Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  It was about an hour later when they saw the red glow of fire just ahead. Belgarath reined in. "Let's go carefully," he said. "We'll want to pinpoint her location before we go charging in there."

  "One wil! go look," the she-wolf said, and loped off into the darkness.

  "I'm glad she came along," Belgarath said. "For some reason it's comforting to have her around."

  Garion's visor concealed his smile.

  The village of Dal Esta was perched on a hilltop, and they could see the sooty red flames shooting up out of burning bams and houses. They rode up the hill a ways and found the wolf waiting for them. "One has seen the creature we seek," she advised. "It is feeding just now on the other side of that hill where the dens of the man-things are."

  "What's it feeding on?" Garion asked apprehensively. • "A beast such as the one upon which you sit."

  "Well?" Zakath asked.

  "The dragon's on the other side of the village," Belgarath told him. "She's eating a horse just now."

  "A horse, Belgarath, this isn't a good time for surprises. Just how big is that thing?”

  “ About the size of a house—that's not counting the wings, of course."

  Zakath swallowed hard. "Could we perhaps reconsider this? I haven't taken much joy in my life until recently. I 'd sort of like to savor it a little longer."

  "I'm afraid we're committed now," Garion told him. "She doesn't fly very fast, and it takes her quite a while to get off the ground. If we can surprise her while she's eating, we might be able to kill her before she attacks."

  They rode carefully around the hill, noting the trampled crops and the carcasses of half-eaten cows. There were a few other dead things, as well—things at which Garion carefully avoided looking.

  And then they saw it. "Torak's teeth!" Zakath swore. "It's bigger than an elephant!”

  The dragon was holding down the carcass of a horse with its front claws, and she was not so much feeding as she was ravening.

  "Give it a try," Belgarath said. "She's usually a bit unwary when she's eating. Be careful, though. Get clear of her as soon as you sink your lances into her. And don't let your horses go down. She'll kill them if they do, and a man on foot is at a serious disadvantage when he's fighting a dragon. Our little sister and I will slip around to the rear and attack her tail. She's sensitive there, and a few bites might distract her." He dismounted, walked some distance away from the horses, and blurred into the shape of the great silver wolf. "That still unnerves me," Zakath admitted. Garion had been looking carefully at the feedilig dragon. "Notice that she has her wings raised," he said quietly. "With her head down like that, they block her vision toward the rear. You go around to that side, and I'll go to this one. When we both get into position, I'll whistle. That's when we'll charge. Go in as fast as you can and try to stay behind that upraised wing. Sink your lance as deep into her as you can and leave it stuck in. A couple of lances hanging out of her should impede her movements a bit. Once you get the lance in, wheel and get out of there."

  "You're awfully cold-blooded about this, Garion."

  "In this kind of situation you almost have to be. If you stop to think about it, you'll never do it. This isn't the most rational thing weVe ever done, you know. Good luck."

  "You, too."

  They separated and moved out slowly at some distance from the feeding dragon until they had flanked her on either side.

  Zakath dipped his lance twice to indicate that he was in position. Garion drew in a deep breath. He noticed that his hands were shaking slightly. He shook off all thought and concentrated on a spot just behind the dragon's front shoulder. Then he whistled shrilly.

  They charged.

  As far as it went, Canon's strategy worked quite well. The dragon's scaly hide, however, was much tougher than he had expected, and their lances did not penetrate as deeply as he might have wished. He wheeled Chretienne and rode away at a dead run.

  The dragon shrieked, belching fire, and she tried to turn toward Garion. As he had hoped, the lances protruding from her sides impeded her movements. Then Belgarath and the she-wolf darted in, savagely biting and tearing at the scaly tail. Desperately the dragon began to flap her saillike wings. She rose ponderously into the air, screeching and belching out fire.

  "She's getting away!" Garion threw the thought at his grandfather.

  “She 'II be back. She's a very vindictive beast.”

  Garion rode past the dead horse and rejoined Zakath.

  "The wounds we inflicted are probably mortal, aren't they?" the Mallorean said hopefully.

