Legacy Of The Darksword Part 23

I did not have much time. As I told you, I was fearful of pursuit. That fear gave me courage, for otherwise I do not believe I would ever have found the nerve to do what I did.

I had never seen a dragon this close before. The beast was monstrous, beautiful, awful. It was so black that it seemed to be a hole cut through daytime, revealing night beneath. I saw the charm upon its head, an oval diamond, shaped smooth, without any facets. It alone sparkled in the sunlight, which did not touch any part of the dragon, did not gleam on the scales or shine on the leathery wings.

I stretched out my hand, which was trembling so that I first missed the diamond completely and touched the dragon's hide. It was dry and rough and hot from the sun and I jumped as if I had touched flame. Then, finally, I put my hand upon the diamond.

A feeling of power and authority suffused me. I knew that I could prevail over anything. You will laugh again, but I tell you that I never experienced the like before. I had such confidence in myself and my own abilities that I felt as if I alone could rebuild Zith-el, brick by brick. (Yes, we were using bricks, those creations of the Dark Arts.) To charm this dragon and bend the creature to my will seemed a paltry thing. A child could do it. Words of potent magic flared in my brain. I spoke them aloud.

The dragon did not move, did not respond at all.

My power and my confidence began to ebb.

I pulled back my hand and noted that it was wet. Wet with blood.

Of course! That was why the dragon had been caught in the sunlight! The creature had been wounded. It had emerged from its cave at night, probably to drink from the river, when it collapsed and was now caught out in the sun.

Had the charm worked? Would it work on an unconscious dragon? Surely it would, I argued. The charm was meant to work on the beast when it was comatose.

Yet, argued that cursed part of me which never fails to play devil's advocate, the charm was meant to work when the dragon was comatose from lying in the sun, not from being struck by one of the mundane's killing lights. Plus, for all I knew, the dragon might be dying.

A sensible man-or a less desperate one-would have walked away. But here was the perfect guardian and the ideal hiding place for the Darksword. I could not rid myself of the notion that the Almin had guided me here for this reason. I settled down to wait, at least until nightfall. If the charm had not worked, the wounded dragon would be sluggish and I had some chance of escaping. I settled down upon the rocks a short distance from the dragon and waited for night.

The hours I pa.s.sed provided me an excellent opportunity for studying the dragon. I found myself awed by the beauty and magnificence of the creature and saddened by the fact that it had been bred to nothing but dealing death. The Dragon of Night has an inborn hatred for all other living beings, even those of its own kind. It cannot bear young and when the last of these great beasts dies, that will be the end of them.

A good thing, you say. Perhaps. The Almin knows best.

I watched its even breathing, which seemed strong, so that I eventually concluded the dragon was not dying.

Night came early to the forest. When the deepening shadows blocked the sunlight from its eyes, the beast began to stir. The dragon's huge body lay on the rocks, but one wing dipped into the river water. I heard the water lap against the rocks and saw the shoulder bone twitch. The dragon snuffled and blew and its lower jawbone sc.r.a.ped along the rock as it shifted its head, endeavoring to move into even deeper shadows.

My heart was in my throat. I would have run then, but for one hopeful sign. The diamond on the head of the dragon had begun to glow dimly. Which meant that the charm had worked.

I hoped. And prayed.

I had spent the daylight hours waiting impatiently for night. Now it seemed to me that night came all too fast. Darkness closed in with a vengeance. The dragon was one with the darkness. I could no longer see it at all.

The diamond's light was very bright now, shining with a p.r.i.c.kly brilliance. It did not radiate light. I could not see the dragon by the gem's glow. I could see only the diamond itself. When it suddenly lurched into the air, I knew that the dragon was fully awake and had lifted its head.

I rose hastily to my feet, leaving the Darksword lying on the ground nearby. I could have used it to defend myself, but I feared that the sword's powerful null-magic might undo the charm. Time enough to pick it up if I needed it.

