The Sword and the Dragon wt-1

by Michael Robb Mathias

  “What kind of spider is this?” she asked her father.

  Pael was making a halfhearted effort to restack the texts he’d strewn about, but he stopped long enough to look and see what she was referring to.

  “One you don’t ever want to get bitten by,” he said, as he went back to what he was doing. “It’s called Arachnid Voltonimous, common name, the Luminous Weaver, or just the plain ol’ Shock Spider. Its web glows a soft, yellowish color at night, and with a single bite, it can kill an animal as big as an opossum, or lemur, with a shock of lightning-like intensity. The shock is not quite powerful enough to kill an average human, but its venom is acidic, and painfully lethal. The venom is excellent for etching, and enchanting steel with a rune or a symbol.”

  Her eyes drifted to the cover of the book Pael had left exposed. It had the letter P scribed ornately upon its leather-bound face, four times. She had to peer in closer, to see the smaller script between the letters. “Plants and Potions for Poison and Preservation” the book was titled.

  A brief tremor of paranoia passed through her, only subsiding after she convinced herself that her father had no reason to kill her, and that if he did, he didn’t need poison to get it done. Neither Cole, nor Flick, who would each die for her in any other situation, would do anything to thwart Pael. They both emulated him in every way that they could. If Pael wanted to kill her, all he had to do was kill her, or possibly order one of them to do it for him. She shook her head, and cursed herself a fool for being so stupidly suspicious.

  Pael had stood, and was now making a feeble attempt to get the dust off of the hem of his fancy wizard’s robe. The sight made Shaella smile, in spite of herself.

  Seeing her mirth, Pael snarled. He passed his hand over his face, down his body, and with the gesture, his robe was instantly pristine again.

  Shaella wasn’t impressed.

  “The Spectral Orb?” she prompted, seeing that he had already forgotten their agreement. She hoped that he had forgotten the oath that he wanted her to swear as well.

  “Very well,” he said, grabbing up the two books he had chosen. “Take us up out of this foul place. I have a dagger up in the nest.”

  Disappointed that he hadn’t forgotten the Binding of Blood, but excited beyond reason about finally getting to learn the trick to using the artifact, she spoke the command that took the lift up into the library.

  Pael snarled with disgust, at having to crawl up through the trapdoor to get to the nest, and then the floor above it, but he went.

  The first thing he showed her, was how to raise the orb up out of the floor by the chain crank on the wall, so that it didn’t block the lift from coming all the way up. He didn’t raise it far, just enough to show her how the mechanics of the crank worked. He then took a dagger from a table, and before she had a chance to think, he slashed her palm open.

  “By your own life’s blood, do you swear to never attempt to release the one you seek, the human boy named Gerard, who went to the Seal? Do you swear to never try to release him from that dark place where he is bound?”

  Shaella wasn’t very pleased with the broad range of possibilities that Pael’s words had encompassed, but already a loophole had presented itself to her.

  “As long as you live and breathe father, my blood is my oath. I swear that I will never attempt to release the human boy named Gerard, from the Nethers.”

  Pael spoke a chant of binding, and then closed Shaella’s bleeding hand in on itself. He went on chanting in the ancient tongue of the magi, to finish the spell.

  She understood most of what he said. If she broke her oath, her own mind would stop her heart from beating, freeze her blood, or something to that effect. Basically, if she even tried to break the oath she had just given, she would die. This was acceptable to her. The oath she had given wouldn’t stop her from having someone else help Gerard get free of the Seal. And besides that, her father had already told her that he had changed. Drinking the dragon’s yolk had turned him into something other than a human boy named Gerard. Whatever he had become, she hadn’t sworn not to help it escape the Seal. If Gerard’s mind hadn’t survived, then it didn’t really matter anyway. She hoped she would know, one way or the other, soon.

  She paid close and careful attention as Pael instructed her on the ways of the orb. The session reminded her of so many others they had shared in the past. Him, speaking with precise expert knowledge of the subject at hand, and almost forcing the information into her mind with his intensity. The only thing missing was the scratching of Cole’s quill, as he feverishly tried to keep up his notes, and Flick’s odd, yet relevant questions.

