As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Xemion saw that most of the dragon’s lower body was contained in a long rectangular pit. A gate made of metal so finely meshed it might have been a net stretched over the exposed upper portions of the dragon’s back, its frame fastened into the rock floor by hinges on one side and a short length of chain on the other. This served as a lid, keeping the dragon in the pit and constraining everything but her head.
The dragon sobbed again, exhaling enough fiery breath for Xemion to see the crisscross of cuts and welts on her once scaly back where the beast’s attempts at escape had caused the mesh of metal to cut into her flesh. Other cuts, gouges, and bruises were too deep to have been caused by such exertions. Everywhere the flesh was open, stripped of scales. There were white edges to some of these thin cuts as though they might be infected. Xemion felt sick to see such a tortured being.
Just then, from above, came the sound of a key turning in a lock and light suddenly flooded into the chamber, casting a shadow of the stairs that led up to Glittervein’s workshop. Xemion ran and hid in the dark at the back of the smithy. Oime, who held aloft a burning brand, slowly descended the stone stairs with Glittervein following behind.
“How are you then, my little darling?” Glittervein called out malevolently to the dragon. “Are we having a nice evening then?”
The dragon shuddered and strained against the latticework as he approached.
Xemion watched, horrified, as Glittervein took Montither’s broadsword from its place on the stone table and put it into a dark vice in front of the dragon’s snarling mouth. Glittervein darted away and thereby avoided the sudden jet of blue fire, which the poor beast exhaled at him.
“Oh yes, prepare to flame, my dearie,” Glittervein mocked with a sinister, angry laugh.
Steering Oime to the edge of the pit, over which the dragon’s upper body projected some six or seven feet, he placed a long, black metal rod in her hand. Just as she might have swung the huge hammer in the foundry, poor blind Oime, not knowing what she was doing, swung the heavy metal rod with a great sodden thump that drove the metal mesh deep into the dragon’s already raw flank. At first there was no fire, only those screams and roars, which Xemion had heard from outside the smithy that night when he’d gone to Uldestack to practice the sword. The dragon bucked and strained against the harness, but there was no escape, only the lashing, until finally, when the screams stopped, helplessly, the fire began.
Repeated bursts of blue flame exploded incandescent yellow and orange again and again, as the whipping continued. If he’d looked, Glittervein would have seen Xemion lit up by the fire, crouched at the back of the smithy, but Glittervein’s eyes were riveted eagerly on the sword, which was beginning to change colour in the terrible heat. Xemion remained utterly still as the increasing heat of the sword shifted it through every colour of the spectrum until all but its extended point was red-hot. And here the fire briefly began to fail.
“Keep it up,” Glittervein screamed, smacking Oime on the back. Oime lashed harder and the intensity of the fire increased.
Now Glittervein began to dance and sing that strange chant of his. Xemion had heard it before, but Glittervein’s tone had been pure and clear compared to what it was tonight. He was obviously enraged. He was gritting his teeth and stomping about in fury as he sang. Xemion wondered if it was Montither who was the object of his rage.
Hard is the hand
And hard is the heel,
Hard as the soul
Make this steel.
Hard as my flesh,
Burned and scarred.
Of my mettle make this metal
Hard, so hard.
Sharp, sharp,
As the lie is sharp.
Sharp as wind
That cleaves the scarp.
Sharp as the cry
In a newborn’s heart.
Of my mettle make this metal
Sharp, so sharp.
Flailing and staggering in wider and wider circles around the dragon, the Nain was coming alarmingly close to where Xemion crouched. Just when it seemed he might almost stumble over him, the fire decreased again.
“Every ounce! Every ounce!” Glittervein shouted, running back to tap Oime three times on the back. Incredibly, Oime’s energy redoubled and she began to hit the dragon’s back with even mightier and more rapid blows. This final assault cost the dragon her silence, for she started to scream with each exhaled fire burst. The whipping continued until at last the long narrow point of the sword turned to steel and the job was done. Glittervein signalled Oime to desist. Using long tongs, he retrieved the glowing sword and quenched it with a great hiss in the water of the font. The dragon, whose whimpers had only just subsided, arched up again in terror at the sound of the hiss.