The dragon rotated its head. I could see the diamond moving and I could hear the dragon-its claws pushing its body up from the rocks, its wings lifting with a mighty splash from the water.

The dragon was searching for me. Certain that all vestige of sunlight was gone, the dragon opened its eyes.

They shone pale and cold as moonlight.

I averted my gaze, for even though the beast was charmed, if you look into the eyes of a Dragon of Night, you will end up a raving lunatic.

The dragon reared up on its hind legs and lifted its wings, spreading them out like the wings of a bat.

I was struck with such awe that if I had died then and there, I believe I would have deemed it worth death to have seen that terrible, magnificent sight.

A thousand thousand tiny pinpoints of white light glittered in the blackness of the wings, as if the dragon's wings were made of the starlit sky. Thus, in battle, do the dragons mimic the night sky in order to swoop down unseen upon their enemies. Those tiny pinpoints of light not only resemble stars, they are also deadly weapons. A flip of the wing causes them to fall like meteors. The small shooting stars burn easily through flesh.

The lights glittered before my eyes, but none fell on me. The charm had worked. I gave fervent thanks to the Almin.

The lunar-white eyes stared at me, bathing me in moonlight. I kept my eyes lowered.

"You are the master," the dragon said, and hatred shook its voice.

"Yes," I replied, as boldly as I could. "I am the master."

"I am constrained to do your bidding," the dragon said with cold fury. "What do you want of me?"

"I have an object here," I said, and very carefully I lifted the Darksword. I had to control the fear in my heart, or else the sword would sense that I was threatened and start to disrupt the magic of the charm. "I command you to take it with you into your cave and guard it well. You must give it up to no one except to me or to Joram's heir."

I held up the Darksword and it was now the dragon's turn to shield its eyes. The lids dropped, the white light was hooded. The dragon's wings shivered, the false stars winked out. I could not see the sword for the darkness, yet its null-magic must have been piercing and deadly as daylight in the eyes of this creature of magic.

"Wrap it! Cover it!" the dragon cried in anger and in pain.

Hurriedly, I did so, shrouding the Darksword with the blanket.

Once the sword was concealed, the dragon again opened its eyes. Its loathing for me had increased tenfold, a thought that was not comforting.

"I will guard the Darksword," the dragon said. "I have no choice. You are the master. But you must take it down to my cavern and there bury it under a cairn of rock so that no part of it is visible. I am hungry. I will go to hunt food now. But do not fear. I will return and I will do what you ask of me. You are the master."

Spreading its wings, the dragon leapt from the rock and soared into the air. I lost sight of it immediately, for I could not tell what was night sky and what was the dragon.

But now my heart was lightened with hope. Carrying the Darksword, I entered the cave and made my way down to the very bottom, where I found the floor littered with shining black scales and bones. The dragon's lair.

I placed the Darksword on the floor of the cavern, in a part far distant from what I took to be the dragon's nest. I covered the sword with rocks, forming a large mound.

I had just finished when the dragon returned, entering through a back way, for it emerged suddenly into the cave. The body of a male centaur hung from its cruel teeth.

The dragon eyed the cairn, which was now illuminated with a pale, chill light.

"Leave," it commanded, adding the single word, "Master," in grudging tones.

I was glad to obey, for the smell of the blood of the freshly slaughtered centaur sickened me. I made my way back up to the world of true starlight. By the time I reached the cave opening, I was exhausted and could go no farther. I rested there until morning. Leaving behind the tinderbox and flint and the brand which I had carried in the tunnel, I returned home.

The Darksword was as safe as I could possibly make it. Many times I have wondered if it was still there, if the dragon was still guarding it, if the charm was still holding. Many times I was tempted to go to see for myself, but then a peaceful feeling would steal over me. Now was not the time. steal over me. Now was not the time.

It was the Almin, rea.s.suring me.

And so I have not been back here since that day twenty years ago when I left the Darksword beneath the rock cairn with the Dragon of Night.

