Here There Be Dragons Part 11

"No," Deanna said, easing his fears. "We were looking for him."

Riker tapped the hilt of his sword. "I had a message for him. The person who died in his house wasn't this Hagan. It was a companion of ours. Hagan killed him."

"He got away?" The old man made the sign of the cross. "Then he'll loose demons on the town." He was clearly frightened of the power of the supposed sorcerer.

"Not if we find him," Riker promised. "Do you have any idea where the sc.u.m might have fled?" He took a sip of his wine. It was bitter but drinkable. If this was the house's best, he was glad he wasn't drinking the vin ordinaire. Another coin appeared in his hand. He could afford to be generous with Hagan's money.

The eyes of the men widened. Their informant leaned forward eagerly. "He has a boat down in the docks. Never seems to go out in it. It rides low in the water, so it must be well loaded, probably with the Devil's own wares."

"Could you show me how to find it?" Riker asked.

The man eyed the coin but hesitated. He was clearly afraid to go anywhere near the boat, but he also badly wanted the money. His indecision finally resolved itself. "I won't need to get too close?"

"Just close enough to point at it."

"When?"

Riker smiled. "When you've finished your drink." He picked up the bottle and handed it across to the other men. "And perhaps your friends would like to finish the rest of this." It was s.n.a.t.c.hed eagerly from his hands and shared out. Things were going well. The chances were that this boat was Hagan's bolt-hole. He'd have gone there from the shop, to warn his fellow conspirators. It might just provide them some clue as to the location of the ringleaders of the gang. By the sound of things, it no doubt contained off-world technology forbidden under the Prime Directive.

When their informant had finished his wine, he led them back into the street. Riker noticed that it was still light, though it had to be quite late in the evening by now. He wondered briefly if the town stayed open all the time. Without a true night, how did the locals adapt to sleep cycles? Perhaps as they did on the Enterprise, a.s.signing times of the day to work and sleep? Riker shrugged mentally: It hardly mattered at the moment.

The old man hesitated. "You're sure I won't have to get too close?"

"Quite certain. Just lead me to Hagan."

"There's no need to go to any trouble."

Riker, Deanna, and the old man spun around. At the next intersection stood the black-garbed magician. He was leaning on his cane, staring at them with an intense, unwavering gaze. Grouped about him were four men, all with drawn swords and nasty smiles plastered on their faces.

"It looks as if you won't have to get any closer than this to his boat," Riker murmured. He flicked the old man the coin, then drew his own sword. The informant fled back into the tavern. Riker moved into the center of the street, protecting Deanna. "You want to surrender now?" he offered. "You might get a lighter sentence."

"Your consideration touches me," Hagan mocked. "But I think I'd prefer to kill you." He gave a jerk of his head and the four thugs moved forward.

Chapter Fourteen.

"IT LOOKS AS IF I owe Worf an apology," Riker murmured. That simulation on the holodeck might prove to be useful, after all. And no matter how good these men might be with the swords, they were hardly likely to be on the level of 'tcharian warriors. He fell into an easy stance, scanning his advancing opponents. They all looked as if they'd done this sort of thing before. Professional killers, Riker realized. He hated to kill anyone himself, but in a fight like this he might not be able to avoid it.

The first of the four men was the most impatient. He had a cold, arrogant air about him, and he obviously believed he could take Riker on without aid. He flickered his sword around in pretty patterns that looked impressive to a novice. Riker was not impressed: such playing about couldn't get anywhere near him. He held his own sword in a deceptively casual manner.

Then the man darted in, thrusting with his blade. Riker moved slightly, parrying the thrust and twisting the blade away from his chest. The a.s.sa.s.sin grinned slightly, danced back out of the range of a counter-thrust, spun his sword, and slashed downward. Riker whirled, bringing his own sword up to block the force of the blow. Sparks flew as the blades clashed. The man tried to push past Riker's guard through sheer brute force, but Riker was prepared. As the man pushed, he dropped the point of his sword so that the other's blade screeched down the length of his own. The man's own thrust had brought him in close. Riker slammed the hilt of his sword up, catching the unbalanced man in the face with the pommel. Blood welled up as the blow slashed the a.s.sa.s.sin's cheek almost to his eye. With a scream the man staggered back. Riker kicked him in the stomach to help him on his way.

