by Byron Preiss
“Then we will defeat them!” Jondalrun shouted. “Is that not why Hawkwind wished us to join your fleet? We have strength in our numbers! There are only a few creatures left. We are more than able to defend ourselves against them!”
“Yes,” replied Vora with exasperation, “but our men and yours are tired and angry. There have even been fights over those damnable wristlets! We must face the creatures on our own terms, Jondalrun. It would be stupid to subject the troops to unnecessary peril.”
Dayon listened to this exchange and smiled. His father was now insisting upon a confrontation with the coldrakes in the same manner as he had insisted upon the invasion of Simbala! He had not changed, thought Dayon, but perhaps that was good. There was a need for men with strong wills in the world. It was the responsibility of others to temper that will with their own judgments. That had not happened with the invasion, but Dayon would make sure now that his father listened to what the Simbalese General had to say.
“The woman named Ceria glimpsed the coldrakes within the Dragonpearl,” Dayon interjected. “Perhaps she can learn more about where they are hiding.”
Jondalrun glared at his son. “There is no time for such foolishness! Fandora must be protected. We must find the creatures now and ensure the safety of our land!” He turned away from them all and pushed out of the cabin.
“Your father is not a man of compromise,” said Vora.
“He has lost a son,” Dayon replied, “and a war. What do you expect?”
Vora nodded. “I understand, but I will have to ignore him.”
“That will not be easy.”
Tamark, standing next to Dayon, smiled ruefully. “It would almost be easier to ignore a coldrake itself.” He and Vora looked at each other in understanding for a moment and then returned to the navigational work at hand.
* * *
Hawkwind stood with Lady Ceria on the foredeck of the flagship, wind blowing gently through their clothes. The Rayan clung to the young Monarch’s robe and gazed out into the mist. They could see little; the thick clouds above captured the moonlight, and fog swirled about the deck. Above the crow’s nest of the mainmast, the hawk circled, but it too was concealed in mist.
Hawkwind and Ceria watched the clouds floating slowly against the sky. It was quiet, as if time were a stranger to the sea. Only the muted flapping of the ship’s sails could be heard over the gently lapping waves. Far behind them, in the shadow of the lateen sail on the afterdeck, a small band of Fandorans awaited the return of Jondalrun. In their midst was a young man, dressed mostly in black, playing a sad tune on a small-shawm.
“The Fandorans are scared,” Ceria said softly, listening to the music as it drifted to the prow. “They are far from home.”
“As are we all,” whispered Hawkwind, “but we must continue. We have not stopped Evirae’s plan to make way for the coldrakes. Simbala must be protected!”
“Yes, my love, but what can be done to ease the discontent between our troops and those of Fandora? Many feel as if the war had never ended!”
Hawkwind gripped the wooden hull. “For some it has not,” he said, “but they will suffer a fate worse than those who suffered in the war if they do not end their foolish ways. The coldrakes are fierce creatures. We must all work together against them.”
Ceria glanced suddenly at the open sea. “Hawkwind,” she murmured, “look yonder. A wind is breaking up the clouds far ahead.”
Hawkwind peered through the mist and saw a massive movement driving east in the distance. Higher up, another mass shifted quickly toward the west.
“I have never seen such a thing in all my travels,” Hawkwind declared. “How could those currents force the clouds in two directions at once?”
Ceria nodded and started to look up at Hawkwind. Then suddenly she felt a coldness, an anger, the same feeling she had sensed when the coldrake first appeared at the palace. This time it was stronger, far stronger. She clutched Hawkwind’s robe.
“What is it?” Hawkwind said grimly, but as he spoke the words, he already knew the answer. Through the breaking clouds he saw the shimmering circle of moonlight in the sky. Against its silver surface, there was a sudden flickering, a movement of what seemed to be wings. Then quickly, it was joined by another and another. A black wave—frightening, monstrous, and incredible—swept across the moon.
“It cannot be!” Ceria cried. “What we saw within the Dragonpearl—”
“Heed not the jewel!” shouted Hawkwind. “What we see is real!” He turned toward the main deck, and as he did, there came a distant cry, a shriek of bloodthirsty rage from the darkness.
