Dragonwatch, vol. 4: Champion of the Titan Games

by Brandon Mull

  Lilianna shook her head. “The kingdom prospered because of your courage. You are a good king, beloved by your family and your people. You have governed well. Tall tales about your exploits were inevitable. You just gave them a head start.”

  “And now I face the consequences of exaggeration. Any choice I make will lead to ruin.”

  Lilianna folded her arms. “What chance did you have against the gorgon? If she had been real?”

  “Little to none,” King Konrad confessed.

  “What chance against the yetis? The vampire? The phoenix?”

  “Very little.”

  “And yet you ventured out to confront them,” Lilianna said. “Alone. Did you know any of them had been destroyed?”

  “I expected to encounter them.”

  “It was not your fault they had already fallen. You have a new foe. Why not ride out to meet him with the same bravery?”

  “When I rode south, north, east, and west, I risked only my own life. I was naive enough to have confidence that I would find a way to triumph. But now I am being asked to risk the fate of all Selona on my untested abilities. My people have unrealistic faith in me.”

  Lilianna hugged her husband. “This is no different from your previous escapades. The only differences are the audience and your fears regarding the consequences. You still have a willing hand and strength to bear a sword.”

  “I do believe I would have found a way,” Konrad said.

  “Don’t let your courage fail when it is most needed. Go forward now, in the same spirit as you went forth to rescue the kingdom and win renown, remembering that when a hero is needed, any chance is better than none.”

  King Konrad gave a nod, resolution in his gaze. “I will prepare.”

  A response traveled to the Dragon, and the next day the Legender emerged from his castle and rode to the chosen battlefield with a small entourage. Those who watched the procession noted the king’s lack of heavy arms and armor. Instead he wore traveling clothes and carried a short sword. The phoenix feather gleamed in his hat, the yeti fang hung from his neck on a cord, the vampire stake and the gorgon’s quill were holstered on his belt.

  Some whispered he had gone mad, approaching such an important duel so underequipped. Others accused him of overconfidence. A few who were close to him suspected he was playing to his strengths—since Konrad had little formal training in armed combat, and little experience with heavy arms and armor, they reasoned he was staying with what he knew.

  Some citizens expressed outrage. After all, the Legender was the last line of defense against a merciless horde. What right had he to enter the fight with no armor? If he wanted mobility, he could at least have worn leather armor, carried a light shield. And why not bring a sword substantial enough to cause real harm?

  At the appointed hour, the Legender found the Dragon awaiting him on the field of battle, standing alone, his horde watching from a distance. Kula Bakar was an enormous man, both tall and broad. He wore a great helmet with a cage hiding his face, and he was armored to withstand a landslide. After beholding the size of his sword, it became easy to believe the stories of him chopping a horse in half with a single stroke.

  Leaving his attendants behind, King Konrad rode out to meet his opponent. Those near him maintain that Konrad managed to approach with a smile.

  “What stratagem is this?” the Dragon called to the Legender. “Do you expect me to strip off my armor and fight you with lesser weapons? This is single combat for the right to sack your kingdom, and I will fight as I have always fought—fully prepared.”

  “I have everything I need to defeat you,” the Legender replied, dismounting from his horse.

  “If you lack proper armaments, I will outfit you myself,” the Dragon offered.

  “I had plenty of weapons and armor at my disposal,” the Legender said. “I have brought all I require.”

  “Is this an insult?” the Dragon asked. “Perhaps you hope to protect your legacy by claiming the contest was unfair? Excuses will not spare your kingdom.”

  “The insult is your invasion,” the Legender said. “I am here to stop you, unless you wish to withdraw.”

  “Very well,” the Dragon said. “Meet your fate as you see fit.”

  Short sword in hand, King Konrad approached Kula Bakar. The Legender was considered taller than average, but his face was level with the Dragon’s mighty chest. Kula Bakar was massive across all dimensions—tall, broad, and thick. The Legender looked like a child confronting an ogre.

  “Announce the start of combat at your leisure,” the Dragon announced.

  “Begin,” the Legender said without pause.