“Oh, you’d like to, wouldn’t you?” Glittervein patted Oime’s back. “Give her one more for good measure,” he said, poking her, “just to light my pipe.” He held out a long piece of kindling before the dragon’s mouth and Oime lashed. A long, thin flare of pale blue fire shot out of the dragon’s mouth, lighting the kindling. Glittervein lit his pipe with it and exhaled the smoke into the poor beast’s eye.
“Good. Good. Now you rest up, my little darling.” Glittervein poked the dragon’s hide with the heel of his boot, causing the exhausted beast to bare her long, fanged teeth and snarl weakly. “You think you can frighten me, my darling?” he hissed. “You think you can take the other side of my face? I think not,” he growled and poked the sword into the beast’s side. Xemion’s blood turned very cold and he shook with shame. The dragon hissed weakly and steam shot out of her side.
“Oh, you’d like me to cut your heart out right now, wouldn’t you, my little pet,” Glittervein crooned. “I think not. I need one more steeling from you yet.” He tapped Oime on the shoulder and the two started to leave. “You just catch your breath, my darling,” Glittervein called over his shoulder, as he ascended the stone stairway that led back to the smithy. “I shall soon return with some more caresses.”
As soon as Glittervein and Oime were gone, Xemion did what he had to do. He could not leave the dragon here like this. He crossed the floor and took Montither’s still-hot sword in hand. Raising it over his head, he approached the dragon, and when he was close enough, he brought it down with all his might on the chain that bolted the latticework to the stone. The sword rang out in his hand like a battered bell. It sent a severe vibration up into his bones that jangled his teeth and hurt his elbow. But the blow had left a deep nick in the chain. Again he raised the blade and again he struck. Five times he suffered the great reverberation of the sword until finally the chain was severed. At that, he signalled wearily to the startled beast, which had all this time whimpered and cowered at each blow like a frightened puppy.
“Go,” he whispered to it. “Fly.” Xemion pointed up to where the cloud-muffled moon glowed through the great hole in the top of the stack. He backed away, expecting the beast to break forth immediately, but she remained there, utterly bound. Xemion was scared, but he held on and tiptoed forward so that he could grab the very edge of the framework that kept the dragon down. He lifted its back edge just the tiniest amount and let it clang back down. Xemion repeated his action but the dragon did not get the meaning of his act. She continued to cower in her bleak condition. Xemion had to do something to break the dragon’s stupor, so he poked her with the pommel of the sword. With a jolt the dragon came alive. Quickly as a flame might leap with the first great gust of wind over long-smouldering coals, she leaped up. She was much larger than Xemion had thought. She swelled under the mesh so that the whole frame strained on her spiny back and Xemion saw that there was another, smaller chain that still secured the latticework. Constrained, enraged, in panic, so near freedom, the poor dragon glared down at Xemion, and seeing him with the sword held up high to hack at that last piece of chain, she let out a great gust of fiery breath upon him, so that as the sword struck the metal, the flame struck the man. And so Xemion was
caught in a fiery wind, which scorched his skin and singed his eyebrows. Lucky this was a weary dragon, a drained dragon, or he would have been dead. As it was, the sword was flung from his grasp and he was knocked against the far wall from where he watched as the dragon breathed in deeply again and swelled herself up. The metal mesh shrieked in protest, the frame strained, the dragon shrieked, and with that, the half-severed chain snapped. Like a Jack-in-a-box, the mesh popped back with a mighty crash and the dragon shot up from her captivity and began to circle around under the wide mouth of the chimney, another long chain hanging from a metal collar about her neck. The hole above was wide but not so wide as the dragon’s wingspan. In a panic, she slapped around and around, beneath her the long chain rattling against the conical walls.
Suddenly Glittervein reappeared atop the stairs. “What have you done?” he shrieked, spying Xemion and seeing his dragon flapping about overhead. Lifting his sword, the little man rushed down the stairs with a bloodthirsty shriek. “I will kill you.” High above Xemion, the dragon kept circling around under the opening. Seeing Glittervein, she looked as though she might just swoop down on him and bring the final fire upon this place of her torment. Indeed, for a second, she did fold her wings to her sides and dropped toward him, but at the last moment the dragon must have realized her flame was weak and her freedom frail, so she wisely soared straight back up and right through the hole in the top of the stack.
