"They'll kill you," Ee said. She cowered behind him, crouched low, ready to vanish into the grass -- and a vivet crouched low is half-invisible already.
Simon kept his eyes on the grazing hills, standing tall, his hands in his trousers pockets. He remembered the fear he felt when his father died. He remembered how brave his father had been.
Fear now, weakness now, would not stop him. He wouldn't allow it.
"I'm going to ride one." His voice sounded hollow and distant, but the words had come out so easily that it surprised him. They sounded believable.
"Simon," Ee said. "I like you. I don't want you to die."
"So you'd better help me. You'd better tell me the secret of riding one."
"Vivets have a saying. There are ninety and nine secrets to riding a mamoo without being killed, and no one but the wild man knows the hundredth."
Simon had spent a night on the back of one of the things -- he called to mind what he had observed. "I have some ideas. Maybe you'll tell me if I'm on the right track."
Simon felt his heart doing a splintercat routine, battering his ribcage. He closed in on the herd, one step at a time.
#
As Bogg squeezed down through the cave, deeper and deeper, his blood rushed to his head, and that got him thinking. This hole might just end, or get too skinny to squeeze through, and there was no way he could back out uphill, feet first. There had better be a place big enough to turn around down there, or this would be it for him.
Now, that was silly. Whether he died in this tunnel or died back in that pit didn't matter none. He was heartened, too, by the candle flame, which danced a little, like there was a breeze.
But on did he crawl, and on, and on. He slid along on his bloody knees, and ground his elbows into the rock, and that hurt enough to make him grim and ornery.
Wax from the candle dripped now and then onto his hand and scalded his knuckles, and that hellish stench of rot didn't go away, and his feet being high and his head being low got his eyes pulsing and his cheeks fit to burst -- it all summed up to make him even grimmer and ornerier.
And the thought of the passage getting too skinny to clear made him so mad that he reckoned that if it actually happened, he'd be fit to explode and just rip and tear and holler himself dead.
He shuffled down a little farther and the passage opened up. Bogg stuck his tongue in his toothhole and chuckled at himself. He half tumbled and half poured himself like pancake batter out of the tunnel and into the big empty space, stood up and looked around.
And by jings if the candlelight didn't get swallered up by all that space. Bogg couldn't see anything but the floor and the hole he come out of.
It was big.
And empty.
And stinky. And hot. Bogg took a minute to stretch and uncramp his body now that it wasn't squeezed in that hole, and found he could see a lot better with the candle somewhere besides in front of his face. He held it behind him -- then he realized it was about to burn his thumb. The candle had burned down to a stump. He'd been in that tunnel a long while.
Bogg set his pack in the black gravel at his feet and dug out a second candle. He lit it with the first, held one in each hand at arm's length, and blinked at the darkness until things came into view.
Bogg was tucked away in the corner of a great cavern. Jupiter's boots, but it was big. Never in his life had Bogg been in such a power of a big space and yet still had a roof over his head. It had to be a thousand feet to the far side, and a couple of hundred feet up to the arch of the ceiling.
He didn't think caves could be this big. The far sides were plenty shadowy and indistinct, so maybe it wasn't as big as all that. On the other hand, maybe those shadows were passages that led elsewhere.
The stubby candle put fire on his thumb. Bogg yelped and dropped it.
His yelp came back to him from across the way. Two, three, four times.
The candle still burned on the floor, not more than a knuckle long. It lit up something black and pointy.
Bogg knelt and swung his fresh candle close. It was a hodag skull, fanged and spiked, like an unsightly mix of wolf and gator. He picked it up by the eye sockets and the lower jaw dropped off.
Bogg hated hodags. Cuss the lot. Ferocious man-eaters. One less hodag suited him fine. He dropped the skull, and some of the black stayed on his fingers, feeling sort of greasy.
Bogg stomped out the candle stump, then stomped the hodag skull as an afterthought (it crunched nicely), and started strolling.
It wasn't easy, on account of all the bones in his way. He stepped over or kicked through ribs and backbones and skulls and leg bones of every sort of critter, along with all those little bones he couldn't identify because he tended to throw those bits on the fire, and bones that were busted into splinters. His candle put jittery bone shadows all around him, and the place was so quiet and dark it most gave him the creeps.
He came across a red rhino skull with a black horn as long as his arm.
He came across a human skull, as he thought he might. Hello, sir or madam. Well met.
