Part of the tower had tumbled in on itself. A scaffold had been erected halfway up the damaged portion of the tower, and two ogres lay dead beside it. “That’s one fight we missed,” whispered Tarl. Shal and Ren smiled. They were all feeling excited and obsessed with a growing sense of purpose, but at the same time, all three were as tense as stretched slingshot bands, so the levity, however brief, brought relief.
Tarl pointed to a huge doorway to the left of the scaffolding. Its monstrous wooden door stood wide open.
“I suspect Cadorna and any men he has left went in that way,” Ren said. “Let’s see if there’s another door.”
Cadorna was fit to be tied. The kill fee he would have to pay the Black Watch and the mercenaries’ guild was astronomical. Five soldiers of the Black Watch had been poisoned by the bushes, and four more had died facing a wizard who kept trying to pass himself off as the Lord of the Ruins. When Cadorna finally came face to face with the dragon, he didn’t have enough men left. The six remaining soldiers of the Black Watch had managed to weaken the dragon considerably before getting themselves killed, and Gensor had managed to make a couple of magical attacks, but in the end, Cadorna was forced to flee with Gensor to a nearby room to plan what to do next.
Shal and Tarl followed Ren cautiously as they circled the tower. There was a second door of more conventional size on the building’s opposite side. It was an ebony door with an elaborate carving of a dragon on it, but this door was shut. Shal cast a spell to detect magical traps. When a yellow aura glowed along the door’s perimeter, Shal summoned Cerulean from the Cloth of Many Pockets. As soon as the great horse touched the door with a hoof, a yellow mist puffed from the dragon’s mouth. “No!” Shal bit back a scream as Cerulean bolted backward, snorting loudly. Immediately Shal murmured a cantrip to disperse the poison gas, but the puff of wind did not come soon enough to keep the first of the poison from penetrating the big horse’s nostrils and lungs. Shal tried to calm Cerulean, but he was shaking his head furiously and snorting violently in an effort to get the toxic gas from his lungs.
Tarl pulled a pouch from his belt and tossed some dust at Cerulean’s nose. Immediately the horse began to sneeze, and he kept it up for several seconds. By the time the sneezing finally slowed, Cerulean’s eyes were bleary with water and his nose was running thick and yellow. He snorted once more, but then the fit was over. Shal wiped his nose and eyes with a cloth and patted his neck.
You okay, big fella? she asked silently.
Cerulean nodded. His breathing was still a little uneven, mixed with sniffles, but the poison was obviously no longer a danger.
Meanwhile, Ren had checked the ebony door for mechanical traps. Finding none, he eased it open. Peering inside the door, Ren could see that the chamber inside was completely open, from the full height of the tower to the depths of the subterranean cavern below. The door opened onto a roomy landing, fenced by an iron guardrail. A black grillwork stairway led down. The walls inside the tower and the cavern below all glowed a brilliant golden color.
“I’ve seen this somewhere before,” Ren whispered.
Behind him, Tarl answered softly, “In the gnoll temple … The model looked just like this. He’ll be here, all right. This must be the lair of the Lord of the Ruins.”
“Do come down,” called a warm, avuncular voice from somewhere below. “I enjoy company.”
The three exchanged surprised glances, but it was Ren who creeped out onto the landing and peered down into the great golden vault. He saw no sign of Cadorna or the soldiers of the Black Watch, but from the top of the stairway, he could see a crescent-shaped pool, a full-sized version of the model they had seen in the gnoll temple. It glistened with an unnatural intensity, as if it created its own light source. “The pool!” whispered Ren. “ ‘Tower to the pool.’ That’s it! The blood from the temples is channeled into that pool!”
Beside the pool, partially hidden from view by the landing, stood a great bronze dragon, identifiable by its metallic color as one of the good dragons of the Realms.
“Please come down,” the dragon repeated. Again the voice, which echoed through the golden chamber, seemed friendly and had a genuine warmth to it.
Ren had seen three dragons close up before. Each had seemed bigger than the one before, but this one was easily half again the size of any of them. Electricity crackled along the beast’s gums and teeth each time it exhaled, and its tail switched behind it nervously.
