by Mel Odom
“How much would one of them sell for?” Cobner asked with renewed interest.
“I don’t know,” Wick admitted. “But I do know that wizards go to extreme lengths to get them.”
“Don’t know that I would be all that interested in finding one,” Cobner said. “There’s an old saying: Wizards sometimes pay in pain and death those that they can’t pay in gold and gratitude. I don’t know how true it is, but I’ve heard it all my life.”
“We’re not going to sell it to a wizard,” Wick said.
“And why not?”
“Because we’re going to use it to control the dragon.” Wick knelt and sifted through a basket of gems each as large as his fist and all incredibly beautiful.
“A wizard’s spell?” Cobner asked suspiciously.
“No. I don’t know any wizard’s spells. But I do know that if the Dragonheart is destroyed—which isn’t an easy thing to do either—then the dragon will die.”
Cobner rattled through gold coins more enthusiastically. “So you’re going to get the Dragonheart and threaten to break it if Shengharck doesn’t leave us alone.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, extortion,” Cobner said. “Not a favorite of mine, but I do like the simple way it works. And the fact that it works nearly every time.”
Putting it that baldly made Wick feel somewhat uncomfortably ashamed, which was also ludicrous because he had no doubt the great dragon would eat them all if it got the chance. It also made the plan sound too good to be true. Was it really possible to menace a dragon with a gem that was supposed to be its heart? Or was that just a myth started by the dragons themselves as a means of finding out who would try to control them? Or possibly even to lure brave warriors to their deaths? The little librarian didn’t know and he wished that he did.
The volcano rumbled and the chamber shivered again, sending a deluge of coins and gems spilling down the tall mounds. Wick surveyed the shifting treasure with heart-sinking dread. How am I ever going to find one gem among all this—
He froze, afraid that if he shifted perspectives at all that he would lose sight of the gem he’d just spotted. The gem—a ball of dark sapphire around a starburst of black pearl trimmed in goldweave—sat at the top of the tall mound of gold and gems and jewelry. It glowed with an incandescence that was purer than the pink and gold light spewing from the lava-filled crack that lit the room.
Breath caught in the back of his throat, Wick moved forward and started cautiously climbing the hill of gold coins. Gems and coins slid from beneath his waterlogged boots, but he made his way up the stacked treasure inch by inch. Then, just as he was about to reach out and gently take the gem, the volcano boomed again, filling the chamber with ear-splitting thunder.
The entire chamber shuddered as the ground rocked from the force of the explosions. A thick, steam fog-bank rolled into the chamber from the crack in the floor. Without warning, the treasure mounds quivered and shifted, flattening out.
Afraid that he was going to lose the gem in the collapsing treasure, Wick lunged for it. His fingers closed around the hard edges of coins and he couldn’t tell if he’d gotten the gem at all until he opened his hands. There, amid a dozen gold and silver coins of different shapes and sizes, lay the curious-looking gem.
Wick plucked the coins away, dropping them at his feet like peels from a fruit. The gem felt icy cold to the touch, but threw off heat in strong, measured beats. Like a beating heart, he realized in wonderment. The beat was so strong, so sure in his hand that he knew nothing dwarven, elven, human, dweller, or goblinkin could ever hope to hold it. This is it! A wave of triumph washed over him, pushing all his uncertainty into the back of his mind. He turned to Cobner. “Cobner!”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got it! I found—”
Suddenly, the funnel that drained water into the chamber from the whirlpool and the lake exploded in a silvery spray.
Wick turned to face the cistern as Shengharck spread its massive batlike wings and rose from the shallow water.
“Put that back!” the dragon commanded in a thundering voice that echoed dizzyingly in the confined space of the chamber. “Put it back now, halfer!”
Frightened out of his wits to be staring into the dragon’s fearsome eyes, Wick dropped the gem.
Shengharck launched into the air and flapped its great wings, streaking toward the little librarian.
“Move, little warrior!” Cobner bellowed. Suddenly, the dwarven warrior was there, shoving Wick out of the way with one hand while raising an ornate full shield in front of him.
