The Dragon Wicked

by B. V. Larson

  Therian nodded. “How many times have you dreamt with the Dragons behind my back?”

  “Several, milord,” Gruum said, allowing his blades to droop to his sides, but without putting them away.

  “With both the Red…and the Black?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you do not call this treachery?”

  Gruum shrugged. “It was not my intention to meet them. They called me, or by some accident of association with you, I found them.”

  Therian nodded, suddenly calm again. Gruum knew the King’s demeanor was a carefully manufactured pretense.

  “So—you have never intentionally gone to meet a Dragon?” Therian asked. “You have never sought an audience with a god, and had one granted?”

  Gruum hesitated. “I would not put it so, milord.”

  Therian’s smile began slowly, and then grew until it was a toothy grimace. “I see.”

  The King stepped toward his bed, where a bed stand stood near. He beckoned to Gruum, but the rogue stood motionless. Gruum followed the King, but only with his eyes.

  “We’ve had many arduous adventures, you and I,” Therian said.

  Gruum nodded slowly, watching the King as a man might watch a venomous snake.

  “Remember the blue blood of the ice giant?” Therian asked. “The arm-wrestling in Kem and the endless fight with Humusi? What of the Ogre in the forests of Devon? Always, have I been there for you.”

  “And I for you, sire,” Gruum countered, taking a few steps closer. He did not like what the King was implying. “Recall the shadow I allowed to drive me mad for your benefit? And the many times I fought face-to-face with Vosh and his legions of dead?”

  “Recall the living cloaks in the broken tower, Gruum?” Therian asked. “I pulled one off your back.”

  Gruum looked thoughtful. “Yes, milord. For that, I am forever grateful.”

  “So…where is your own cloak this eve, Gruum?”

  Gruum’s mouth opened a fraction and froze there. He did not answer.

  Therian stared at him. He reached out with the tip of Seeker and gave a tiny thrust. There was something there, something on the bed stand he stood near. The King stabbed through a swath of dark cloth. He lifted it gently. Gruum recognized the cloth as it moved. It was a garment. It was in fact, his own cloak.

  Hidden beneath the cloak was a flask of amber. Egred’s essence was still inside, twisting and shining. The light of the furious spirit flared brightly when the bottle was revealed, bathing the room with luminescence.

  “Egred is quite lighting up the room,” Therian remarked. “Probably the first useful service the ghost has ever managed.”

  Gruum’s breath had become labored. His eyes flicked to the secret exit—but Therian was standing in front of it. He stole a glance over his shoulder, toward the huge doors. The doors had silently closed of their own accord—and in any case, it was too far to run. Therian would leap upon him from behind and ride him down with two blades planted in his spine before he’d made it halfway. He dared not turn his back on the sorcerer for a second.

  When he flicked his eyes forward again, Gruum sucked in his breath. Therian was standing near. Almost within striking distance. He had not yet drawn his swords, however.

  “Did you really think,” Therian asked quietly, “a presence such as this infected spirit could be brought so near me without detection? I’m insulted you have so little regard for my sorcerous talents.”

  “I regard them very highly indeed, milord.”

  “Do you count me an idiot, then?”

  “No lord!”

  “Why then would you think I would not recognize the handiwork of an enemy god?”

  Gruum glanced at the flask. It was noticeably redder than when they had first trapped Egred within it. Gazing upon it now, he thought that even a fool would have been reminded of Yserth’s fire.

  Gruum knew then that he was about to die. His master could not be beaten. As always, he seemed one step ahead. He grew angry at his fate. He had participated for so long in so many grim enterprises, only to have it all come to this.

  “It’s not you I oppose, my King. Neither is it our quest—I wish for nothing more than to bring peace, light and warmth back to the world.”

  “Go on. Your ceaseless, worm-like lies entertain me.”

  “She will never help you. You seek to use her for your ends, but the Dragons always use us for theirs. We are never their masters.”

  Therian sneered. “You would have me believe that all this treachery is a bout of cowardice on your part? That you have lost your nerve?”