“A bronze dragon,” whispered Ren to Shal and Tarl, behind him. To the dragon, he said, “We seek the Lord of the Ruins.”
“Dead,” breathed the dragon, puffing a wisp of smoke into the air. “A puny man, but with tremendous magical powers of possession. As evil as anything I’ve seen in millennia.”
“Do you live here?” Ren questioned. He had never heard of a bronze dragon choosing a subterranean lair.
“Yes, honorable Ren o’ the Blade. This has been my lair for several of your lifetimes. Greetings to you and your companions, Shal Bal and Tarl Desanea.”
All three were startled that the dragon knew their names. Tyranthraxus, the evil possessor of the dragon’s mind, recognized their concern and immediately spoke to assuage their fears. “Now, now, there’s nothing to fear. You see, your reputation precedes you, and I must say that the length and breadth of Phlan is safer for your presence. In fact, it is your weakening of the power of the Lord of the Ruins that has allowed me to finally free myself of his control. For years, he held me captive here by means of mind control and a form of possession the likes of which I hope died with him. But his rotting body remains here in my lair. I would be indebted to you if you would remove it.”
Ren motioned for Shal and Tarl to follow him, and he started down the stairs. Shal called Cerulean back into the Cloth of Many Pockets, and she and Tarl followed.
As the three stood facing the dragon, they were awed all over again by its size. Shal had never been in close proximity to a dragon, and she felt an unreasonable terror creeping through her body as she stared up at the gigantic beast. She realized as she looked on that her fear was not from the creature’s presence but rather from the thread of a memory that was slowly being drawn across her mind. “… Beware of the dragon of bronze.” It took her a moment to recall the context in which she had heard the words, but then suddenly she remembered. Ranthor had spoken of the dragon! As he fought with Denlor to defeat the masses of monsters and humanoids that scrabbled at the tower’s walls, he had warned her about the dragon of bronze!
At almost the same moment as Shal realized there might be good reason for her fear, Tarl became aware that the Hammer of Tyr, which he was holding at his side, was glowing bright blue in his hand. He could feel more than see the pulsing energy within the hammer, and he caught a glimpse of the dragon blinking as the hammer’s rays reflected in its eyes.
“That thing you’re carrying …” the dragon said innocently. “It’s hurting my eyes. Can you cover it, please?”
Tarl lifted the hammer toward the dragon. “The light of the Hammer of Tyr should be soothing to you or any other good creature of the Realms.”
Ren interrupted before the dragon could reply. “Where’s the body you want disposed of?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, the body,” said the dragon, turning its head away from the light. “It’s here behind me. The Lord of the Ruins died along with several of his minions. Only two escaped.” The dragon shifted its bulk to one side. Behind it were several charred bodies, piled together in a heap like sacks of flour. “I was finally able to break his—”
“The Black Watch!” Ren exclaimed suddenly. Despite the damage done by the dragon’s lightning breath, the chain mail on the bodies remained intact, and those Ren could see bore the sign of the mercenary guild employed by Cadorna. “Those are soldiers of the Black Watch, not—”
“And the dragon is the Lord of the Ruins,” whispered Shal, starting to back away.
Ren shook his head.
“Try to get one of the i
oun stones,” Shal whispered. “A good dragon wouldn’t care.”
Ren nodded his head imperceptibly, then turned back to face the dragon. “Which one of the bodies belongs to the Lord of the Ruins?” he asked as he walked to the inner curve of the crescent, the side of the pool opposite the dragon, as if to examine the bodies from that angle.
“He’s at the bottom of the heap,” answered the dragon. “He was the first to die.”
Ren knew at that moment that the dragon was lying. Mercenaries such as those of the Black Watch would go to their deaths in hopes of treasure, but the minute their employer was killed, they had no reason to stick around. Ren also saw, as he came closer, that the necks of the soldiers had been sliced, and their blood was draining into the brilliant waters of the pool. Ren stepped up to the hexagon at the crux of the crescent, noticing that it was just like the one in the diorama on the gnoll altar. Ioun stones were set in place at four of its six corners, while two empty sockets stood gaping, waiting to be filled. “That’s quite a collection of ioun stones,” he said, reaching his hand out toward the hexagon.
