by David Mason
I shrugged, and turned back to watch the land.
“I’ll anchor, close inshore,” I told Thuramon. “Then we’ll see by experiment how these beasts look, and what danger they may be. Possibly they may be gone by now, as the spearmen were.”
“I think not,” Thuramon said. “Look there.” It was like a gull, high over the forest, but it was very high, and yet clearly visible; therefore, very large. Against the blue sky, it wheeled slowly, soaring on long wings, as I watched.
While we made anchor two or three bowshots from the shore, it still circled up there, as if it hunted something below.
The shore was a white beach, and beyond it trees so immense that the eye was at first deceived about their true size; one of them might have been large enough to build a whole ship the size of the Luck, carved entire from its bole. A breeze, laden with the scent of growing things, blew lightly from the land, and our crews lined the rails, looking. We had been too long at sea.
Then, from high overhead, we heard a strange, high sound, like a giant flute, a musical rising and falling, a cry like nothing any of us had ever heard before. Out of the sky, the dragon fell toward the forest, wings folded back, beak out like a lance, and as it dived, it emitted that musical cry again.
Just at treetop level, its great wings opened, and it vanished stooping like a falcon on its prey; and somewhere, among the trees, there was a squalling cry. A moment later, the dragon reappeared, sailing low over our mast tops. It was a beautiful creature, its armor shining with a blue-green luster, and its wings rainbowed where the sun shone through them. It lugged some sort of beast in its claws as it flew.
The thing it carried looked bigger than a dog, nearly the size of a small pony, but doglike in shape. It was gray-white, and furred, hanging limply in the dragon’s jaws. And as it went over, a great splash of blood dropped, on to the white deck of the Luck.
The splash had fallen near one of the men at arms, who glanced down at it, curiously; then he knelt, poking at it curiously with his dagger. Suddenly, he emitted a cry of surprise.
“Lord Prince!” he called. “Look here? What kind of beast bleeds thus?”
As I came to him, Thuramon behind me, he held up the iron dagger with which he had touched the spot. The point was eaten away as if it had been rusted off. And where the blood had lain on the deck was a deeply burned spot, etched a finger’s depth into the white wood, smoking slightly.
“Ah,” said Thuramon, glancing at the dagger, and then at the hole. “You asked about the beasts, Lord Prince. You see now.”
“That? “ I asked. “The dragon’s prey?”
“None but a dragon could enjoy such meat,” Thuramon said. “A dragon’s food is a matter of much debate among such scholars as have studied the breeds of dragon. Some dine only on maiden’s flesh, it’s said, though where such vast supplies of virgins may be had is again a trouble to the mind. And some, like these, require food such as would slay any other beast of prey who tasted it. Know you what manner of wolf that was who bled so?”
“No,” I said, looking at the pit in the deck with anger. “Except I would not want my clean decks fouled so.”
“There’s more than that in the matter,” Thuramon said. “Such beasts as these cannot be slain with iron weapons, as you see. And they are very fierce. Fortunately, they cannot come aboard; yet, we may not safely go where they are.” He looked toward the shore.
“Then this land is barred to us,” I said glumly.
“Not necessarily,” said Thuramon. “I see that dragons prey on the beasts, and therefore they will be cautious by day. And if those flecks in the sky are other dragons, the beasts will be fewer than they were in the old captain’s day.”
He glanced along the rail, where the cannon were lashed each in its place, and he studied them carefully, nodding. Then he glanced toward the culverins, screwed to braces on the foredeck and quarterdeck, and scratched his beard in deep thought.
“Tell me, my lord,” he said, “have you ever fired such a tool as that culverin, holding it like a bow?”
I laughed. “It would fling me like a horse’s kick, I’d think. I’ve heard of smaller guns, made to hold thus, but never seen one. Why?”
He nodded again. “Perhaps, if there were less powder… think you our ship’s smith could make a gun, like these, but smaller?”
“Such a gun would be of little use,” I protested. “A bowman could shoot faster by far than a man could stuff powder into a gun, light match, and set it off.”
