by Dragon Lance
The rip came suddenly as something terrible and shiny, serpentine and black, pushed through the surface of the collapsing sphere. Acid spurted, a spume of searing liquid sweeping through a full circle, hissing into flesh and cloth, leaving the priests blinded, writhing on the floor, uttering shrieks that slowly faded to moans, ragged breathing, or utter silence.
These were not sounds worthy of attention in Sanction, so there was none who came to see what had happened.
The black, slime-covered serpent slithered down from the marble dais and crept to the nearest of the priests. This wretch, though blinded and crippled by the acid, was not yet dead, and his groans rose into piteous wails as the serpent began to feed.
The Best
(ca. 1132 PC)
A story from the ancient times...
I knew the four would come. My urgent plea had brought them. Whatever their motives – and, among this diverse group, I knew those motives were mixed – they were here.
The best. The very best.
I stood in the door of the Bitter Ale Inn and, surveying them, my heart was easier than it had been in many, many days.
The four did not sit together. Of course, they didn’t know each other, except perhaps by reputation. Each sat at his or her own table, eating, drinking quietly. Not making a show of themselves. They didn’t need to. They were the best. But though they said nothing with their mouths – using them for the bitter ale so famous in these parts – they were putting their eyes to work: sizing each other up, taking each other’s measure. I was thankful to see that each seemed to like what he or she saw. I wanted no bad blood between members of this group.
Sitting at the very front of the inn, short in stature, but large in courage – was Orin. The dwarf was renowned through these parts for his skill with his axe, but then so were most dwarves. His blade – Splithair – lay on the table before him, where he could keep both an eye and a loving hand on it. Orin’s true talent lay beneath a mountain, as the saying went He had traversed more dragon caves than any other dwarf who had ever lived. And he had never once lost his way, either there or (more important) back out again. Many a treasure-hunter owed his life – and about a third of the treasure – to his guide, Orin Dark-seer.
Seated near the dwarf, at the best table the Bitter Ale had to offer, was a woman of incredible beauty. Her hair was long and black as a moonless night; her eyes drank in men’s souls the way the dwarf drank ale. The tavern’s regulars – a sorry lot of ne’er-do-wells – would have been nosing around her, their tongues hanging out, but for the marks on her clothes.
She was well dressed, don’t mistake me. The cloth she wore was the finest, most expensive velvet in all the land. Its blue color gleamed in the firelight. It was the silver embroidery on the cuffs of her robes and around the hemline that warned off the cheek-pinchers and kiss-snatchers. Pentagrams and stars and intertwined circles and suchlike. Cabalistic marks. Her beautiful eyes met mine, and I bowed to Ulanda the sorceress, come all the way from her fabled castle hidden in the Blue Mist Forest.
Seated near the door – as near the door as he could get and still remain in the inn – was the one member of the four I knew well. I knew him because I was the one who had turned the key in his prison cell and set him free. He was thin and quick, with a mop of red hair and green roguish eyes that could charm a widow out of her life savings and leave her loving him for it. Those slender fingers of his could slide in and out of a pocket as fast as his knife could cut a purse from a belt. He was good, so good he wasn’t often caught. Reynard Deft-hand had made one small mistake. He’d try to lift a purse from me.
Directly across the room from Reynard – dark balancing light in the scales of creation – was a man of noble bearing and stern countenance. The regulars left him alone, too, out of respect for his long and shining sword and the white surcoat he wore, marked with the silver rose. Eric of Truestone, Knight of the Rose, a holy paladin. I was as amazed to see him as I was pleased. I had sent my messengers to the High Clerist’s Tower, begging the knights for aid. I knew they would respond – they were honor-bound. But they had responded by sending me their best.
All four the best, the very best. I looked at them and I felt awed, humbled.
“You should be closing down for the night, Marian,” I said, turning to the pretty lass who tended bar.
