Authors: Christopher Rowley
In the meantime, he had seven years to put in as dragoneer in the 109th Marneri Dragons. Seven years to survive. Seven years to try and keep his dragon alive.
His service in the legion had shown him with brutal clarity how high mortality rates among dragons could be. There was a tendency to rely on the dragons and to place them at risk. They enjoyed battle, or so it seemed. But the toll was heavy. Bazil and Chektor were all that remained of the old crew, the original 109th.
His thoughts came back, as they did so often, to his own dragon, the amazing Broketail. In truth, Relkin knew he owed everything to the big leatherback. Toppling the Doom in Tummuz Orgmeen was enough to build a legend on, but then in the dread city of Dzu, Relkin had seen Bazil in the greatest battle of his life against the serpent god itself. And between himself and the dragon there existed a bond so strong that he didn't think either could live without the other.
An amazing dragon, who wielded his huge blade with the skill of the best swordsmen in the legion. A two-ton monster who could dance and pirouette through a sword fight with lethal grace that was sometimes almost human.
There was a lump in Relkin's throat. He was seventeen and still felt somewhat awkward and unfinished. He was growing again, putting on another inch in height and thickening in the chest and the arms. His beard was thick enough now to require a daily shave to satisfy Digal Turrent, who held beards on dragonboys to be irregulationary.
Relkin sighed. All they had to do was survive and stay together. Him and that two-ton sword wielding monster. They would retire together and make a great team for creating a farm on the land they'd be alotted. They'd get horses for the routine labor, of course, but for cutting wood and clearing land nothing could match a battledragon.
He smiled to himself. And eventually they'd both have to get mates. There would be a woman in his life again.
A sudden warm breeze came off the river, sparking memories of other rivers, when he had spent warm riverside nights with Miranswa Zudeina, lying on the warm marble casement of the fane of the Goddess Gingo-La. Effortlessly he could recall her body, her warmth, but it was not to be his, ever again. She was a lady of wealth, now that her inheritance had been secured and her aunt Elekwa had been sent down from the great city to live under guard on her own estate. Miranswa, was a lady in high society and expected to represent her family at the functions of the social round in Ourdh. It was out of the question for her to wed such a "wild oat" as an orphan boy from Quosh. Nor would she leave her southern home for the uncertain life of a soldier's wife in Kenor. And so they parted after a single summer together, those blissful months after the siege of Ourdh.
And this summer? This summer he would be in the Kohon Hills, in pursuit of a vicious clan of bandits. It didn't portend to be nearly as enjoyable. Relkin had a morbid fear of booby traps. Their first campaign in the winter against the Teetol had shown him how deadly such things could be. It was a nerve-wracking business taking dragons through an area with traps and pits and snares. Dragons weren't good at picking up the traces. Dragonboys had to study the ground the whole time.
He was quite lost in thought when he heard a small sound at his elbow, and he looked up and found himself gazing into the eyes of the most beautiful young maiden he had ever seen. They were large, green eyes, long-lashed, slanted slightly above a face of exquisite, slender beauty.
He drew in a long deep breath and was captivated. She arched her back and smiled at him in a way that spoke of hidden passions and carnal delight. A simple, one-piece costume made of deer hide was all she wore. It left little to his imagination. She was beautiful, a perfect nymph of the forest.
Now she was gazing into his eyes. Was it yearning he saw there? Amazement gave way to joy in his heart.
And still he shook his head. What was this? Where had she come from? Who was she? The questions pumped in his brain.
At last he noticed that she was wet. She had been swimming in the dark river at night.
"Who are you?" he said.
She smiled, giggled, and pointed to the river.
"Swim," she said quite clearly.
"You do understand me," he said.
"Swim," she repeated.
"I can't do that right now," he said.
She slipped back over the rail with the grace of a gymnast and clung on the outside of the rail, feet planted against the side of the ship.
"Come, now," she said.
Something heavy was pressing down his eyelids. A fog filled his thoughts almost as if he'd drunk one beer too many.
"But I can't, I'm…" he began, but in the next moment he couldn't remember exactly what he wanted to say.
