Magician (31 page)

Borric told them, “This mad dwarf
means to return to the mines.”

Before Kulgan and Arutha could voice a
protest, Dolgan said, “I know it is only a slim hope, but if
the boy has eluded the foul spirit, he’ll be wandering lost and
alone. There are tunnels down there that have never known the tread
of a dwarf’s foot, let alone a boy’s. Once down a
passage, I have no trouble making my way back, but Tomas has no such
natural sense. If I can find his trail, I can find him. If he is to
have any chance of escaping the mines, he’ll be needing my
guidance. I’ll bring home the boy if he lives, on this you have
the word of Dolgan Tagarson, chief of village Caldara. I could not
rest in my long hall this winter if I did not try.”

Pug was roused from his lethargy by the
dwarf’s words. “Do you think you can find him, Dolgan?”

“If any can, I can,” he
said. He leaned close to Pug “Do not get your hopes too high,
for it is unlikely that Tomas eluded the wraith. I would do you a
disservice if I said otherwise, boy.” Seeing the tears brimming
in Pug’s eyes again, he quickly added, “But if there is a
way, I shall find it.”

Pug nodded, seeking a middle path
between desolation and renewed hope. He understood the admonition,
but still could not give up the faint flicker of comfort Dolgan’s
undertaking would provide.

Dolgan crossed over to where his shield
and ax lay and picked them up. “When the dawn comes, quickly
follow the trail down the hills through the woodlands. While not the
Green Heart, this place has menace aplenty for so small a band. If
you lose your way, head due east. You’ll find your way to the
road to Bordon. From there it is a matter of three days’ walk.
May the gods protect you.”

Borric nodded, and Kulgan walked over
to where the dwarf made ready to leave. He handed Dolgan a pouch. “I
can get more tabac in the town, friend dwarf Please take this.”

Dolgan took it and smiled at Kulgan.
“Thank you, magician I am in your debt.”

Borric came to stand before the dwarf
and place a hand on his shoulder. “It is we who are in your
debt, Dolgan. If you come to Crydee, we will have that meal you were
promised. That, and more. May good fortune go with you.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship. I’ll
look forward to it.” Without another word, Dolgan walked into
the blackness of Mac Mordain Cadal.

Dolgan stopped by the dead mules,
pausing only long enough to pick up food, water, and a lantern. The
dwarf needed no light to make his way underground—his people
had long ago adapted other senses for the darkness. But, he thought,
it will increase the chances of finding Tomas if the boy can see the
light, no matter the risk of attracting unwelcome attention. Assuming
he is still alive, he added grimly.

Entering the tunnel where he had last
seen Tomas, Dolgan searched about for signs of the boy’s
passing. The dust was thin, but here and there he could make out a
slight disturbance, perhaps a footprint Following, the dwarf came to
even dustier passages, where the boy’s footfalls were clearly
marked. Hurrying, he followed them.

Dolgan came back to the same cavern,
after a few minutes, and cursed.

He felt little hope of finding the
boy’s tracks again among all the disturbance caused by the
fight with the wraith. Pausing briefly, he set out to examine each
tunnel leading out of the cavern for signs. After an hour he found a
single footprint heading away from the cavern, through a tunnel to
the right of where he had entered the first time. Moving up it, he
found several more prints, set wide apart, and decided the boy must
have been running. Hurrying on, he saw more tracks, as the passage
became dustier.

Dolgan came to the cavern on the lake
and nearly lost the trail again, until he saw the tunnel near the
edge of the landing. He slogged through the water, pulling himself up
into the passage, and saw Tomas’s tracks. His faint lantern
light was insufficient to illuminate the crystals in the cavern. But
even if it had, he would not have paused to admire the sight, so
intent was he on finding the boy.

Downward he followed, never resting. He
knew that Tomas had long before outdistanced the wraith. There were
signs that most of his journey was at a slower pace: footprints in
the dust showed he had been walking, and the cold campfire showed he
had stopped. But there were other terrors besides the wraith down
here, just as dreadful.

Dolgan again lost the trail in the last
cavern, finding it only when he spied the ledge above where the
tracks ended. He had difficulty climbing to it, but when he did, he
saw the blackened spot where the boy had snuffed out his torch. Here
Tomas must have rested. Dolgan looked around the empty cavern. The
air did not move this deep below the mountains. Even the dwarf, who
was used to such things, found this an unnerving place. He looked
down at the black mark on the ledge. But how long did Tomas stay, and
where did he go?