“The coldrakes approach!” Hawkwind shouted. “We must prepare for our defense! All hands to the main deck! All hands to the deck!”
Ceria watched the clouds, and felt the wind grow stronger. How had they misjudged what they had seen within the Dragonpearl?
She shuddered. The winged horde above defied comprehension. They seemed to swallow the very stars in the sky!
She turned to Hawkwind and said softly, “Beloved, I knew not—”
“I know,” he replied, “there was no reason for you to have been aware of this danger, but now we must act!”
Hawkwind stepped quickly toward the edge of the foredeck and shouted orders to those Fandorans and Simbalese pouring out of the hatches from the lower deck. The coiled ropes which had been loaded onto the ship for use in mooring or other emergency maneuvers would now be diverted to a more crucial purpose.
“Bring the barrels of oil from the afterdeck!” Hawkwind shouted, and then he directed Ceria to summon Vora and Jondalrun from the cabin beneath the mainmast. He had a plan, but it would take the full support and courage of both armies to effect it.
Ceria hurried off, unaware that the Fandoran Elder had already left the cabin.
Hawkwind spied him a few moments later, approaching the foredeck through the crowd. He started to call out to Jondalrun, but the Elder spoke first.
“The demons!” he raged, drawing closer to Hawkwind. “Those demons murdered my child! What madness is this, Hawkwind? You cannot defeat them using ropes and oil! Summon your archers! The creatures must be brought down from the sky!”
“There are too many!” Hawkwind said curtly, as torchlight flared up behind Jondalrun. “We must protect the ships! Alert your men wearing the wristlets, Jondalrun. They must be mounted upon the masts to keep the coldrakes from attacking the sails. Enlist the aid of your son and as many of my crew as you need.”
Jondalrun glared at Hawkwind. “You have no right to order me, Sim! I am an Elder of Fandora!”
Hawkwind seized the stubborn farmer by his collar. “Damn your title! These creatures will kill us if we do not act now! I have my reasons for the use of the ropes and oil! You must get the dragonbane.”
Jondalrun broke free of Hawkwind’s grip and scowled. “We shall settle this later!” he said. “My men will help me.”
Hawkwind called out then, a shrill sound repeated twice.
As Jondalrun left the foredeck, to find Dayon for the task of procuring the dragonbane, the hawk swooped down from the sky.
“Guard!” shouted Hawkwind. “Bring me a quill and parchment! A message must be taken to the other ships!”
* * *
The Darkling shrieked his rage as he saw the tiny ships far below him. Man had come to murder the coldrakes, had come as he had told the coldrakes they would.
The howling sound of the creatures behind him confirmed to the Darkling what he already knew—the coldrakes had accepted him as their rightful leader. They would obey his orders, they would destroy the ships of these puny humans as they had destroyed the cloud ship of the human who had entered their land.
The Darkling lowered his neck and started the long descent toward the humans’ fleet. As he flew, tiny lights came afire suddenly on the ships. The Darkling howled. Man expected to frighten them with fire; man was scared—he had to use precious flame against them.
The Darkling shrieked a warning to his winge
d brethren behind him. The devious human who had reached their warrens also had the secret of fire, but it was unlike the dragons’ flame. It had burned quickly and vanished. These flames were small below them and they too would disappear. The coldrakes would circle the ships, shrieking, raising the waves, terrifying the humans until the flames were gone. Then the true attack would start.
* * *
The hawk had taken Hawkwind’s message to those craft closest to the flagship, ordering their captains to secure the dragonbane of the Fandorans for the protection of the vessels themselves. Many Fandorans protested, fearful that relinquishing the bracelets would ensure their doom, but this sentiment was quickly defeated through the persuasiveness of the crews and the threat of force to those who remained unsympathetic to a common defense.
Upon the flagship, the wristlets were swiftly fastened to the masts and sails by members of the Simbalese crew. These would hopefully prevent the coldrakes from attacking the ship itself. Other Simbalese and Fandoran troops stood ready with long poles, to which the dragonbane had been attached. These would be used to drive back any coldrakes swooping down toward the deck.
