The Anvil of Ice

by Michael Scott Rohan

  Elof laughed. "I'm flattered! I might think more highly of my parents, if that were true!"

  "Is is possible?" demanded Kermorvan. "You are different races—"

  Ansker shook his head. "Simply two aspects of one. As alike a facets of the same jewel—"

  "As alike," grinned Ils, "as dog and wolf… if you will forgive the comparison!"

  They laughed. "But do not think it is only kinship that counts, warrior," Ansker added. "Though you have not been so happy among us, you have stinted nothing; that we will not forget."

  Kermorvan rose and bowed. "Lord Ansker, I thank you. It seems you have been kinder to us than we deserve, and I shall strive to be worthy of it. If anything yet lives of the southern realm when all is done, better days may come between it and the mountain folk."

  "Let us hope so," nodded Ansker. "But for now you must depart. The boat should be there any minute, and you must take it at once. The southward winds are strongest soon, within the first hours of the evening, so prepare yourselves. There is a scabbard there to fit your new sword, Kermorvan; you have your other gear? Good. And you, Elof, yours?"

  "All but this huge hammer!" said Elof, rolling it in oilcloth in his bag of tools. "These are not the least prize I carry away, Kermorvan! Finer they are by far than the ones I left to molder in the Marshlands, free of any taint and full of Ansker's wisdom. No smith among men has better!"

  "Or deserves them more, I think," said Kermorvan. "Well, master, is there some secret way we must take?"

  Ansker looked surprised. "Hardly. We may simply walk down to the wharf; none would hinder you if you are with me. We shall say our farewells there!"

  Nevertheless Ansker paused as they crossed the great gallery poised like a watchtower over the northern entrance of the river, and took care to scan the streets spread out on the slopes below. "There are few folk about, and no guards on the Long Wharf. It looks safe enough. Let us hasten!"

  Elof shivered as they made their way down the cobbled streets. The air of the great cavern felt dank and cool after the fierce glare of the forge, the light dim. It might have been that that made him nervous, but he noticed that Ansker, for all his casual words, stopped and looked around carefully at every corner, and most of all at the southern gallery, now almost overhead. "We must be wary here, for that watchtower is a favorite perch of Andvar's, now he grows aged. Like an old eagle on his eyrie—"

  "An ancient bat in his belfry!" commented Ils. "Well, there's our craft, just making ready by the Long Wharf there. Trim little thing, isn't she?"

  A mast rose by the wharfside, taller than most of the trading craft, and differently rigged. The hull below it was long and lean, some thirty feet from stem to stern and slender of beam, with a blunt vertical bow ending in a high carved post, and a long tiller stretching forward over the stern. It was fully decked, with a companionway aft and a covered hatchway to the hold just behind the mast. This bore two spars instead of one, a short one near the masthead and a wider one not far below, from which duer-gar crewmen were already unfurling a mainsail that flared out widely at its base. "A topsail also!" said Kermorvan,

  surprised. "I hope the rigging is stronger than your wont, even in these light airs!"

  Ils sniffed. "Strong enough, warrior! It's a stepped mast, so you can lower it at need, and that takes firm stays anyway. Just you sit tight and let me do the sailing, I've handled these courier boats before."

  "I doubt it not," muttered Kermorvan gloomily to Elof. "How would a mere boat dare misbehave?"

  Ansker chuckled. "Well, my lads, all your needs are aboard, and so must you be. I'll not make a long farewell of it, but—"

  A sudden shout sounded from above, a hoarse command in the duergar tongue and then in the northern, "You below there! Stand!"

  As one they looked up at the low battlements of the gallery, and Ansker cursed. There stood Andvar, and not on his own; a cluster of grim-faced guards gathered around him. His rage was almost visible, and it quivered in his rasping voice. "Has it come to this, then, that one of my trusted counselors will stoop to conspiracy with foes and usurpers? Did you imagine I would not hear word of such a thing, that all were as disloyal to our folk as you? We had only to catch you in the act!"

  Ansker growled his disgust, and glanced down at the wharf. "There is always some fool… Listen, lads, Ils, do you make a run for the boat while they're still out of bowshot!"

