Magician (32 page)

“The Dragon Lords?”

“So your legends call them. They
were our masters, and we were their servants, as were the elves and
the moredhel. When they left this land, on a journey beyond
imagining, we became the most powerful of the free people, in a time
before the dwarves or men came to these lands. Ours was a dominion
over the skies and all things, for we were mighty beyond any other.

“Ages ago, men and dwarves came
to our mountains, and for a time we lived in peace. But ways change,
and soon strife came. The elves drove the moredhel from the forest
now called Elvandar, and men and dwarves warred with dragons.

“We were strong, but humans are
like the trees of the forest, their numbers uncountable. Slowly my
people fled to the south, and I am the last in these mountains. I
have lived here for ages, for I would not forsake my home.

“By magic I could turn away those
who sought this treasure, and kill those whose arts foiled my
clouding of their minds. I sickened of the killing and vowed to take
no more lives, even those as hateful as the moredhel. That is why I
sent them far, and why I aided the boy, for he is undeserving of
harm.”

Dolgan studied the dragon. “I
thank you, Rhuagh.”

“Thy thanks are welcome, Dolgan
of the Grey Towers. I am glad of thy coming also. It is only a little
longer that I could shelter the boy, for I summoned Tomas to my side
by magic arts, so he might sit my death-watch.”

“What?” exclaimed Tomas.

“It is given to dragons to know
the hour of their death, Tomas, and mine is close. I am old, even by
the measure of my people, and have led a full life. I am content for
it to be so. It is our way.”

Dolgan looked troubled. “Still, I
find it strange to sit here hearing you speak of this.”

“Why, dwarf? Is it not true with
thine own people that when one dieth, it is accounted how well he
lived, rather than how long?”

“You have the truth of that.”

“Then why should it matter if the
death hour is known or not? It is still the same. I have had all that
one of my kind could hope for: health, mates, young, riches, and
rest. These are all I have ever wanted, and I have had them.”

“ ‘Tis a wise thing to know
what is wanted, and wiser still to know when ‘tis achieved,”
said Dolgan.

“True. And still wiser to know
when it is unachievable, for then striving is folly. It is the way of
my people to sit the deathwatch, but there are none of my kind near
enough to call. I would ask thee to wait for my passing before thy
leaving. Wilt thou?”

Dolgan looked at Tomas, who bobbed his
head in agreement. “Aye, dragon, we will, though it is not a
thing to gladden our hearts.”

The dragon closed his eyes; Tomas and
Dolgan could see they were beginning to swell shut. “Thanks to
thee, Dolgan, and to thee, Tomas.”

The dragon lay there and spoke to them
of his life, flying the skies of Midkemia, of far lands where tigers
lived in cities, and mountains where eagles could speak. Tales of
wonder and awe were told, long into the night.

When his voice began to falter, Rhuagh
said, “Once a man came to this place, a magician of mighty
arts. He could not be turned from this place by my magic, nor could I
slay him. For three days we battled, his arts against mine, and when
done, he had bested me. I thought he would slay me and carry off my
riches, but instead he stayed, for his only thought was to learn my
magic, so that it would not be lost when I passed.”

Tomas sat in wonder, for as little as
he knew about magic from Pug, he thought this a marvelous thing In
his mind’s eye he could see the titanic struggle and the great
powers working.

“With him he had a strange
creature, much like a goblin, though upright, and with features of
finer aspect. For three years he stayed with me, while his servant
came and went. He learned all I could teach, for I could deny him
not. But he taught as well, and his wisdom gave me great comfort. It
was because of him that I learned to respect life, no matter how mean
of character, and vowed to spare any that came to me. He also had
suffered at the hands of others, as I had in the wars with men, for
much that I cherished was lost. This man had the art of healing the
wounds of the heart and mind, and when he left, I felt the victor,
not the vanquished.” He paused and swallowed, and Tomas could
see that speech was coming to him with more difficulty. “If a
dragon could not have attended my deathwatch, I would as soon have
him sit here, for he was the first of thy kind, boy, that I would
count a friend.”

“Who was he, Rhuagh?” Tomas
asked.

“He was called Macros.”

Dolgan looked thoughtful. “I’ve
heard his name, a magician of most puissant arts. He is nearly a
myth, having lived somewhere to the east.”