As Glittervein’s sword arced toward Xemion’s neck with terrifying speed, Xemion grabbed at the last few links of the dragon’s chain, just then whirling by him with the momentum of the dragon’s swoop. A great tug yanked him up and away from the enraged Nain, whose red, scarred face shrieked “No! No!” over and over again in rage as Xemion disappeared through the hole in the top of the stack — out with the dragon into the wild, raw wind.
20
Reading by Lightning
The chain that hung from the dragon was quite long, so Xemion was swept along far below the struggling beast as she fled, weak and weary from her wounds. But she was flying very high, as though she thought she might be able to get above the storm clouds. Xemion’s only thought was to get back down to the ground as fast as possible. Five of his mightiest blows had barely dented that sword. And now it was back in Glittervein’s hands — and soon it would be in Montither’s if he did nothing to stop it. He hated doing it but he began to yank on the chain about the dragon’s neck. This obviously had some effect because he could hear the poor beast wheezing as she struggled to maintain altitude. But she only climbed higher. Hanging on with his arms and legs he continued to yank on the chain, but to no great avail. The dragon proceeded into the eastern side of Ulde and then turned toward the mountains. This was a part of the city with many towers and Xemion desperately tugged on the chain, trying to pull the poor beast down even as she slapped her wings, trying to gain altitude. Fortunately for Xemion this was a tired and beaten animal or he would have been dragged away to who knows what nest she came from. Slowly he yanked and as the dragon mightily flapped, her altitude lessened until Xemion was in ever-increasing danger of crashing into some of the higher tower tops. He kept preparing to leap off and grab hold of one of them, but there was never one entirely close enough.
The storm was brewing ever-darker clouds from the South Sea, making it difficult to see, even at this height. Suddenly he beheld the looming shadow of the tallest tower yet. If they stayed on their present course, the dragon would fly over it — but he would be slammed right into the middle of it! With strength he never dreamed he had, he began to swing his body back and forth, making the chain a long pendulum in the hope that he might somehow swing up and over the tower. He managed to do this deftly enough, but the effort had pulled the poor dragon down even lower. And that was when the next tower, a building much higher than any of the others, jutted up out of the darkness before he had a chance to even think. He had swung so far over that when the dragon passed on one side of the tower, he passed on the other. The chain caught the tower in the middle and both he and the dragon were wrapped round the ancient building like two balls on the end of the same tether. There was a crumbling sound as the dragon’s body crushed the frail roofs of old houses at the tower’s foot. Xemion hit the ground with a great thump and blacked out.
⚔
Xemion was awakened by the fierce beating of rain on his face. The sky above was dark, but distant streaks of lightning sent waves of flashing light cascading over the city. He stood up and took his bearings. He had let the chain go just before he hit the ground, so he had been flung some distance from the dragon. She lay unconscious, curled about the tower, a small tendril of smoke, made visible by the lightning, curling up from her nostrils.
He had no idea how long he’d been lying there unconscious, but it must now be deep into the night. The Panthemium was a long way off and if he didn’t get back there by dawn, Saheli would arrive and sign up for the Tourney. If she drew Montither in the first round then it would all be over. He wanted to risk it all and just dart back the way he had come, trusting that he could somehow find his way through the ghoul-inhabited darkness. But he couldn’t. Not yet. This was a very tall tower — the tallest tower in the landscape. He had realized it the moment he had seen it. This was Vallaine’s tower.
He staggered toward the building. The dragon’s mouth was open and it was aimed right at the doorway. He wasn’t eager to feel again the searing wind of her wrath, so he passed by quickly and quietly. The beast didn’t move. Silently he opened the old wooden door and stepped inside, finding himself at the foot of a steep, straight staircase. If this was Vallaine’s tower, the locket and book were up there. And Vallaine had told him that unless the book was taken or destroyed, it wouldn’t matter whether he saved Saheli or not. This had to be done. If he hurried, he could still get the book and be at the Panthemium by dawn.