  Elof shook his head. "And leave you here, to face—"

  "To face nothing! He'd shoot you gladly, but he'll never dare touch me!"

  "He's right!" hissed Ils. "Come—"

  But before they had clattered ten paces down the steep slope Andvar jerked his stick in the air, and with a low rumble something slid forward over the outmost end of the battlements, a fearsome thrusting beak of a device that was unmistakably a weapon. Andvar tugged angrily at his beard. "Stay where you are!" he cried, his voice cracking and shrill. "Till the guards come! Or we will shatter you and your boat together!"

  "He's taken leave of his wits!" hissed Ils, as they came to a skidding halt "Look at the guards, they don't like this!"

  "But they may still fire upon us," said Elof. "If they believe your people's survival rests on it—and you can be sure Andvar has chosen his most loyal followers."

  "Are you gone mad, lord?" shouted Ansker furiously. "My daughter is with them—"

  "The worse for her! Upon her own head is any harm, if she will dally with men! And I will have a reckoning for this upon you both, for all the council may say! You betray your land and people to a—"

  His words were cut short by a sudden sound, high and distant, cleaving the still air like a blade. In the northward tunnel the steely rant of a trumpet was ringing echoes off the rock. The echoes took form and became other trumpets, louder, nearer, blasting out an alarm along the dark river. Ils cried out and pointed, and they saw flashes and flickers of light awaken in the tunnel blackness. High on the towers of the citadel a wide concave mirror swung round to catch and relay the light, and from the town behind came a rising outcry, doors slamming and feet running. A deep bell tolled in the citadel, and from across the town, high in the cavern walls, another pealed in discordant answer.

  "The watch is calling!" puffed Ansker, trotting down to join them. "The last they signaled thus, it heralded your coming! But what can this be now? Ils, read me the message!"

  The lights danced in her large eyes. Her lips moved, spelling out the letters in the flickering light. "It comes from the far north… moving on the mountain wall— some assault preparing …" They looked at each other, as the flickering slowed and stopped. For three breathes they waited, and then it began again. "Attack!" said Ils between clenched teeth. "They come!" Then she cried out. They all saw it as it happened. The furthest, dimmest light in the tunnel flared suddenly and grew bright, blazed out red like an ember in the sudden blast. The firelight leaped from it an instant to all the other lights, capered red in the high mirror above, then went out.

  A sound came rolling out of the darkness, flanked and distorted by its own echoes, a booming, bestial rumble. Behind rode a wind that whistled and pulsed as if the blackness itself gasped for breath, and on it a stink of sour musk, of hot metal, of burning meat. The boat's half-lowered sail threshed and beat like the wings of a terrified bird, and fell with the boom of canvas as the startled crew let go the sheets. Again the sound drummed and rolled, the lights flickered again, the trumpet notes blared to a scream against a distant clamor of voices, and a streak of red leaped in the dark. The wind throbbed hot on the watchers' faces, and out of the tunnel glided two huge shadows.

  Voices rose in panic from the town; the boat crew sprang ashore and bolted. For a moment Elof and Kermorvan could make out only the beat of huge wings in the gloom, and between them dancing points of dark iridescence on something long and writhing. High they soared, flitting through the shadows of the roof, and then one shape swooped and fell away on thrashing wings, straight down toward the rooftops of the town.
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  From the gallery above came Andvar's voice in hoarse command, and the war machine began to swing round and up. But it was slow, too slow, for the shape arrowed down now upon the gallery itself.