  Raising his shield and hefting his sword, the Dragon began to circle his quarry. Some who knew his fighting style commented later that it was an uncharacteristically wary approach, perhaps an adjustment to the mystifying preparations of his opponent in anticipation of some trick or trap.

  The mobility of the Legender proved valuable as he dodged several attacks. The first time their swords clashed, the Legender lost hold of his blade. The Dragon paused to let him retrieve it, then knocked it from his grasp two more times. After the third drop, the Dragon rushed his opponent. The Legender ducked and whirled, feinted and leapt, avoiding many swipes and thrusts, some by a close margin, until he stumbled and the Dragon planted his sword in his chest.

  Pinned to the ground, the Legender twitched a few times, legs spasming, then grew still. Panting, the Dragon withdrew his sword and raised it high. He ended all his fights by decapitation, and this one would be no exception.

  But the Dragon staggered back when the Legender was spontaneously engulfed in flame. Confused bystanders raised their hands to shield their eyes from the startling blaze. Out of the intense conflagration emerged King Konrad, his shirt bloody but unburned, his body whole.

  “What sorcery is this?” the Dragon asked.

  The fire behind the Legender vanished as quickly as it had appeared. With an inhuman roar, the Legender took the gorgon’s quill from his belt and stuck it through a gap in the armor near the Dragon’s waist.

  After the prick, Kula Bakar went rigid, making no motion to dodge or protect himself as the Legender pulled out the yeti’s fang and used it to punch a hole in the Dragon’s breastplate. Then Konrad plunged the vampire’s stake through the hole, deep into the Dragon’s chest. The Legender stepped back, and the Dragon remained on his feet for a prolonged moment.

  The armor of the Dragon made his fall clangorous on the silent battlefield. Ignoring the enemy horde, the Legender withdrew the quill and the stake, returned them to his belt, and then claimed the Dragon’s sword before walking away.

  In the years that followed, the Legender offered no explanation of how he had survived, though many inquired. Some guessed he had visited a witch or a wizard who had enchanted the items from his previous adventures. Others proposed that the act of sacrificing his life to save his kingdom activated the powers of his talismans.

  All that can be confirmed is that the Dragon fell that day, and the Legender walked away. Witnesses swear that the Legender received a fatal blow and inexplicably burst into flames before achieving victory. Tales spread that he had risen from death like a phoenix and bellowed like a yeti. Stories spoke of Kula Bakar paralyzed by a gorgon’s quill and then slain like a vampire, wood improbably penetrating metal.

  As always with the Legender, the tales grew over time. Storytellers claimed the leader of the Rambling Horde really was the avatar of a powerful dragon, and they attributed his previous successes to supernatural abilities. Bards sang of a king in Selona who could not die, and of a bloodline armed with mighty talismans.

  The Legender gained a new title in the aftermath of his successful defense of Selona—Dragon Slayer. After the Rambling Horde withdrew from Selona, no mortal country attacked the kingdom again. Konrad kept the sword of the Dragon and passed his other talismans to his two daughters and two sons, who also gained renown as Dragon Slayers. The Legender and his fou
r children were summoned to help as dragons became more aggressive in subsequent years.

  Over time, the kingdom of Selona gained prominence in the magical community, and the generations who came after Konrad became known as the Fair Folk. Though the Legender did not remain their king, neither was his death recorded. Ever since, as you well know, when dragons have united to plague the world, five legendary Dragon Slayers have stood against them.

  Hermo proved invaluable on the road. He knew ahead of time when a troop of bulky giants with tusks like boars approached from the other direction. Seth, Hermo, and Reggie got off the road into a stand of trees before the giants were in sight, and they watched from safe cover as the giants marched past.

  Shortly after they got going again, Hermo sensed the presence of three ogres hiding off the road to ambush travelers and led Seth in a circuitous route before rejoining the road beyond their sight. Later in the day, the hermit troll hurried them to take cover before a giant driving a vast wagon pulled by a dragon rolled into view. Seth could hardly believe the sight of a dragon harnessed like a draft horse.

