie, with blood lust on his face, axed off its head with a single blow.

I looked up, panting. 

The mother dragon, the thunderwyrm herself, had disappeared from the sky, far to the south.  Smoke was rising from the grass still.  Some of the elves were gawking at the headless demon, while others were heading back to camp for carts with which to bring back the meat, sinew, bones and skin of the dragon. 

“
Mage-guard,” one of the elves cried.  They spoke the words in Dwarvish, though in their heavy elvish accent.

Mage-guard?

The rest of the elves were working to put out the fires that the dragon’s breath had started.

“
Where the devil is Gilli?” I asked.

Chapter 21

Mounting the horses, we rode up to the level prairie.  We whipped our horses to a gallop, knowing that Gilli must have fallen from his steed. 

Against the northern horizon shone a blaze of orange.  The gathering smoke was obscuring our view, but we dashed back along the flattened trail of the dead beast, spurring our hard-ridden horses without mercy. 

Each elf gave his horse the bit.  Beating them over the head, they craned flat over the horses’ necks to lessen resistance to the air.  A boisterous wind was fanning the burning grass now.  Great tides of fire rolled upward with forked tongues.  Before long, cinders rained on us like liquid fire, scorching and maddening our horses.  But we never paused.  The billowy clouds of smoke that rolled to meet us were blinding, and the very atmosphere, quivering with heat, seemed to become a fiery fluid that enveloped and tortured us.  My hand was across my mouth to shut out the hot burning air.  Our beasts whinnied pitiful screams and became wild with fear. 

Still we did not slow. 

We tied strips torn from our clothing across our mouths and beat the frantic creatures forward.  The fire wave was crackling and licking up everything within a few paces of us.  The flames were not crawling in one insidious line, but the very heat of the air generated red waves and pillars, which came forward in leaps and bounds, as if racing each other, reaching out cloven fangs that hissed at us like an army of serpents. 

With the instinctive cry to heaven for help, I looked above.  There was only a dome
of glowing clouds, rolling, heaving and tossing.  It made a body want to get on the ground and bury themselves, but I knew at that point we must choose one of two things, dash through the flames—or roast. 

We all paused, the
elves included.  Some of them were huddling so close I felt the burn of their hot stirrups against both ankles.  Our clothing was smoking in a dozen places. 

Suddenly, there was a lull of the wind. 

Uncle Jickie cried out through his muffle, “The calm before the end, my lads.  The next burst of wind and we’ll cooked to perfection for the damned wolves.”

But in the momentary lull, a place appeared through the trough of smoke.  The grass was green and the fire-barrier breached. 

“They’ll have to settle on eating us undercooked, uncle.  Follow me!” 

With a shout, we dashed heads down towards the green grass
.  Our horses vaulted across the flaming wall, snorting and screaming with pain as we landed on the smoking turf of the other side. 

I gulped a great breath of the fresh air into my suffocating lungs
.  As I tore the covering from my mouth, we raced on until we had cleared the flames.

Looking back I saw a horse sinking on the blackened patch, a
n elf atop it.  Both were screaming, aflame.  There was a whiff of singed hair, and I understood that if Gilli had somehow survived the blitz on the dragon, the flames now had him.

Chapter 2
2

“
The great madness of life is not in its length.”

—Dwarven saying

It was unusually cold when we brought our horses back away from the flames.  We all stood and bundled
ourselves against a patina of spring rain, which began to fall sideways out of the white sky. 

Ou
r old friend was gone, and the fire that had taken him was just a black scar on the grassland.  We looked at one another, each red-faced from the flames and each one’s hair in singed gnarls. 

Then Mighty Kenzo snorted, crying.

Twisting away with our thirsty horses, hunkering, we paused before the lip of a small stream that bore through the grass as if burrowing.  We shared a moment, hands on shoulders, and trudged down into the spongy creek until we crested its rocky ledge.  Bent and low in a surprising cold breeze, we stood staring down into the water as the horses drank.

“
Where he is now, they’re celebrating his return,” I whispered.

My uncle smiled. 

Knowing they needed time, I decided to go gather the packhorses and supplies.