“A myth he is not, Dolgan,”
said Rhuagh, thickly. “Still, it may be that he is dead, for he
dwelt with me ages ago.” The dragon paused “My time is
now close, so I must finish I would ask a boon of thee, dwarf.”
He moved his head slightly and said, “In yon box is a gift from
the mage, to be used at this time. It is a rod fashioned of magic.
Macros left it so that when I die no bones will be left for
scavengers to pick over. Wilt thou bring it here?”

Dolgan went to the indicated chest. He
opened it to discover a black metal rod lying upon a blue velvet
cloth. He picked up the rod and found it surprisingly heavy for its
size. He carried it over to the dragon.

The dragon spoke, his words nearly
unintelligible, for his tongue was swollen. “In a moment, touch
the rod to me, Dolgan, for then will I end.”

“Aye,” said Dolgan, “though
it will give me scant pleasure to see your end, dragon.”

“Before that I have one last
thing to tell. In a box next to the other is a gift for thee, dwarf.
Thou mayest take whatever else here pleaseth thee, for I will have no
use for any of it. But of all in this hall, that in the box is what I
wish thee to have.” He tried to move his head toward Tomas, but
could not. “Tomas, thanks to thee, for spending my last with
me. In the box with the dwarf’s gift is one for you. Take
whatever else pleaseth thee, also, for thy heart is good.” He
drew a deep breath, and Tomas could hear it rattle in his throat.
“Now, Dolgan.”

Dolgan extended the rod and lightly
touched the dragon on the head with it. At first nothing happened.
Rhuagh said softly, “It was Macros’s last gift.”

Suddenly a soft golden light began to
form around the dragon. A faint humming could be heard, as if the
walls of the hall reverberated with fey music. The sound increased as
the light grew brighter and began to pulse with energy. Tomas and
Dolgan watched as the discolored patches faded from Rhuagh’s
scales. His hide shone with golden sparkle, and the film started to
lift from his eyes. He slowly raised his head, and they knew he could
again see the hall around him. His crest stood erect, and his wings
lifted, showing the rich silver sheen underneath. The yellowed teeth
became brilliant white, and his faded black claws shone like polished
ebony as he stood upright, lifting his head high.

Dolgan said softly, “Tis the
grandest sight I’ve ever beheld.”

Slowly the light grew in intensity as
Rhuagh returned to the image of his youthful power. He pulled himself
to his full, impressive height, his crest dancing with silver lights.
The dragon threw back his head, a youthful, vigorous motion, and with
a shout of joy sent a powerful blast of flame up to the high vaulted
ceiling. With a roar like a hundred trumpets he shouted, “I
thank thee, Macros. It is a princely gift indeed.”

Then the strangely harmonic thrumming
changed in tone, becoming more insistent, louder. For a brief instant
both Dolgan and Tomas thought a voice could be heard among the
pulsing tones, a deep, hollow echo saying, “You are welcome,
friend.”

Tomas felt wetness on his face, and
touched it. Tears of joy from the dragon’s sheer beauty were
running down his cheeks. The dragon’s great golden wings
unfolded, as if he were about to launch himself in flight. The
shimmering light became so bright, Tomas and Dolgan could barely
stand to look, though they could not pull their eyes from the
spectacle. The sound in the room grew to a pitch so loud, dust fell
from the ceiling upon their heads, and they could feel the floor
shake. The dragon launched himself upward, wings extended, then
vanished in a blinding flash of cold white light. Suddenly the room
was as it had been and the sound was gone.

The emptiness in the cavern felt
oppressive after the dragon vanished, and Tomas looked at the dwarf
“Let’s leave, Dolgan. I have little wish to stay.”

Dolgan looked thoughtful. “Aye,
Tomas, I also have little desire to stay. Still, there is the matter
of the dragon’s gifts.” He crossed over to the box the
dragon had identified and opened it.

Dolgan’s eyes became round as he
reached in and pulled out a dwarven hammer. He held it out before
himself and looked upon it with reverence. The head was made from a
silver metal that shone in the lantern light with bluish highlights.
Across the side were carved dwarven symbols. The haft was carved oak,
with scrollwork running the length. It was polished, and the deep
rich gram showed through the finish Dolgan said, faintly, “Tis
the Hammer of Tholin. Long removed from my people. Its return will
cause rejoicing in every dwarven long hall throughout the West. It is
the symbol of our last king, lost ages ago.”

