The Dragon Wicked

by B. V. Larson

  “So quickly you abandoned our quest.”

  “I no longer believed you were on a true path.”

  “Perhaps you would prefer living in a hovel with my daughter on some fisherman’s dock?”

  The two split apart and traded blows. Nadja made as if to approach again. Gruum cautioned her with an upraised hand.

  “Hold,” Gruum said to Nadja. “He seeks to bait you in close.”

  The thumping sound had paused now, but Gruum had no time to search the landscape. He thought hard—how could he use Therian’s lost eye to his advantage? The King did not seem pained nor otherwise discomfited by the injury.

  “He is here,” Nadja said.

  “Who is here?” asked Gruum. He lifted his blade higher. His sides heaved and sweat loosened his grip on the hilt of his saber.

  “Do you not know?” Therian asked with a sneer. “Did you not hear that thumping? Who do you think has been beating the air with his great wings all this time?”

  Gruum took a spare moment to flick his eyes this way and that. What he saw caused him to pause. A huge head, bigger than any boulder in sight, peeked over the edge of the plateau. It was Yserth’s head. The eyes flashed with curiosity and malice.

  Therian pressed an attack in Gruum’s moment of distraction. Gruum’s saber was beaten aside and almost knocked from his hand. Scrambling desperately, he retreated on shuffling boots.

  “You make it too easy,” complained Yserth in his impossibly bass voice. “What sport is there in a slaughter?”

  “Aid me then, Dragon!” shouted Gruum.

  The Dragon huffed, and smoke shot out in a cloud, obscuring Therian for a moment. Coughing, the King staggered away from the vapor and slashed wildly, but Gruum had escaped.

  “Thank you, lord,” Gruum said.

  “Only a foolish dinner thanks the diner!” the Dragon said, puffing out fresh smoke. To Gruum, it appeared as if he was laughing.

  “Hold,” said Gruum, lifting his hand to Therian. “This creature sees us as a joke. Are we here only to amuse it so it may devour the winner? What difference does it make who wins here in any case? Whoever dies will only return to their bed in Corium.”

  Therian stood tensely, considering Gruum. At last, he nodded. “Well said. You have words for me?”

  Gruum glanced at Nadja, who looked ready to pop in behind Therian again and try another stab, but he waved her off. Therian snorted with amusement. “My daughter’s faithlessness is exceeded only by your own.”

  “Let’s talk then,” Gruum said. “Since nothing else will be settled in this place.”

  Yserth huffed in disappointment.

  -12-

  Therian, Gruum and Nadja stood a safe distance apart from each other, forming a triangle upon the plateau. The Red Dragon crawled up from where he clutched the rocks to loom over them all. Yserth regarded the three with great curiosity and seemed amused by their every comment and mistrustful action.

  “I will tolerate you here for only a few minutes more if you will not fight,” the Dragon said.

  “Why do you wish to watch us struggle?” Therian asked.

  “It is a novelty. I can’t recall the last time crawling creatures came to my realm to do battle amongst themselves. Also, I find you absurd.”

  “Absurd?” Therian asked. “How so, Dragon?”

  “Aren’t dupes always absurd?”

  Gruum took steps toward the great jaws and shouted up at the creature. He thought to himself that he did not care if he angered Yserth. He would run to the cliff and throw himself over the side if it came to that. Death here had little consequence, as long as it was quick. “Dragon, you call us absurd dupes. Explain yourself.”

  The great head turned to face him, and for a moment Gruum paled. He had gone too far, and had given the creature a command. He had ordered this god to perform a service in his own realm. If Yserth wished to burn him now, he doubted he could make it to the edge of the cliff. He suspected a death via flaming breath would be the worst death of all those he had suffered in these places. He did not relish the prospect of experiencing it.

  But the Dragon merely laughed and shook its great head. “Ah! You attempt trickery! You foment my wrath seeking a quick death, but it shall be denied. Know, mote of flesh, I shall not let you provoke me so easily. Consider your insults ineffective this day. I will listen to your talk until I grow bored. Then I will hold you down and pluck you apart while you squirm. It will be coldly and slowly done.”