Dolgan saw the hole in the wall and,
since no tracks led away from the ledge, decided that was the way
Tomas must have gone. He climbed through and followed the passage
until it came to a larger one, heading downward, into the bowels of
the mountain.

Dolgan followed what seemed to be a
group of tracks, as if a band of men had come this way. Tomas’s
tracks were mixed in, and he was worried, for the boy could have been
along this way before or after the others, or could have been with
them. If the boy was held prisoner by someone, then Dolgan knew every
moment was critical.

The tunnel wound downward and soon
changed into a hall fashioned from great stone blocks fitted closely
together and polished smooth. In all his years he had never seen its
like. The passage leveled out, and Dolgan walked along quietly. The
tracks had vanished, for the stone was hard and free of dust. High
overhead, Dolgan could make out the first of several crystal
chandeliers hung from the ceiling by chains. They could be lowered by
means of a pulley, so the candles might be lit. The sound of his
boots echoed hollowly off the high ceiling.

At the far end of the passage he spied
large doors, fashioned from wood, with bands of iron and a great
lock. They were ajar, and light could be seen coming through.

Without a sound, Dolgan crept close to
the doors and peered in. He gaped at what he saw, his shield and ax
coming up instinctively.

Sitting on a pile of gold coins, and
gems the size of a man’s fist, was Tomas, eating what looked to
be a fish. Opposite him crouched a figure that caused Dolgan to doubt
his eyes.

A head the size of a small wagon rested
on the floor. Shield-size scales of a deep golden color covered it,
and the long, supple neck led back to a huge body extending into the
gloom of the giant hall. Enormous wings were folded across its back,
their drooping tips touching the floor. Two pointed ears sat atop its
head, separated by a delicate-looking crest, flecked with silver. Its
long muzzle was set in a wolflike grin, showing fangs as long as
broadswords, and a long forked tongue flicked out for a moment.

Dolgan fought down the overwhelming and
rare urge to run, for Tomas was sitting, and to all appearances
sharing a meal, with the dwarven folk’s most feared hereditary
enemy: a great dragon. He stepped forward, and his boots clacked on
the stone floor.

Tomas turned at the sound, and the
dragon’s great head came up. Giant ruby eyes regarded the small
intruder Tomas jumped to his feet, an expression of joy upon his
face. “Dolgan!” He scrambled down from the pile of wealth
and rushed to the dwarf.

The dragon’s voice rumbled
through the great hall, echoing like thunder through a valley.
“Welcome, dwarf. Thy friend hath told me that thou wouldst not
forsake him.”

Tomas stood before the dwarf, asking a
dozen questions, while Dolgan’s senses reeled. Behind the boy,
the Prince of all dragons sat quietlv observing the exchange, and the
dwarf was having trouble maintaining the equanimity that was normally
his. Making little sense of Tomas’s questions, Dolgan gently
pushed him to one side to better see the dragon. “I came
alone,” he said softly to the boy “The others were loath
to leave the search to me, but they had to press on, so vital was the
mission.”

Tomas said, “I understand.”

“What manner of wizardry is
this?” asked Dolgan softly.

The dragon chuckled, and the room
rumbled with the sound. “Come into my home, dwarf, and I will
tell thee.” The great dragon’s head returned to the
floor, his eyes still resting above Dolgan’s head. The dwarf
approached slowly, shield and ax unconsciously at the ready. The
dragon laughed, a deep, echoing sound, like water cascading down a
canyon “Stay thy hand, small warrior, I’ll not harm thee
or thy friend.”

Dolgan let his shield down and hung his
ax on his belt. He looked around and saw that they were standing in a
vast hall, fashioned out of the living rock of the mountain. On all
its walls could be seen large tapestries and banners, faded and torn;
something about their look set Dolgan’s teeth on edge, for they
were as alien as they were ancient—no creature he knew of,
human, elf, or goblin fashioned those pennants. More of the giant
crystal chandeliers hung from timbers across the ceiling. At the far
end of the hall, a throne could be seen on a dais, and long tables
with chairs for many diners stood before it Upon the tables were
flagons of crystal and plates of gold. And all was covered with the
dust of ages.