The four dragon-hunters looked at me, and not one of them moved. The regulars, on the other hand, took the hint. They quaffed their ale and left without a murmur. I hadn’t been in these parts long – newly come to my job – and, of course, they’d put me to the test. I’d been forced to teach them to respect me. That had been a week ago and one, so I heard, was still laid up. Several of the others winced and rubbed their cracked heads as they hurried past me, all politely wishing me good-night.
“I’ll lock the door,” I said to Marian.
She, too, left, also wishing me – with a saucy smile – a good night. I knew well she’d like to make my good night a better one, but I had business.
When she was gone, I shut and bolted the door. This clearly made Reynard nervous (he was already looking for another escape route), so I came quickly to the point.
“No need to ask why you’re here. You’ve each come in response to my plea for help. I am Gondar, King Frederick’s seneschal. I am the one who sent you the message. I thank you for your quick response, and I welcome you, well, most of you” — I cast a stern glance at Reynard, who grinned — “to Fredericksborough.”
Sir Eric rose and made me a courteous bow. Ulanda looked me over with her wonderful eyes. Orin grunted. Reynard was jingling coins in his pocket. The regulars would find themselves without ale money tomorrow, I guessed.
“You all know why I sent for you,” I continued. “At least, you know part of the reason. The part I could make public.”
“Please be seated, Seneschal,” said Ulanda, with a graceful gesture. “And tell us the part you couldn’t make public.”
The knight joined us, as did the dwarf. Reynard was going to, but Ulanda warned him off with a look. Not the least bit offended, he grinned again and leaned against the bar.
The four waited politely for me to continue.
“I tell you this in absolute confidentiality,” I said, lowering my voice. “As you know, our good king, Frederick, has journeyed to the north on invitation from his half brother, the Duke of Norhampton. There were many in the court who advised His Majesty not to go. None of us trust the twisted, covetous duke. But His Majesty was ever a loving sibling and north he went. Now, our worst fears have been realized. The duke is holding the king hostage, demanding in ransom seven coffers filled with gold, nine coffers filled with silver, and twelve coffers filled with precious jewels.”
“By the eye of Paladine, we should burn this duke’s castle to the ground,” said Eric of the Rose. His hand clenched over his sword’s hilt.
“We would never see His Majesty alive again.” I shook my head.
“This is not why you brought us here,” growled Orin. “Not to rescue your king. He may be a good king, for all I know, but...” The dwarf shrugged.
“Yes, but you don’t care whether a human king lives or dies, do you, Orin?” I said with a smile. “No reason you should. The dwarves have their own king.”
“And there are some of us,” said Ulanda softly, “who have no king at all.”
I wondered if the rumors I’d heard about her were true, that she lured young men to her castle and kept them until she tired of them, then changed them into wolves, forced to guard her dwelling place. At night, it was said, you could hear their howls of anguish. Looking into those lovely eyes, I found myself thinking it might just be worth it!
I wrenched myself back to the business at hand.
“I have not told you the worst,” I said. “I collected the ransom. This is a wealthy kingdom. The nobles dipped into their treasuries. Their lady wives sacrificed their jewels. The treasure was loaded into a wagon, ready to be sent north when...”
/> I cleared my throat, wished I had drawn myself a mug of ale. “A huge red dragon swept out of the sky, attacked the treasure caravan. I tried to stand and fight, but” — my face burned in shame — “I’ve never known such paralyzing fear. The next thing I knew, I was facefirst on the ground, shivering in terror. The guard fled in panic.
“The great dragon settled down on the King’s Highway. It leisurely devoured the horses, then, lifting the wagon containing the treasure in its claws, the cursed beast flew away.”
“Dragonfear,” said Orin, as one long experienced in such things.
“Though it has never happened to me, I’ve heard the dragonfear can be devastating.” Sir Eric rested his hand pityingly on mine. “It was foul magic that unmanned you, Seneschal. No need for shame.”
“Foul magic,” repeated Ulanda, casting the knight a dark look. I could see she was thinking what an excellent wolf he would make.
“I saw the treasure.” Reynard heaved a gusty sigh. “It was a beautiful sight. And there must be more, lots more, in that dragon’s lair.”