The dragon struck the shield a solid blow that rang like a gong.
Cobner fell back a dozen feet and smashed up against a pile of treasure that cascaded down over him. “It held!” the dwarf howled. He thumped the shield proudly. “Did you see that, little halfer? Why now, that’s a shield a fighting man would be proud to carry!”
Cobner might have deflected Shengharck’s attack, but the gem had been lost in the encounter.
“He’s coming around again,” Cobner yelled, pushing himself to his feet.
Wick glanced at Shengharck, watching as the dragon flew expertly through the tangle of stalactites and stalagmites.
“Stupid dwarf!” the dragon roared. “I’ll slash your head off this time and eat it whole before your eyes have time to go blind.”
“You come ahead on, you great flying lizard,” Cobner challenged, moving away from Wick. “Why, if I had a proper weapon, I’d put a few knots on that ugly skull of yours for pestering me so.”
Wick couldn’t believe Cobner was talking to the dragon so demeaningly. Didn’t the dwarf know that the dragon could kill him without scarcely blinking an eye?
“Come on, little warrior,” Cobner whispered. “I can’t bait that wyrm for long before he ups and eats me like I was a fly being eaten by a long-tongued frog. Find that gem and let’s move on into the blackmail.”
Frantically, Wick scattered the coins at his feet, hoping the gem would turn up.
The dragon straightened itself in flight, turning tightly back toward Cobner. Malevolent evil glinted in its eyes. Then it opened its jaws and breathed flames.
Cobner cursed and tucked himself behind the shield. For the first time, Wick saw that a layer of pearl-blue dragon scales had covered it. No! the little librarian thought as the flames lunged forward.
The flames struck Cobner’s borrowed shield and blazed into an inferno that was almost blinding. Wick felt certain the brave dwarf was dead this time. Then the flames died away and Cobner stuck his head out. “Ha! Take that! And the shield’s fireproof, too!”
It made sense, Wick realized, that Shengharck would have among his treasure weapons that could be used against dragons as well. How long had the shield laid among the hoard, taken from the hands of a hero who’d fallen in battle or traded it for the life of a loved one?
Even as the flames had died away, a flash of blue and black and gold caught Wick’s eyes. He grabbed immediately, coming up with the gem again.
Shengharck lashed out with a hind talon, chasing Cobner back into hiding. This time the dread beast also struck with its tail, slapping the dwarven warrior aside as if it were an afterthought.
Lifted from the ground by the blow, Cobner flew through the air and landed nearly twenty feet away with a resounding thump. The shield spun out of his grasp, flying another twenty feet past him. The impact obviously left the dwarven warrior dazed, but he still struggled to get to his feet.
“Now,” Shengharck cried, “you will pay for your impertinence, dwarf. I’ll eat you in bites, only taking off enough that you have a lot of life left in you for awhile.” The dragon flapped its huge wings and streaked toward Cobner.
“No!” Wick shouted. He tried to ignore the fact that his voice had cracked and broken and squeaked while he tried to sound so commanding. “If you touch him, I’ll—” What, he wondered, stealing a quick look at the gem in his fist, exactly will I do? He watched the dragon swooping down o
n Cobner, knowing if he’d guessed wrong he was about to see his friend eaten alive before his very eyes.
Shengharck seemed determined not to break off the attack. Then, at the last moment, the dragon turned aside. Gracefully, Shengharck dropped to the top of the treasure trove in front of Wick. The dragon cocked its head to one side. “And what, little halfer, exactly is it that you will do?”
“I’ll—I’ll break this gem,” Wick threatened.
Shengharck ran talons through the treasure at its feet. “So? As you can see, I have plenty of other gems.”
“Not like this one,” Wick replied, his voice quavering uncontrollably. Even his hand holding the cool, pulsing gem shook like a leaf in a gale wind.
“Pray tell me what you think makes that one so special?”
“It’s a Dragonheart,” Wick said.
“Is it, now?” the dragon asked. It scratched at the bottom of its massive jaw with a tentative foreleg. The scratching of claws against dragon scales sounded rough and harsh and made Wick’s teeth hurt.