  "I wouldn't count on it," Garion replied. "We didn't get the lances in deep enough, I'm afraid. We should have backed off another hundred yards to pick up more momentum. Grandfather says that we can expect her back."

  "Garion," Belgarath's voice sounded in his mind, "I'm going to do something. Tell Zakath not to panic.”

  "Zakath," Garion said, "Grandfather's going to use sorcery of some kind. Don't get excited."

  "What's he going to do?"

  "I don't know. He didn't tell me." Then Garion felt the familiar surge and rush of sound. The air around them turned a pale azure.

  "Colorful," Zakath said. "What's it supposed to do?" His voice sounded nervous.

  .Belgarath came padding out of the darkness.”Good enough," - he said in the language of wolves.

  "What is it?" Garion asked.

  "It's a kind of a shield. It'll protect you from the fire—at least partially. The armor should take care of the rest. You might get singed a bit, but the fire won't really hurt you. Don't get too brave, though. She still has claws and fangs."

  "It's a shield of sorts," Garion told Zakath. "It should help to protect us from the flame."

  Then from off to the east there was a scream and a sooty belch of fire up in the sky. "Get ready!" Garion said sharply. "She's coming back!" Cautioning the Orb to behave itself, he drew Iron-grip's sword. Zakath also pulled his broadsword from its sheath with a steely hiss. "Spread out," Garion said. "Get far enough away so that she can attack only one of us at a time. If she comes at you, I'll attack her from behind. If she comes at me, you do the same. If you can manage it, try for her tail. She goes all to pieces when somebody attacks that. She'll try to turn around to protect it. Then whichever one of us is in front of her might be able to get a clear swing at her neck.”

  "Right," Zakath said.

  They fanned out again, tensely awaiting the dragon's attack.

  Their lances, Garion saw, had been bitten off, leaving only short stumps protruding from the dragon's sides. It was upon Zakath that she fell, and the force of her strike knocked him out of his saddle. He floundered, trying to get to his feet as the dragon bathed him in flames.

  Again and again he struggled, trying to get up, but he instinctively flinched back from each billow of flame, and the dragon's raking talons dug at him, making it impossible for him to regain his feet. Snakelike, the dragon's head darted forward, her cruel fangs screeching across his armor.

  Garion discarded his strategy at that point. His friend needed immediate protection. He leaped from his saddle to run to Zak-ath's aid. "I need some fire!" he barked at the Orb, and his sword immediately burst into bright-blue flame. He knew that Torak had made the dragon invincible to common sorcery on the day he had created her, but he hoped that she might not be immune to the power of the Orb. He stepped in front of Zakath's struggling body and drove the dragon back with great, two-handed strokes. Iron-grip's sword sizzled each time it bit into her face, and she shrieked in pain with every stroke. She did not, however, flee.

  "Get up!" Garion shouted to Zakath. "Get on your feet!" Behind him he could hear the rattling of Zakath's armor as the Mallorean struggled to rise. Suddenly ignoring the pain Garion's blows were causing her, the dragon clawed at him with her talons, knocking him off balance. He stumbled backward and

  fell on top of Zakath. The dragon shrieked in triumph and lunged in. Desperately Garion stabbed with his sword, and with a gre
at, sizzling hiss, her bulging left eyeball collapsed. Even as he struggled to get back up again, a strange notion came to Garion. It was the same eye. Torak's left eye had been destroyed by the power of the Orb, and now the same thing had happened to the dragon. Despite the dreadful danger they were in, Garion was suddenly certain that they would win.

  The dragon had fallen back, bellowing in pain and rage. Gar-ion took advantage of that. He scrambled to his feet and yanked Zakath up. "Get around to her left side!" he barked. "She's blind on that side now! I '11 keep her attention! You swing at her neck!"