His foot was up on the rail, and he was plunging down into the river, striking with a splash and going under and arching up and rising, spouting, glad to be alive.
The guard had seen him, shouts went up on the ship, but they seemed to be taking place in a far-off world, hidden away behind a membrane.
All he could focus on was the elf maiden, now swimming away with backward looks every so often. She raised a leg, and a spray of drops gleamed in the moon. Playfully she dove beneath the surface and vanished. He looked below but could not find her. And then she swam past him and pinched him as she went.
Aroused, he accelerated in pursuit and had almost caught up when he grounded. She was ahead of him and climbed out and ran up the bank and beneath the trees with a giggle as she went.
The shouts behind him were increasing, and several lamps had been lowered over the side, but he didn't pay them any attention. Ahead was only the slender girl, running from him, stopping to lean against a tree.
He caught up, stood there breathing hard beside her.
She stretched herself out against the tree.
"Put your hands on me," she said, or at least that's what it seemed she said. He stumbled forward, feet uncertain. She slipped away behind the tree, her hair glinting under the moonlight.
The shouts behind him were getting fainter as he ran. Always she seemed to float just a few feet beyond his grasp. Never had he wanted anything so much.
And then he tripped and fell to his knees and felt a net fall over him. He pushed up to get back on his feet, and the net was tightened. He glimpsed a face with overlarge features and bright protruding eyes. Big stocky hands were pulling the net tight. Relkin tried to get to his feet. A heavy boot kicked his legs out from under him.
On the ground again he noted that there were two of them. Dwarves! Short, knobby, heavy set dwarves, just as they were described in the ancient legends.
The spell was gone. All thought of the little elf maiden vanished. Relkin, awake at last, realized what was happening. He was in the process of being abducted by dwarves. The legends were true!
He struggled furiously and yelled for help at the top of his lungs.
The boots thudded on his body in response until he stopped. Ropes were tied around him, a gag was shoved in his mouth.
The mines, the legendary mines of Valur, that was where he would finish his life working as a slave until death released him.
It could not be. The future was in Tuala, on their farm with a wife and children and another life.
But there was no way to even move a muscle now. The dwarves had trussed him tight. Now they slung him from a pole and with one ahead and one behind, carried him on their shoulders away into the forest.
The journey through the forest lasted no more than an hour before the dwarves halted in a grove of large, heavy-limbed oaks. One of them whistled, and in response there came a plangent tone. The dwarf moved a stone, pulled up a large brass ring, and opened a trapdoor covering a set of steps leading down into the dark.
Through the trap they carried Relkin, still swinging in the net beneath the pole. As they went, they whistled a little tune together, and Relkin's heart sank to its lowest level yet. He wondered if he would ever return to the surface again.
They went on down a long corridor past walls carved with bas-reliefs depicting ancient scenes from dwarvish history. A pair of enormous double doors gave way to a large rectangular room filled with opulent furnishings. The walls were resplendent with tapestries in brilliant color. Sculptures of a dozen schools of dwarf sculpture crowded the corners, everything from the ultra-baroque of Veronath to the stark, horrifying shapes of the Tummuz Orgmeen school.
This was journey's end. The dwarves dumped Relkin unceremoniously on the floor. From chairs that were virtually thrones, two dwarves, resplendent in robes of purple and scarlet velvet, arose with cries of delight.
Relkin lay perfectly still, conscious of the heavy boots on his captors' feet.
The high dwarves stepped down to look him over. Enormous pieces of jewelry, stones glittering from heavy chains of gold, hung from their necks. Emeralds sparkled in their earlobes, rubies and diamonds glittered on every finger.
The tongue of the dwarves was unknown to Relkin, but then the very existence still of dwarves in the world had been but an old legend until very recently to him. Now the dwarves haggled over his body, for in their language, as in any other, the intonations of bargaining were the same.