  “Not just that, milord, but I feel we have sacrificed enough. There has been enough blood and death in this land and others. All Anduin does is sit like a fat spider-queen in her nest, ordering you about the place to bring destruction and rapine to our world. And what have we to show for it? The world grows darker and colder with each passing month.”

  Therian stared at him for a few seconds. “Did you corrupt my daughter?”

  Gruum laughed. It was a wild, unpleasant sound. “Corrupt her? Are you blind, man? She slays her own nursemaids. She walks the night and slips between the worlds like a ghost. She consorts with the dead with delight in her eyes.”

  “You did it, didn’t you? You dared to bed a princess?”

  “And you would dare slay her for the pleasure of a heartless goddess?” Gruum asked, feeling anger well up within him for all the lost, wasted souls he’d watched slip by him. “I will not stand for it!”

  Gruum attacked then. His blades came up. The saber thrust high, the dagger low, aiming for the leg. He used all the speed he had within his coiled body.

  Therian’s swords flickered out to meet his lunge. Seeker deflected the saber while Succor touched the dagger. The dagger slid past, however. Such was the speed and surprise of the assault, Gruum managed to score the King’s thigh. It was only a scratch, but it drew red blood.

  Therian countered, and the two fought for ten strokes more. Gruum’s emotion drove his blades. He slashed, was parried, then thrust and had to parry the riposte.

  Therian initially retreated in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. He reclaimed the initiative and came on with great speed and power. He slashed, thrust and hacked. Gruum was forced onto the defensive. Gruum began to circle, knowing he could not best his King. But he had something else in mind.

  The King pressed forward suddenly, and as Gruum’s legs were trapped with the bed behind him, there was no easy retreat. Gruum was forced to hop backward onto the bed, and the uneven footing there betrayed him. Succor flashed out and found his calf.

  Gruum hissed through his teeth. Blood ran down into his boot. He did not have time to look down, to check the wound. But he knew in the goodness of time it would stiffen and slow him. He had few options left.

  With a quick hand-motion, he flipped his dagger around, grabbing it by the point rather than the hilt. He drew back and threw it with deadly accuracy.

  Therian dodged to one side, but he need not have. The dagger was not aimed at him. Instead, it flipped once before striking the flask on the bed stand pommel-first with full force. The amber flask shattered, and everything changed.

  -11-

  Egred, having raged for days within the flask and maddened further by Yserth’s red breath, exploded into the world with a triumphant howl. He swelled and swelled, filling the King’s bedchamber with his looming, vaporous form. Rippling shoulders brushed the high ceiling and the heat that rose from his spirit burnt the frescos there, making them curl and blacken. The lower portion of the spirit was a cloud of frozen flame. Each of his ten curved fingers were adorned with two bejeweled rings, one of diamond and one of jade, his favorite stones in life.

  Therian ignored the spirit at his flank and moved to finish Gruum. Seeker darted through the air, and Gruum had no time to parry. Egred did not allow the sword to strike home, however. He lunged with an excited screech of fury and grappled Therian, who strove with the spirit de
spite its translucent nature and massive size. Gruum scrambled away and rolled off the far side of the bed. He sprinted around past the struggling pair to the secret door. He flipped open the catch and the passage yawned open. It looked like a black pit inside, the opposite of the bedchamber, which now blazed with red light. Egred resembled a living flame, but his touch did not burn.

  Now that his method of escape was at hand, Gruum turned to watch the battle for a moment. He did not speak to them as the spirit was making so much noise it split the ears to hear it. Therian strove with monster, twisting and straining like a wrestler. They’d locked arms, and Therian had dropped his swords as they could not cut a spirit.

  Gruum consider thrusting his saber into the King’s back. He could kill him, he felt sure. Would the world not be a better place for it? This was not the first time Therian had been vulnerable to a quick strike, but Gruum hoped it would be the last time he would be forced to make this decision. In the end, after several seconds’ hesitation, he vaulted into the dark and ran. He was a rogue, a knave and a thief—but a treacherous assassin was worse than all those things combined.