  From all sides came a single terrified shout, and the rumble of running feet. But Andvar had just time enough to draw himself upright and erect, lift the staff he no longer leaned on high over his head and brandish it fiercely at the swooping shadow. Then a spurt of fire spat downward and streaked along the battlements. The lord of the duergar stood still, a dark silhouette defiant against the racing flame, but it rolled over him and he was gone. Small black figures scuttled this way and that, sprang in desperation even over the battlements, only to blaze in midair and streak down like starstones onto the huddled roofs beneath. In the redoubled glare the beating wings showed transparent, the long serpentine body hanging below glittered and sparkled, its short legs raking at the air like a hunting cat clawing its prey. But among the lines of flame, shapes struggled with the war machine, there was a loud metallic bang and snap, and the beast lurched away from its play and tumbled in the air, leaving smoking streaks of cracked stone across the gallery. That rumbling roar shook the air, and Elof and the others instinctively ducked as the shape fell toward them, wings booming and clapping. It was immense; it seemed to fill the cavern roof—then it flattened out into a glide. The wharf side lights glittered a second on scales like small shields, then shattered before the wind of its passage. Liquid fire beat and boiled through the streets ahead; the rumble of running feet was lost in howls and screams. War machines spat from the citadel walls, and a shower of harpoons came rattling down. One dropped smoking from the air and stuck quivering in the deck of the boat. Down from the roof dived the second shadow, greater than the first, to strike at the citadel, and strange shadows capered before its spattering flame.

  "Dragons!" gasped Ansker, struggling to his feet. "We must get to the citadel, if we yet can! A grown pair of that size has not been seen in the world in my memory, nor so bold an attack! They have passed all our northern towns, to strike straight at the heart of our land! Come!"

  "We cannot," said Kermorvan, and drew his sword. In the streets ahead a wingtip flicked briefly over a roof, there came the sound of a wall crumbling and hoarse screaming suddenly drowned in the belching rumble. A light spurt of fire shot up, racing along a street like a fast-flowing river, kindling flames on either hand. The smaller shadow coursed overhead, twisted gracefully up the cavern wall, across the roof and sped back down across the housetops once again.

  "The worm plays with our people!" said Ils thinly. "The filthy brute has got between half the town and the citadel, while its fellow engages the defenses; now he may clean it out as pleases him! Father, what can we do?"

  "We? Hope it tires of its play, leaves a way clear, even for a few moments. That would let most folk still in the town find safety—if the citadel gates may be opened. Those beasts must not get in! They would hunt us out of it, settle there and breed where we could not easily come against them—"

  The noise above was deafening, the deep rumbling dragon-cries shaking stones from the high roof, to crash down upon the town. Under the clangor of the bells, the cries and hammering of weapons, it was an effort to think, easy to panic. At the far end of the wharf a heavy trading barge suddenly spread sail and swept out into the middle of the river, passing them as it made for the southward gate. Down like a stone from the roof dropped the greater shadow, long tail sinking, down between the boat and the gate. The craft looked tiny against it. A catapult twanged above, and again the watchers ducked as a heavy bolt bearing a thick blue-flamed charge plunged down past them, narrowly missing their boat at the wharf. It splashed hissing into the river, and a blue glow still burned as it sank. The tail of the creature swung up, and then lashed down upon the hapless barge, cracking like a whip on the water. It struck the flanks of the barge with a dull boom, figures fell on the deck, the mast whipped, cracked and toppled into the water. The barge, holed, rolled over and drifted to one side, cries coming to the wharf as its crew struggled around it in the river. Overhead, wings beat, the long head ducked down and the thin jaws parted. A single gout of flame dropped onto the water and spattered into a ring of floating fire; the hulk blazed and the cries fell silent. The beast swept upward again, against a shower of darts.

  "So, no escape by boat!" muttered Kermorvan. "Where has the smaller brute gone now? It no longer quarters the town—"

  "The main street there is clear," panted As, and drew the axe from her belt. "We might make a run…"

  "I see no better way!" said Ansker.

  "Come then, Elof—Elof?"

  "Go on!" gasped Elof, struggling with his pack. "I'll follow straight!" The others hesitated, but he waved them away, and they ran. He stumbled after them, still wrestling with the straps.

  The shadows of the cobbles danced underfoot in the changing patterns of fire and thrashing wings overhead. One street went by, and then another, empty, and the slope steepened. Ahead of them lay the corner they must turn to reach the gate, but many minutes of running still lay between when the lesser dragon stepped slithering round it, and faced them.