Two of the remaining three men closed in from opposing sides. With their colleague no longer blocking them, they nodded to each other and attacked at the same time. Riker fell back a pace, whipping his sword in wide arcs to prevent their advancing. The man on the left thrust, forcing Riker to parry the blow with his own blade. The man on the right then plunged in before Riker could turn to fend him off.

Deanna jumped in, throwing the silly hat she'd been wearing directly into his face. The attacker threw up his hand, blocking Riker from his view. Riker stabbed out quickly with his sword, slashing across the swordsman's arm. The man screamed, dropping his weapon and clutching at his injured arm.

Riker jerked his attention back to the other attacker, who had regained his balance and slashed his sword around in a lethal scything motion. Ducking, Riker felt the blade whip over his shoulder. The man managed to twist his hand as he swung, and the tip of the blade sliced through Riker's cloak and shirt. A sharp pain lanced through his back as the sword cut into his skin. Fighting down the pain, Riker thrust with his sword at the other man. It struck home in the top of the man's thigh. The man howled with pain, staggering aside, unable to stand on his injured leg.

Straightening, Riker fought down the urge to scream himself. Pain lanced through his entire back from the wound he'd received. His vision blurred for a moment as the final a.s.sa.s.sin moved in. The man had been smart, waiting for his fellows to tire or wound Riker. He was still fresh, while his intended victim was trying to ignore his pain. Breathing heavily, Riker tried to move to keep himself covered. This was going to be very tricky.

Hagan had been holding back, hoping that his hired thugs would be able to finish off the two Starfleet officers. It was becoming clear that this now might not happen. It was a good job that he'd brought his phaser cane, then... . He flicked on the arm b.u.t.ton, and then raised his staff. It was dangerous to use an open display of power like this, of course, but he had little option left now.

Deanna saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure what Hagan was up to, but he was clearly readying a weapon of some sort. Stooping, she picked up a fist-size stone from the filthy street and hurled it as accurately as she could and with all of the strength that she could muster.

It hit the fingers that Hagan had wound tightly around his staff. With a cry of pain the sorcerer's grip loosened, and the weapon fell into the stinking mud. There was a hiss of steam as the filthy water leaked into the power cell, then a burst of bright light as the power pack built into the staff discharged.

Then she heard noises approaching, the jingle of metal, and the cries of angry men. Riker heard the same but didn't dare drop his guard to see what was happening. It was clear that more people were heading for the area of the fight. Crouched slightly forward, he waited for the last man to make a move.

To his surprise, the a.s.sa.s.sin backed away. Puzzled, Riker glanced quickly over his shoulder. A group of six or eight armed men were running toward them. Since his opponent looked as if he was making ready to run, Riker a.s.sumed the men would back him up for some reason. As a result, he was unprepared when three of the men ran past him and two more grabbed his arms, preventing him from fighting. The last of his attackers hastily dropped his sword and allowed two of the men to grab him. The other man collared Hagan, who had been trying to recover his staff without electrocuting himself.

Riker looked around, causing his back another jolt of pain. Another man had Deanna gently but firmly by the elbow. Two more stood at attention as a man on horseback rode up. The horse was spooked by the scent of the blood, but the rider calmed it enough to survey the scene.

"You know that there is a public ordinance forbidding street brawling," the man snapped. He was lean and dark, with a pointed, neat beard and angry eyes. "What do you think you were doing?"

"These men attacked my man-at-arms and myself," Deanna said before Hagan could speak. "I believe they were after our money. My man was merely defending himself from their unprovoked attack."

"That's not true!" retorted Hagan. "These two people attacked me in my home and burnt it to the ground. My men and I were attempting to arrest them when they started this brawl."

"Four against one?" Riker laughed. "I'd hardly be the one to provoke such a fight, would I?"

The man on horseback held up his hand. "Enough." He glanced at the three injured men. "You seem to have acquitted yourself pretty well nonetheless," he observed dryly. "But all of you will come with me for the duke's judgment in this matter." He glared at the injured men. "Can you three walk?"