It was a spirited debate. Each side indulged in lengthy perorations with many gestures toward the prone dragonboy. There were gasps and flutters of the hands, there were groans and cries of pain, disgust, woe, the whole panoply of the bargainer's emotional palette. This was haggling of a fine art, way beyond the efforts of mere dragonboys. Relkin actually found himself carried away by the performances. It was an amazing experience to be haggled over like this, as a thing, an object, a piece of property.
There was a sudden, rude interruption. There came a mighty rap on the doors. The dwarves fell silent with a hiss. The silence stretched out into several seconds.
The doors were suddenly attacked with great energy until they burst open and a small crowd of nimble forest elves, clad in green homespun burst in. In their hands they had bows with arrows drawn. With them came a draft of warmer air, redolent of the nighttime forest. Behind them, the last to enter, was the elf maiden. She stepped to the front and addressed the high elves. There was no doubting what she had come for, payment.
The robed dwarves stepped back with loud barks of indignation. The elf maiden repeated her claim.
The argument grew hot.
At one point Relkin and the maiden happened to look in each other's eyes. To his disappointment, even horror, there was no feeling for him there whatsoever. He had been nothing to her except a piece of prey, like a deer to the huntsman. For some reason this thought made him ill. He laid his head on the floor and shut his eyes. Still the dwarves, all four of them, would hear nothing of the elf maiden's remonstrances. Whatever it was that she sought, they would not give it up.
Relkin never saw the first blow, but quite suddenly the forest elves attacked the dwarves. His two captors wielded clubs and boots with vigor. The high dwarves drew swords from behind their thrones. Steel rang beneath the dwarf lords' ceiling.
The dwarves were driven back with oaths and curses. Suddenly two elves bent over him and cut free his wrists and ankles.
Relkin scrambled to get to his feet, but his legs wobbled under him and he fell to one knee, which proved fortuitous for a dwarf had just then aimed a blow at his head with a club. It missed and pulled the dwarf off balance, whereupon he tripped and fell with a bloodcurdling string of oaths.
Relkin seized the chance. Staggering back to his feet, he had the dwarf's club in his hands and hammered its owner hard amidships with it. The dwarf doubled up on the ground. Relkin gave out a whoop. It felt good to dish out a little of what he'd been served by these dwarves.
Something brushed the back of his head, and he put up a hand by instinct and caught a noose of deer hide that was being dropped over his head by one of the elves.
Relkin snarled with anger, jerked the elf off his feet and kneed him hard in the belly. Swinging the club wildly before him, he dove for a narrow doorway to one side of the room. This gave onto a dark little corridor with a sour smell. An elf got in his way, and he bowled him over and trod on him. An arrow bounced off the wall, then he was through the doorway and into the dark, narrow passageway. Shrieks of dwarfish rage resonated in the main chamber.
He turned to his right and ran toward a dim light, a guttering candle, set beside a narrow door. He pulled the brass door handle and to his relief, the door swung open easily.
A larger corridor greeted him with cleaner air and no smell. He turned right, blundered into another door, and found himself in what seemed to be an empty apartment, dimly illuminated by a series of foot-wide squares of a phosphorescent glass set into the walls and ceilings.
There were many large, spacious rooms, empty but for dust and an occasional piece of furniture, abandoned long ago. Behind him came the sounds of pursuit. Elf and dwarf had come to terms it seemed, having realized that without Relkin they had nothing to fight over.
He went through a dozen of these huge, empty rooms leaving a trail of footprints through the dust until he came at length to a locked door. He looked around for some other way out but found nothing except a hatch set down low in one wall. He examined it by touch and found a handle that he pulled hard on. Nothing happened. He put his foot up to the wall and heaved as hard as he might. There was a little give but not much. He tried again, heaving on it until he thought his arms would come out of their sockets. His foot slipped and he sat down hard, and accidentally pulled down on the handle. A catch gave way, and the door slid sideways on hidden rollers.
Beyond was a dumbwaiter in a narrow, vertical shaft. The pursuit was getting close. There was no choice. He climbed into the dumbwaiter and pulled the hatch shut.
The dumbwaiter immediately dropped precipitously down the shaft and crashed to the floor twelve feet below. Relkin rolled clear and came up with a thud against a heavy table.