  Gruum turned his attention to Therian and Nadja. “What is there to say?”

  Therian stared at the Dragon. His head was cocked to one side, and his eye still hung, unattended. The tilted angle of his head caused the eyeball to slide near his nose. He took no more notice of it than he might a stray lock of hair.

  “This creature intrigues me, even as we seem to intrigue it,” the King said. “This is not the usual behavior of the gods. Never can I recall a Dragon being interested in the conversations of a group of mortals.”

  “Perhaps he knows something about our plight we do not,” Nadja offered.

  Therian nodded. “Yes. Let us reason it through.”

  Gruum shrugged to himself. At least he still breathed, both in this world and his own. He decided that anything that kept him breathing longer was an acceptable pastime. “Let us list the facts,” Gruum said. “The Dragon considers us amusing. He called us dupes. Therefore, he must believe we have been misled.”

  “Agreed,” said Therian. “Who has misled us, Yserth?”

  “I was wrong,” said the Dragon. “I’m not enjoying your talk. One of you must slay another.”

  Gruum opened his mouth to protest. Therian stopped him by lifting his gloved hand. “I will promise you a death,” Therian said. “But you must promise to answer a question for each death you witness.”

  The Dragon snorted. “Others have slain thousands for my wisdom to be revealed.”

  “I don’t have thousands to offer,” Therian said.

  “Very well—but I must protest. You ask a high price for a single mortal life.”

  “Here is the question then: Who has fooled us? Who has brought us to blows falsely?”

  “Why Anduin, of course. Can you not see? You are all marionettes and she is the puppeteer who makes you dance.”

  Therian nodded seriously. He rubbed at his chin with his gloved hands. “Nadja, come here and kneel before me.”

  Nadja did as he asked.

  “No!” cried Gruum, stepping forward.

  “We have made a bargain,” Therian said. “Do not compound our dishonor.”

  “It’s all right, Gruum,” Nadja said.

  Breathing hard, hands flexing upon his sword, Gruum stood close. “Why not you, King?”

  Therian’s eyebrows shot high. “Who would ask the intelligent questions?”

  “Very well,” Gruum said. “Take me instead.”

  Therian shook his head. He drove Seeker into his daughter’s chest before Gruum could move, stilling her heart. Gruum caught her body as it slumped down. His eyes stung. He knew she would awaken whole and hale in her bed, but he hated to witness her passing, nonetheless. Gruum cradled Nadja’s head and laid her out gently upon the hot stones. Her skin was no longer cool to the touch. His arm trembled, desiring to grab up his saber and cut Therian down where he stood. It was all he could do to restrain himself.

  Therian turned back to the great being that loomed over them. “I have slain my own daughter before you. I ask my next question and it will dishonor you to speak falsely.”

  “Do not dare speak to me of honor, cur of the Earth. Ask!”

  “Why is the Sun of our world dimming?”

  The Dragon made a great, thunderous noise. After a time, Gruum came to understand it was laughter.

  “So soon do you tiny beings forget your own past! How could a father not tell his son the secrets of his life?”

  “You speak of King Euvoran?” Therian asked. “I do not find your answer useful.”


  The Dragon’s upper lip curled upward into a momentary snarl. “I find you even less so. But I will answer more completely, as honor dictates. Your father sought sorcery in his youth—just as you do now.”

  “No,” Therian interrupted. “He banned sorcery. For nearly two centuries—”

  “Do not contradict me!” roared the Dragon. The monster’s hot breath washed over them, all but setting their hair alight. Even Therian winced from the pain of it. “I was there. I spoke with your father—as did that whore, Anduin. He summoned us to his presence with a thousand sacrifices performed upon the altar deep beneath your city. He offered me sorcerous power in trade for peace in his land, but I rebuffed him. When he approached Anduin, she offered your sire a bargain. He accepted. For all his long life, Hyborea was given peace, but it was the peace of a slow, cold, strangling death.”

  Therian stared. “He said to me, upon his deathbed, that I should bring back the old ways. That I should not seek to rule as he did.”

