The Rage (8 page)

“You’re cut bad,” Will said, “but Pavel will fix you up. We just have to reach him.”

Dorn heaved himself to his feet. The world spun for a second, but he found his balance.

“We’ve still got dragons to kill,” the half-golem said.

“Don’t be a jackass,” said Will. “We’re in no shape for another fight, and we barely have any men left. When the bugs swarmed on us, half of them ran off in the wrong direction.”

“Listen to him,” Kara said. “You saved some of the townsfolk at least. Now it’s time to save yourselves.”

“All right,” Dorn said as he turned to the militiamen. “We’re done fighting. Drag yonder imbeciles out of Tyr’s house and chivvy them out of town. Hide in the Flooded Forest if you think it wise. It’s probably as safe as anyplace, now that the wyrms have passed through.”

“Right,” an archer said, “and thanks.”

Dorn turned to Kara and said, “Stick with us if you want.”

The hunters had agreed that once they’d done what they could to help the folk of Ylraphon, they’d rendezvous at the harbor, where Will had appropriated and hidden a skiff to use in their own escape. Alternately creeping and scurrying, he, the bard, and Dorn made it close enough to catch a whiff of saltwater. For folk who’d spent their last while breathing air tinged with acidic dragon breath, the smell was as sweet as nectar, sweet as the hope of actually making it out of the settlement alive. Dorn filled his lungs, and another drake crawled into the street just a few yards behind them.

It was the biggest yet, larger than any building in town, an immense, lumpish, wingless thing with webbed claws and a mottled hide. Its head snapped around toward Dorn and his companions, the pale yellow eyes shone, and the three allies froze. The landwyrm, as such reptiles were called, crawled in their direction.

Dorn still understood what was happening, and that he, Will, and Kara were all going to die if he didn’t do something about it. But he couldn’t, as if the dragon’s gaze had severed some essential link between his mind and his limbs.

Then Kara sang three vibrant words, and the paralysis was gone. His was, anyway. When he looked down, Will still stood slack-jawed and trembling. In desperation, he grabbed the halfling’s injured arm and gave it a vicious jerk.

Will yelped. “Ow! Demons take you, you oaf!”

Dom spun back toward the swamp-dwelling landwyrm. It was close, so close it seemed to fill the world.

“I have a few songs left,” Kara said. “I’ll hold it here while—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dorn snarled.

He grabbed her and manhandled her into an alley. Will scurried after them.

They sprinted down the narrow passage, and the dragon pursued, its tread jolting the earth and making them stumble. It advanced with a constant crashing sound, for it was far too huge to negotiate the path, and one could only make headway by plowing through the shacks on either side. That was precisely why Dorn had opted to flee in that direction, but when he glanced over his shoulder, it didn’t look as if the tactic had done any good. Obliterating walls as easily as a man could swipe away a cobweb, the landwyrm was still gaining on its wounded, exhausted prey.

Then, however, it roared. He looked back. The dragon had caught fast between a pair of houses evidently sturdier than the ones it had already destroyed. It threw itself forward, and the buildings shattered, but in so doing strewed heaps of tangled, broken planks around its feet. It took another stride, then slipped and floundered in the litter.

The mishap slowed it down enough for Dorn and his comrades to reach the far end of the alley then bolt down a winding side street. After a time, it became clear the reptile was no longer pursuing them.

“Onward,” panted Dorn.

By the time they reached the rickety little dock, Pavel and Raryn were already in the long, narrow skiff, ready to cast off. It must have surprised them to see Kara, but neither wasted time saying so.

“Hurry,” said the dwarf. “There’s a wyrm just to the south of its. It could turn this way any time”

Dorn, Kara, and Will scrambled aboard, and Raryn shoved off.

“Everybody grab an oar,” the dwarf said.

“My arm’s broken,” said Will.

“The little shirker always has an excuse,” Pavel said. He crouched beside Dorn, inspected his wounds, and frowned in dismay. “I only have one spell left. It’ll just have to hold you until I can pray for more.”

He murmured the sacred words, and his hand glowed as if the bones were made of fire. The healing touch didn’t ease Dorn’s pain or flush away his fatigue, but as with the potion, he assumed it had had some effect. With luck, he wouldn’t go into shock or bleed out. He sat upright on the bench and grabbed a sweep.