I would not have come back now, but the peaceful feeling is no longer in my heart. In its place is an urgency, a fear, which leads me to believe that it is the Almin's will that the Darksword be recovered.

That it be given to Joram's heir, to Joram's daughter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

"Have they truly found peace in death? Are they happy?"

"They will be, when you free them."

JORAM AND GWENDOLYN; TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD.

I could not help but cast Mosiah a glance of triumph, hoping to impress upon him how thoroughly he had misjudged Saryon. could not help but cast Mosiah a glance of triumph, hoping to impress upon him how thoroughly he had misjudged Saryon.

Mosiah appeared preoccupied, and did not notice. "You made one statement which I find curious, Father. You said that magic had vanished from Thimhallan. Yet Father Reuven gave me Life. The magic lives around us. I can feel it."

Father Saryon regarded Mosiah with an expression of astonishment. "Well, certainly, my son. You were partly responsible for magic's return. The raid upon the Well of Life . . ."

"Forgive him, Father," Scylla interrupted. "He received a blow to the head during our fight with the thugs outside the East Road Gate. He has great gaps in his memory."

"I would be obliged if you would refresh that memory, Father," Mosiah said. "Just so that I know what to expect."

"Well . . ." Father Saryon was nonplussed. "There isn't much to tell, I suppose. Or rather, there is a lot to tell but we don't have time for most of it. How those calling themselves the Dark Cultists arrived from Earth. A man named Kevon Smythe drove King Garald from power, almost succeeded in having him a.s.sa.s.sinated, but Garald was warned in time and escaped.

"How you and King Garald lived the lives of outlaws in the wilderness. You don't remember that?" Saryon gazed anxiously at Mosiah, who merely smiled and remained silent.

"And then Simkin returned from Earth-"

"Ah," said Mosiah, and then he again fell silent.

"Simkin returned. He told Garald how the Well of Life had not been destroyed. It had been merely capped-"

At this, which was exactly the theory we had postulated, I made a sign to Mosiah, who made me a sign to keep silent.

"The Dark Cultists had a secret source, however. They were bleeding off the magical Life, using it for themselves. In a daring raid, you, Mosiah, Garald, and his friend James Boris broke open the Well and released the magic back into the world. We were then able to fight Smythe and the Dark Cultists. Smythe fled back to Earth.

"Garald returned to the rulership of Sharakan and also that of Merilon. I traveled to Sharakan to congratulate him and to present to him my wards." Saryon looked fondly at Eliza and me. "King Garald was struck by Eliza's beauty and was deeply touched to hear that she was Joram's daughter. He granted her the right to claim the throne of Merilon, as Joram's heir.

"Garald made Eliza Queen of Merilon. Reuven traveled to the Font, to enter into his training as a catalyst. Merilon and Sharakan became allies. Cardinal Radisovik was made Bishop, following the death of Vanya. The Bishop was kind enough to appoint me as Eliza's adviser until she came of age." Saryon smiled, shook his head. "I considered myself most unsuited to the task, but Radisovik turned all my noes into yes before I truly knew what was happening. Besides, Eliza needed very little advice."

Eliza reached out, pressed Saryon's hand gratefully.

"Times are difficult," Saryon said, sighing. "Magic has been restored, but it is weak. Though the barrier around Thimhallan has been rebuilt, we know that magic is seeping out of it and there doesn't appear to be anything we can do to stop it. Undoubtedly, Smythe and his Dark Cultists are responsible.

"We are forced to live on a combination of sorcery and steel. The Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith have grown ever more powerful, since they are capable of absorbing more Life than anyone else in the world. Emperor Garald trusts them, but I-" Saryon halted, somewhat confused. have grown ever more powerful, since they are capable of absorbing more Life than anyone else in the world. Emperor Garald trusts them, but I-" Saryon halted, somewhat confused.

"I understand, Father," Mosiah said quietly. "Now that you talk, much of my own memory returns. You have good reason not to trust many among the Duuk-tsarith." Duuk-tsarith."