The man Riker had wounded in the groin shook his head slightly. He was pale from the loss of blood and had a wad of cloth pressed against his leg. The other two managed to stumble across to join the squad of soldiers.

The rider sighed and pointed to Hagan. "He's your man. Help him."

"Me?" The sorcerer drew himself up to his full height, glowering. "I am not a serving man. Don't you know who I am?"

"To be frank, I don't much care. And either you help the man or I'll have him killed on the spot for resisting arrest. Take your pick."

Hagan looked for a moment as if he was still going to refuse. Then he saw the looks on the faces of his other men and realized that they would not back his story if he didn't help their wounded friend out. "Very well," he snapped with bad grace. He took the injured man's free arm-ignoring the man's whimper of pain-and slung it over his shoulders.

The guard captain signaled for them to start moving. Deanna fell in beside Riker. Her face mirrored the pain in his own.

"Now what?" he called to the rider.

The man gave him an amused stare. "The duke will have to decide which of you is telling the truth," he replied. "Not that it will make a great deal of difference, really. He distrusts arguments like yours and prefers to get at the facts himself." He smiled nastily. "That generally involves the torture of one or all of the people involved." He glanced over at Deanna. "I rather suspect that he enjoys that part of the trial. It's generally the longest."

Wonderful. They were on their way to a trial by fury. Riker sighed. The one consolation he had was that matters could hardly get worse.

An hour outside of the city the band of slaves was in the hill country. The march continued, following an ill-defined pathway. It was not a difficult journey, except for the fact that the slaves were given no water. Picard's mouth was getting very dry. The eternal sunshine didn't help. In the hills, the cold winds died down, and they were all starting to work up a sweat from the march.

He was tired, too, from the activities of the day. Aside from his drug-induced coma, he'd been without sleep for almost twenty-six hours now. His body was getting more and more urgent in its demands for rest. Picard shut the cries out of his mind for the moment, but there was no telling how much longer he would be able to bear up without a few hours sleep to recover.

The guards watched the men with only a fraction of their attention. None of the slaves could make a break for it, linked together as they were by their chains. The guards all possessed canteens, which they resorted to at frequent intervals.

To take his mind off his aches and pains, Picard said to Kirsch: "Tell me about the dragons. Are they really as dangerous as people say?"

"Hard to be certain," Kirsch muttered back. "Few people survive encounters with them. Once they're on your track, they're implacable. Sometimes they've been killed, though. A few knights make a living by slaying dragons. Most just get themselves killed. The odd thing is that until a few years ago, there really weren't many dragons in these parts."

"Oh?" Picard felt his suspicions stirring. "But now there are?"

"More than there used to be, anyway. They're carnivores, generally preying on the herds of deer that live in the mountains. There's not much down by the sh.o.r.es for them to eat. That's why they go for people, I expect-we're about all the food they can catch down here."

"Interesting. And do you have a theory to explain why they've starting coming down to the plains?"

Kirsch managed a thin grin. "I have a theory for everything, remember? I have a couple in this case. Maybe the herds of deer are dying out, and the dragons need more prey, so they're venturing further afield. Or maybe the dragons have overbred themselves, and some younger dragons have been forced to leave their normal territory."

Picard nodded. Privately, though, he had a theory of his own: The hunters he had come here for were somehow forcing the dragons down toward the towns, in order to make their own hunts simpler. The gang didn't seem to be too bothered about people losing their lives. If this theory was true, then it might solve both of his problems at once. Removing the gang from this planet would stop them from interfering with the dragons. The dragons would return to the hills, where they could live out their natural lives. And the people of the towns would have the pressures of the dragon attacks taken from them.

It was nice and neat-too neat, Picard suspected, for it to work so simply. There had been dragons that attacked humans before the gang came. That danger would continue. It wouldn't be as bad as it currently was, however. Maybe with the removal of at least some of the dragon attacks the local humans would be more inclined to travel and link together. That way it would be possible for them to progress. Or would they simply stay as they had for a thousand years?