“Yes.”
The dragon regarded Wick silently for a moment, then flicked its wings out to emphasize its size. “You are such a little thing, halfer. Surely hardly big enough to have a brain. Yet you claim to know things that are well beyond your ken.”
“I know about Dragonhearts,” Wick replied. “I know that dragons sometimes remove their own hearts to make themselves more invincible in battle.”
“You,” the dragon said with slow deliberation, “remind me of a mouse. A small, pathetic little mouse. Hardly worth the trouble at all to eat.” The dragon cocked its head the other way. “But I will eat you, little mouse.”
Slowly, Wick backed away from the dragon. The lava-filled crack was only forty feet away.
“Where are you going, little mouse?” Shengharck curled up his tail like a cat and stretched luxuriously. Gold coins spilled from beneath him with musical tinkling.
“Y-y-your b-b-breath,” Wick stammered, “is t-t-terrible.”
“Really?” Shengharck didn’t appear offended in the slightest. “It’s probably from eating too many dwellers. The goblinkin bring me the sick ones and the old ones that they capture in their slaving raids. And sometimes I demand a few young ones. Just because I like to annoy the goblins and because I’ve found young dwellers are much sweeter. Especially when they’re flame-breath roasted to a crackly, scream-till-they-die crunch.”
Sickened, Wick said nothing and kept backing away.
“Let’s say you were right about that being a Dragonheart,” Shengharck said. “How do you know it’s even mine?”
“Whom else would it belong to?” Wick demanded.
“Another dragon, perhaps. You are aware that I control other dragons, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then what makes you so sure you have the right Dragonheart—assuming, of course, that what you’re holding is a Dragonheart?”
Wick’s voice betrayed him twice, coming out as a whistling gurgle before he could speak. “B-b-because you’d h-h-have b-b-burned me up or eaten me by now if I’d been w-w-wrong.” He kept backing away, almost to the edge now. He felt the heat from the lava warming him from behind.
“Would I?” The dragon did its best to appear innocent.
To Wick, the look bordered on the obscene. The little librarian stood at the edge of the crack. Cobner was slowly making his way toward the shield, trying to remain invisible to the dragon.
“You don’t know me very well, little mouse,” the dragon said. “I do like to play with my food before I eat it.” It uncoiled from the pile of treasure and walked across the chamber toward Wick. “Now give me that gem before I make even your death miserable.”
Wick wanted to demand why fiercely, to put the dragon on notice, but he couldn’t get his throat or tongue to work. He just raised his eyebrows and looked the question at the great creature while his jaws quivered. Hopefully he looked more challenging than goofy.
“That gem is a particular favorite of mine,” Shengharck said. “I detest the thought of something happening to it.”
“S-something w-w-will happen to it,” Wick stuttered, “if y-y-you keep coming t-t-toward m-m-me.”
“W-w-what?” the dragon mocked, then burst out laughing. “Oh, little mouse, you do so amuse me.” The dragon’s feature hardened. “Now give me the gem!”
“No,” Wick replied. “If I do, you’ll kill m-m-me.” This would sound so much more convincing if I weren’t stuttering.
“I’m going to kill you anyway,” Shengharck promised. “What makes you so sure you know anything about dragons at all?”
“I’m a Librarian,” Wick declared proudly. “It’s my job to know something about everything.”
“Really?” Shengharck grinned. “A Librarian? Lord Kharrion hated your ilk. Hated books. And he got rid of them.”
“Not all of them,” Wick said.
“That’s interesting to know. Some dragons know how to read.”
Wick swallowed. The dragon’s lying! It’s got to be lying! He’d never heard anything about dragons knowing how to read.
“I take it you didn’t know that, little mouse.”
Wick swallowed again, suddenly aware of how close the dragon was to him. He should have never let the foul creature get that close.
“Do you trust your skills as a Librarian that much, little mouse?” Shengharck asked in a harsh voice. “Are you willing to risk your life on those skills?”
