New World: a Frontier Fantasy Novel

by Steven W. White

  Most of the hissing and crackling was coming from his cloak. He threw it off, and a lot of the smoke went with it. It lay on the coins all charred, and jagged bits as orange as hot coals seemed to crawl all over it, chewing it up.

  Bogg patted himself down. All his parts were hot, but still there. His left hand was coated with wax -- all that was left of his candle -- but all five fingers wiggled at him.

  His pack and saddlebags were steaming. He reckoned the waterskin had boiled dry and the other candles had melted away. His sabertooth dagger was all right, but the sheath he kept it in had shriveled up. He jammed the dagger in his rope belt.

  Bogg stared into the darkness, flushed red and doused with sweat, well aware that he was sooty, bloody, and smoking, with charred clothes and a fair amount of beard that had gone and crumbled away. He could see two green eyes up there, wide and perplexed, and in the dimming glow of red-hot coins and cavern walls, a set of newly asymmetrical choppers beneath them.

  "I win!" Bogg hollered.

  The dragon snatched him up with a scaly hand, each of the five fingers sporting a claw bigger than a steer's horn. Ormir held Bogg up close to his nose and they glared at each other.

  Bogg hoped the dragon wouldn't be a sore loser and gulp him down raw like an oyster. But reminding Ormir that dragons tended to keep their word in stories wouldn't increase the likelihood of the event.

  IT WILL TAKE MY TEETH A DECADE TO GROW BACK.

  "That ought to learn you."

  Ormir lifted Bogg so his blackened beaverskin hat nearly grazed the cavern ceiling and dropped him between its wings. Bogg sat up and admired all the spikes that had nearly impaled him -- then the dragon was on the move. Bogg wrapped his arms around a spike and held on.

  The dragon galloped through the dark -- its feet crashing in its treasure didn't sound like bags of three-penny nails. It was more like boulders hitting a lake in a steady avalanche. Once Ormir was out of treasure and running on cavern floor and bones, it was like boulders hitting each other and busting to bits.

  The spike Bogg clung to whipped about like the aust end of a goose. Ormir was part bucking bronco and part earthquake.

  Sunlight up ahead -- suddenly Bogg could see. The cavern walls heaved and jumped, and Ormir's scaly back was olive green. The spike Bogg had his arms and legs hitched around was still black, with a few chips missing near the point, and patches of old scales stuck at the bottom like dead snakeskin.

  Bogg felt a hard pull and thought he'd be plucked off Ormir's back. The sunny cavern walls dropped away. Dead trees and boulders flashed by, then the whole sept side of Deadreckoning Peak sunk and got small, the way a tavern floor sinks and gets small when a drunk picks himself up off it after staring at a crumb by his nose for a half hour.

  Bogg whooped. "I'm flying!"

  NO. I'M FLYING.

  "Whatever."

  Batlike wings, dark and grim in the sun, took up a farmer's field on either side. The wind was fierce. Then into icy clouds, and it was like somebody was flapping a white bedsheet in his face. Fog to a splintercat, maybe.

  They broke into sunlight again, and the clouds below made a glorious mountain range Bogg had never seen before.

  He was vaguely aware of the extent to which his eyebrows were cranked up and his jaw was cranked down, but it hardly seemed important in the presence of beauty like that. There was a whole new kind of wilderness up here.

  "Ormir!"

  I CAN HEAR YOU.

  "How often do you fly up here?"

  I LEAVE MY CAVE EVERY SEASON TO FEED, BUT ONLY AT NIGHT.

  "Godzooks, but it's purty!"

  Ormir's long neck twisted and Ormir glared at Bogg. In this light, Bogg could see that its eyes were slitted, like a cat's.

  I PREFER TO THINK OF DOWN THERE AS UGLY.

  Bogg felt his beaverskin cap loosening in the wind, but didn't want to spare a hand to hold it down.

  It whipped off his head, gone forever. Ormir's green eyes refocused, slits widening, watching it go.

  "Shouldn't you watch where you're flying?"

  THAT'S JUST WHAT ALPHORUS SAID.

  "Hey, now! Let's both of us keep our cool. We know where your temper got you last time."

  Ormir's head swung away.

  YES. I AM THINKING OF THIS FLIGHT AS AN EXERCISE IN DISCIPINE.