With the rest of the slaves, he trudged along wearily.

Ro surveyed her latest accommodations. The cell was stone, like the rest of the castle. There were no windows, which explained the stink. The only ventilation was a small grille in the thick oak door. And that led only into the corridor linking the cells together. As she had been pushed in here, she had seen that there were at least a dozen similar tiny rooms. Some were occupied, a few more had open doors. This duke seemed to have plenty of enemies-at least in the short term. She suspected that few of them lived very long lives.

If she lay down on the floor-which was unlikely in the extreme, given its filthy state-she could have touched both opposing walls. It was only about six feet across and eight tall. There were exactly two points of interest in it. The first was the heavy iron ring set in the wall opposite the door. She had been chained by the right wrist to this with a small padlock. The other was a small hole in the floor in the corner. It was quite clear that this was the toilet facility for the room.

Hardly luxury accommodations. At the same time it wasn't the worst place she'd been in. The Carda.s.sians who had persecuted her and murdered her father had been much more imaginative in their own cells.

Ro had been mercifully left alone here. This was clearly supposed to be a punishment-leaving her in the near-darkness to reflect on her att.i.tude and her possible fate. In fact, Ro was more than happy with this turn of events. In the available light she examined the padlock. A simple enough device, operated by tumblers inside the lock. They had to be triggered and twisted in a set pattern by a key-which, naturally, she had not been given. Still, there were ways around that... .

The tight-fitting dress now proved to be useful after all. It was so obvious that she was hiding nothing that Ro hadn't been searched. She had, in fact, taken a length of wire from the chest in the duke's bedroom. It was clearly intended for some of his games, but Ro had other plans for it. She fished the wire out of the top of her dress-she had threaded it around the neckline, where it had not been seen. Ro carefully bent the wire in the middle and then inserted it into the keyhole of the padlock. She'd not had much practice at escaping from jails these past few years, but it was like swimming. Once learned, the skill never left you. Concentrating carefully, she began probing for the shape of the tumblers.

Barclay was back on duty. He paused and stared at the readings on the Engineering board. Puzzled, he tapped the CONFIRM pattern. The same information presented itself again for his scrutiny. Smoothing back his thinning hair with his hand, Barclay turned to stare at the ma.s.sive engine core. It looked fine, but if these readings were correct, then appearances were definitely deceptive. He started the computer running a swift diagnostic, then tapped his communicator. "Engine room to bridge."

A second later Geordi's voice replied: "La Forge. What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Uh ... I'm getting some strange readings, sir," Barclay replied nervously. "According to my panel here, we're got field disruptions inside the engine pods."

"What?" Geordi's voice suddenly became very alert. "Are you sure about that?"

"No," replied Barclay. "That's why I'm running a computer verification. I just don't see how we could have developed any kind of imbalance in there. Every readout says the equipment is functioning perfectly. Ah, and the computer diagnostic confirms that. But the readings are still showing a microscopic field disruption in both the matter and antimatter pods."

Geordi was definitely sounding worried now. "Are you reading any kind of tachyon dampening?"

Barclay caught the meaning of that question. "None," he replied. "The ... the shields are still holding out the residual effects of the protocloud." He forced his emotions down and concentrated on simply reporting the facts. "This has got to be some new kind of phenomenon that wasn't operating a few minutes ago, sir."

"Get me some answers, Mr. Barclay," Geordi snapped. "And fast. What's causing that imbalance?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I find out," Barclay promised. He turned to the a.s.sistant engineer. "Hinner! Get me a number seventeen probe, and fast!" He ran across to the protective equipment locker and started to pull on one of the shield suits. This was going to be very tricky ... and possibly very, very dangerous.

He tried hard not to think about that aspect of it at all. If there was any other way, he'd avoid what he had in mind. But the only alternative was to wait and see if the ship blew itself apart.

Beverly frowned as she saw the strain on Geordi's face. "What's wrong?"

"Barclay's detected some minute field disruption in the matter and antimatter pods." He jumped to his feet and ran to the Engineering panel on the bridge. "And it's real, all right."

"What does that mean?" asked Beverly, joining him. "I'm a doctor, remember, not a fusion engineer."