  Kermorvan, as he stumbled to a halt, was first to see the look in those eyes as it turned to them, and knew that it had been waiting deliberately for any seeking to escape that way. They were appalling eyes, as huge in proportion as a bird's, and brighter, wickeder. They blinked once, slowly, as a snake does, a thick clear scale sliding like a shutter; and when it dropped they were aglow with delighted malice. The wings rose and rustled like ancient leather, spanning the street's width, then foiled again in a waft of musky stench; oily greenish scales rattled between legs and body as it paced forward, lightly, almost mincing, wholly unlike the ungainly beat in the forest. The hooked claws scored the cobbles.

  Elof, coming up behind, saw Kermorvan stand his ground as the thing advanced, hefting the new sword almost regretfully, like one contemplating some foolish extravagance. The head tossed, the nostrils flared and steamed. Then Elof plunged past Ansker and Ils, and elbowed his friend fiercely aside. The same movement of the arm drew on the gauntlet, and as the meshed teeth parted he thrust it out in, as he realized, the self-same gesture as Andvar's.

  The street vanished into roar and flame. It roiled and swirled in front of him, filling his sight with dazzling intensity, yet he felt nothing. Wonderingly, almost absently, he remembered to close his fingers. The fire swirled and died, and beyond it, half-blinded, he met the maddened stare of the dragon. Between them the cobbles were slick with something yellowish and oily; a foully acrid stench caught at his throat. He reeled, fist bunched tight against something that shook and quivered, saw the huge eyes glitter, the beast's head toss again and come thrusting forward, and as the serrated teeth gaped Elof flung his hand out wide, as if to leap down its very throat.

  The world puffed outward in light and noise, a great hand seemed to brush him aside. Then sight returned, and he was sprawling on the cobbles, with awful sounds in his ears. Past him dashed a tall figure, and as he picked himself up he saw Kermorvan plunge into the threshing, coiling mass, raise his sword high and hew down at the struggling thing. There was a deafening yell, and fire spurted upward. He picked himself up, drew his own sword and hobbled forward. The huge head twisted in front of him, scorched sooty black, its jaw hanging, an eye in sunken ruin. Kermorvan hacked again at the upturned throat, and flame ran across the seam. The body convulsed, he was hurled aside, and the living eye glared up at Elof. Clasping the black sword in both hands, armored left and bare right, he smote at the outstretched neck where Kermorvan had struck. The blade rang on cobbles beneath, agony spattered like hot metal across his hand, and the head sagged; two axe-blades thudded into the gap, then Kermorvan's sword, and the head dropped. They staggered back from the convulsing corpse. Flame spurted among the blood and filth that pooled in the street, and flickered suddenly on their fouled blades. Elof s forgework had hardened him to ignore most burns, but abruptly
he winced and brought his scorched hand to his mouth. A weirdly bitter taste polluted his tongue, and he spat hastily.

  "It burns from within!" shouted Kermorvan in disgust, scraping his blade clean against a stone. "What manner of beast can live thus?"

  "None!" gasped Ansker breathlessly, holding his side. "Elof caught its first fire… and lit the foul stuff it spews… while yet in its mouth—"

  "Guard yourselves!" shouted Ils. Overhead they saw the other beast swing away from the defenses, and hover high under the roof, wings thrashing, as it saw what had become of its fellow. For a moment they thought it would swoop upon them, but then a long blackened tube thrust out over the citadel's high walls. There was a sudden spitting roar, louder even than the dragon's; a ball of blue fire lanced across the height at the beast's wing, so it had to fall awkwardly aside. Up into its path curved a shower of darts, and a great cheer went up from all around. A long ship had come gliding out of the northward tunnel, with many more war engines upon its decks, and behind it spread the sails of another. The dragon plunged aside toward the far side of the cave.

  "From the north!" said Ansker, recovering his breath in deep relief. "They have held off any further assault, then, and come to our aid. Ils, my love, and you lads, now's your chance! Into your boat and away!"

  Kermorvan and Elof looked uncertainly at each other.

  "Don't be such damned fools of men!" roared Ansker. "Think we can't cope now with one little dragon? But suppose you lads get hurt, or our precious weapon spoilt? Who'll save your city then?"

  "But you—" said Elof, clenching his fingers.

  "I can reach the citadel now, can't I? Well, will you stand blathering while Kerbryhaine burns?"