  “Nadja knew the altar the Dragon speaks of,” Gruum said aloud. “The blasted altar where you have twice opened the Dragon’s Maw. She called it her grandfather’s altar.”

  Therian glanced at Gruum, then flicked his eyes back to the Dragon. “So…Anduin is the one who darkens our skies further each year.”

  “Do you ask yet another question?” Yserth demanded eagerly.

  “No, that was merely a statement.”

  Yserth laughed again. “And your statement is correct. She is the Queen of Darkness. I am the King of Light. Who do you think is more likely to bring frost, and who the more likely to bring fire?”

  Therian nodded, satisfied. “Two questions answered. Gruum, come stand before me.”

  Gruum walked forward unhappily. He stared into Therian’s eyes. They were cold and grim.

  “When you awaken,” the King said, “come seek me in my chambers so we might discuss this further.”

  “Will you accept a truce between us?”

  Therian nodded. “For now.”

  Gruum forced himself to nod in return. It was a tiny movement of his chin.

  The King thrust his blades deeply into Gruum’s sides. Seeker slid into Gruum’s left side, while Succor plunged into his right. Hitching and gasping, Gruum sank to his knees. He saw, with his dimming gaze, the King’s eyes blaze brightly. With his last agonizing thoughts, he realized his master enjoyed watching him die. This made Gruum angry. He had not yet gotten over witnessing Nadja’s slaughter.

  Gruum sucked in his breath. It was agony, as his right lung had been pierced. The King had not thrust through the heart to kill him immediately. Rather, he had wounded him so that he would die in pain, over several minutes. He felt a flash of rage take him. The King should not be allowed to gloat over their corpses, not even for a moment. Therian had engineered this. He had won, in his own twisted mind. Gruum would not stand for his petty victory. He thrust his saber upward into Therian’s throat and past that, into the matter where his thoughts resided. The King was surprised and died instantly.

  Gruum sagged onto his back. The Dragon slid forward on its belly to examine him.

  “One more question, Dragon,” Gruum said, trying not to cough. The Dragon’s head loomed directly above. The jaws dripped molten fluids. A droplet splattered near Gruum, singeing his hair. The smell of his own burning beard filled his nostrils.

  “You are already dying,” the Dragon said. “How will you pay?”

  “With my death, we have paid already for three queries. I will ask the last.”

  “Very well, but hurry. I grow bored.”

  Gruum coughed, and his lungs burned. The corners of his mouth were slick, and he suspected his blood flowed there, bright and red. “How may I slay Anduin?” he asked.

  -13-

  When Gruum awoke, he sat up and had a coughing fit. Although his lungs no longer leaked blood, he felt his sides. He found his skin there to be unbroken. There were no holes between his ribs. He breathed deeply, slowly, in relief.

  Nadja was there. She laid a cool hand on his shoulder. “Does my father still dream with the Red Dragon?” she asked.

  Gruum shook his head. “No. I was the last to draw breath in that place.”

  Nadja raised one eyebrow in surprise, but she did not inquire further about the matter. “What should we do now?” she asked after a pause.

  He stood up. He dressed fully and tightened his sword belt. “We shall do as the King asked. We shall meet him in his apartments.”

  Nadja took both his hands in hers. Knowing what she intended, Gruum squeezed them tightly. He nodded to her.

  The floor opened beneath them and they fell into nothingness.

  They arrived moments later in the King’s chambers. When they fell from the void into the chamber, Therian did not turn to greet them. He stood at the hearth, sipping a goblet of wine. In his other hand, he held an empty decanter. It dripped maroon liquid upon the rich carpets. He had clearly used the wine to douse the flames. The dead coals in the fireplace smoldered and steamed.

  “Why did you douse your fire, father?” Nadja asked.

  “Because I could not bear to see them,” the King said, making a vague gesture toward the doorway. He stared into the dead fire. The fumes from it filled the bedchamber with an acrid scent. His finger lifted to indicate dark shapes that lay strewn over his carpets.

  Gruum’s eyes followed the line of bodies out the open door and into the hallway. He counted seven dead in sight, including the one that lay draped over the threshold. He did not step out into the hall to see how many more there might be outside. He recognized some of their shapes and faces. They were the King’s servants. No doubt, he had summoned them to perform their final service.