  Shaella realized that even though she didn’t like her father very much, he was no fool. In fact, he was as knowledgeable as all the men she had met in her entire life, put together. He was half mad, power hungry, and rotten to the core; but ignorant, he was not. His dark mind was meticulous and thorough, and with his newfound power, Shaella figured that there was nothing he couldn’t do.

  Pael set the orb off, with his circling chanting song, as if it were no harder then plucking an apple from a tree. She hadn’t been using the right inflections of voice at all. The syllables of the ancient words she had read had been formed all wrong in her mouth, and she hadn’t even known about the three black candles that had to be lit, and spaced around the orb.

  Pael explained that the candles weren’t actually necessary to open the connection, but they helped focus his mind on the task. He also explained that the gaping hole in the wall was letting in minute distractions, such as the whispering of the late summer breeze, or a distant bird’s call. This hadn’t been helping her concentration at all, and if she acknowledged those distractions, and singled them out of her mind, it might help.

  Once Pael had the orb alight and swirling with purple smoky power, he took his books, and disappeared back to where he had come from.

  Shaella trailed her fingers around the huge crystal as she circled it. She spoke Gerard’s name softly at first, then more aggressively, if not a bit desperately. For what could have been a few heartbeats, or half of the night, she poured her heart and soul into the effort. After a time, her legs grew watery, and she fell to the floor at the base of the humming lavender sphere. When she opened her eyes, the light of dawn was just starting to lighten the sky outside the gaping hole in the tower wall. She wiped a tear from her face, and seeing that the Spectral Orb was still radiant, made one last attempt to call out to Gerard.

  “Gerard, hear me my love. Can you hear me? Gerard?” The static caused by the sphere’s power, pulled her hair to its surface as she leaned in, hugging the huge orb, and yearned to touch her lover soul.

  Her heart nearly stopped cold when a faint and distant voice rasped out her name in a bewildered response.

  Chapter 48

  When Hyden Hawk tried to mount the horse he had been provided, he fumbled, and fell into a collapsed heap. Vaegon waved off Drick’s attempt to help, and simply said, “He needs rest.”

  The ranger nodded his understanding, ordered the two chagrined soldiers to stand guard, then took the reins of everyone’s mounts, and picketed them. When he was done, he sat back against a tree. He didn’t like the idea of his fallen companion just laying there, dead over a horse’s back, but what could he do? The elf, and his exhausted friend, had seemed about to fall over when they were burying the big wolf. Now, they could barely move, much less ride.

  Drick could go ahead, and dig the hole for his fellow forester, but poor, dead Arnell had a wife, and a father, who might not want him buried out here in the forest, even though it would be any ranger’s obvious choice of places to be laid to rest. He didn’t like the idea of burying his friend so close to that foul, half-rotted headless corpse they had dragged into the woods. If he could talk to Arnell’s father, maybe they could find a nice, peaceful glade somewhere. Absently pondering the matter further, he noticed that one of the armored soldiers was staring at the elf, and wondered what he was thinking.


  Drick had seen an elf before, but it had been from a great distance. The wild yellow of Vaegon’s good eye, kept stealing the soldier’s attention from the big white wolf that had crawled up beside Hyden.

  It’s like one of those fargin old tales, he thought to himself. Demon beasts, wolf riding elves, and a Westlander with a magic sword. And right in the middle of a war no less. Ah the war!

  No one in all of Highwander, least of all Drick, could understand why Valleya and Seaward were attacking them. Queen Willa probably knew the reasons, but not he.

  A hawkling came swooping down through an opening in the trees, and landed beside the young mountain boy. It had been among them during the battle with the Choska demon, and had even managed to get a raking claw across one of the demon’s cherry eyes. Its presence only added to the strange, surreal mood that Drick was feeling. At this point, it wouldn’t have surprised him if a herd of tiny finger-tall deer came swarming out of the forest and started talking to the mushrooms.