Tomas came over to watch and saw
something else in the box. He reached past Dolgan and pulled out a
large bundle of white cloth. He unrolled it and found that the cloth
was a tabard of white, with a golden dragon emblazoned on the front.
Inside were a shield with the same device and a golden helm. Most
marvelous of all was a golden sword with a white hilt. Its scabbard
was fashioned from a smooth white material like ivory, but stronger,
like metal. Beneath the bundle lay a coat of golden chain mail, which
he removed with an “Oh!” of wonder.

Dolgan watched him and said, “Take
them, boy. The dragon said it was your gift.”

“They are much too fine for me,
Dolgan. They belong to a prince or a king.”

“I’m thinking the previous
owner has scant use for them, laddie. They were freely given, and you
may do what you will, but I think that there is something special to
them, or else they wouldn’t have been placed in the box with
the hammer. Tholin’s hammer is a weapon of power, forged in the
ancient hearths of the Mac Cadman Alair, the oldest mine in these
mountains. In it rests magic unsurpassed in the history of the
dwarves. It is likely the gilded armor and sword are also such. It
may be there is a purpose in their coming to you.”

Tomas thought for a moment, then
quickly pulled off his great cloak. His tunic was no gambeson, but
the golden mail went over it easily enough, being fashioned for
someone of larger stature. He pulled the tabard over it and put the
helm upon his head. Picking up the sword and shield, he stood before
Dolgan. “Do I look foolish?”

The dwarf regarded him closely “They
are a bit large, but you’ll grow into them, no doubt.” He
thought he saw something in the way the boy stood and held the sword
in one hand and the shield in the other. “No, Tomas, you do not
look foolish. Perhaps not at ease, but not foolish. They are grand,
and you will come to wear them as they were meant to be worn, I
think.”

Tomas nodded, picked up his cloak, and
turned toward the door, putting up his sword. The armor was
surprisingly light, much lighter than what he had worn at Crydee. The
boy said, “I don’t feel like taking anything else,
Dolgan. I suppose that sounds strange.”

Dolgan walked over to him. “No,
boy, for I also wish nothing of the dragon’s riches.”
With a backward glance at the hall, he added, “Though there
will be nights to come when I will wonder at the wisdom of that. I
may return someday, but I doubt it. Now let us find a way home.”
They set off and soon were in tunnels Dolgan knew well, taking them
to the surface.

Dolgan gripped Tomas’s arm in
silent warning. The boy knew enough not to speak. He also felt the
same alarm he had experienced just before the wraith had attacked the
day before. But this time it was almost physically felt. The undead
creature was near. Putting down the lantern, Tomas shuttered it. His
eyes widened in sudden astonishment, for instead of the expected
blackness, he saw faintly the figure of the dwarf moving slowly
forward. Without thought he said, “Dolgan—”

The dwarf turned, and suddenly a black
form loomed up at his back “Behind you!” shouted Tomas.

Dolgan spun to confront the wraith,
instinctively bringing up his shield and Tholin’s hammer. The
undead creature struck at the dwarf, and only Dolgan’s
battle-trained reflexes and dwarven ability to sense movement in the
inky darkness saved him, for he took the contact on his iron-bosked
shield. The creature howled in rage at the contact with iron. Then
Dolgan lashed out with the legendary weapon of his ancestors, and the
creature screamed as the hammer struck its form. Blue-green light
sprang about the head of the hammer, and the creature retreated,
wailing in agony.

“Stay behind me,” shouted
Dolgan. “If iron irritates it, then Tholin’s hammer pains
it. I may be able to drive it off.”

Tomas began to obey the dwarf, then
found his right hand crossing to pull the golden sword free of the
scabbard on his left hip Suddenly the ill-fitting armor seemed to
settle more comfortably around his shoulders, and the shield balanced
upon his arm as if he had carried it for years. Without volition of
his own, Tomas moved behind Dolgan, then stepped past, bringing the
golden sword to the ready.

The creature seemed to hesitate, then
moved toward Tomas. Tomas raised his sword, readying to strike. With
a sound of utter terror, the wraith turned and fled. Dolgan glanced
at Tomas, and something he saw made him hesitate as Tomas seemed to
come to an awareness of himself and put up his sword.