“There is,” said Orin. “Do you think yours is the only kingdom this dragon has robbed, Seneschal? My people were hauling a shipment of golden nuggets from our mines in the south when a red dragon – pull out my beard if it’s not the same one – swooped out of the skies and made off with it!”
“Golden nuggets!” Reynard licked his lips. “How much were they worth, all told?”
Orin cast him a baleful glance. “Never you mind, Light-finger.”
“The name is Deft-hand,” Reynard said, but the rest ignored him.
“I have received word from my sisters in the east,” Ulanda was saying, “that this same dragon is responsible for the theft of several of our coven’s most powerful arcane artifacts. I would describe them to you, but they are very secret. And very dangerous, to the inexperienced,” she added pointedly, for Reynard’s sake.
“We, too, have suffered by this wyrm,” said Eric grimly. “Our brethren to the west sent us as a gift a holy relic – a finger bone of Vinus Solamnus. The dragon attacked the escort, slaughtered them to a man, carried away our artifact.”
Ulanda laughed, made a face. “I don’t believe it! What would the dragon want with a moldy old finger bone?”
The knight’s face hardened. “The finger bone was encased in a diamond, big around as an apple. The diamond was carried in a chalice made of gold, encrusted with rubies and emeralds. The chalice was carried on a platter made of silver, set with a hundred sapphires.”
“I thought you holy knights took vows of poverty,” Reynard insinuated slyly. “Maybe I should start going to church again.”
Eric rose majestically to his feet. Glaring at the thief, the knight drew his sword. Reynard sidled over behind me.
“Hold, Sir Knight,” I said, standing. “The route to the dragon’s lair leads up a sheer cliff with nary a hand-or foothold in sight.”
The knight eyed Reynard’s slender fingers and wiry body. Sheathing his sword, the knight sat back down.
“You’ve discovered the lair!” Reynard cried. He was trembling, so excited, I feared he might hug me.
“Is this true, Seneschal?” Ulanda leaned near me. I could smell musk and spice. Her fingertips were cool on my hand. “Have you found the dragon’s lair?”
“I pray to Paladine you have! Gladly would I leave this life, spend eternity in the blessed realm of Paladine, if I could have a chance to fight this wyrm!” Eric vowed. Lifting a sacred medallion he wore around his neck to his lips, he kissed it to seal his holy oath.
“I lost my king’s ransom,” I said. “I took a vow neither to eat nor sleep until I had tracked the beast to its lair. Many weary days and nights I followed the trail – a shining coin fallen to the ground, a jewel spilled from the wagon. The trail led straight to a peak known as Black Mountain. A day I waited, patient, watching. I was rewarded. I saw the dragon leave its lair. I know how to get inside.”
Reynard began to dance around the tavern, singing and snapping his long fingers. Eric of the Rose actually smiled. Orin Dark-seer ran his thumb lovingly over his axe-blade. Ulanda kissed my cheek.
“You must come visit me some night, Seneschal, when this adventure is ended,” she whispered.
The four of them and I spent the night in the inn, were up well before dawn to begin our journey.
*
The Black Mountain loomed before us, its peak hidden by a perpetual cloud of gray smoke. The mountain is named for its shining black rock, belched up from the very bowels of the world. Sometimes the mountain still rumbles, just to remind us that it is alive, but none living could remember the last time it spewed flame.
We reached it by late afternoon. The sun’s rays shone red on the cliff face we would have to climb. By craning my neck, I could see the gaping dark hole that was the entrance to the dragon’s lair.
“Not a handhold in sight. By Paladine, you weren’t exaggerating, Seneschal,” said Eric, frowning as he ran his hand over the smooth black rock.
Reynard laughed. “Bah! I’ve climbed castle walls that were as smooth as milady’s – Well, let’s just say they were smooth.”
The thief looped a long length of rope over his shoulder. He started to add a bag full of spikes and a hammer, but I stopped him.
“The dragon might have returned. If so, the beast would hear you driving the spikes into the rock.” I glanced upward. “The way is not far, just difficult. Once you make it, lower the rope down to us. We can climb it.”