  These folk will fit right into Queen Willa’s strange court, mused Drick. What, with her dwarven castellan, her bearded dwarfess confidant, and her little blue fairy counselor, a one-eyed elf, and a man who looked to be now having an intelligent conversation with a Great Wolf and a bird, would complete the mummers troop that Queen Willa surrounded herself with. Drick decided that he would be glad to deliver these folks to the castle so that he could be off. He would go back to his mundane forest patrol, and never complain of boredom again.

  Of his own accord, Talon had followed Mikahl, the woman, and the wolves. He had tried to force is hawkling vision into Hyden’s head, but Hyden was too dazed to make sense of it. The impact with the oak tree, and what had happened after, had taken its toll on him. Talon watched the woman, and Mikahl’s limp body, as they raced away, and followed them until he was confident that the lady intended no trickery, and that Mikahl’s body wouldn’t fall off of Huffa’s back. These visions had helped Hyden get through the burial of Grrr without breaking down.

  Vaegon lay down alongside Hyden, and placed Ironspike between them. As if the wolf understood the elf’s concern, Urp curled up into a furry ball at their feet. Talon alighted on the sword’s hilt and began preening himself.

  Vaegon wasn’t feeling very safe around the Highwander soldiers, so he wasn't taking any chances. It was men, just like these armored soldiers, that Hyden Hawk had seen loosing the arrow at him back at the Summer’s Day Festival. Vaegon wasn’t ready to trust them just yet.

  As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts and worries weren’t for himself though. It was Mikahl he was concerned about. Hopefully, the Xwardian healers were as good as the woman had said. They would have to be to save him.

  When Hyden woke, it was nearly dark. It took him several long moments to figure out where he was, and what had happened to him. He had been dreaming, and the visions of his slumber clung to his waking mind like a bad smell.

  He had dreamt of the dragon skull that lay in his village’s council chamber. In his vision, the White Goddess was calling out to him frantically from the dancing blue flames that filled the open brain cavity. Her voice had been thin, but insistent, and he was having a hard time shaking the image from his head. What was worse was that he couldn’t remember the span of time from when he was knocked into the oak tree, until they sent Mikahl off to Xwarda with that strange woman.

  He sat up, and his movement caused Urp to do the same. The wolf’s white fur caught the moonlight that filtered through the trees, and was glowing the same magical blue that the flames from the dragon skull in his dreams had. Again, he heard the voice of his clan’s goddess calling out to him. This time, it sent chills up his spine. Absently, he rubbed Urp’s head, and decided that he needed to answer her call. King Aldar had spoken of the temple in Xwarda, called Whitten Loch. As soon as he saw to Mikahl’s condition, he would seek it out, and pray to her for guidance.

  It was late the following evening when they arrived at the massive gates of Xwarda’s huge, white rock outer wall. All of them, even Drick, had been dazzled for the last hour or so by the way the setting sun reflected off of the western face of the mountains and the Witch Queen’s sparkling castle city. Hyden couldn’t imagine anything looking more glorious. He’d seen the city from above, but that sight hadn’t prepared him for this.

  He counted seven great round towers rising up from the castle’s main structure. Several smaller towers rose up around the city as well. All of them were topped with shiny metal sheets which made them look like they had been dipped in molten gold, as they caught the rays of the sinking sun.

  The wall itself was easily fifty feet tall, and half as thick. Drick told them that there was normally a great congregation of tent dwellers and hawkers, who lived just outside of the wall, but Queen Willa had ordered them inside the gates, so that the military might prepare the terrain for the Valleyan/Seaward attack. Only the trampled debris they had left behind remained, and most of that had been saturated with flammable oil.

  Hyden and Vaegon marveled at the tunnel-like passage they had to go through to get into the city. Hyden asked about the slits and holes in the walls and ceiling of the entry tunnel, and Drick explained the horrific nature of them. Hot oil and burning pitch could be poured on trespassers, while archers loosed through the slits. It made Hyden shutter just thinking about it. When they finally emerged from the entry tunnel, both Hyden and Vaegon gasped at what they saw.