“You should rest,” Pavel said.

Dorn shook his head. “We have to get clear.”

They rowed as quietly as they could, out onto the rippling black waters of the Dragon Reach, and Ylraphon, or what remained of it, gradually fell away behind them. First the shanties and wattle huts faded into the murk, and the roars, hisses, crashes, and shrieks dimmed away to nothing.

Raryn lifted his sweep out of the water and said, “We have a little wind. I’m going to raise the sail”

Pavel commenced a prayer, giving thanks for their escape. Dorn reluctantly turned to Kara.

“So,” he said, “you need us to take you to Lyrabar.”

Midwinter, the Year of Rogue Dragons

For worshipers of Lathander, god of the dawn, Midwinter was an important feast, a declaration of faith that in time, warmth and green leaves would return to the frozen north. Accordingly, on that day, Pavel always performed his sunrise rituals with considerable panache. With Kara helping out on the hymns, they were especially evocative. Many of the hard-bitten sailors who’d gathered for the observance watched raptly or even blinked back tears.

For his part, Dorn felt morose and left out. The Morninglord’s message of optimism and fresh beginnings had never seemed relevant to his own bitter trudge from womb to grave. Yet he stood with the rest of the assembly out of respect for his friend, and to give the god his due for granting Pavel the powers he exercised on the band’s behalf.

The ceremony concluded with impeccable timing, the scarlet edge of the sun appearing over the horizon just as Kara reached the climactic notes of the final anthem. Taking it for a good omen, the worshipers cheered. The first mate permitted the crew a final moment of reverence, then started barking orders. The hands scattered to take up their duties, and Dorn wondered how best to pass another cold, tedious day at sea.

Neither he nor any of his comrades was mariner enough to relish the prospect of sailing a small boat all the way down the Dragon Reach and east across the Sea of Fallen Stars, especially in winter. Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that. Two days after their flight from Ylraphon, a merchant galley overtook them, wherenpon they hailed it and negotiated passage.

As usual, the others seemed to enjoy shipboard life. Pavel divided his time between ministering to the crew’s spiritual needs and striving to fleece them at cards. Raryn fished over the side with bow and harpoon, and Will, rather to the sailors’ annoyance, displayed a penchant for climbing to the top of the mast, where he’d perch for hours, taking in the view. But Dorn, who rarely felt much inclination to trivial amusements in any case, had never found any comparable pastimes to divert himself. Maybe, he thought, he should just try to find a quiet spot on deck and see how much of the morning he could sleep away. Then Kara resumed singing, and he lingered to listen.

It wasn’t a sacred song, but the rollicking tale of a goodwife, the clever mouse who filched food from her pantry, and her fanatical efforts to catch the thief—increasingly mad, elaborate schemes that always ended badly. Kara milked every drop of humor from the story, and Dorn realized he was grinning. It made him feel strange, self-conscious, and he scowled the expression away.

Next the bard sang about flying and beholding all the rivers, mountains, forests, and cities of Faerűn spread out beneath her. It was a children’s song, devised to teach them their geography, but no less charming for its pedantic intent. Kara’s sweet, throbbing voice truly conveyed the exultation of soaring like an eagle on the wind.

She’d continued singing on the fo’c’sle, where Pavel had performed his observance. Dorn was loitering just below the elevated deck by the first of the rowers’ benches, vacant since a favorable wind was blowing. He didn’t think she knew he was there, but when she finished, she surprised him by peering down and giving him a smile.

“Sorry,” he said, turning to go aft.

She laughed and said, “You don’t have to slink away. Do you think you were eavesdropping on something you weren’t meant to hear? Everyone on board could hear, or at least I hope so. Otherwise my voice has grown puny.”

“Still….” he said, and started to limp away, the timbers groaning beneath his iron foot.

“It saddens me that you dislike me.”

Dorn thought it would be better simply to ignore her, but for some reason, he turned back around and said, “You’re mistaken.”

Kara descended the steep little companionway.

“You didn’t want to escort me to Lyrabar when I first asked,” she said, “and you’d still rather not. It’s just that after helped you, you felt an obligation. Even though you saved me first, when the ratmen wanted to kill me.”