"I trust you, Mosiah," Saryon said. "And that is what is important. Knights"-he smiled at Scylla-"now guard the realm. Though at first Garald was viewed as a savior, he has come to be reviled. Smythe, in exile on Earth, has his followers upon Thimhallan. They are managing to foment unrest among the lower cla.s.ses, foretelling the coming of the end of the world unless Smythe is permitted to return to save it.

"You heard about the warning which came to Bishop Radisovik?"

We nodded in silence.

"The Darksword must be returned to the maker of the world. That was the message, though we are not certain what it means. The maker of the world was Merlyn, but he's been dead and gone these many years . . ."

Not according to Simkin! I thought suddenly and, pondering this, I lost, for a moment, the thread of wha.t Saryon was saying.

". . . recovered by Joram's descendant. Emperor Garald came to me in person"-Saryon flushed, embarra.s.sed-"to ask for the Darksword. I agreed, but only if I were permitted to seek it in secret and, in secret, give it directly into the hands of Eliza, Joram's daughter. The Emperor gave me his word of honor that we would not be followed, that no one would attempt to take the sword from us."

"The Emperor's word is not the word of the Duuk-tsarith," Duuk-tsarith," said Mosiah. said Mosiah.

"But, surely, they would be constrained to obey," Saryon said, and it seemed to me that he was pleading for rea.s.surance.

"Since when, Father? There is a saying on Earth. 'They have their own agenda.' I do not see them being impressed by a visitation from an angel."

"Do you think we were followed?" Eliza asked him.

"I think we should be very careful," Mosiah answered her gravely. "And that we have taken enough time."

We resumed our journey, moving with greater caution but more speed. It was already late afternoon. We had less than twenty-four hours before the arrival of the Hch'nyv. The part of me that remembered Earth wondered, with a pang, if our planet was now under attack.

No use fretting about events over which I had no control. I would do my part here. We continued following the corkscrew tunnel, which delved straight down and which had perhaps been shaped by the warlocks who had brought the Dragons of Night into being.

We walked at a good pace, for the way was easy, and we made good time. Still, our walk lasted over an hour from our starting point, which leads me to believe that we must have descended at least three or four miles below the surface of Thimhallan.

Though we could neither see nor hear the dragon, which would be slumbering during the daylight hours, we could smell it and its refuse. The air grew fetid and various odors of a most unpleasant nature-stale urine and dung and decay-soon caused us to gag and cover our noses with handkerchiefs or whatever cloth came to hand.

The one consolation we had, if you could call it such, was Mosiah's p.r.o.nouncement. "The dung smells fresh," he observed. "This must mean that your dragon is still alive, Father, and still making this cave its residence."

"I don't remember the smell being this bad," Saryon said, his voice m.u.f.fled by the sleeve of his robe.

"The dragon's had twenty years to add to it," Scylla observed. "I don't like to think of what else we'll find in that lair. Mounds of rotting corpses, among other things."

"Fortunately, dragons will not eat humans," Eliza said, shivering, "or so we've heard. We taste bad."

"Don't believe all you hear, Your Majesty," Mosiah said, and that effectively ended that conversation.

Our enthusiasm had begun to wane, though not our hope and hope is what carried us on. We were tired, our legs ached, and we were all of us half-sick with the stench, which tainted everything, even the water we had brought with us. We rounded yet another corner, our feet dragging, when Scylla, who was in the lead, came to a sudden halt, her hand raised.

The torchlight that had before gleamed off curve after curve in the rock wall now illuminated nothing. A vast yawning darkness gaped before us.

"This is the dragon's lair," Saryon whispered, and so quiet were we that his whisper carried clearly.

We hardly dared breathe, for we could hear the sound of other breathing, stentorian breathing, as if someone were pumping a giant bellows.

We hesitated, at that tense point when the gambler at the c.r.a.ps table breathes on the dice, then clutches them in his hand for a single, heart-stopping instant, asking for the win. And then throws.