Then a square sort of skull bigger around than a wagon wheel, with an empty socket in the middle of the face, like a one-eyed giant. Bogg had never heard of a one-eyed giant, and when he looked closer, he found little eye sockets on the sides. He judged he'd found the skull of a four-legged hill, and the hole in the front was where the trunk fixed on.
Sure enough, a little later on, he found a tusk. Even lying lonely on the ground, the tusk curved taller than he was.
It tickled him no end. If a four-legged hill could wander down here, then he could wander out. He didn't need nearly as much room as all that.
Past some hill leg bones that were just about coffin-sized, he found a whole set of rib bones balanced on end so they loomed over him, with the spine running between them. The ribs were finger-thin and fragile-looking, not the right build for a hill. Bogg couldn't resist standing in the critter's belly.
He nudged one of the ribs. It broke loose from the spine with just a touch and spun on end in a most startling way.
Bogg chuckled and set it spinning again. Didn't that beat all? He gripped the rib and lifted. Despite being a good twelve-footer, it didn't weigh more than a handful of copper commons.
Thunderbird.
He let it go and watched it come down like it was underwater. It touched the ground and balanced there, like the rest of them.
Bogg caught a wild hare of an idea. He picked up the rib near the bottom, stepped clear of the others, and spun himself up like a dervish, holding his candle close so it wouldn't sputter out, but not so close that it lit his beard on fire. Once he was spinning good, he let that rib go.
He waited, letting the dizzies fade, listening. By and by, the rib clattered off the ceiling, and time enough after that, rattled to a stop on the cave floor someplace too far to see.
More greasy black came off on his hand. It was an awful lot like soot.
Enough fooling.
Bogg picked his way past the bones. At the far end of the cavern, the ceiling dipped to within fifty feet of his head, and the sound of dripping water made him stop and listen.
The wind whispered, real quiet, up there, sort of thoughtful.
Why had all these animals come in here and died?
Animal graveyard. Maybe there was a steep-sided hole ahead -- plenty big -- that critters stumble in now and then, and wander around down here until they starve.
Uh-oh. That didn't bode well.
Bogg marched on, and the cavern opened up again like it was the next room, although Bogg couldn't imagine a room being built this big, unless it was the great hall in the castle of some moonbrained Algolan king.
He snorted at the thought.
His next footstep sounded like a bag of three-penny nails hitting the floor. He shone the candle low to see what he'd stepped in. The light flickered off a pile of commons. Bogg picked up a coin and rubbed
at the face of some queen he'd never heard of. The soot came off.
Gold.
Bogg stood at the edge of a pile of gold sovereigns, just lying here in the dirt.
"Good land," he muttered, and wondered if he was rich. He walked along the edge of the coins until the floor of the cavern steepened into the wall, then he waded in, three-penny nail bags hitting the floor with each step.
The gold made him think pirates. Wouldn't it be nice if the swordsman and his friends would stop by for a withdrawal? That would free up Bogg's schedule right quick.
There were other goodies amongst the coins. Rings and such. A breastplate, awful fancy. A man wears a thing that sparkly into battle, he's like to get shot at so much that it wouldn't be worth the bother.
Here was a shield, shiny as a mirror, soot notwithstanding. Bogg polished it with his splintercat cloak and got a gawk at his reflection. He was sooty and bloody -- much more grimed up from crawling down that tunnel than he would have guessed. Every inch of him was black streaked with red, excepting those parts which was red streaked with black, and his blue eyes peered out of the mess, clear and glowing, the only clean things he owned.
"But I hate baths," he muttered.
The whispering at the top of the cavern blew fierce and rumbled. Bogg's candle flame danced and held on for its life as something big and dark crawled into the cavern from the blackness beyond.
Two bright green eyes, narrowed to slits, glowed at him from near the ceiling, in a long face framed by spikes. Clawed black hands splashed in the coins and leathery wings fell into place around the bulk of the thing like a shawl.
That awful rumble faded, and so did the racket from the coins sliding everywhere. A fresh wave of heat washed over Bogg, and that rotten-egg smell of sulfur and spoiled meat crawled up his nose and burned.
Bogg had trouble standing, with the shifting coins under his feet and his knees all wobbly. This was a sight that explained some things. He'd only heard stories as a kid, but any nathead would know a dragon when he saw one.
#
Chapter 32
ARE YOU...
That voice grabbed his head, heart, and gut all at once, and shook him hard.