In a move of exceptional dexterity for so large a creature, the dragon swiveled its entire body to face the ranger. “Yes … remarkable, aren’t they?”
Ren pulled Right from his boot. “I expect you’ve heard that I have an ioun stone,” said Ren softly.
Avarice spread over the dragon’s previously composed features. “Yes … so I’ve heard.” The change in its manner was not even subtle. There was a definite edge in its voice, a demanding quality. Suddenly the dragon snaked its tongue out at Ren and hissed, “Give it to me … or die!”
The dragon thrust its huge head and neck across the pool toward Ren, its jaws wide open. Ren hurled Right at the creature, diving and rolling before his release was even complete. At that moment, a thundering bolt of electricity shot from the creature’s gaping mouth and exploded against the wall behind where Ren had just stood. At the same time, the dragon bellowed in pain and anger as the dagger buried itself to the hilt in its right eye. Quickly Ren scrambled to his feet and sprinted around the pool to the dragon’s flank, the only place where he might be safe from the creature’s flailing tail.
The dragon spun back toward Ren, pivoting its giant mass of flesh as though it were weightless. Ren hurried to keep close to the creature’s flanks, all the while attacking mercilessly with his short swords, jabbing and chopping at the tenderest flesh on the dragon’s scaly body. Somehow he managed to keep close enough to the dragon that the creature could not use its breath weapons on him for fear of hurting itself.
Shal had not expected the dragon’s reaction to be nearly so quick or so violent, and she was terrified for Ren, who kept scrabbling to keep himself just barely out of the dragon’s reach. Shal had never fought a dragon before, but she knew the lore: Creatures of lightning could not be hurt by lightning. She extended her hands toward the dragon and rushed through the words to a spell she had memorized but never tried before. Instantly a gray-blue cone of bitter cold extended from the palm of her hand to the exposed side of the dragon. Within the radius of the cone’s circle, the dragon’s scales immediately began to turn white, popping and snapping with the extreme cold. The dragon let out a roar and spun to attack the new offender.
Tarl leaped in front of Shal, the Hammer of Tyr extended before him. The dragon’s lightning bolt ricocheted from the hammer to the pool and back again for several deafening, blinding seconds. The dragon roared in frustration as the lightning grew in intensity, still trapped between the hammer and the pool. So strong was its energy that it was all Tarl could do to maintain his grip on the magical artifact.
Suddenly the dragon turned its lightning to the stairway and landing. The timbers immediately burst into flame. Flames shot up and smoke billowed as the exit was destroyed. Then the dragon roared and charged Shal and Tarl, forcing Ren to scramble to keep out of the way of its vicious tail. It was small consolation that the dragon’s lightning wouldn’t work against the hammer. The beast was huge. Its size alone could kill, and it was lumbering right toward them. Tarl hurled the Hammer of Tyr at the beast with all his strength as Shal hurriedly conjured up an ice storm. The dragon was nearly upon them when the hammer slammed into its chest. Blue energy crackled and arced from the point of impact, and the dragon reeled back, shrieking with the pain of the blow. A moment later, sheets of ice plastered over its chest, neck, and the exposed parts of its haunches. It scrabbled awkwardly on the ice, its movements hindered by the energy-sapping cold. It shook like a wet dog to rid itself of the bone-chilling cold and the nuisance pricking at its side, but it got rid of neither, and the glow from the blue hammer, now returned to Tarl’s hand, was piercing its remaining good eye.
The possessor, Tyranthraxus, struggled to keep the dragon reacting with intellect rather than instinct. Intimidation was critical. The attackers must not know the weakness of the body. Under his impetus, the great beast puffed itself up, roared, and launched itself forward again toward the source of its greatest pain. Tyranthraxus could feel and smell the terror of the two as he closed in with the dragon’s body. One more time, he thought—do it one more time, and then this fight will be fair.