“I’ve thought of a way to set fire to such a gun, a little more rapidly,” Thuramon said. “I’ll show how it may be done, later. But you are right, Prince, as far as matters of ordinary hunting or warfare are concerned. Incidentally, the bowmen too must be considered, as you say. Hmm.” He scratched his beard again in thought. “Silver, if the sage Geronis be right… how much silver have we aboard?”
“Silver? Why, there are bags of coin, and some lumps stamped for the trade work… not much, since we paid most of it out when we parted company with the others,” I said. “Wealth was of no use to us, and much use to those who sailed to the cities of the west.”
“Too bad,” Thuramon said. “But a little silver, you say. Good, good… collect it all, my lord, from the other ships as well; even jewelry, armlets and rings… all that is of silver. Mold small bullets, and load a gun or two, the culverins there for choice. And if any silver be left, make a few arrowheads of it, and give those arrows to your finest bowman. Old Kakk Marag, I would say; he can hit any mark he aims at. And there may be only one chance to hit.”
He gave me no chance to question him, but trotted off importantly, seeking for the ship’s smith with loud cries.
I would have preferred to know more reasons; but failing reasons, when a wizard makes an odd request it’s best to fulfill it. One will learn the reason in good time enough. I gave orders to collect silver, and tossed my own arm rings in at once.
Thuramon, having consulted at length with our own smith, set out in a ship’s boat to bring back a second smith and another metalworker of some kind, a maker of tools. While at the other ship, he spoke to Kakk Marag concerning the silver arrowheads, and the graybeard became most excited. This I heard of later, how Kakk Marag had lapsed into his own language, and leaped up and down, invoking sundry savage gods.
“He has met such beasts himself,” said Thuramon to me, as we watched his smiths setting up their forge. “He fears them much, but hates them even more.”
“Hates? An odd word to use,” I said. “To hate a beast, as if it were a human enemy…”
“These beasts…” Thuramon spread his hands. “I have read widely in the ancient books, among works of scholars in both the natural wisdoms and in magic. Such works are often unclear, contradict each other, or say things in languages unknown to me. Even me. Yet, such beasts are spoken of. In other worlds…”
“Those other worlds again,” I said, a little sourly. “We seem beset by their livestock. Perhaps the invisibles, too, came from some other world. Only we seem barred from visiting these places that give us such a stream of unasked gifts.”
“When the time comes, my lord, that you have opportunity to pass through a gate to another world… well, you may not be quite so filled with eager curiosity,” Thuramon said. “And as for the invisible ones, yes. They may indeed have come here from elsewhere. Prince, the three I spoke of, our enemies, opened many gates. Our world is indeed beset by wanderers from other places, and will be more so, until those gates I spoke of are closed.” He looked very solemn.
The smiths were busy now with the thing he had been describing to them. It would be a small cannon, small indeed, I saw. Over the touch hole, an arm held a cord soaked in saltpeter and let to dry, such as cannoneers use to set off a gun. When the match touched down, pulled by a lever, the gun would fire.
“It may be held in the hands, or braced against a stick,” Thuramon said pridefully. “These works of metal are not within my proper skill, being more for artisans and engin
eers; yet I think it is a workable thing.”
“For use against the beasts, I should agree,” I said. “But for any other use, a bowman might feather you like a porcupine while you made it ready.”
“Except an arrow strike true and to the heart, these beasts will not die,” Thuramon said. “But a lump of silver, big as a man’s thumb… that will slay. You’ll see, my lord.”
We watched the forest of giant trees all that day, and not once did we see or hear any movement from the greenery. But once again, a dragon swooped down far away, and caught something, whether the same sort of beast or not I could not tell.
The craggy isle to starboard was the dragon’s home, I saw. There they flew with their meat, and once or twice I thought I saw a tiny speck, flying about the highest point. The island did not seem to be inhabitable, and I wondered where those natives lived of whom the scroll had spoken. I saw no sign of houses or even a landing place on this side.