  The road crossed prairies and low hills, sometimes meandering into forests. Mountains remained distantly visible in one direction or another. Many of the trees were without leaves, and dry, dead grasses covered most fields, with very few blossoms.

  As the sun plunged toward the horizon, the day became cold and the breeze grew into gusts of wind that hurled gritty dust at them. “Why is it so cold?” Seth asked. “Isn’t it July?”

  “Southern hemisphere,” Calvin said from his pocket. “It’s winter down here.”

  The wind strips away some of my mass, Reggie said. But dirt is easily replaced.

  “Me no like cold,” Hermo said, stomping his feet and rubbing his hands together. “Me no like wind.”

  “Me no like it either,” Seth said. “Especially with night coming and no place to sleep.”

  “Always places,” Hermo said. “Have to find them.”

  “We don’t have blankets or tents,” Seth said. “Or very warm clothes. Can you find us shelter for the night?”

  “Easy,” Hermo said. “I lead. You follow.”

  I don’t like how he talks to you, Reggie communicated to Seth.

  Seth looked at the humanoid figure of dirt. Considering how dingy Reggie appeared as he shambled along the road, with no face and little grace in his movements, it remained a surprise to perceive coherent words from him. “It’s just his way,” Seth said.

  Before long, Hermo guided them off the road. While crossing a sloping field, Hermo paused, picked up a rock, subtly licked it, then tossed it aside. With daylight fading, they crested a low rise, and a large farmhouse came into view. Beside the house, Seth saw a barn, a big wagon, a well, an outhouse, and a simple windmill.

  Hermo pointed at the barn. “Shelter.”

  “Looks like somebody lives here,” Seth said. “By the scale of things, somebody big.”

  Hermo shook his head. “Nobody home. Shutters closed. No horsey for cart. No fires. No lights.”

  “It’s abandoned?” Seth asked. Hermo was right that the little compound seemed still. The farmhouse had two chimneys and a stovepipe. With the temperature dropping and the wind rising, wouldn’t someone light a fire against the chill if there were people inside? Wouldn’t they be cooking dinner? Wouldn’t a lamp be lit to brighten a room as twilight faded?

  “Empty,” Hermo assured him. He started down the gentle slope to the farmhouse.

  A gust of wind stripped away enough warmth to make Seth’s teeth chatter, and he followed. He could run from a giant. Freezing to death might be harder to dodge.

  Seth stepped quietly as he entered the barnyard. The owner could be asleep inside. Maybe he didn’t get cold. Maybe he preferred his meat raw. Maybe he could see in the dark. Seth looked around tensely, half expecting a door to fly open or a dog to start barking. But the little farm remained quiet.

  Hermo led them to a large door on the side of the barn. Judging from the dimensions of the door, Seth estimated the farmer was at least twice his height. Hermo laid a palm against the door and bowed his head. “Door locked. I find way in.”

  Seth focused on the dark power inside of himself, then reached out mentally to locate the lock inside the door. With a small exertion of power, he disengaged the lock.

  At the sound, Hermo leaped away as if he had been shocked, falling flat to the ground and blending in with the dry leaves. Seth stared in amazement—Hermo hadn’t changed color, but the way he melded with the ground was uncanny.

  “Nobody is coming,” Seth said quietly. “I undid the lock.”

  Hermo raised his head as if considering a new possibility, then gave a little nod. He had to jump to reach the handle and open the door. Seth and Reggie entered behind Hermo; then Seth surveyed the still barnyard one last time before shutting the door.

  The barn smelled of hay and old wood and seemed no warmer than the air outside, except that the walls held the wind back. Hermo motioned for Seth to follow, then stalked over to a far corner of the barn. The whole building creaked when the wind gusted, but it seemed tight and solid, because Seth felt no drafts.

  Hermo yanked aside a mat on the floor to reveal a hidden trapdoor. Seth helped him pull it open, and they went down some stairs to a snug room with four beds made out of patchwork quilts stuffed with straw. A precarious stack of folded quilts occupied one corner.

  “Shelter,” Hermo said, holding up a lantern he had discovered.