  They separated, moving fast to get into position before the dragon could recover. Garion swung his great, blazing sword as hard as he could and opened a huge wound across the dragon's snout. The blood spurted out, drenching his armor, and the dragon answered his blow with a billow of flame that engulfed him. He ignored the fire and drove in, swinging stroke after stroke at her face. He could see Zakath directing two-handed blows at the snakelike neck, but the heavy, overlapping scales defeated his best efforts. Garion continued his attack with the burning sword. The half-blinded dragon clawed at him, and he struck at the scaly forepaw, half severing it. Injured now almost beyond endurance, the dragon began a grudging, step-by-step retreat.

  "Keep on her!" Garion shouted to Zakath. "Don't give her time to set herself again!”

  Grimly the pair drove the hideous beast back and back, alternating their blows. When Garion struck, the dragon turned her head to bathe him in fire. Then Zakath would swing at the unprotected back of her head. She would swivel her head to meet his attack, and then Garion would strike at her. Confused and frustrated by this deadly tactic, the dragon helplessly swung her head back and forth, her fumacelike breath singeing bushes and turf more often than it did her attackers. Finally, driven beyond her ability to bear the pain, she began to desperately flap her saillike wings, clumsily attempting to rise from the earth.

  "Don't let up!" Garion called. "Keep pushing her!" They continued their savage attack. "Try to get her wings!" Garion yelled. "Don't let her get away!"

  They switched their attack to the batlike wings, desperately striving to cripple the dragon's final option, but her armored skin defeated their purpose. Ponderously she rose into the air, and still shrieking, belching flame, and streaming blood from her many wounds, she flew off toward the east.

  Belgarath had resumed his own form and he strode up to them, his face livid with rage. "Are you two insane?" he almost screamed at them. "I told you to be careful!"

  "Things got a little out of hand there, Belgarath," Zakath panted. “We didn't have much choice in the matter.” He looked at the Rivan King. "You saved my life again, Garion," he said. "You're starting to make a habit of that."

  "It sort of seemed like the thing to do," Garion replied, sinking exhausted to the ground. "We're still going to have to chase her down, though. If we don't, she'll only come back."

  "One does not think so," the she-wolf said. "One has had much experience with wounded beasts. You poked sticks into her, put out her eye, and cut her face and forepaw with fire. She will return to her den and remain there until she heals—or dies.”

  Garion quickly translated for Zakath.

  "It presents a problem, though," the emperor of Mallorea said dubiously. "How are we going to persuade the king that we've driven her off for good? If we'd have killed her, we'd have no further obligation, but the king—with Naradas prompting him—might very well insist that we stay here until he's sure she's not coming back."

  Belgarath was frowning. "I think Cyradis was right," he said. "The dragon wasn't behaving exactly right. Each time Garion hit her with that burning sword, she flinched momentarily."

  "Wouldn't you have?" Zakath asked him.

  "This is a little different. The dragon herself wouldn't even feel fire. She was being directed by something—something that the Orb can injure. I'll talk it over with Beldin when we get back. As soon as you two get your breath, we'll round up the horses. I want to get back to Dal Perivor and have a look at that map."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was nearly dawn by the time they returned to the palace, and to their surprise, they found nearly everyone awake. A ripple of gasps ran through the throne room as Garion and Zak-ath entered. Garion's armor was scorched and red with the dragon's blood; Zakath's surcoat was charred, and great fang marks scarred one side of his breastplate. The condition of their armor gave mute testimony to the seriousness of the encounter.

  "My glorious champions!" the king exulted as they entered me throne room. It appeared to Garion at first that the king was leaping to a conclusion—that because they had returned alive, they had succeeded in killing the dragon. . "In all the years that this foul beast hath been ravaging this realm," the king said, however, "this is the first time anyone hath forced it to flee." Then, noting Belgarath's puzzled look, he elaborated. "Not two hours ago, we observed the dragon flying over the city, shrieking in pain and fright.”

  "Which way did it go, your Majesty?" Garion asked. "It was last seen flying out to sea, Sir Knight, and, as all men know, its lair lies somewhere to the west. The chastisement thou and thy valiant companion administered hath driven it from the realm. Doubtless it will seek shelter in its lair and lick its wounds there. Now, an it please ye, our ears hunger for an account of what transpired."