  He ran, and he did not stop running until he could no longer hear the rasping cries from the King’s apartments far behind. He lost his way, then gained it again and kept going. Eventually, he found himself before the secret door that gave way to the damp region that ventilated the laundry level. Not knowing where else to go, he pressed inside.

  He felt, rather than saw or heard, a cool presence behind him. He glanced back. Nadja stood there. Gruum heard a crackling sound at her feet, and saw her bare toes touched a pool of water. The pool stiffened and turned to slush. Eventually, he knew, if she stood there long enough, the water that steamed and bubbled into this place would freeze over. The air itself would freeze as well, drawing every bit of moisture out of it onto the walls and the flooring in the form of frost.

  “Did you see what I did?” he asked her.

  “You released Egred. Can the spirit best my father?”

  Gruum shook his head. “I’m not certain.”

  Nadja stepped forward. She reached out her hand, and he took it, although he winced to feel the cold of her flesh.

  “Let’s talk to Yserth again,” she said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Gruum nodded his head. He had little hope for aid from that quarter, but knew not what else to do. If Egred’s spirit did slay Therian, all in Corium would assume one of his sorcerous experiments had gone horribly awry. It was common knowledge that each day this King lived could very well be his last. A thrust in the back would have been much harder to explain away.

  A short time later, Nadja lay beside Gruum on her mattress of straw.

  “I can’t sleep,” Gruum said quietly. “It’s impossible.”

  Nadja reached up her hand and touched his forehead. Her touch was so cold that it burned. He tried not to wince and shrink away.

  “You’re so warm to the touch,” she said. “I have something to help you sleep.”

  She produced a small pouch of moleskin and dug into it, using her fingernail as if it were a tiny spade. When her finger was revealed again, she had something on her nail—a trace of purple dust.

  “Breathe this. Not too deeply—only a puff is necessary.”

  “What is it?”

  “Purple lotus.”

  Hesitantly, Gruum sniffed. Immediately, his head filled with the heady scents of hot mead, spices and fine oils. He laid back and loosed a sigh. He was greatly relaxed. Nadja said something to him, but her voice was a distant drone. Soon, his eyelids grew heavy, and he closed them.

  #

  Yserth’s land was different this time. It was not a pit between looming rock walls. It was instead a high plateau. Every surface was stone, either blasted black or melted down to lava. A stiff, dry wind wrapped around him, drying every ounce of moisture from his person. Smoky vapors rose from fissures in the plateau. The smoke was carried rapidly away with the dry winds, moving like black wind-spirits caught in a gale.

  Gruum saw nothing of Yserth, or Nadja. He walked to the edge of the plateau and stood looking down over the cliff. He felt a calmness inside, despite all he’d witnessed here. This strange world was beautiful, in its own way. There was no life in sight, but the world moved and shifted of its own accord. No water was in evidence, not even a boiling lake. No plants nor animals could survive here, other than the alien Dragon himself, who seemed immune to heat that could melt stone.

  “You see the beauty of it, don’t you?” Nadja asked, her voice coming from behind him.

  Gruum did not startle or turn. He stood on the edge of the cliff, staring down. In what he could see of the world, there was nothing but desolation and liquid fire.

  “Yes,” he said. “It is a strange place, but I no longer fear it as I once did. Is that an effect of the lotus?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve come to feel the same way, and I’ve been here several times without the lotus. I think perhaps it is an effect of the world itself.”

  “How is it you have come to join my dream now?” Gruum asked, looking at her. “I thought you told me you could not follow me into my dreams.”

  She smiled and looked downward. He was surprised. Was that a shy expression? He could not recall having seen such a look on her face before.

  “Well, we—we’re closer now. I think that is why I can follow you.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Because we have lain together?”