“My refusal wasn’t based on dislike. It was just that you smelled like trouble, because you kept things back…. things you still haven’t told us. Raryn and Pavel had the same worries.”

“But they also liked the shimmer of my jewels. Ultimately, they looked to you to decide, and you said no. Was it because you dislike all women?”

“Of course not.”

“I suspect,” Kara murmured, “you avoid women because you fear they find you ugly, and that pains you.”

She was exactly right, and pretty ones bothered him the worst. Saying so, however, would only encourage her to keep on chattering, and that was the last thing he wanted. Though he still couldn’t quite muster the rudeness to tramp away.

I’ve been ugly for a long time,” he said. “I’m used to it.”

“How did it happen?”

None of your business, was what he thought he should have said.

“My parents were the indentured servants of a wizard in Hillsfar,” Dorn replied instead. “When I was nine, he sent them on an errand to Yulash. They took me along. Bad luck for all of us. We wandered right into the path of a dragon flight, reds out of the mountains to the west. One of them spotted our wagon and tore us apart. It ate my mother and father and my severed arm and leg, too, but then it flew away. I guess it wasn’t quite hungry enough to finish me.

“Well, I would have bled out soon enough, except that the mage knew a spell for jumping from place to place in an instant. I guess he also had a way of keeping track of us, maybe to make sure we wouldn’t run away. At any rate, he knew when the drake attacked, though he had better sense than to come immediately and encounter the creature himself. He waited until it cleared off. But then he showed up to salvage as much of his property as possible.”

“Property,” Kara repeated. “Meaning you?”

“Partly. My parents still owed him many years of service. By the laws of Hillsfar, if they couldn’t pay the debt, it became their child’s responsibility. The wizard just had to figure out a way to turn a one-armed, one-legged cripple into something useful.”

“So he made you a pair of enchanted iron limbs.”

“Several pairs before he was done. I was still a child, remember. Whenever I outgrew a set, he had to slice it off and graft on a new one.”

And weeping Ilmater, it had hurt.

“Then he invested a fortune in conjuring time and spell components to make you as you are,” said Kara. The bard’s tone was matter-of-fact. Perhaps she sensed he wouldn’t welcome a show of pity. “Either he loved you, or he saw a way of making a great deal of gold from you. From the way you speak of him, I gather it was the latter.”

“In Hillsfar, they’re mad for the arena. People wager huge sums on the fights. As the mage once told me, he’d already picked me out as a likely gladiator, because I used to get in a lot of fights with other boys, and would take any stupid dare they tossed my way. He figured that with iron claws, I’d fare even better, so he fitted me out and found me a trainer. The teacher decided I’d do best as a bestiarius, a killer of wild animals and abominations, so he steered me in that direction. Before long, he declared me ready for my first match. When the spectators saw I was still a stripling, they gave long odds against me. The mage cleaned up.”

She shook her head and whispered, “To force a child to battle for his life…”

“Well, I liked the fighting,” he said with a crooked smile. “What I didn’t like was doing it on command to enrich somebody else. Unfortunately, it took years before I could make a change. It’s not easy to murder a wizard if he’s cautious. But eventually I found a way, then fled the city.”

“I wouldn’t call it murder.”

Dorn shrugged and said, “You can probably guess the rest of the tale. Once I was free, I had to earn a living, and slaughtering beasts was the only thing I knew. So I set up shop as a hunter for hire. It wasn’t long before I figured out that being able to kill a creature did no good if I couldn’t find it, so I joined forces with a tracker. After one or the other of us got mauled a few times, we decided we needed a healer. A couple years later, we met Will and realized he’d make a useful addition, too. And here the four of us are”

“Plying a trade that lets you slay dragons.”

“I don’t deny hating them. In my place, wouldn’t you? I hunt for coin, I’ll bring down any brute a client wants dead, but it does please me when the quarry’s a drake”

“Any drake?” she asked.

Behind her, the sky was brightening. The sun floated round and complete above the hills on the eastern shore.

“You mean, have I ever gone after one of the metal-colored variety? The ones people claim are kindly and wise? No, but only because nobody ever hired me to. A wyrm’s a wyrm to me”

“You know, hate can be as cruel a master as the one you left behind in Hillsfar.”