Hawkwind shouted his orders amid the chaos. As the shrieking horde drew closer, some ran back in panic to the hold of the ship. Most courageously held their posts, manning the port and starboard sides, armed with the poles, bow and arrows, spears, and even swords. At a section of the hull near the mainmast, six men, including Willen of the Northweald—unrecognized in the confusion—struggled with long shafts to position an enormous oil-soaked rope in the water around the flagship. The rope itself had been bound to long, thin poles in certain sections, affording it a rigidness against the growing turbulence of the sea.
“Faster!” Vora screamed, and the order was repeated by captains watching similar groups of crewmen around the hull. As part of Hawkwind’s plan, the rope had been tied into a circle before being thrown into the water. Willen and the others were pushing it a safe distance from the flagship.
The Wealdsman glanced up at the moon as he worked. The coldrakes would be upon them soon. He shuddered. He had been a hunter for almost twenty years, but never had he seen such terror. The sky was filled with the creatures, and their screams echoed in the darkness. He thought of the murdered child and the horror she had faced. He would fight the creatures—fight them to the end.
The leaders of the troops dealt with the panic on deck. Tamark and Dayon reassured the frightened Fandorans who waited with the poles of dragonbane, while Ceria tended the shocked soldiers hiding on lower deck.
Hawkwind and Jondalrun were at the helm. The Fandoran stared at the coldrakes; the winds were strong now, but he could hear the sound of the gray wings slicing the air above.
“Give the order!” Jondalrun cried. “They are almost here!”
Hawkwind shook his head. “The rope is not far enough away from the ship. Lighting it now could send the hull up in flames!”
Jondalrun glared at Hawkwind. “Your men are as slow as drunkards! We must take action!”
Hawkwind turned away from the Fandoran and shouted to the captains on deck, “Ready the poles of dragonbane! The coldrakes approach!”
Then he heard a scream, as the first creature, larger than those behind it, swept down toward the ship.
* * *
The Darkling plunged quickly toward the glowing sail. He would rip it with his claws, signaling the attack on the humans. Then the others would follow, seeking vengeance for that which the humans had destroyed. It would not be long before all the craft were shattered, taking the humans with them into the sea. The Darkling watched the desperate creatures scrambling across their craft in panic and extended his talons. He would be upon them within moments.
Then, suddenly, the Darkling cried out in pain. A smell struck him; the odor was the same as that which had enabled the human to escape his warren. The Darkling felt his nostrils burn with the noxious scent, and he howled, soaring up in rage to summon the others. The coldrakes watched him return, shrieking in fear. He circled them once, hissing his order. They would descend together, driving off the poisonous wind with their wings. Then the craft and the treacherous humans would be tumbled into the sea.
* * *
Hawkwind watched the giant creature soar upward with relief. “The scent of dragonbane has held it off for now,” he said to Jondalrun, “but I fear they will attack again at any moment.” The Fandoran stared up nervously. The waves were rocking their ship madly now. Combined with the sweep of the coldrakes’ wings, the ship could easily be overturned. With sudden horror he saw two creatures, one black, one gray, break from the mass above them, swooping down toward the afterdeck.
Hawkwind saw this and shouted to the General, ordering at last the circle of rope around the ship to be ignited. As he ran from the foredeck, three archers fired upon the descending coldrakes, but their arrows glanced off the creatures’ hides without harm. At midship, three others raised their bows and pulled back on arrows whose shafts had been quickly set aflame. Trailing orange light, the arrows arched over the water and hit the circle of rope held in place by the long poles of the crewmen along the hull. A ring of fire shot up and surrounded the ship.
The crew cheered. It was working!
Above the flames, the two coldrakes swerved suddenly in flight, shrieking and flapping in panic. They soared back to the dark mass of wings.
“The coldrakes are frightened,” said Hawkwind.
“Yes,” Jondalrun replied, “but for how long? When the flame fades, they can attack us again.”