  Did she blush? He could not believe his eyes. This woman was such a strange creature. She wasn’t really a woman at all, but right now she was behaving like one.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  They stood together for a time, feeling the heat and the wind. Gruum came to enjoy her cool touch. It was the only thing in this place that did not burn and stink of brimstone.

  After what seemed like an hour, a heavy thumping sound began. Gruum frowned, studying the skies overhead and the valley far below. He could not locate the source. The thumping continued, and gradually grew louder.

  He walked the plateau, with Nadja following him. Both of them felt their clothes ripple and flutter around them in the hot winds. Occasionally, gusts of sand came up from a distant desert and blew into their faces, making them squint.

  After their second circuit of the plateau, they met a dark figure who had not been there before. He was tall and slim, with hands gloved in black leather. He had long black hair that flew about his blue skinned face and he stood motionless as they approached. Gruum halted and urged Nadja to step behind him. She ignored his efforts and stood at his side.

  Therian turned around, as if surprised to see them. “Ah, there you are,” the King said.

  Nadja gasped at his appearance. His face had been slashed. One eye hung loose, dangling from its socket. Therian did not reach up and push it back in. He took no notice of it at all.

  “Quite a view, isn’t it?” asked the King conversationally. “I’d call it enchanting.”

  “What happened, father?” Nadja asked.

  The King’s good eye moved to peer at her. He advanced slowly. Gruum wanted to retreat, but as Nadja did not, he stood fast.

  “Good to have such a concerned daughter,” Therian said bitterly. “Your—consort happened to me, my dear. He loosed a creature in my bedchambers and although I sent it to a worse realm than this, it did manage to do me some harm first.”

  “Egred?” Nadja asked. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Therian said, stepping closer.

  “You should not have come here, milord,” Gruum said. “This is my dream.”

  Therian’s forefinger shot up, a single black point which he lifted high overhead like a spear tip aimed at the lurid sky. “Yes! Exactly, your dream! You have become a sorcerer. I know not how you did it. I hope I did not accidentally show you the path.”

  “I suppose perhaps, that you did,” Gruum said thoughtfully.

  Therian stepped closer still, then stopped. They all fel
l silent, but the thumping sound continued. Gruum’s eyes searched the skies and the land below the cliffs, but saw nothing. His eyes went back to Therian’s and he recoiled. There was venom there. Black hate.

  “You dare stand with her, in my presence?” asked the King. His voice was low and dangerous.

  “It was my choice to lay with him,” Nadja said.

  Therian ignored her. He continued staring at Gruum. Now that he was closer, Gruum could see the dead eye that rested upon his left cheekbone more clearly. It had been punctured, and had deflated like a polyp brought up from the bottom of the sea. A trail of blood and ichors led down to the King’s mouth and dribbled unheeded from his pale chin.

  “What is it to you who she lies with?” Gruum asked. “You planned to slaughter her and chant an ode to Anduin while doing so. What possible concerns can you have for her welfare?”

  “Dishonor is a thousand times worse than death,” Therian said.

  “He means to slay us both, Gruum,” Nadja said.

  “Naturally,” Gruum said. “Let us be about it, then.” He drew his blades and Therian drew his.

  The King’s face split apart into a smile. “You know little of fighting in a place like this, knave.”

  “But I do, father,” hissed Nadja. She had vanished from Gruum’s side and appeared behind the King. Her small, curved blade flashed. Therian was forced to release Seeker, which clattered upon the stones at his feet. His hand lashed out and grabbed the girl’s wrist, stopping her knife from driving into his back.

  Gruum leapt forward, his saber fully extended, aiming a thrust for the chest. Succor flickered and parried Gruum’s blade.

  The three disengaged for a moment, and Therian made a cut at Nadja. She fell back, stumbling. Gruum jumped forward with an oath.

  Therian snatched up Seeker again, and switched his momentum. He turned to meet Gruum. The two closed and bound their blades up against one another. They stood grunting upon the stones for a moment, face-to-face.

  “You should not have come here,” Gruum said. “There was no need. Let us go.”