“I’m a Third Level Librarian,” Wick stated. “I’m good at what I do.”
“What? Not even a First or Second Librarian?” The dragon shook its head as if in disbelief.
“I am extremely well read,” Wick continued, ignoring the dragon as best as he could. “I love my work.”
“You’re afraid,” the dragon accused.
“I am easy to work with,” Wick said, going over the list of positive things he’d thought up about himself all those weeks ago in Greydawn Moors when he was going to face Grandmagister Frollo and thinking that he was about to be dismissed from the Library. “I stayed dedicated and made it into the Library even after being passed over during the Novice Librarian selection for three years running.”
“So you’re a working failure,” the dragon taunted.
Wick thought furiously, trying to find one more thing to feel good about. “I-I-I make beautiful Qs.”
At that, the dragon laughed uproariously. “Beautiful Qs? Oh and now there’s a skill that will save your life in the next moment, little mouse. Beautiful Qs, indeed.” The foul creature paused. “In all this reading you’ve done, have you ever read about a dragon’s speed?”
Wick nodded. Dragons were fast. He’d seen it for himself.
“I think,” Shengharck said, “that I can bite the hand from your arm, maybe even take the whole body, before you can throw that gem into the lava. What do you think?”
Wick trembled and his stomach turned sour. Is a dragon that fast? He thought about everything he’d read, then wished he’d read more, and still didn’t know for sure.
“I also look into your eyes,” the dragon went on, “and I don’t see the eyes of a predator. You’ve never killed even so much as a butterfly before, have you, little mouse?”
Without warning, the volcano rumbled again, so fiercely this time even Shengharck trembled and shifted.
Wick, however, thought the dragon was lunging at him.
The little librarian stepped back, forgetting how close he was to the ledge. Suddenly, there was nothing but thin air beneath his left foot and he fell. “Yaaaaahhhhh!” He dropped the gem as he clawed for the edge of the ledge. After everything he’d been through, he barely had the strength to catch himself and hold on. When he pulled his head up past the ledge, he found himself almost nose-to-nose with the dragon.
“Now,” Shengharck roared, touching Wick’s face with one blade-sharp talon, “where is that gem?”
Regretfully, knowing the dragon was probably going to bit
e his head off then and there, Wick glanced sorrowfully over his shoulder. “I-I-I d-d—” Down below, still falling toward the lava, the gem glinted blue and black with a hint of gold.
“What?” the dragon thundered.
Wick tried again. “I-d-d-”
“WHAT?” the dragon demanded.
“I dropped it!” Wick screamed. “I swear I didn’t mean to! You scared me! It just slid right through my fingers!”
“What?”
Instinctively, Wick drew his head back down, dropping to hang by his arms. Shengharck’s great maw closed over the little librarian’s head, then the great dragon launched himself into the lava-filled crack, beating the batlike wings inhumanly fast as it streaked down to try and catch the gem.
Wick watched in absolute fear as the dragon got within inches of the falling gem. Shengharck snapped at the glittering jewel spinning through the air—and missed!
In the next moment, the gem disappeared into the red-hot lava.
“NO!” Shengharck’s cry of despair filled the chamber. The dragon spread its wings and flapped them, rising again. Its furious and unbelieving gaze riveted upon the little librarian hanging at the end of his arms from the crack’s edge. “Do you know what you have done?”
Wick was so scared as he watched the dragon flying toward him that he couldn’t even think straight. Cobner reached down and grabbed Wick’s wrists in a grip like iron. With a growl of effort, the dwarven warrior yanked the little librarian back to solid ground.
Wham! The dragon collided with the rock wall where Wick had been hanging only a moment before.
Sprawled on the ground beside Cobner, Wick watched as the dragon’s forelegs slid over the crack’s edge. Slowly, straining with effort, Shengharck raised his head above the crack, staring straight at the little librarian. “You’ve killed me.”
Despite the fact that he knew the dragon would have killed him and not thought twice about it, Wick felt sorry for the creature. Dragons were meant to be hated and feared, and he had no problem with that. They were even meant to be killed. But not by me!