... A KNIGHT?
Bogg couldn't make a peep.
YOU HAVE NO ARMOR. ARE YOU A WIZARD?
Its glowing eyes dropped to just in front of Bogg. They were eight feet apart, easy. Bogg was close enough to put a fist up each nostril if he wanted. Teeth glistened in the candlelight like broadswords.
Bogg reckoned he'd better find his voice -- and as soon as he reckoned that, he had it. "My name is Tiberius Bogg. I got no truck with you. I'm just passing by."
Its head swung up to a respectable height.
A LOCAL. ALGOLANS ARE BETTER SPOKEN. IF YOU WERE ON A QUEST TO SLAY ME, I WOULD EAT YOU.
Bogg judged that cowering wouldn't get him anywhere. He stuck his chin out. "I wouldn't if I were you." But what in tarnation was a dragon doing in Mira? "Say... ain't you lost?"
The critter's wings fluttered and scattered coins. Each wing was an acre of black leather, and watching them move was like seeing wind blow waves across the grass on a moonlit meadow. This was a great-grandpappy of a dragon, a three-hundred-footer if it was a cub.
Its scaly head and frame of spikes rocked sideways, and Bogg could see it was deciding whether to gulp him down or not.
I AM IN EXILE.
Bogg nodded. "What did you do?"
Between its wings, the black scales of its belly shone like steel, and from the seams came the faintest cherry-red glow.
PERHAPS I SHOULD EAT YOU.
Bogg's eyes narrowed. He shifted the candle to his left hand, drew his fang dagger and glared down its white curve at the dragon's green eyes. "I'll give you one hell of an ulcer."
YOU HAVE NOT COME TO SLAY ME. AND YET YOU DO NOT FEAR ME. YOU ARE A PARADOX...
A thundercrack echoed from the caverns behind the dragon. Bogg judged it was the whip-crack of its tail.
AND THUS WORTH SAVING FOR LATER. I WAS SENT TO MIRA BY THE COUNCIL OF DRAGONKIND FOR EATING MY RIDER.
"Oh, a hothead. Good for you."
I AM CALLED ORMIR. PERHAPS YOU HAVE HEARD STORIES ABOUT ME.
Bogg hadn't even known dragons had names. "Nope."
MY RIDER WAS ALPHORUS THE GOBLIN KILLER. A PRINCE OF SOME STANDING.
"Never heard of him."
IF YOU ARE HUMAN, HE LIVED WELL BEFORE YOUR TIME. MY CRIME WAS A CARELESS ONE. THE COUNCIL COULD NEITHER SLAY ME NOR ABSOLVE ME. EITHER WOULD UPSET THE DELICATE BALANCE BETWEEN DRAGONS AND MEN.
It slammed down a claw and puffed out a volcanic snort.
WE ARE FEARSOME... BUT WE MUST NOT BE SO FEARSOME THAT MEN UNITE AND LAUNCH THEIR LEGIONS AGAINST US.
"Well. I didn't think humans had you dragons up such a creek. So... you'll be staying here, then? In Mira?"
FOR A THOUSAND YEARS. LONG ENOUGH FOR OUR MEMORIES TO FADE AND YOUR HISTORY TO BE REWRITTEN.
"It ain't my history. I'm just glad none of your friends will be coming over." Bogg's brain was just about addled, between making sense of this palaver, holding his knees at stationkeeping, and trying to conjure a way out of here undigested.
DRAGONS COMING TO MIRA? Ormir shook his great head.
BEFORE MEN SAILED IN THEIR SHIPS TO FIND THIS PLACE, WE DRAGONS DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS HERE.
Bogg shifted his feet, ankle-deep in coins. "No fooling?"
OUR NAME FOR IT IS MIRA, TAKEN FROM THE HUMAN TONGUE. THIS OFFENDS US, AS THIS LAND OFFENDS US.
"Well, well. So dragons don't know everything."
WHY WOULD WE KNOW OF THIS CONTINENT? WHY WOULD WE CROSS TWO THOUSAND LEAGUES OF OCEAN IN SEARCH OF UNDISCOVERED LANDS? ONLY HUMANS ARE SO FOOLISH.
"Hey, now--"
PERHAPS THE WORST OF THEM WILL CONTINUE TO COME HERE. BY THE TIME I RETURN, ALGOLUS WILL BE A PARADISE.