  #

  It was late morning, and Tyrus Jurgen could smell the sea. He and his four men broke through the last of the hemlock woods and paused with the knee of the Chilly Mountains behind them. Tyrus gazed at last on the green waters of Pirate's Bay, a sea serpent's bite out of the land. The sun had risen over a slender forested peninsula at the far sept-eost end, which the locals called Sore Thumb.

  On this side, a mile down a sandy slope with washboard dunes carved by ocean breezes, was Rastaban, old Dragon's Head. Its flickering lights burned on its wharves, and the tall masts of its ships stood beyond the low wooden buildings. Tyrus could almost hear his old friends (and enemies) crying out the chanties in his favorite pubs: the Boar's Head, the Swan, the Rose...

  Tyrus swept his arm across the sight in a victorious gesture. "There it is, gentlemen."

  "At last," cried Zane. "Women!"

  Yolaf, huge and tireless, carried Uilleam in his arms and said in his baritone, "Hear that, Uilleam? You're almost home."

  "Not too late," Uilleam moaned. "Not too late for me."

  "Oh no, Uilleam," Yolaf whispered to him, giving him a shake. "You'll be all right."

  These three were dirty, exhausted, and starved -- nearly broken men. Tyrus was the same. And yet, he had held them together. He had buttressed their will with his own. Even their fifth had survived this far.

  Tyrus scanned the trees behind them for Cadogan. The red-haired pirate had become angry and insubordinate, and once Tyrus threatened him, sullen and aloof. Tyrus owed him a thrashing and Cadogan knew it. Now, Tyrus spotted Cadogan's outline in the trees.

  Tyrus had no fear of any man or beast, but Cadogan unnerved him. It was disgust, not fear. Cadogan's mind...

  Tyrus didn't want to dwell on it. He had led his team home. "One final task awaits us, men. We shall not stagger into Rastaban as hopeless and penniless vagrants, to be mocked by our fellows. First, we stop there." Tyrus pointed.

  On a natural terrace below, called Spying Scarp by the locals, a lonely tower leaned over the sandy slope that dropped to the outskirts of Rastaban. It stood forty feet tall, and several of its gray blocks had fallen to the sand around it.

  It was the New Algolus Tower, built in a younger, more ambitious age a century ago. It was to be a watchtower and a beacon to merchants and colony ships of newly arrived Algolans. Now, its heavy oak door was locked, the fire unlit and cold at its crenellated top, and it had, in recent decades, started to lean over the slope, a lean that would topple it in another century or less. It was empty, worthless, and while those at Dragon's Head saw it each day, they thought nothing of it except a passing joke or two. They certainly didn't consider scuffling up the half mile of loose sand to reach it.

  That was why Tyrus Jurgen had used it as a marker for his treasure. "We'll do a bit of digging, and then you all shall be paid handsomely for your efforts and loyalty. And we shall descend to Rastaban as rich men." Tyrus slapped a worn glove on the trunk of a hemlock beside him. "Zane!"

  "My lord."

  Tyrus pointed into the branches of the tree. "Do you see what's up there?"

  Zane peered into the tree. "It's a cow's skull impaled on a branch. How did you know it was there?"

  "Because I put it there. Come on. To the tower."

  They sidestepped along the dunes to the terrace, where the tower waited. Tyrus glanced back and saw Cadogan following, but not too closely. Good enough.

  The tower leaned due eost, toward the sea, and as the men crowded around it, they naturally chose not to stand on that side, avoiding the small risk that today might be the day it finally fell an
d tumbled its stones to Dragon's Head. Seven blocks had already fallen and left rectangular holes in the tower like randomly placed windows.

  Tyrus stopped at the heavy door. His iron padlock was rusted, but still here. "Yolaf."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Break this. Put Uilleam inside to rest, and bring me the shovels hidden in the crate on the top floor."

  "The top?"

  "Go, Yolaf."

  "Yes, sir." Yolaf set Uilleam over his shoulder and struck the lock with his war hammer. It rang and fell in pieces, and the door itself shuttered. The bald giant pushed the door open and ducked inside, taking care not to bump Uilleam on the stone arch.

  "Zane," said Tyrus.

  "My lord?"

  "I need your bowyer's eyes. There are places where blocks have fallen and you can see inside the tower."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "There are also places where you can see in through one hole and out through an opposite hole."

  Zane frowned at the tower. "It must be so, my lord."

  "You can even look through the tower and spy that cow's skull I showed you at the top of the hill. Believe it, and show it to me."