  A great colored mosaic, of leaded stained glass spread high across the castle’s main building. It was still a good distance away, but the paneled depictions rose up over the city like a painting hung for the gods. The backlit scene was indecipherable from the distance they were at, but the ruby reds, sapphire blues, and emerald greens shone like a dragon’s hoard of jewels in a band across the castle’s front. The breathtaking majesty of it all, managed to overshadow the feelings of unease that the hundreds of Blacksword banners flitting in the breeze instilled in Hyden and Vaegon. The uncertainty and fear was still there under the surface. Neither of them could forget the amount of bloodshed that the Blacksword soldiers had started at Summer’s Day.

  Inside the walls, a stench of refuse and foul body odors assaulted them, and the streets were packed with people, wagons, various farm animals and all their filth. It was crowded beyond imagining. Everywhere one looked, there were wagons piled with the belongings of the people that were huddled around them.

  “People coming in from the western towns and farmsteads,” Drick explained. “They come for the protection of yon walls.”

  He pointed back at them, and Hyden noticed, for the first time, that the top was crenellated. He also saw that the slots, that he had assumed were windows or vents, before Drick had explained them as arrow slits, were nowhere to be found on this side of the wall. The ranger’s distaste for the crowded city showed plainly on his face, as he nervously urged them on into the throng of chaos.

  “It will be less cramped once we get past the next set of gates.”

  They had no problem getting through the crowd. The people parted like a cornfield might if a bear went wandering through it. Many of them pointed and gasped at the sight of Vaegon’s elven features, but Urp’s raised hackles, and steady menacing growl was enough to cause the hungry, and disheveled folk, to give the group a wide berth.

  A few groups of people cheered their passage, as if they were some great heroes coming to save them from the approaching Valleyan and Seaward hordes. More than once Vaegon, or Hyden, or both of them, had to talk Urp down from his fearful and excited state.

  Hyden felt sorry for the brave wolf. Urp had limped the entire way, from the camp to the city, without slowing them, or making a sound of pain or protest. Sore and tired, there was no doubt he was intimidated by the masses, and all their strange scents. Vaegon had commented that the wolf had watched over them intently the whole time they had rested, and hadn’t slept much. Hyden reminded himself to make sure that ample food was provided for Urp, and that there was a quiet place
for the animal to rest.

  Drick had been correct. When they passed under a slightly smaller, older, yet no less formidable looking wall a short while later, the space beyond it was far less crowded than the outer city. There were plenty of people, and wagons spread around the cobbled streets, but it was obvious by the quality of the clothes that people wore, and the possessions piled into the carts, that these were a different class of refugees.

  The sun was gone now, but its rays still touched the tips of the mountains, leaving them looking like some golden bronze crown over Queen Willa’s palace.

  Hyden struggled to read aloud a street sign, advertising fresh baked goods, and the best cheese in the world. Vaegon prodded, and helped him through the words. Over the last few weeks, he had been learning, but hadn’t gotten far. Writing was even harder for him. He could spell out his elven friend’s name in the dirt, Talon’s, and Mikahl’s as well, but he had come to the conclusion that without parchment, ink, and quills, he would get nowhere, fast. He would surely be able to find those items, and a few books here. The idea of looking for a place to purchase them, in this mass of people and buildings, so crowded in together, was daunting. He was discouraged, and overwhelmed by it all, but he was still determined to learn as much as he could about everything that he could. Learning to read and write was the obvious first step.

  The color of the sky reminded him of his dream from the night before. A glance at Urp’s soft white coat brought forth the image of the White Goddess, pleading for him to respond to her call.

  “Do you know of a temple called Whitten Loch?” Hyden asked Drick, as they closed in on yet another gated wall.

  “I know of Whitten Loch, yes,” Drick answered. “But to call it a temple, is to call a single dying tree a forest. It’s a swan shelter, and a small filthy one at that. It sits along the elevated rim of the lake’s retaining wall, at its westernmost end.”