  “Milord, what would you have us do now?” Gruum asked. He did not query the King as to why he had slaughtered his servants. It was clear Therian wanted all the power in his limbs he could easily gain with their pitiful souls.

  Therian turned finally, and raised his goblet to Gruum in a mocking salute. “Do you know no other has ever planted a sword in my skull?”

  “I suspected as much,” Gruum said. He swallowed hard and realized he was still clutching Nadja’s hand. He let the princess’ hand drop away from his. “We are still at truce, are we not?”

  Therian stared at him for a long moment, then finally drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I suppose we are for now—as I said.”

  “Good,” Gruum said. “Let us finish our quest then. Let us rekindle our Sun. Let us bring life back to this dark, frozen land.”

  Therian moved closer. Gruum studied the King’s face. He noted, now that he could see the other more clearly, the King’s eye was undamaged. Had that horrid injury existed only in his personal version of the dream they had all shared? Or had it simply been a wound healed by death in that place, healing upon return to wakefulness, as his own punctured sides had done? Gruum tried to push away these disturbing thoughts. He would not ask if Therian or Nadja recalled the wounds. Perhaps, in their versions of these dreams, things had gone differently. He did not want to question the transient nature of dreams and dream worlds. He decided it was best to accept reality as it was—or as it was at the moment.

  “We must return to my sire’s altar…to the place where this all began,” Therian said. “We must unmake what he forged there in league with Anduin.”

  Nadja stepped between the two men. She reached out a hand to each of them. They took her hands slowly, staring at one another.

  “Now?” she asked.

  “If you would be so kind,” Therian said, still eyeing Gruum.

  All three fell into the floor and reappeared in the deeps beneath Corium. They stood near the blasted altar itself. The pool lapped around their ankles. Gruum let go of Nadja’s hand and backed away first. Therian did likewise a moment later. All three of them eyeone another with concern.

  “What now?” asked Gruum.

  “From this spot,” the King said, “we can invade Anduin’s lair—wi
th or without her leave.”

  “We must do it at a specific moment,” Gruum said.

  Therian looked at him sharply. “What moment?”

  “It must be when she slumbers—but not when she is actively dreaming.”

  Therian blinked at him and touched his chin. “Interesting. And how did you come by this bit of information?”

  “Yserth told me. It was his answer to my final question.”

  Therian’s upper lip shifted, as if it wanted to rise up into a snarl. His face fell still again after a moment. “We are all definitely sorcerers, after a fashion,” he said.

  “The question is,” Nadja said, “how do we know when the Dragon slumbers, but does not yet dream?”

  Therian nodded. “I believe it can be done. We will open up not a Dragon’s Maw, but rather a Dragon’s Eye.”

  “Can we then…spy on her?”

  “After a fashion,” he replied. “There is a problem, however. The spell requires a drop of Dragon’s blood.”

  “I’m half-dragon, am I not?” asked Nadja.

  “No,” Gruum said suddenly. “I’ll not have you cutting her again.”

  “You can do it then, Gruum,” she said, offering her wrist. “Two drops of mine should make one of Dragon’s blood, should it not?”

  Gruum and Therian eyed one another for a moment. Therian nodded at last. “Yes, that would be the formula. Spill them into this pool where the altar once stood.”

  Gruum produced a small knife from his boot. He cleaned the tip fastidiously, burning it until it was scorched black over a tiny candle. Finally, he took Nadja’s hand and delicately poked her fingertip. She winced, then watched with interest as the blood welled up. Gruum eyed it, and was pleased to see it was indeed red…as it should be.

  One drop, then a second fell into the still pool. Tiny ripples spread outward, making their reflections in the inky water waver rhythmically.

  Therian worked his spell, and Nadja chanted quietly alongside him. Gruum could do nothing but grimace as their two voices chanted Dragon speech. The pool turned a dark red, and then thickened until it became a soupy substance. When it was the rust-like shade of dried blood, Therian declared the pool ready. He told them all to gaze into the pool and see their own reflection there.