But as we watched the forest, there seemed faint signs of something that lived there. Once a sharp-eyed sailor on the tops caught sight of a thin curl of smoke, far away, like a cooking fire. And, at evening, we heard a strange sound.
It was the sound of a bell, very distant, rung in a slow, steady time. Then, from even farther off, a second bell came like an echo.
“There are men in the forest, my lord.” Caltus, at my side, listened to the sound.
“There are bells,” I said. “I’ve seen no men yet.”
“If there are inhabitants, you’d think they would have heard of our presence, and come down to the shore.”
“Or else they wait, to set upon us in the night,” I suggested. “Set guards all night, Caltus.”
We did so. But in the morning, they had seen nothing. Still, as the sun rose, we heard the bells again.
“We’ll not lie here forever,” I said to Thuramon. “I’ve taken your words to guide me so far; when may we attempt the forest?”
He looked worried.
“I am not sure,” he said. “The beasts… my lord, I don’t know that silver will slay them. This is something written in an ancient book. They may be different, in some way…”
“Then we’d need to sail on, and on, until we find another land?” I asked. “We’re all tired of decks and soured wine and rock-hard beef. Someone seems to live in that land; there are the bells. And did you not say that only through this land can we come at our enemies, those three?”
“It may be…” Thuramon, began nervously. “Well, then, a small party, perhaps…”
I laughed. “Good wizard, if you fear to test your weapons, there’s no reason for you to come. Stay aboard, by all means.”
At this he changed his expression, and looked stubborn.
“I don’t fear the test,” he said. “The hand weapon will work. And you may need my other knowledge. I shall come.”
And so we set about the landing. The first party was led by myself, and Thuramon, all atremble, went too. We took nine more, our best bowmen, including Kakk Marag; and every one of them carried silvertipped arrows in his quiver.
And also in the boat with us went the three hand cannon, loaded with slugs of silver. But I wore armor, and carried the same steel that had served me well before; I would not depend entirely on soft silver.
A single small boat, and eleven men, all told: not a great force, nor many to lose if all did not go well. We lowered away, and rowed the short length to shore, and drew the boat up on the white sand.
There was no sound at all, except the wave-lap on the beach, and the rustle of wind in the trees ahead. From somewhere a bird twittered, and another answered. That was all.
Carefully we lit the matches of our guns, and walked forward, into the shade. Our bowmen nocked their arrows, and came along.
In the green shadows, the great trees rose about us like columns in an immense temple; long alleys stretched away in every direction, with slanting bars of sunlight between. And nowhere was there movement, or sound except the crack of branches under our feet.
In this way, we walked on, deeper into the forest, always watchful, until we came to a space among the trees, a kind of wide alley where only grass and brush grew. It looked strangely like a wide road, curving away toward the north and west.
Struck by the resemblance, I stopped, and the others with me. The turf was thin, as if it covered… stone. I bent, and thrust my sword tip in; and met the stone I thought was there.
It was in truth an ancient road, so ancient that the earth had nearly swallowed it. We followed its curving length, partly because it was easier to walk so than through the forest itself, and partly because, as Thuramon said, “A road leads somewhere, no?”
Then, as we came around a curve, there in the center of the road it sat waiting for us.
It was nearly the size of a horse, but to all appearances it was a white wolf. It sat on its haunches, for all the world like a watchful hound, contemplating us from eyes that shone redly in the tree’s shadow, a scarlet tongue lolling in a wolfish grin of white fangs, each a dagger’s length and sharpness.
Nine
I stopped, and Thuramon behind me, he muttering in an ancient language. I hoped he spoke a spell; a prayer would serve us little now. We leveled our matchlocks, Thuramon and I and the third man.
“One at a time,” I said hurriedly, and none too soon. The white beast lurched up onto his legs, and sprang toward us, jaws agape; and Thuramon, eyes closed, let fly. His matchlock bellowed, and he vanished in a cloud of smoke, rolling backward with a wild squeal. The beast shrieked a high yowl of anguish, and rolled over, kicking.