  Zane stroked his fine black mustache. "I shall, my lord." Zane stared at the tower, walked a few paces, and stared again. He did it over and over, and Tyrus knew that with his eyesight and determination, Zane would succeed.

  Cadogan shuffled down the sand, and it was the first time Tyrus had seen him clearly in two days. Cadogan the Red was now Cadogan the Mad. His braids and beard were streaked with mud, and deep gray circles framed his crazed, sleepless eyes. Cadogan cradled his dirty axe like a baby, but his mad eyes were hungry for blood.

  "Cadogan!" Tyrus barked.

  Cadogan grinned evilly. "Yes, my lord?"

  "Our time together is almost finished."

  "My wise and masterful lord, were that it not so. I long to serve, my hale and hearty master. Show me where the buried treasure is, and I shall pull it up. I do not need a shovel. I shall dig with my axe. Nay, with my bare hands in the earth, shall I serve dutifully--"

  "Shut your festering hole, you cretin. Stand there by the door and don't move."

  "But my lord--"

  "Stand there. Don't move."

  "As you wish, my lord. You need only speak, and I am commanded. Your--"

  "And do not speak."

  Cadogan's mouth hung open stupidly, showing crusty yellow teeth. He stood by the door and peered in.

  "Don't go in. Stay where I can see you."

  Cadogan moped. "Yes, my lord." He leaned toward the door and sniffed.

  "Aha!" called Zane. "I have it!"

  Tyrus found him standing not far from where Tyrus would have guessed, at a nondescript spot on the sand about fifty feet from the tower.

  "Look, my lord! Behold, just barely..." Zane stepped aside. Tyrus saw a patch of green in one of the tower's holes, but no skull.

  What was wrong? Zane's wits were sound...

  But he was almost a head shorter than Tyrus. Tyrus took a step toward the tower. A tiny patch of white appeared in the green. Yes! The skull impaled on the branch, almost obscured by a young hemlock that had sprouted up in the line of sight over the intervening eight years. In another few years, his treasure would have been lost forever.

  But today, it would be found.

  "I see it, Zane. Good work."

  Zane beamed, and raised a crafty eyebrow. "And now, I would imagine that I must shoot an arrow through the holes in the tower, and where the arrow lands is the spot where the treasure is buried."

  Tyrus smiled. "Very creative, Zane. But no."

  "Then... where do we dig?"

  "Where I'm standing."

  Zane stared at the spot between Tyrus's boots. "Ah. Simple. That is to say, brilliant. Tell me, my lord, how many such treasure caches do you have in these parts?"

  "More than you'll ever know." Tyrus turned to the tower. "Yolaf! Bring the shovels and your strong back!"

  #

  Chapter 34

  Bogg's face whipped through freezing clouds. Then the waters of Pirate's Bay appeared, and the docks and buildings of Rastaban. Up a hill from Rastaban, just outside the edge of forest, stood a leaning stone tower. A feller with red hair stood beside it, holding an axe. Nearby, three others dug a pit in the sand with shovels, making a pile beside it that was dark, damp, and shoulder-high. All had the traps of warriors, and one had a broadsword on his back.

  Could be them, Bogg thought. Where was the fifth? Oh well, Bogg wouldn't be fooled. "There they are, Ormir! Burn them up. Attack!"

  NO.

  "Come on! You like that sort of thing."

  DISCIPLINE. REMEMBER?

  "Not even a little spurt?"

  FIGHT YOUR OWN BATTLES.

  "All right. Then drop me on them."

  I'LL SET YOU AT THE TREELINE. I'VE NO WISH TO BE SEEN.

  Ormir fell fast to the treetops and braked hard with its wings, flattening Bogg against its back. The dragon dropped between the trees and crouched low. Its claw pinched Bogg around the waist and slipped him off the spike.

  Bogg found that his feet were on the ground. It was a strange feeling. He looked up at the dragon nestled with him in the forest, its wings making a regal sun-dappled shawl around it... and that was a strange feeling too.

  Ormir's spiked tail drew restless runes in the dirt.

  NOW WE ARE SQUARE. GOODBYE, TIBERIUS BOGG.

  "Wait! Those men down there -- I know you'd enjoy roasting them. And if I told you what they'd done, you'd know they deserved it."

  TODAY, YOU HAVE RIDDEN A DRAGON AND LIVED. NO MORE GIFTS FOR YOU. IF I SEE YOU AGAIN, I'LL PROBABLY KILL YOU. Its wings unfurled over the trees. GOODBYE AND GOOD RIDDANCE.