"It means," Geordi told her, "that the containment fields that hold the antimatter and matter apart are warping slightly. If the warping increases, the fields could break down. And when the antimatter and matter mix ..."

That much she understood only too well. "Boom. No more Enterprise... . "

Chapter Fifteen.

THE PATHWAY INTO THE MOUNTAINS led through a narrow ravine. The party of slaves moved on, driven by an occasional crack of the whip from the captain. Picard could see no reason for anyone to be punished, so it was clearly sheer sadism on the part of the rider.

Picard struggled on. He was too tired to even try to plan an escape. It was all he could manage simply to place one foot in front of the other and keep going. He had no desire to feel the whip lacerate his back. Behind him, Kirsch seemed to be just as tired and just as determined not to drop.

The eternal daylight didn't help at all. If there had been a chance of nightfall, then the guards might have allowed them to rest. Still, in the mines the men would have no daylight at all. This might be their last glimpse of the world they had known. Picard could believe that no one survived long in the mines. Given these primitive conditions and the lack of care that the guards showed, mining had to be as good as a death penalty on this world.

Would he be able to escape? Picard had to be honest and admit his chances didn't look good. His only real hope at the moment seemed to be to try to stay alive and hope for rescue.

There was a deep booming roar from ahead of them in the valley. Picard glanced up, wondering what could have made the noise. The captain's horse whinnied in panic, rearing and pawing the air. The rider cursed, trying to steady the beast. Terrified, it bucked, throwing him heavily to the ground.

The slaves began turning back, jerking on the chains. The walking guards spun on their heels and broke into desperate sprints.

As the slaves surged back, Picard was dragged along. He saw why they were panicking as he was whirled around by his chains. A huge creature was emerging from the rocks ahead.

The monster was huge, some sixty feet long and about eighteen tall. Its body was green and brown mottled, with leathery, armorlike skin. The head was long and pointed. It gave another of the deep, booming roars, and Picard caught a glimpse of large, serrated teeth and a gaping maw. Behind the large eyes that centered on the fleeing men, a bony ridge ran across the dragon's head and down its back. The immense legs were all equipped with large claws. The long, sinuous tail ended in twin spikes.

The men were all panicking, unable to work together as this monster pursued them. Miles stumbled and fell. He was trampled as the other slaves rushed on, but he dragged down several more men. The line collapsed into a thrashing ma.s.s of arms and legs. Picard didn't get a chance to see if Miles was in need of help. He felt his feet knocked from under him, and he fell heavily to the rocky ground. A pain lanced through his left shoulder, then someone fell across his legs, trapping him. He tried to pull himself free, but the terrified slaves were not cooperating. Screaming and trying to drag themselves out of the writhing throng, they only created more problems.

The dragon paused for a second. The fallen rider was struggling to rise, but his right leg was twisted grotesquely from the fall. He barely had time to scream before the dragon's jaws closed on him. Picard heard the crunching of bones clearly, even at this distance. The dragon threw back its head, gulping in blood and intestines before shaking the corpse free. Blood and spittle dribbled from its mouth as it advanced on the chained slaves.

There was simply no way to free himself. Picard stared upward as the dragon slithered toward the trapped men.

Then there was a shadow falling over him. "It appears that I have arrived at a fortuitous moment," Data murmured.

"I'll say," Picard croaked. "Get these men free, quickly."

Data glanced at the chains. Despite his earlier orders to appear fully human, there was only one way for him to obey the captain's command. Gripping two of the links in the chain, he exerted as much strength as he could with his arms. The chains shattered, and the captain pulled his hands free.

The broken chains dangling from either wrist, Picard pulled himself from the ma.s.s of men. "Help them!" he ordered Data. Data moved quickly toward the chained men. Picard ran the other way, slanting toward the side of the valley. He waved his hands over his head. "Over here!" he yelled loudly. "You stupid dinosaurian-this way!"

The dragon heard and saw him. Unused to prey running toward him, the monster paused a second and reared its head back for a better view of the tiny creature. It obviously decided that Picard was no threat. The great head lunged forward.