But the wound had not been fatal. The white wolf staggered upright, a foreleg dripping blood, and snarled, preparing to charge again. Then, from the sky, came a deep piping sound, the great fluting voice of a dragon. The white beast dived swiftly into the bush, between the great trees, and vanished.
Overhead, a wide shadow went by, with a whistle of divided air, as the disappointed hunter swooped up and away again.
Thuramon, on his back on the ground, groaned; then he sat up, grasping his singed beard to see if he still lived.
“I killed it!” he cried, staring at the empty road.
“Not quite,” I told him, assisting him to his feet. “But the creature’s fled, wounded by the silver bullet.”
“The matchgun fired well,” Thuramon said, examining it. “There’s a certain skill required to hold it well, I think.”
“I think so too,” I said. Then, to the archers, “Nock your arrows—the silver-headed ones. That thing may return.” Thuramon, groaning, began the laborious work of reloading his matchlock.
“I cannot think that these things will ever be of much use,” I said, watching him. “Are you finished, good wizard? Come then… you smell most abominably of burnt hair, like a goat roasted in its skin.”
We moved on, most cautiously now; but there was no more sign of the creature that had attacked us, nor of any of its fellows.
“I notice the dragon kind seem to find these white beasts to their taste,” I said to Thuramon. He nodded.
“As I told you,” he said. “Now, with the matter of the silver, I am certain of what these creatures are. But whether everything written about them is true, I do not know. Silver slays them, and they are of giant size and strength. And I think they have a great preference for human flesh. One more thing the sage Gerontis says of them… but this remains to be proved.”
The grassy road curved upward now, and the man who walked farthest ahead of our party, an archer, stopped, lifting his hand to beckon me silently. I gestured for silence to the rest, and went forward to him.
The trees opened out here, and beyond, a grassy plain rose to a low ridge, crowned with stone walls. It was a building, long and many-roofed, with a squat tower rising from its peaks. And smoke rose from its chimneys!
“Men,” I said, in a low voice.
“Possibly.” Thuramon had moved up behind me.
We could see a glitter of water b
eyond the buildings, and a thick mass of dark green treetops, regular in their pattern, an orchard, it seemed. Then, as we watched, a sound of creaking and rumbling came from the distance, and we caught sight of big two-wheeled wains, moving along the ridge toward the buildings. They were far from us, but they seemed to be drawn by horses and driven by men.
The squat tower suddenly emitted a clang; a bell.
“Lord Kavin!” The archer beside me gripped my arm.
“What?”
“I thought I saw… but it may be a trick of the sun.”
I peered toward the distant ridge. I thought I too had seen a flash of white, a swift running shape. But the beast we had seen would not run so boldly toward men… would it?
“A trick of sun,” I said. “Those are men. Let’s try our luck, Tana with us; if they be friendly.”
Again we walked forward toward the gray walls.
There was no opening in the wall nearest us, and no living thing showed, but the bell in the tower clanged on. Watchfully, we circled the wall, at a respectful distance in case of an arrow. There was a gateway open, and a two wheeled cart was rolling toward it along a rutted track as we approached.
The cart was a crude affair, drawn by two enormous horses, larger than I had ever seen before, and piled high with produce. On it there sat a small, bent man, whiskered and clad in shaggy brown, who stared at us in evident fear.
I stepped forward, holding up my hands and smiling at him.
“We come in peace,” I said.
He gabbled at me in his own language, with not a familiar word in it; but he seemed relieved of his first fright at any rate. He pointed at the gateway, from which a pair of similar brown-clad men were cautiously emerging. These approached, and we were all soon engaged in a conversation of hand wagging and grimacing.
“I think these folk are speaking a tongue like the old speech of the little folk of Meryon,” Thuramon said after a few moments. “I have no idea how that language is spoken, but I know how to write letters in it, and a few written words.” He squatted down in the dust of the road, and scratched lines with a stick.