It was dark inside the tower, but he left the door open and found his way to the top of the stairs aided by the flashes of lightning. Here a doorway opened into a large many-windowed room half-jammed with books that spilled out onto the stairwell. He recognized some of these books. These were the full-sized copies of the Phaer Tales, which Vallaine had released from the locket. But Xemion had no time to marvel. In fact, he didn’t even care about these books anymore. There was another book here he needed to find.
Desperately, as the thunder crashed and the lightning lit his way, he searched through the piles, flinging aside like useless rubbish volumes once precious to him. He’d almost gone through all of them when a flash of lightning cast a sudden shadow of a podium. And there it was on top, much bigger than the other books. It must have been a foot thick, its cover completely black. He had never seen this book before, but it was clearly The Grimoire. He attempted to remove the massive volume from the podium but couldn’t budge it, even though he exerted all his strength in the effort. One foot against the bottom of the podium, he leaned away, gripping and tugging at the book with all his might. But he only succeeded in flipping back its huge black cover. Then the room became utterly dark as the lightning briefly subsided.
Before he could reach to close the book, a streak of lightning so bright it was almost incandescent streaked across the sky, followed immediately by a loud thunderclap that shook the ground. One small, searing offshoot must have crackled through the window and hit the book with a flash because whatever words were on the page suddenly ignited so bright Xemion had to fling his forearm over his eyes. But it made no difference. The words shone through, burning two spells on opposing pages into his vision, steady and luminous — Spell to Bind and Spell to Free.
He groped blindly at the book in hopes of closing the cover, but a great wind rushed in and began riffling through the pages. Even as this happened the night erupted with streak after streak of thin-veined, coruscating light, igniting the words on page after page, leaving them suspended and ablaze in the air — Spell to Send. Spell to Bring Back.
He edged nearer the book, trying to close the co
ver, but the force of the wind and the brightness of the letters prevented him. Lightning bolt by lightning bolt the words ignited — Spell to Make Many from Few. Spell to Bring Light. Spell to Make Silence. Spell to Bring Fertility. Even though he turned his back and pushed the heels of his hands into both eyes the spells burned into his vision, searing themselves into his mind — Spell to Awaken Peace. Spell to Awaken Desire. Finally the wind relented and the pages came to a halt. There the book lay open to its middle, displaying a spell in two verses laid out on opposite pages — Spell to Make a Sword Which May Never Be Defeated. Xemion crept toward the podium, coming up on the book from below, hoping to close that cover for good, but a thin fork of light sizzled in and lit up the spell so bright it flung him back into the corner.
After that there was a longer break in the lightning. In the ensuing darkness the very tower started to shake as though some demon were attempting to topple it. He knew now there was no way for him to take the book. That left only one option: destroying it. But how? The thought of approaching that magical tome again for any purpose scared him. He was terrified he could be blinded forever, but the thought of Montither’s blade entering Saheli’s breast terrified him even more.
The next flash of lightning revealed a stone fireplace in one wall. He dashed over and held his palm over it, feeling the slight heat still rising from somewhere within its embers. With no hesitation he groped through the ashes until he felt a coal that was still warm. Quickly he rolled it out to the hearth and blew. It began to heat up and glow, but he needed some tinder. Xemion grabbed a book from the floor, rolled the coal into its opened centre and carried it over to The Grimoire, where he continued to blow fiercely until a small tendril of smoke arose. The sky exploded again, and a fraction of a second later there was the loudest crack of thunder yet. Like a nest of serpents suspended in one hand, fangs lashing at the ground, the lightning struck again and again. A great gust of wet wind filled the room and Xemion was dimly aware of the illustration of Amphion gazing up at him as he continued to blow. It darkened, curled, and then a small flame ignited. He ripped another page from the book and fed it into the flame, and when it erupted he touched it to the open face of The Grimoire. The fire that resulted was so bright that Xemion saw nothing but a searing blue dot that completely consumed his vision as he backed away into a corner, hands pressed over his eyes. There was an unusual smell in the room and Xemion heard a shrill hissing as the fire made its way through page after page, each giving up its writing in an eruption that illuminated the whole room.
Second Kiss Page 14