  "Let me," Belgarath muttered. He stepped forward. "Thy two champions, your Majesty, are modest men, as befits their nobility. They would, I do fear me, be reticent in their description of their exploit out of a desire not to appear boastful. Better, perhaps, that I describe the encounter for them so that your Majesty and the members of thy court receive a truer version of what actually occurred."

  "Well said, Master Garath," the king replied. "True humility is the crown of any man of noble birth, but it doth, as thou sayest, ofttimes obscure the truth of an encounter such as this knight hath witnessed. Say on, I pray thee."

  "Where to begin?" Belgarath mused. "Ah, well. As your Majesty knoweth, Master Erezel's timely warning that the dragon was ravaging the village of Dal Esta came not a moment too soon. Directly upon our departure from this very hall, we took to horse and rode posthaste to the aforementioned village. Great fires burned there, graphic evidence of the dragon's fiery breath, and cattle and many of the inhabitants had already been slain and partially consumed by the beast—for whom all flesh is food."

  "Piteous." The king sighed.

  "His commiseration is all very pretty," Zakath murmured to Garion, "but I wonder if he'll be willing to dip into his treasury to aid the villagers in the reconstruction of their homes."

  “You mean actually to give back some of the taxes after he's gone to all the trouble of extorting them from his people?" Garion asked in mock surprise. "What a shocking thing to suggest."

  "Carefully thy champions reconnoitered the area around the village," Belgarath was saying, "and they soon located the dragon, which was at that very moment feeding on the bodies of a herd of horses."

  "I only saw one," Zakath whispered. "Sometimes he embellishes things to make his stories more exciting," Garion whispered back.

  Belgarath was warming to his subject now. "Advised by me,” he said modestly, "thy champions paused to take stock of the situation. At once we all perceived that the dragon's attention was wholly riveted upon its grisly feast, and of a certainty, because of its size and savagery, it had never been given reason to be wary. The champions separated and circled around the feeding dragon that they might attack one from either side, hoping thereby to drive their lances into its vitals. Cautiously, step by step, they moved, for though they are the bravest men on liie, they are not foolhardy."

  There was absolute silence in the throne room as the king's court listened to the old man with that same breathless fascination Garion had seen before in the dining hall at Faldor's farm.

  "Isn't he laying it on a bit thick?" Zakath whispered.

  "It's a compulsion, I think," Garion whispered back. "Grandfather's nev
er been able to let a good story rest on its own merits. He always feels the need for artistic enhancement."

  Certain now that he had his audience's full attention, Belgarath began to utilize all those subtle tricks of the storyteller's art. He altered pitch and volume. He changed cadences. Sometimes his voice dropped to a whisper. He was obviously enjoying himself enormously. He described the simultaneous charge on the dragon in glowing detail. He told of the dragon's initial retreat, adding gratuitously a wholly fictional feeling of triumph in the hearts of the two knights and their belief that they had struck mortal blows with their lances. Though this last was not entirely true, it helped to heighten the suspense.

  "I wish I'd seen that fight," Zakath murmured. "Ours was a lot more prosaic."

  The old man then went on to describe the dragon's vengeful return, and, just to make things interesting, he expanded hugely on Zakath's mortal peril. "And then," he went on, "heedless of his own life, his stalwart companion leaped into the fray. Sick with the fear that his friend might already have received fatal injury and filled with righteous rage, he hurled himself into the very teeth of the beast with great two-handed strokes of his mighty blade."

  "Were you really thinking those things?" Zakath asked Gar-ion. • "Approximately."

  "And then," Belgarath said, "though it may have been some trick of the flickering light coming from the burning village, methought I saw the hero's blade come all aflame. Again and again he struck, and each stroke was rewarded with rivers of bright blood and with shrieks of agony. And then, horror of horrors, a chance blow from the dragon's mighty talons hurled our champion back, and then he stumbled, and then he fell-full upon the body of his companion, who was still vainly striving to rise."

  Groans of despair came from the throng crowding the throne room, even though the presence of the two heroes plainly said that they had survived.