As if in answer, a flash of fire burst suddenly in the distance and was followed in succession by many more, as the other ships of the fleet lit the oil-soaked ropes which surrounded them.
Hawkwind watched the flames rise above the sea. The orange light tainted the bellies of the coldrakes as they soared above them. Then he looked back at the deck and saw Ceria rushing in his direction.
* * *
The Darkling circled in astonishment. The humans had set fire to the sea! They were even more cunning than he had expected. Was this the reason for the dragons’ edict? Were these tiny creatures too devious, and too dangerous for them to challenge?
Shrieking, the Darkling eased the panic of the coldrakes even as he concealed his own. There could be no turning back now. If the humans were to use flame in the war against them, then he would use the secret which burned within him. He spread his wings against the moonlight. The others would now discover the secret of his heritage, the secret he had never dared to reveal.
Circling with the coldrakes, the Darkling prepared for his final descent. He watched the fires in the water below, but did not notice the intruder flying slowly toward them from the north.
* * *
“Look!” cried Amsel. “Above the sea!”
The dragon stared wearily through the clouds. In the darkness he spied the gray storm of wings.
“It is the coldrakes,” Amsel cried. “We’ve found them, we’ve found them at last!”
There was a grumbling sound from the dragon as it watched the creatures circling high above the distant fogenshrouded flames.
“I cannot see through the mists,” said Amsel. “What are those lights?”
“I see them no better than you,” the dragon bellowed.
“Then we must get closer!” said Amsel. “The coldrakes circled my windship when it crashed—what could they be circling now?”
“I do not know,” the dragon answered, “but you have succeeded in your quest. We have reached the creatures in time.” He slowed the movement of his wings.
“No,” shouted Amsel, “I have not succeeded until we are sure they will not go south! You must continue!”
“You lack patience,” the dragon grumbled, and as he did, he raised his neck high above his body with pride. “The coldrakes will obey me,” he continued. “Though I am wounded, I am still their leader.”
Amsel hugged the dragon’s horn tightly as the creature roared—a sound loud enou
gh to summon the clouds themselves. Then Amsel looked out anxiously. The dark circle of wings seemed to shatter in the distance at the sound of the dragon’s voice. As far off as they were, Amsel heard a piercing cry.
“They have seen you!” Amsel shouted. “They are coming this way!” Amsel and the dragon watched as a dark stream of winged creatures flew in their direction. The first seemed larger than the rest, and Amsel gasped as the moonlight struck the huge body of the creature that had attacked him in its warren. Then, to Amsel’s shock, the dragon roared again and dived toward the sea.
“Where are you going?” Amsel screamed, but the dragon ignored him and cut through a cloud with terrifying speed. Amsel held on for his life.
Moments later, as they dropped out of the clouds, Amsel saw where the Last Dragon was headed. Two score ships, encircled by rings of fire, floated on the turbulent water below!
* * *
To those aboard the flagship, the approaching dragon seemed to be another of the coldrakes. Then, as it grew closer, Ceria gave a cry of recognition.
“ ‘Tis a dragon!” she shouted, standing on the foredeck with Hawkwind and the Fandoran Elders. “’Tis a dragon that approaches!”
The others stared out in shock, for as the winged behemoth drew closer, it was obvious that the creature was not the same as those which tried to attack them. It was large, larger even than the coldrake that had first descended on their ship. It had four legs instead of two, and—
Hawkwind stared in disbelief. “Jondalrun,” he whispered, “do my eyes deceive me or is that a man riding atop that dragon’s head?”
Jondalrun watched as the dragon spread his huge wings to brake himself against the wind high above the circle of flame. The waves below rocked in response, and a section of the burning rope was extinguished.
The dragon glided swiftly down toward the deck of the ship. Far behind it came the shrieks of the coldrakes, but Jondalrun could not tell if they were the sounds of anger or fear.
Then, in one quick move, the dragon tilted his head toward the maindeck, and a tiny figure swung out from one of his horns! As he plummeted down, the dragon turned, raised his head, and soared quickly back up to the clouds.