  The wings pumped and Ormir lifted into the sky. It raced low and away. When it appeared no bigger than a flea, it streaked up to the clouds and disappeared in a blink.

  Bogg stood for a minute beside the critter's five-fingered tracks it had pressed deep into the ground. The forest smelled funny. Bogg couldn't place it at first. It smelled like flowers and bees and happy little bunnies.

  Then he had it.

  Absence of dragon.

  A bird chirped, quiet and cautious, breaking the silence. Then another, and another, and the forest was normal again.

  Bogg could have stood there all day, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But the swordsman was close. Bogg dashed through the trees.

  He broke through at the top of the hill, and could take an easy gander down at his foe from this spot. Bogg's eyes narrowed and his jaw stuck out. There they were. It was positively enlightening to finally get his peepers on these reprobates after chasing them from afar for so long. Soon, this whole misadventure would be over.

  He was quiet for a time, watching and listening, planning and anticipating. It got to be midafternoon, and the sun eased down close to the Starry Mountains. He could hear the tarnal sons of bitches, just barely.

  "Put your back into it, Zane."

  "Tyrus, sir, I'd like to check on poor Uilleam."

  "Go ahead, Yolaf. Check on Cadogan, too."

  Bogg pieced it together. The giant was Yolaf. He carried a war hammer, and was close to the wounded man, Uilleam, who was in the tower. Zane, the dark-haired bowyer, complained the most about the digging. Cadogan, dirty and red-haired, seemed to be standing guard with his axe. And Tyrus...

  Tyrus.

  They called him "my lord," often as not. He commanded the others. Tyrus carried a sword. He was Bogg's man.

  Bogg would kill him last.

  Zane was standing in the pit they were digging. Only his head appeared above the ground when he stretched his back, and when he was digging, only flying shovelfuls of dirt showed he was there. He suddenly made a ruckus. "I've found something!"

  Yolaf turned, and Tyrus scampered over to look.

  Cadogan, who didn't say muc
h, slipped quietly inside the tower, out of sight. What was Cadogan up to?

  The wind shifted, and Bogg smelled something. It wasn't dragon, nor thunderbird, nor the wharves at Rastaban. But it was a familiar smell. Like horse, but with more power behind it. What was it?

  #

  Uilleam lay on stone at the top of the tower, beside the crate that had held the shovels. Through the missing stones came the faint sounds of Yolaf's digging and Zane's grousing. Uilleam was grateful for the chance to rest. Being hauled around by Yolaf was not painless.

  His arm throbbed, went numb, then throbbed some more. The stench of gangrene had just started that day. Tyrus knew it, but hadn't let on. He'd let some sawbones in Dragon's Head take the arm off, rather than leave it to Blodleter. Uilleam tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about life as a cripple, and he tried not to think about the jolts of pain that pulsed up his arm or how hard this stone floor was.

  "Uilleam, my man..." came a seething voice.

  Cadogan!

  "What do you want?" Uilleam wheezed. "Leave me alone!"

  "I've come to bring you comfort." Cadogan appeared on the steps below Uilleam. "While the others are distracted by the treasure. I've come to bring you the comfort of death."

  Uilleam took a sharp inhale to cry out, but Cadogan was on him, his axe at Uilleam's throat. "Don't cry out! I'll drive this blade home. And dull as it is, it will hurt. I've suffered, Uilleam. How I've suffered. How I've been tempted. And I shan't have to resist any more."

  "Tyrus is--" Uilleam croaked.

  "Tyrus, Tyrus... Tyrus is next. I've realized something. My greatest triumph has already come and gone. My moment of supreme illumination. It came when I ate that vivet. Since that moment, I've been changing. I've felt it all this time. And now, it's no longer hunger or fear of starvation that drives me. It's the changes-"

  Tyrus's voice came from outside. "Where's Cadogan? Cadogan!"

  Uilleam and Cadogan both heard it. Uilleam looked hopeful, but Cadogan drove his axe blade into Uilleam's throat, and kept pushing until Uilleam's head rolled off.

  #

  Bogg had the scent. It was the smell of four-legged hill. It threw him for a loop, that smell, since there weren't no tundra out here, and with coats like they had, four-legged hills liked it chilly. They'd never come this low, or this close to the water.

  #