Bogg felt his sass get up, and knew it was a bad idea, but he was too dragon-addled to stop it. "Looky here, Grampa. Don't go badmouthing other people's homes. It ain't neighborly."
HERE IS A MAD HUMAN, WHO THINKS HE CAN ADMONISH A DRAGON. IN ALGOLUS, ALL THE RACES KNOW THEIR PROPER ROLE. THERE IS HISTORY. THERE IS TRADITION. HERE, THERE IS NO PAST. ANYONE CAN BE ANYTHING TO ANYBODY. ALL IS CONFUSION IN MIRA.
"Confusion suits me fine. So I reckon you'll bide your time here until your sentence is up, then light on back home."
I DREAM OF NOTHING ELSE.
"Good."
MIRAN! I HAVE NOT SPOKEN TO ANYONE IN NEARLY A CENTURY, AND YET I AM WEARY OF THIS CONVERSATION. THE NEXT HUMAN I MEET, I WILL EAT RIGHT AWAY.
"Hold on a minute. You're just going to eat me now?"
THAT'S RIGHT.
"That's not very sporting. How about if we make a deal?"
BEGGING?
"No. I just want to take a shot at you first." Bogg gestured with the fang dagger.
YOU CANNOT HURT ME WITH THAT.
"Then you got nothing to sweat about. You hit me, then I'll hit you. Whoever's the better off, wins."
YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS.
"I toured your boneyard. Didn't see no sabertooth cats. I reckon you've never fought one before."
YOU AMUSE ME. IF I KILL YOU, WHAT DO I WIN?
"You can eat me. And if I win, you let me go. No--" That was too dull. "You fly me to Rastaban."
The dragon's eyes narrowed to slits, and their green light brightened.
I ACCEPT.
Bogg set his feet in the coins. "All right. Go ahead."
Ormir's spiky black head dipped to Bogg's level. Its mouth opened in a toothy grin.
OH NO. I THINK YOU SHOULD GO FIRST.
"You sure?"
The grin widened and showed a power of daggers and swords around a red snaky tongue.
I AM CERTAIN OF IT.
"That'll answer--" Bogg leapt at the dragon's face and slashed his fang dagger across the fine scales from nostril to nostr
il, casting a shower of sparks that brightened the cavern walls like a lightning strike. The slash left behind no wound.
Before the dragon could react, Bogg swung backhand a little lower and whacked off three ivory teeth from Ormir's upper jaw. They stuck themselves in the coins at his feet.
Its green eyes went wide as dinner plates and it reared back, hissing. Black blood dribbled from the exposed cores of the tooth stumps, leaving a trail of scattered drops on the treasure.
A rumble tore from the dragon's throat all around the cavern and back. Its wings lifted and spread, and its head pulled all the way to the ceiling, its neck S-curved and ready to strike.
Ormir's body swelled up like a volcano of evil inside was abiling to bust out. That cherry-red glow at his belly let off a wave of heat like flipping a log in a campfire. Something worked up the critter's throat, and Ormir's head lunged at Bogg.
DIE!
The cavern lit up like daylight from the dragon's mouth, and fire exploded from its throat in a stream of yellow and orange that made the coins sparkle like they were new, the cavern walls bone white, and the dragon's shadow flash behind it in perfect detail, spikes and all.
#
Chapter 33
Bogg turtled under his cloak before the flames washed over him. It felt like being in a hurricane and a frying pan at the same time, and Bogg knew he was screaming himself hoarse but couldn't hear it over the roar.
The cloak seared him everywhere it touched him, and he could smell smoking deerskin. His eyes clamped tight to keep them from hard-boiling in their sockets, and his whole body felt like it was scorching, so he honestly didn't know if any parts of himself were uncovered by the cloak and burning off as he cowered there, curled up like a pill bug.
If he didn't burn up he'd go stone deaf, and if he didn't go stone deaf he'd have a lifetime case of the fan-tods. What was left of him?
Bogg was suddenly glad he'd left the pup behind. He was someplace else, safer than this.
#
The hill's shining eye was bigger than Simon's fist. It watched him, inscrutable. He had been standing here for a long time, legs numb from terror, stroking the animal's coarse, tangled red-brown hair.
#
The hurricane slowly blew itself out, and as the noise and fiery wind faded, all Bogg could hear was his own sizzling. He opened his eyes, but all that did was let smoke sting them. Smoke billowed up all around him.
New World: a Frontier Fantasy Novel Page 17