Elsewhere in the hall lay piles of
wealth: gold, gems, crowns, silver, rich armor, bolts of rare cloth,
and carved chests of precious woods, fitted with inlaid enamels of
great craft.

Dolgan sat upon a lifetime’s
riches of gold, absently moving it around to make as comfortable a
seat as was possible. Tomas sat next to him as the dwarf pulled out
his pipe. He didn’t show it, but he felt the need to calm
himself, and his pipe always soothed his nerves. He lit a taper from
his lantern and struck it to his pipe. The dragon watched him, then
said, “Canst thou now breathe fire and smoke, dwarf? Art thou
the new dragon? Hath ever a dragon been so small?”

Dolgan shook his head. “ ‘Tis
but my pipe .” He explained the use of tabac.

The dragon said, “This is a
strange thing, but thine are a strange folk, in truth.”

Dolgan cocked a brow at this but said
nothing. “Tomas, how did you come to this place?”

Tomas seemed unmindful of the dragon,
and Dolgan found this reassuring. If the great beast had wished to
harm them, he could have done so with little effort. Dragons were
undisputedly the mightiest creatures on Midkemia. And this was the
mightiest dragon Dolgan had heard of, half again the size of those he
had fought in his youth.

Tomas finished the fish he had been
eating and said, “I wandered for a long time and came to a
place where I could sleep.”

“Aye, I found it.”

“I awoke at the sound of
something and found tracks that led here.”

“Those I saw also. I was afraid
you had been taken.”

“I wasn’t. It was a party
of goblins and a few Dark Brothers, coming to this place. They were
very concerned about what was ahead and didn’t pay attention to
what was behind, so I could follow fairly close.”

“That was a dangerous thing to
do.”

“I know, but I was desperate for
a way out. I thought they might lead me to the surface, and I could
wait while they went on ahead, then slip out. If I could get out of
the mines, I could have headed north toward your village.”

“A bold plan, Tomas,” said
Dolgan, an approving look in his eyes.

“They came to this place, and I
followed.”

“What happened to them?”

The dragon spoke. “I sent them
far away, dwarf, for they were not company I would choose.”

“Sent them away? How?”

The dragon raised his head a little,
and Dolgan could see that his scales were faded and dull in places.
The red eyes were filmed over slightly, and suddenly Dolgan knew the
dragon was blind.

“The dragons have long had magic,
though it is unlike any other. It is by my arts that I can see thee,
dwarf, for the light hath long been denied me. I took the foul
creatures and sent them far to the north. They do not know how they
came to that place, nor remember this place.”

Dolgan puffed on his pipe, thinking of
what he was hearing. “In the tales of my people, there are
legends of dragon magicians, though you are the first I have seen.”

The dragon lowered his head to the
floor slowly, as if tired. “For I am one of the last of the
golden dragons, dwarf, and none of the lesser dragons have the art of
sorcery. I have sworn never to take a life, but I would not have
their kind invade my resting place.”

Tomas spoke up. “Rhuagh has been
kind to me, Dolgan. He let me stay until you found me, for he knew
that someone was coming.”

Dolgan looked at the dragon, wondering
at his foretelling.

Tomas continued, “He gave me some
smoked fish to eat, and a place to rest.”

“Smoked fish?”

The dragon said, “The kobolds,
those thou knowest as gnomes, worship me as a god and bring me
offerings, fish caught in the deep lake and smoked, and treasure
gleaned from deeper halls.”

“Aye,” said Dolgan, “gnomes
have never been known for being overly bright.”

The dragon chuckled. “True. The
kobolds are shy and harm only those who trouble them in their deep
tunnels. They are a simple folk, and it pleaseth them to have a god.
As I am not able to hunt, it is an agreeable arrangement.”

Dolgan considered his next question. “I
mean no disrespect, Rhuagh, but it has ever been my experience with
dragons that you have little love for others not your own kind. Why
have you aided the boy?”

The dragon closed his eyes for a
moment, then opened them again to stare blankly toward the dwarf
“Know this, dwarf, that such was not always the way of it. Thy
people are old, but mine are the oldest of all, save one. We were
here before the elves and the moredhel. We served those whose names
may not be spoken, and were a happy people.”