Reynard agreed. He studied the cliff face a moment, all seriousness now, no sign of a grin. Then, to the amazement of all of us watching, he attached himself to the rock like a spider and began to climb.
I had known Reynard was good, but I must admit, I had not known how good. I watched him crawl up that sheer cliff face, digging his fingers into minute cracks, his feet scrabbling for purchase, hanging on, sometimes, by effort of will alone. I was impressed. He was the best. No other man living could have made it up that cliff.
“The gods are with us in our holy cause,” said Eric reverently, watching Reynard crawl up the black rock like a lizard.
Ulanda stifled a yawn, covered her mouth with a dainty hand. Orin stomped around the foot of the cliff in impatience. I continued to watch Reynard, admiring his work. He had reached the entrance to the cavern, disappeared inside. In a moment, he came back out, indicated with a wave of his hand that all was safe.
Reynard lowered the rope down to us. Unfortunately, the rope he’d brought was far too short. We couldn’t reach it. Orin began to curse loudly. Ulanda laughed, snapped her fingers, spoke a word. The rope quivered, and suddenly it was exactly the right length.
Eric eyed the magiced rope dubiously, but it was his only way up. He grabbed hold of it, then – appearing to think of something – he turned to the sorceress.
“My lady, I fear your delicate hands are not meant for climbing ropes, nor are you dressed for scaling mountains. If you will forgive me the liberty, I will carry you up the cliff.”
“Carry me!” Ulanda stared at him, then she laughed again.
Eric stiffened; his face went rigid and cold. “Your pardon, my lady —”
“Forgive me, Sir Knight,” Ulanda said smoothly. “But I am not a weak and helpless damsel. And it would be best if you remembered that. All of you.”
So saying, Ulanda drew a lacy, silken handkerchief from her pocket and spread it upon the ground. Placing her feet upon the handkerchief, she spoke words that were like the sound of tinkling chimes. The handkerchief became hard as steel. It began to rise slowly into the air, bearing the sorceress with it.
Sir Eric’s eyes widened. He made the sign against evil.
Ulanda floated calmly up the cliff face. Reynard was on hand to assist her with the landing at the mouth of the cave. The thief’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He was practically drooling. We could all hear his words.
“What a second-story man you’d make! Lady, I’ll give you half �
�� well, a fourth of my treasure for that scrap of cloth.”
Ulanda picked up the steel platform, snapped it once in the air. Once again, the handkerchief was silk and lace. She placed it carefully in a pocket of her robes. The thief’s eyes followed it all the way.
“It is not for sale,” Ulanda said, and she shrugged. “You wouldn’t find it of much value anyway. If anyone touches it, other than myself, the handkerchief will wrap itself around the unfortunate person’s nose and mouth. It will smother him to death.”
She smiled at Reynard sweetly. He eyed her, decided she was telling the truth, gulped, and turned hastily away.
“May Paladine preserve me,” Eric said dourly. Laying his hand upon the rope, he started to climb.
He was strong, that knight. Encased in heavy plate armor and chain mail, his sword hanging from his side, he pulled himself up the cliff with ease. The dwarf was quick to follow, running up the rope nimbly. I took my time. It was nearly evening now, but the afternoon sun had warmed the rock. Hauling myself up that rope was hot work. I slipped once, giving myself the scare of a lifetime. But I managed to hang on, heaved a sign of relief when Eric pulled me up over the ledge and into the cool shadows of the cavern.
“Where’s the dwarf?” I asked, noticing only three of my companions were around.
“He went ahead to scout the way,” said Eric.
I nodded, glad for the chance to rest. Reynard drew up the rope, hid it beneath a rock for use on the way back. I glanced around. All along the sides of the cavern, I could see marks left by the dragon’s massive body scraping against the rock. We were examining these when Orin returned, his bearded face split in a wide smile.
“You are right, Seneschal. This is the way to the dragon’s lair. And this proves it.”
Orin held his find up to the light. It was a golden nugget. Reynard eyed it covetously, and I knew then and there it was going to cause trouble.