  “Good work,” Seth said. “It’s warmer down here. This will work for tonight. Should we cover up the trapdoor?”

  “Me do it,” Hermo said, puffing out his chest. “Expert hider.”

  With the lantern lit, Seth could see there was not a single fancy thing about the little room Hermo had discovered. But it was plenty cozy, with an abundance of quilts. Hermo left and returned with some salty strips of jerky along with a bunch of root vegetables and a bucket of water.

  After eating, Hermo secured the trapdoor, then bundled up in one of the rudimentary beds and began to snore softly.

  “Are you tired?” Seth whispered to Reggie.

  I am made of dirt, Reggie replied. I am your assistant. We are traveling to Humburgh.

  “Do you need sleep?” Seth asked.

  Should I need sleep?

  “If not, you can stand guard,” Seth said quietly. “Let us know if anybody comes.”

  I don’t know how to sleep, Reggie communicated. I will stand guard. He went over and stood at the base of the stairs.

  Seth settled onto a bed of straw beneath two quilts and on top of one. Getting comfortable took some squirming, but, compared to sleeping in a rowboat in the belly of a leviathan, it felt heavenly. Seth wondered how easily he would be able to fall asleep while trespassing. There was real danger of the owner returning. Maybe the farm was abandoned for the winter. Maybe nobody would ever return. Or maybe he would hear a wagon pull up at any moment. At least Reggie was standing guard.

  “How about you, Seth?” Calvin asked quietly. “Are you tired?”

  “Sure,” Seth whispered. “It was a long day.”

  “Your companions don’t look like much,” Calvin said, “but they’re more useful than a glance could reveal.”

  “Hermo helps us hide and can find shelter,” Seth said.

  “Reggie can watch for danger,” Calvin said.

  “And you’re someone I can actually talk to,” Seth said.

  “Hey,” Calvin complained. “I found Dante!”

  “You’re valuable for lots of reasons,” Seth said. “It’s nice to know I have a real friend.”

  “Especially when he is your loyal vassal,” Calvin said. “You’re actually a lot like yourself, even without your memories.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Seth said. “Hopefully getting them back won’t be too big of a shock.”

  “You’ll be glad to have them,” Calvin said. “I would hate to lose my memories.”

  “I hope it
will help me better understand what to do next,” Seth said, shifting his position, brittle straw crinkling beneath the quilt.

  “A lot of people miss you,” Calvin said. “Kendra would do anything for you, as would many other friends and family members. You may have forgotten, but I remember. You’re not as alone as you feel. And there is a war to fight against the dragons.”

  “One step at a time,” Seth said. “We also have to help you find Serena.”

  “Yes,” Calvin said. “And break the nipsie curse. To think she might be here at this sanctuary someplace makes me restless! But like you said—one step at a time.”

  “Good night, Calvin.”

  “Good night, Seth.”

  Wake up! came the anxious demand. Master Seth, wake up!

  Seth opened his eyes to the unsettling sight of a pile of dirt leaning over him. A lumpy portion of the pile rocked against his shoulder, jostling him. A heap of dirt could show no expression to convey urgency, but the emotion came across clearly through the words in Seth’s mind.

  Somebody is here!

  Seth reached for the tube of walrus butter Ronodin had given him. He had to eat a little each morning in order to open his eyes to beings of a magical nature. As soon as he tasted the fatty substance, the pile of dirt resolved into the crude, humanoid form of Reggie.

  Up above, in the barn, Seth heard a door open and the clomp of heavy footfalls, followed by the clang and clatter of somebody rummaging through a pile of tools.

  “Are you sure it’s a human?” a male voice asked, speaking Jiganti, the language of the giants.

  “Undoubtedly,” a husky female voice answered. “It came into our yard and into this barn and I feel sure it’s still here.”

  “Why would a human enter our barn?” the male voice asked. “Don’t they usually want to live?”

  “Follow my sniffer,” the female said. “We’ll find him.”

  “I smell the intruder too,” the male said. “It just makes no sense.”

  Seth winced as heavy footfalls tromped over to the trapdoor.