Unwittingly, Tarl obliged. He launched the Hammer of Tyr at the dragon again. No sooner had the hammer left Tarl’s fingertips than the dragon thrust its great head forward. Brilliant yellow lightning and the hammer’s blue light shattered the stale air in the dragon’s lair. Even as the dragon staggered back from the hammer blow, Tarl was at the receiving end of a blazing yellow lightning bolt. The cleric’s body slammed backward as though hit by a giant hammer and was driven flat against the wall. The smell of his flesh smoking and burning filled the air, and the Hammer of Tyr fell to the ground as his body slumped limply against the wall.
Shal felt something snap inside her. She screamed loudly, but she did not look back at Tarl. She aimed her fingers straight for the creature’s mouth. Instantly flames jetted from her fingertips. The dragon’s head jerked back as the fire whooshed around its face, its lower jaw fried clear through. Shal cast a special Magical Shield spell and called for the Wand of Wonder even as the dragon shrieked and brought its head back down to launch more lightning.
Ren had never ceased in his attack with his short swords. Again and again, he stabbed deep into the dragon’s tough hide. When he saw Tarl hurled against the wall, his already frenzied attack became even more furious. Working his swords like a mountain climber’s picks, Ren scaled the dragon’s back. The gigantic tail slapped and flailed nearby, and when Shal’s flames sent the dragon’s head snapping back, it was all he could do to hang on and drag himself to the base of the dragon’s neck, where the tail was no longer a threat. His legs clinging to the beast’s broad neck, he used all his strength to plunge the two short swords deep into the tendons between the dragon’s shoulder blades.
The dragon shrieked and roared in agony and rage. Yellow lightning shot from its mouth, only to be reflected off Shal’s magical shield. An instant later, the dragon threw its head back as its own lightning returned and sizzled the flesh of its underbelly. It shrieked once more, flailing its tail and shaking its shoulders violently to try to rid itself of Ren, who had called for Right and was now stabbing with his two magical daggers.
Pain dictating its movements, the creature wagged its head, gulped a mouthful of fluid from the pool, and sprayed a jet of yellow acid breath at Shal through its drooping jaw. “Protect from poison!” Shal screamed, and she raised the Wand of Wonder. A million and more yellow droplets of poison hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, and then the cavern exploded with a riot of beating wings, as each droplet became a brilliantly colored butterfly. Under other circumstances, the sight would have been breathtakingly delightful, but now the thousands upon thousands of butterflies served only to reduce visibility to zero.
Ren continued to battle by feel alone, his magical daggers slicing through the dragon’s thick scaly hide as if it were butter. He stabbed and slice
d as fast and hard as his arms would move, scooting ever higher up onto the dragon’s neck, hoping to find its jugular. Shal lowered her magical shield and cast another Burning Hands spell, aiming by memory for the dragon’s abdomen, below where she had last seen Ren. Jets of flame shot from her fingers, and thousands of butterflies popped and burst, caught in the magical inferno. The dragon screamed, an almost inhuman scream, as the flames struck and spread across its chest. Just then one of Ren’s daggers ripped through tendon and sliced through an artery in the creature’s neck. It reared high on its hind feet, then pitched itself over in its agony, slamming Ren to the ground beside it. It clambered tentatively to its feet, flailing wildly with its tail at the smell and presence of the ranger. With all the force left within its pain-racked body, the dragon tail-slammed Ren against the nearest wall of its lair.
Shal could feel, could hear, the big man’s bones shatter as his body thwacked hard against the stone wall, and she could see, even through the haze of the remaining butterflies, that he was not moving. She leveled her hands at the dragon again, even as it turned its head to attack her, and let loose with a fireball. Fueled by her fury, the fireball was huge and white. It burst square against the dragon’s already injured face and neck, and flames raged from its snout down its torso.
The creature spun wildly, crazy and blinded from the pain. By instinct or luck, it caught Shal with the tip of its tail as it spun, and she was hurled back against Tarl’s charred body. For a moment, Shal saw only blackness, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She knew she needed to finish the dragon off now, before it finished her, but pain and fear froze her body even after her vision cleared. She remained paralyzed, literally waiting to die, but to her surprise, the hulking creature failed to take advantage of her helplessness. Instead, it scrabbled backward and slid into the crescent-shaped pool. Her heart leaped as she realized the dragon must be retreating, perhaps even dying.
Pool of Radiance Page 29